Raged

Raged
The rain came down harder, pelting the pier like bullets. The sea roared beneath them, wind howling through the cracks as Dante and Damien circled each other — bloodied, furious, unrelenting.
Damien’s breathing was ragged, but his eyes gleamed with triumph. “You don’t deserve her,” he spat, raising the silver dagger that shimmered even in the storm’s darkness. “You don’t deserve anything the goddess gave you.”
Dante’s stance stiffened, eyes narrowing to molten silver. “And you think you do? After everything you’ve done?”
Damien lunged — fast, fueled by rage. The dagger cut through the air, glinting like lightning. Dante dodged the first strike, but Damien twisted, slashing again. This time, Dante stumbled on the slick wood, off balance. The blade came straight for his heart—
“Damien, no!”
The voice cracked through the storm. In an instant, Kia — Damien’s father — appeared from the shadows at the edge of the pier. Before Dante could move, before Damien could register what was happening, Kia stepped between them.
The dagger plunged deep into his chest.
The sound of impact was swallowed by the thunder, but the look on Damien’s face said it all — shock, disbelief, horror. “N–no…” he whispered, his grip trembling as Kia staggered backward, blood blooming against his soaked shirt.
“Kia!” Dante shouted, catching him before he fell.
Damien dropped the dagger, his knees hitting the wet boards. “Father… I—I didn’t—” His voice cracked, strangled by the storm and guilt.
Kia’s hand found his son’s shoulder, weak but steady. His voice was faint, each word laced with pain. “Stop this… Damien… before it’s too late.”
Lightning flashed, revealing the raw torment in Damien’s eyes. The silver dagger lay between them, gleaming with blood — his father’s blood.
And for the first time, Damien didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a broken man.
The storm didn’t stop. It only grew louder.
The rain hadn’t stopped, but none of them felt it anymore. Dante and Damien half-carried, half-dragged Kia through the storm, their clothes soaked and heavy, the smell of blood sharp in the air. Kia’s breaths came shallow, each one more ragged than the last.
“Stay with me,” Dante urged, his arm steady around the older man’s shoulder as they stumbled toward the car parked by the roadside. “Just stay awake, damn it!”
Damien’s voice cracked beside him. “He’s losing too much blood!” His hands shook as he pressed down on the wound, crimson seeping through his fingers. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Save it,” Dante snapped, throwing open the car door. “You can explain later.”
They shoved Kia carefully into the back seat, Damien climbing in after him. Dante sped off, tires screeching through puddles, the headlights slicing through the storm.
Inside, the car was thick with tension and fear. Kia’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and distant. “Don’t… fight anymore,” he rasped, blood staining his lips.
“Don’t talk,” Damien whispered, his voice trembling. “Please, Father. You’ll be fine.”
Kia’s weak smile was barely there. “You two… brothers in more ways than you know…” His words faded, his head rolling slightly to the side.
“What does that mean?” Dante barked, glancing back, but Kia’s eyes were closing again.
“Dad!” Damien shouted, shaking him gently. “Stay with me!”
Sirens wailed in the distance. The hospital lights finally came into view, glowing faintly through the rain. Dante hit the brakes hard, leaping out before the car even stopped moving. Nurses rushed toward them with a stretcher as he and Damien pulled Kia out.
“Gunshot wound—no, knife!” Dante shouted as they pushed him inside.
The automatic doors closed behind them, leaving Dante and Damien standing in the corridor — soaked, bloodstained, and silent. The adrenaline began to fade, replaced by something heavier, darker.
Damien stared at the blood on his hands. “I tried to kill you… and instead—”
“Enough,” Dante cut in, his voice low, dangerous. “If he dies, it’s on you. And I swear, Damien, you’ll wish it had been me.”
The words hung in the sterile hallway as the red emergency light above the operating room flickered on.
The hospital’s waiting room was dim, the smell of antiseptic sharp in the air. Rain still lashed against the windows, a distant echo of the chaos that had brought them there. Dante sat slumped in one of the metal chairs, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the red “OPERATING” sign above the door.
Damien paced back and forth like a caged animal, his soaked clothes clinging to him, his jaw tight with barely contained rage. The silence between them was heavy—until it cracked.
“This is your fault,” Damien hissed, spinning toward Dante.
Dante didn’t move. “You stabbed him, Damien.”
Damien’s eyes flared. “Because of you!” He jabbed a trembling finger toward him. 
Dante rose slowly, his height casting a long shadow across the tiled floor. “You’re blaming me for what you did?”
“You think you’re innocent?” Damien barked, voice rising. “You’ve always ruined everything! You took her, you took the pack’s trust, and now—you’ve taken him!”
Dante’s expression hardened, the glow of restrained power flickering faintly in his silver eyes. “Enough, Damien. This isn’t the time.”
“Oh, I think it is,” Damien snarled, stepping closer, fury twisting his face. “You act like the hero, but you’re poison, Dante. You destroy everything you touch.”
Before Dante could respond, the operating room doors swung open. Both men froze. A doctor stepped out, peeling off his bloodstained gloves, eyes grim.
“Mr. Blackwood?” he said quietly, looking between them. “You should prepare yourselves. We’ve stopped the bleeding, but… his condition is critical.”
Damien’s face went pale, the anger draining from it. “No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “He can’t—he can’t die.”
Dante’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second, then darkened again as he looked at Damien. “You wanted someone to blame?” he said coldly. “Look at your hands.”
Damien glanced down. They were still stained with his father’s blood. His throat tightened, breath shaky, as the weight of what he’d done sank in.
But beneath the guilt, the hatred didn’t fade. It only grew darker.