The Bodyguard [3]

Ethan Grace, the President, that magnificent specimen of leadership and charisma, paraded through the ballroom with the grace of a peacock - yes, those with the most extravagant feathers. He distributed greetings as if they were royal favors, "Good to see you again, friend," and "How long has it been!" with the ease of someone who knows he is, literally, at the top of the social food chain.

In the midst of this glorious procession, his eagle eyes caught a sight so stunning that even his usual self-control almost gave way to admiration. Scarlet Jones, the legendary leader of the Stone Guild, standing there, as if the ballroom was a mere secondary stage for her dominant presence. With hair as black as my intentions of never attending a morning meeting and red eyes that suggested that she probably didn't tolerate fools, Scarlet was a force of nature in human form. And her dress? Let's just say it lived up to her reputation.

In a move that could be described as "the meeting of titans" (or perhaps just a socially obligatory interaction), Ethan approached with the confidence of someone who commands the most powerful free nation in the world. "Miss Scarlet, it is a great pleasure to have you here with us," he said, trying - and failing - to maintain a façade of indifference.

Scarlet, surprised by the attention directed at her by the president, did not hide her appreciation for the invitation. "Mr. President, I am grateful for the invitation," she replied, her voice carrying a mix of surprise and satisfaction. When Ethan extended his hand in greeting, Scarlet reciprocated the gesture, and the handshake between them sealed the mutual recognition of their positions and the respect they shared.

The conversation that followed revealed Ethan's care for the details of his daughter's party and the consideration for the busy schedule of the leader of the Stone Guild. "Don't be modest. I was worried that my daughter's birthday could interfere with the leader of the Stone Guild's agenda," Ethan expressed, showing genuine concern.

The mention of Lila aroused Scarlet's interest, who promptly asked for the birthday girl, revealing that she had brought a gift for her. "Huh, yes, your daughter Lila. I brought a gift to her. Where is she?" she asked, her eyes scanning the crowd for the young woman.

Ethan suggested that he could deliver the gift for her, but Scarlet insisted on doing it personally. "No need, I would like to deliver it to her personally," Scarlet stated, already moving with determination through the hall.

Realizing that the conversation could end with Scarlet's departure, Ethan acted quickly to keep the dialogue alive, pointing to where Lila was. "Look, my dear daughter is there having fun with her friends," he said, pointing to a couch where Lila was sitting on her boyfriend's lap, surrounded by friends who shared laughter and lively conversations.

But, right behind the group, almost unnoticed if not for Ethan's dedicated attention, was a solitary figure in a black overcoat, Lila's bodyguard. His strategic position against the wall and the movement of his jaw, suggestive that he was chewing something, added an involuntary note of humor to the scene - the incognito protector, more concerned with the mini burgers than with the social intrigues around him.

---

As I indulged in the culinary pleasures of the party, something strange happened. I felt a chill run down my spine, that kind of sensation that only comes when something big is about to happen. With a quick movement, I swallowed what I was chewing, mentally thanking the incredible technology of my mask that allowed me to eat without having to remove it. Seriously, this thing is a miracle of modern engineering.

Turning around, I saw the spectacle that was Lila Grace, surrounded by her entourage of friends and boyfriend, all settled on the couch as if they were in an exclusive lounge designed just for their enjoyment. Ah, youth.

But, ah, it wasn't them that interested me. President Ethan, accompanied by a lady whose presence was as striking as a guitar solo in a ballad song, walked in our direction. His short black hair and red eyes were like beacons, announcing the arrival of someone who doesn't settle for simply entering a room - she owns it.

"She is strong," I thought, admiring the aura of power that surrounded her. "But clearly not a threat, since she comes alongside our dear president." In a party that mixes power and politics, her presence was as expected as a plot twist in a season finale.

When they got closer, Scarlet, because it could only be her, approached Lila with a grace that made me wonder if I was at a party or in a scene of a high-fashion movie. "Hello, Lila, how are you, young lady?" she asked, with a smile that was both welcoming and slightly intriguing.

Ah, life in Terranova, where heroes not only save the day, but also steal the social scene with the same fervor of a movie star at the launch of their latest blockbuster. So, when Scarlet Jones, an icon among icons, approached Lila and her group of friends, their surprise was comparable to that of fans meeting their idol by chance. "Scarlet Jones?!" they exclaimed in unison, their voices tinged with the incredulity of someone who sees the cover of a magazine come to life.

"So you're turning 16 today, Miss Lila?" Scarlet asked, the softness of her smile contrasting with the strength that emanated from her presence. Lila, recovering from the initial shock, managed to stammer a confirmation. "Y-Yes."

"Wow, I brought a gift for you." With an elegant gesture, Scarlet stretched out her arm and, whispering a command, activated the bracelet on her wrist. "Release." As if summoned by magic - or, in this case, by the wonder of technology - a cube wrapped in red paper materialized, floating gently to Scarlet's outstretched hands. The audience watched, fascinated, the demonstration of a dimensional storage tool, a technology that, although known, never failed to impress when used by someone of Scarlet Jones' stature.

The bracelet, more than a simple accessory, was a statement of power and prestige, allowing Scarlet to transport objects through space with a command. The gift, now revealed from its hidden dimension, awaited Lila's reaction, while everyone around adjusted their perceptions of reality: in this world where the extraordinary was everyday, the impossible became possible.

Scarlet, with the elegance of a prom queen handing over the crown to the next winner, extended the gift to Lila. "This gift is yours," she said, depositing the wrapped cube in the young birthday girl's hands.

"T-thank you…" Lila's voice betrayed a mix of surprise and admiration, while her eyes, now sparkling like stars in the night sky of Terranova, reflected the gratitude and wonder she felt. A smile slowly drew on her face, one of those smiles that could easily say "I'm awesome, right?" without a single word being spoken.

And then, as if drawn by a magnet, her eyes met mine - or rather, my mask, since my true expression remained a mystery. It was me, the bodyguard assigned to her protection, a walking enigma amid the party.

"A bodyguard, I guess," she conjectured mentally, evaluating me with a curious look. "But, observing his aura, he must be Class E. Maybe he was hired to deal with ordinary humans." Ah, the assumptions! If Lila knew half the truth…

And then, as if triggered by an invisible remote control, Ethan Grace, the President of the United States and father of this small birthday celebration, entered the scene with a gesture that could freeze the sun. With a discreet but undeniably authoritative nod, he caught the attention of everyone, especially his daughter. "How about leaving the gifts for later?" he suggested, with the voice that undoubtedly commanded more than just the room.

"What? But I want to open it now," Lila replied, in a tone that oscillated between pleading and demanding, a performance worthy of a princess unhappy with the amount of gold in her treasure.

"Not now," Ethan reiterated, this time with a firmness that made it clear who was in charge of the ship - or, in this case, the White House. The paternal authority was established, with no room for negotiations.

Faced with the father's ultimatum, Lila, the spoiled birthday girl, turned into a monument of youthful frustration, projecting a pout that could rival the greatest works of art dedicated to sadness. And, as if she expected me, Dean, the sarcastic bodyguard with an honorary degree in not getting involved in family drama, to step in as a magic helper, she extended the gift in my direction.

"Do you think I'm your employee, girl?" I thought, rolling my eyes internally. Of course, my mask prevented anyone from seeing my expression, but the indignation was so palpable that it could almost be cut with a knife.

No, I definitely wasn't going to touch that package. My contract says "protect", not "serve". Lila and her entourage of teenage friends and boyfriend stood there, suspended in a silent expectation, waiting for me to take the gift. But I, motionless as a statue, didn't give in.

"Aren't you going to take it?" Lila tried, with that tone that usually made adults bend their spine. Me? Well, I didn't move a muscle, nor did I give her the pleasure of an answer. Silence can be as eloquent as words, especially when you're trying to teach young heiresses about boundaries.

"Dad, did you know that this bodyguard you hired doesn't do the job properly?" she tried again, this time appealing to the paternal authority. Ethan, the man who commanded the most powerful nation in the world, just sighed internally, perhaps wondering where exactly in the parents' manual there were instructions on how to deal with "disobedient" bodyguards.

"Daughter, give me the gift here and I'll have one of our employees keep it for you," he proposed, raising his voice when pronouncing "employee", in a clear attempt to emphasize my real role. After all, I was there to protect, not to serve as a personal carrier.

Lila, dissatisfied but without alternatives, handed the gift to her father with a tongue snap that could be translated as "this is not over". Ethan accepted the package, perhaps pondering internally about the unexpected challenges of parenthood.

Scarlet, the silent observer of all this minor drama, arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "To act that way, this bodyguard must not work for the American government," she conjectured mentally. "That means he was hired from outside. Considering that he is the president, what would be the best place for him to hire a bodyguard who does a good job?"

The answer came almost immediately, like a flash of understanding in her sharp mind: High Court. Of course, who else could provide protection of such high caliber, if not the most enigmatic and powerful organization known by the inner circles?

I just shrugged at all the looks in my direction, looks that looked like very sharp knives, especially Lila's looks, which clearly said: "I'm going to kill you", and thought: "Ah, the night was beautiful, wasn't it? I think I should enjoy today better as if there was no tomorrow, right? After all, who has the chance to go to a party at the White House?" - because, honestly, with the kind of information I just received, who knows? Alva's voice in my head was like getting a phone call in the middle of the movie: totally unwelcome and unwanted.

"Dean," she began, her voice a sharp blade in the dark of my mind, "there is information that today, at this exact event, there will be an assassination attempt against the president."

My casual posture of relaxed bodyguard stiffened instantly. "I was hired to protect Lila, not to get involved in political conflicts," I replied mentally, trying to keep my concern under control.

Alva, unfazed, retorted, "If the president falls, chaos will follow. And in this chaos, neither you nor Lila will be safe. Keep him alive, Dean."

I swallowed hard, the magnitude of my new responsibility weighing on me like an impending storm. The room, once a sea of festive faces, turned into a chessboard where each piece could be a potential assassin.

"Okay, and who would be crazy enough to try that?" I asked, looking for some direction in the midst of uncertainty.

"That's what you need to find out. The assassin managed to evade even my detection," she admitted, a rare moment of vulnerability in her voice. "He knows how to avoid us."

A chill ran down my spine. Alva was not one to admit limitations easily. If she was worried, then I had more than reasons to be too.

"I'll need more than luck, then. Alva, can't you give me a hand here?" I asked, kind of already knowing the answer.

"Yeah, I know. But I can't teleport in there. There's a magic enchantment around Washington that seems to block my entry. You're on your own, Dean,"

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to accept reality. The ballroom, now, was my battlefield. Every conversation in the background, every laugh, could be the smoke screen for a fatal blow. My mission was clear: protect Lila, protect the president, and, somehow, get out alive of this.

Alva's revelation echoed in my mind as I watched the room, a mix of celebration and battlefield where every guest could be a potential enemy. The idea that someone had woven such a specific enchantment, just to prevent Alva's intervention, was a frightening testimony of the power at stake. "If they can hide from her, we're dealing with someone formidable," I reasoned, the gravity of the situation deepening. "Someone, possibly, on the same level of power as Alva."

The question "How am I going to deal with someone of this caliber?" did not find easy answers in my mind. I was at a disadvantage, forced to play a game whose rules I barely understood.

That's when my attention focused on a new presence, one that cut through the crowd with the predatory calm of a hunter. A young man, with long black hair and blue eyes that shone with an unsaid purpose, moving towards the president with an elegance that did not match the occasion. Dressed in a suit that screamed both elegance and intention, he did not look like just another guest.

"He must be a friend of his," I thought initially, trying not to jump to hasty conclusions. "If he calls the president by name, maybe I don't need to intervene. But if not…"

The tension increased as the stranger stretched out his hand towards the president, without making any sound. The silence of his approach, the lack of verbal communication, was deafening. It was a gesture that did not require words, but the silence itself screamed "Danger!"

"Hello, Ethan, how long…" The stranger barely manages to finish his sentence before feeling his hand abruptly immobilized. Surprise spreads through the hall, capturing the attention of everyone - Lila's friends, Lila herself, her boyfriend, Scarlet, and, most notably, the man who was about to touch the president.

The expression of the stranger, initially smooth and friendly, quickly turns into irritation. He stares at me, confused and frustrated. "Who are you?" The question is thrown with a mix of challenge and incredulity.

I opt for silence, keeping control over his wrist firmly, my non-verbal but clear answer.

The president, Ethan Grace, feeling the increase of tension, turned to face us, sketching a nervous smile in an attempt to ease the situation. "Mr. Angel, are you all right?" His laugh, though uncomfortable, tried to inject lightness into the tense moment.

The man known as Mr. Angel regained his composure, striving to appear indifferent to my intervention. "Oh, sure, President. I just wanted to express my greetings." His tone, though polite, carried a note of dissatisfaction that did not go unnoticed.

After releasing Angel's wrist, a wave of reactions swept the hall. Angel, with a calm that only the truly powerful possess, smoothed his wrist, casting a look that mixed evaluation and a slight disdain. "The president has a very formidable bodyguard, doesn't he?" he commented, raising the esteem of the environment with a tone that flirted with irony.

The president, visibly relieved to avoid a potentially dangerous situation, replied with a diplomatic smile. "Yes, yes. He is really very formidable. I apologize for the inconvenience." The attempt to ease the tension was evident, an effort to maintain the harmony of the event.

The spectators in the box of this brief scene - Scarlet, Lila and her friends - were clearly surprised, their looks at me carried a mix of questioning and censure. The subtext was clear: "What the hell did you do?"

Really, how to explain my action? Acting on a premonition of imminent danger to the president and, in a burst of bravery, intervening, is not something easily justifiable in such a formal and politically charged environment.

Angel, regaining his posture of control completely, launched a final comment that was both a provocation and a recognition. "It's all right. Good to know that there are class E bodyguards who are crazy enough to hold the wrist of a class S." His smile, though friendly on the surface, carried a veiled threat, a reminder of power hierarchies and the tensions they can entail.

The buzz that spread through the hall after the incident was like music to my ears - a symphony of whispers and murmurs that could bother anyone. But me? I had bigger concerns in mind. After all, if I couldn't keep the president and Lila safe, Alva would surely make a point of reminding me of the consequences, in ways that I'd rather not imagine. So, yes, embarrassment was my least concern at that moment.

Scarlet, perhaps trying to bring back some normality to the situation, launched some discreet coughs before addressing Angel. "How are you, Mr. Angel?" she asked, with a diplomacy that the scene demanded.

Angel's answer was given with a smile that tried to be charming. "I'm fine, much better now, Scarlet. I'm impressed by your beauty every time I see you." His tone was flattering, but for those who like to read between the lines, that exchange could easily be interpreted as two old rivals marking positions.

"That's nice of you," Scarlet replied, her welcoming smile hiding, perhaps, the layers of a complex and full of history relationship.

Angel's attention then turned to the birthday girl of the month, Lila, starting the kind of conversation that filled these events with words, but rarely with meaning. I took advantage of the distraction to move away a little, my eyes and senses still on alert.

The feeling of danger that had enveloped me before had disappeared as suddenly as it had arisen. That made me uncomfortable. "Was it a trap?" I wondered, running my hand over my chin, thoughtful. But, if it was a trap, the heroes present in the room, with their sharpened abilities, should have noticed something. Unless the target was specifically me… or something was masking that threat, making it invisible even to the most attentive.

Evaluating the situation, I consider two possibilities for the origin of that feeling of danger. The first suggests that the author of the threat would need to be within a certain range to activate such an alert, implying a strategic use of their abilities. The second option, much more alarming, insinuates a power so disproportionately stolen that it is questionable its permission. I opt to believe the first, more plausible, indicating that we are dealing with an assassin who not only has remarkable abilities but also a cunning mind for strategies.

Lila, still immersed in the surprise and enchantment of receiving gifts from two class S heroes, thanks Angel. The necklace he gives her, full of magical properties of protection, adds a layer of complexity to his figure. For a moment, I exclude Angel from the list of suspects, but the uncertainty remains as a shadow in the background.

"Alva, are you listening?" The mental communication with Alva is instantaneous, her answer does not delay: "Hi, Dean."

"Can you see through my eyes?" I ask, as my gaze scans the guests, looking for something out of place, a clue that might have been overlooked.

"I can, Dean. We are connected, remember?" Alva reminds me of our unique bond, an invisible bridge that unites us. "And I can hear all your thoughts. You are right. The assassin used the feeling of danger as a trap, wanting to identify who would react, and you went straight into it. Now he knows that you also have the mission to protect the president."

"Damn, that's what I needed… Where are you?" I asked Alva, feeling the urgency of the situation tighten my chest.

"I'm trying to break through this barrier, but it seems like it's going to take a while," Alva's voice sounded in my mind, bringing a mix of frustration and determination.

"How long?" I asked, hoping that the answer would be something that we could work to our advantage.

"10 minutes," she replied. Ten minutes. It seemed at the same time an eternity and a blink of an eye in the face of the gravity of what was at stake.

Great, I just need to keep him alive for 10 minutes… My thought was interrupted by Alva's serious voice: "Dean, stay alert. The assassin knows that I'm trying to get in. He launched that feeling of danger because he's ready to finish the assassination."

The seriousness and concern in Alva's voice impressed me. "Don't die," she added, with a tone that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

"Don't die? Thanks for the concern, and know that you're the one who put me in this mess. If I end up dying, I'll come back to pull your foot," I thought, half serious, half joking with the gravity of our situation.

"Sigh… Only you can make jokes in a situation like this," Alva replied, her voice conveying a mix of exasperation and affection for my way of dealing with the imminent danger.

Armed with the gravity of the situation and Alva's countdown, I knew that every move of mine had to be calculated with precision. The assassin was somewhere here, mixed in with the guests, watching, waiting for the right moment to act. And now, more than ever, I needed to be the eyes and ears of the president and Lila, protecting them from an invisible, but deadly present threat.

With my mind focused and my senses sharpened, I prepared myself for the most challenging minutes of the night, ready to face whatever came our way. The hunt had begun, and I was both the hunter and the bait.

The celebration was in full swing, the music filled the air, and the laughter and lively conversations created a tapestry of joy. However, this vibrant atmosphere was abruptly cut off, as if someone had pulled the rug out from under our feet. The lights went out without warning, plunging the hall into an unexpected darkness. A chorus of surprises and murmurs of confusion "Huh?" echoed among the guests, an immediate reflection of the sudden change.

"What's going on, huh?" Angel's voice cut through the darkness, reflecting the widespread confusion.

My reaction was immediate; the raised eyebrows not only expressed my surprise, but also triggered my protection mode. Amid the reduced visibility, which still allowed contours and shapes thanks to the faint light coming from outside, I moved with the precision of a feline to the president. "President, stay close to me," I instructed, my voice a beacon of calm in the sudden storm of uncertainty. He, unlike Lila, sensed the gravity of the moment and complied without protest.

While Lila and her friends remained motionless, perhaps hoping that the situation would resolve itself, I didn't have that luxury. Scarlet's apparent indifference, keeping quiet, did not go unnoticed, but my priority was to ensure the safety of everyone in the hall.

Expanding my aura, I established an invisible perimeter around us. Any intrusion would be immediately detected, ready to be neutralized by my ability to dismantle. However, the unexpected presence of the president's security guards running in our direction complicated things. "No, don't come," I thought, fearing that their hasty approach within my aura, could open a passage for the assassin to enter.

Everything around me, every moment that I believed to be real, was nothing but an illusion, a smoke screen meant to divert me from the true danger.

In the midst of the chaos, Scarlet acted subtly, placing her hand on Lila's shoulder, who reacted with surprise. As she looked up, Lila's expression, once vibrant, turned into a cold indifference, a prelude to the horror that was to come.

"Lila!" I shouted in silence, turning to her direction, finally understanding the trap. I was ready to launch my dismantling, but it was too late. Without warning, Lila's body was consumed by a violent explosion.

The deafening roar filled the air, as blood and pieces of her being scattered, covering Lila's boyfriend and friends, who watched in horror from the couch. Even with the dim light, the scene was undeniably gruesome.

"Shit, shit, SHIT!" Frustration took over me. Even with the dismantling finally underway, targeting Scarlet, the grotesque scenario before me vanished in an instant, as if it had never existed. Lila was back, intact, murmuring confusedly, but before I could process the relief, she was cruelly split in half.

Confusion and disbelief dominated my thoughts. "How did this happen?" The question echoed in my mind as I watched, horrified, the scene before me. The dismantling spell, which was supposed to be my defense, my retaliation against Scarlet, had tragically diverted its course, hitting Lila with deadly precision. Where was Scarlet at that moment?

The air was impregnated with the metallic smell of Lila's blood, which splashed through the space like a grotesque painting in motion. Her body, now brutally split in half by a relentless horizontal cut, lay on the floor, a sight that froze the soul. The close friends, witnesses of this horrific act, let out shrill screams, plunged into absolute terror. Lila's boyfriend, in deep shock, was motionless, his expression a mask of disbelief and horror.

Before I could even begin to unravel the tangle of questions that tormented me, Angel abruptly appeared in front of me. His presence was a force to be reckoned with, and his gaze carried a weight that pressed against me. "Impressive bodyguard work," he mocked, his voice tinged with cutting sarcasm. Without giving me a chance to absorb his words, he launched a devastating punch. The speed was such that I barely registered the movement before feeling the crushing impact against my ribs, the sound of the blow reverberating like thunder.

The impact catapulted me violently through the room, my body breaking walls as if they were made of paper. I was thrown out, a human projectile, crossing the garden and leaving a trail of destruction in my way, until finally stopping with a dull thud against the cold concrete.

Struggling against the pain and the daze, I heard Angel address Scarlet with a calm that defied the chaos around. "Scarlet, can you ensure the president's safety? I'll deal with our assassin here." His voice was firm, determined, as he walked with determined steps towards the hole in the wall, the portal to the unknown that I had involuntarily created.

The world around me seemed to collapse, every certainty that I had crumbled like sand between my fingers. The dismantling, my desperate attack against Scarlet, suddenly did not find its intended target. Instead, reality twisted into a cruel irony, and I saw Lila, once blown to pieces, now intact, only to be killed again by my innate ability. The question "What happened?" echoed in my mind, a litany of despair and confusion.

I was lost in a sea of doubts, unable to navigate the turbulent waters of my own mind. That's when Alva intervened, her voice a lifeline in the ocean of my disorientation. "Dean, the assassin's innate ability is illusion. It seems that she manipulated you into committing the murder, not her. You need to deal with this class S, because the assassin is with the president now, it's Scarlet!"

Those words fell on me like a storm, unveiling the truth that I refused to see. Scarlet, the woman I believed to be an ally, was behind everything. "I see… So, from the beginning… She was manipulating me. From the moment she approached me," I reflected, the image of Scarlet invading my thoughts. That feeling of imminent danger, an omen of an assassination attempt against the president, all her work. But the reasons remained shrouded in mystery. "But why? Why would a heroine do that?"

"Thinking about that now doesn't matter, Dean. Optimize your thoughts. Focus on just one thing," Alva instructed, her firm voice pulling me back to the cruel reality.

She was right. There was a time for questions, and a time for action. And that was, undoubtedly, the time to act.