Following Draven was never a good idea II

As the fireworks illuminated the night sky, casting a cascade of vivid colors, Draven leaped down from the building with unparalleled grace. His red feathery wings, accentuated by the flickering lights, glinted like smoldering embers, adding an air of mystique to his descent. Each movement flowed effortlessly, showcasing his mastery over his own body and the ethereal power that coursed through him.

As he landed on the ground, a soft thud resonated through the alley, drawing the attention of the two figures standing behind the leader. Their eyes widened with a mix of awe and trepidation as they beheld Draven's imposing figure. The glowing intensity in his eyes, illuminated by the fiery display overhead, sent shivers down their spines. It was as if they were peering into the abyss, witnessing a darkness that consumed all in its path.

Draven's gaze bore into them, his eyes burning with a chilling killing intent that seemed to radiate from the depths of his being. It was a gaze that conveyed his unwavering determination and the depths of his vengeance. The weight of his purpose hung in the air, causing the two figures to involuntarily take a step back, their faces contorting with fear and uncertainty.

The fiery backdrop of the fireworks accentuated the aura of menace that enveloped Draven. The flickering lights danced upon his hardened features, casting dramatic shadows that deepened the intensity of his presence. His clenched fists, poised and ready for battle, betrayed the controlled fury within him. Underneath his long coat, muscles rippled with restrained power, a testament to the formidable force he embodied.

In that fleeting moment, the two figures behind the leader recognized the magnitude of the adversary before them. The gleam in Draven's eyes, fueled by an unquenchable thirst for justice, sent a clear message: he was unyielding, unstoppable, and driven by an insatiable desire to rid the world of evil. A chilling revelation gripped them with a newfound sense of dread.

Under the resplendent display of fireworks, Draven stood as an embodiment of wrath, his presence commanding attention and demanding fear.

"Why... are you following me?" Draven's voice dripped with a frigid resolve as if daring the trio to provide a justification that could sway his judgment. His penetrating gaze bore into their souls, a testament to the dangerous resolve that burned within him.

"Let's just kill them…" The voice of Margoth resounded within Draven's mind, a haunting whisper urging him to unleash his wrath and obliterate the three figures before him. The elden god's hunger for souls pulsed through Draven's veins, tempting him with the prospect of satisfying his darkest desires. However, despite Margoth's relentless insistence, Draven didn't raise his hand against them.

In the midst of their uncertain standoff, the trio could feel the tension radiating from Draven. His clenched fists trembled with suppressed power, his gaze flickering between the allure of vengeance and the flickering flame of mercy. The clash of emotions painted a complex tapestry upon his face, revealing the turmoil within.

For now, the fate of the three individuals remained precariously balanced upon Draven's judgment. The echoes of Margoth's bloodlust reverberated within his mind, urging him to succumb to the darkness.

A surge of instinctual fear gripped the hearts of the two figures standing in the leader's shadow as they instinctively reached for their daggers upon witnessing Draven's approach. Little did they know, it was a grave mistake they had made. In the blink of an eye, Draven used short-distance teleportation, vanishing from their sight with an almost ethereal grace. In the fleeting breath that followed, he materialized behind the unsuspecting pair, catching them off-guard in a swift and seamless display of his deadly prowess.

With lightning speed and deadly precision, Draven unleashed his wrath upon the two figures who dared to cross his path. His first target received a devastating punch to the face, the impact resonating with a sickening crack as bones shattered beneath the force. The unfortunate assailant crumpled to the ground, his body no match for Draven's unparalleled strength.

Meanwhile, the second figure found himself on the receiving end of a whirlwind of destruction. Draven's body spun through the air with remarkable agility, his leg extending in a fierce arc. A bone-shattering kick landed squarely on the side of the assailant's head, sending him hurtling backward in a twisted blur of pain and disorientation.

In the aftermath of the swift and brutal assault, both adversaries lay defeated and incapacitated, their bodies sprawled across the ground, testament to Draven's merciless skill and unwavering determination.

As Draven's fierce gaze locked onto the leader, he observed a curious calmness emanating from the man. However, there was an unmistakable glimmer of caution flickering in his eyes, like a predator stepping into the lair of a dangerous beast, fully aware of the risks but driven by a compelling reason to negotiate.

With measured steps, Draven closed the distance between them, his presence radiating an aura of raw power and controlled fury. The leader stood his ground, undeterred by the chaos that had unfolded around him. His composure hinted at a deeper understanding of the dangerous game they were about to play.

Finally, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air, the leader's voice resonated with an air of authority and determination. It was a voice that carried the weight of experience, tempered by a sense of purpose and resolve.

"I know who you are, Draven. I know you who really are," the leader repeated as Draven halted his steps in shock. As Draven's steps faltered, his eyes widened in surprise at the leader's words. The air grew thick with tension as the weight of the revelation hung in the space between them. Draven could feel a mix of emotions swirling within him — shock, confusion, and a flicker of apprehension.

Draven's mind raced, grappling with the implications of the leader's statement. How could this stranger possess knowledge of his true identity? Was it a trap or a chance encounter? The enigma of his own past loomed before him.

Caught in this moment of revelation, Draven's next move hung in the balance, his gaze locked onto the leader, waiting for further words to pierce the veil of mystery surrounding his existence.

The leader's words hung in the air like a haunting melody, evoking memories that Draven had long tried to bury. The names he uttered, "The Angel of Lotus" and "The Blazing Guardian," reverberated through Draven's being, awakening dormant emotions and sending shivers down his spine. Each syllable carried the weight of a forgotten past, a time when Draven had donned a different identity and fought as a superhero.

Seven years had passed since that fateful day when tragedy shattered his world, when his family was mercilessly torn from him. In the aftermath, Draven had abandoned his former life, embracing darkness and seeking vengeance against those responsible. He had believed that his former self, along with any trace of the Angel of Lotus and the Blaze Guardian, had been wiped away from existence. Yet, here stood the leader, speaking those names with an eerie familiarity.

A surge of questions flooded Draven's mind, swirling like a tempest. How did the leader know? How had he uncovered this hidden chapter of Draven's life that he himself had tried to forget? The revelation struck a nerve within him, igniting a glimmer of curiosity mixed with trepidation.

Unbeknownst to Draven, a cloak of secrecy had been cast over his past, meticulously woven by Sarah's deft hands. She had meticulously erased all traces of Draven's existence from the archives of UFH, leaving no tangible evidence of his former life as the Angel of Lotus and the Blaze Guardian. The depths of her involvement remained a mystery even to Draven himself.

Yet, despite Sarah's meticulous efforts, the leader before him stood with an unsettling knowledge that pierced through the veils of secrecy. How this enigmatic figure had come into possession of information that even eluded Draven himself was a riddle wrapped in shadows. It cast a haunting glow upon the leader's words, intertwining the past and present in an intricate dance of revelation and uncertainty.

The weight of the past pressed upon Draven's weary shoulders, its burden refusing to relinquish its grip. The memories of that fateful night, when his family was mercilessly torn from his embrace remained etched in his mind with harrowing clarity. The pain of their loss reverberated through his every waking moment, a relentless torment that refused to fade into the depths of forgotten history.

The darkness that had descended upon his life that night had seared itself into his soul, leaving an indelible mark that time could not erase. Draven didn't need to remember the tragedy because he never forgot; the anguish, the terror, and the sense of helplessness were forever etched within him. The haunting images of his loved ones being torn away from him, their innocent lives extinguished in the act of unfathomable cruelty, played on an endless loop in his consciousness.

A tempest of emotions raged within Draven, fueling his every movement with a surge of unrestrained fury. In an explosive burst of raw power, he propelled himself towards the leader, his outstretched hand seizing the man's collar in a vice-like grip. The force of his momentum slammed the leader's back against the unforgiving wall, the impact resonating through the dimly lit alley.

Draven's voice, devoid of any warmth or mercy, cut through the air like an icy blade. It reverberated with a chilling intensity, carrying with it the weight of his anguish and the seething questions that gnawed at his tormented soul. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice laced with a venomous resolve. "How did you know?"

The leader, pinned against the cold stone, met Draven's piercing gaze with an unwavering calmness. Despite the physical assault and the oppressive atmosphere, the man's demeanor remained steadfast, his eyes holding an enigmatic glimmer of intrigue. His lips curled into a subtle smile, a faint hint of amusement dancing across his features. It was as if he reveled in the intensity of the moment, relishing the clash of wills.

"I fucking know every goddamn thing you've been up to since you crawled back into this sorry excuse for a world," the leader said with a hint of frustration, his voice laced with a mix of admiration and sympathy. He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing.

"I know the chaos you unleashed in Sinith," he said, his voice tinged with a touch of regret. "And I know it was your twisted ass that brought a semblance of peace and joy to this godforsaken shithole called Veland." Another brief pause followed, as if he was reliving his own painful memories.

"But let me tell you something, you deluded bastard," he said, his tone becoming more intense. "You can't keep playing the fucking the reaper forever." The leader's voice carried a sense of resignation, as if he understood the futility of Draven's actions.

"The UFH will sniff you out," he continued, his words laced with a mix of warning and concern. "And this time, they won't just strip you of your fucking powers." He took a deep breath, his voice growing quieter. "They'll lock you away for eternity, and there won't be a single goddamn soul who can save your sorry ass."

The leader's words hung in the air, a heavy silence following his passionate outburst. It was clear that beneath his hardened exterior, he held a deep connection to Draven, sharing a similar tragic past. But for now, he remained stoic, his emotions carefully concealed behind a mask of detachment.

The leader took a deeper breath, his gaze unwavering despite the intensity of the situation. "Listen to me Draven," he said, his voice lowering to a more measured tone. "I've seen the fire in your eyes, the fury that consumes your very being. We share a common goal. Just like, every single one in my team has suffered,"

He paused, allowing his words to sink in. The leader's offer hung in the air, a tempting proposition that held the potential for a different path, a chance for redemption. "Join us," he continued, his voice carrying a hint of genuine sincerity. "We have resources, connections, and a shared purpose. Together, we can make a goddamn difference. You don't have to walk this dark path alone."

Draven's grip on the leader's collar tightened, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated the offer. The memories of his family's brutal demise echoed within him, the pain and rage fueling his every thought. The leader's words struck a chord, stirring conflicting emotions within Draven's tormented soul.

A moment of tense silence enveloped the alley, broken only by the distant sound of fireworks exploding in the night sky. Draven's mind raced, torn between the path of vengeance and the possibility of finding a new purpose. The weight of his decision hung heavy upon him, as if the fate of his shattered world rested upon his choice.

Finally, with a forceful shove, Draven released his grip on the leader's collar, causing him to stumble back. His eyes bore into the leader's, a mixture of determination and defiance shining within them. "I appreciate the offer," he said, his voice steady and resolute. "But my path ain't about joining some goddamn team. I'm a lone wolf, tearing through this fucked-up world with my own brand of justice. So take your offer and shove it up your sorry ass. I'll do it my way, and it's gonna be a bloody masterpiece."