Chapter Two-Hundred Fifty-Three: The Cost of Ambition

Chapter 253

The Cost of Ambition

Cruising through the downtown streets of Pink Top City that morning, Jordi sat behind the wheel of his purple Ferrari 328. Dressed sharp in a black suit of Italian cut, a lavender button-down shirt left open to display his gold chain, and black zip-up boots, he rounded out the look with gold-rimmed, purple circular sunglasses. Checking his shoulder, he flicked on his turn signal and shifted lanes, preparing to head toward Megalos Tower.

~

Jordi rode the elevator up Megalos Tower. He looked out at the morning sky. He adjusted the lapels of his suit jacket in the mirrored reflection. He felt the weight of the envelope tucked safely inside his inner jacket pocket.

Demetrio Donati had offered nearly double. Assistant work at Donati Tower meant less time dodging bullets in wet alleys, kidnapping Jaxon, dealing with unruly lamorii, being tickled by Minerva, and more time sipping espresso in good company.

The doors chimed, sliding open to reveal his designated floor.

He went to Minerva’s office and entered. Minerva was behind it, lab coat immaculate, her brilliant blue hair set in its usual flawless updo. She didn't look up immediately, her light blue eyes scanning a printed lab report while a gold pen spun slowly between her fingers. Alfie stood there in a brown suit and smiled politely at him.

Alfie: “Morning, Jordi.”

Minerva: “You’re late, Jordi.”

She said, her voice sharp and controlled. Jordi didn't hurry to her desk. He walked with his usual relaxed, easy rhythm, standard-issue swagger intact, stopping just on the other side of her glass desk.

Jordi: “I have something for you.”

Minerva finally paused, her pen coming to a halt. She looked up, her dark eyeliner framing a gaze that could freeze boiling water. She appraised him for a long moment, taking in his posture.

Minerva: “What is it?”

She asked, leaning back in her leather chair.

Jordi reached into his jacket and pulled out the white paper envelope. He laid it flat on the glass surface between them and slid it forward.

Jordi: “My formal resignation.”

He said, keeping his tone light, though his pulse quickened just a beat. Alfie’s face turned ashen. He knew this would be the last thing Minerva wanted.

Jordi: “Two weeks’ notice, as courtesy dictates.”

Minerva’s eyes darted down to the envelope, then slowly back up to his face. She didn’t touch it.

Minerva: “Resignation…”

She repeated. It wasn’t a question; it was a word she seemed to be testing for structural integrity, as if it didn’t belong in her vocabulary.

Minerva: “May I ask where you think you’re going?”

Jordi pursed his lips.

Jordi: “Let’s just say a competitor recognized my… diverse skill set. Demetrio Donati offered me a position as his personal assistant over at Donati Tower. The compensation package is significantly more aligned with my career goals.”

A heavy silence settled over the top floor. Down below, the traffic hummed, but inside the office, the air felt pressurized.

Minerva didn’t look angry; she looked amused, which was far more dangerous. A faint, cold smile touched her lips as she picked up the envelope and opened it with deliberate slowness. She glanced at the brief text inside before setting it back down.

Minerva: “Demetrio Donati…”

She mused, her tone dripping with quiet disdain.

She stood up, smoothing the front of her lab coat, and walked around the desk. Her high heels clicked rhythmically against the polished floor as she stopped a foot away from him. Even in heels, she had to look up slightly, but her presence dominated the room.

Minerva: “You think you’re moving up, Jordi.”

She said, her voice soft, almost maternal, if mothers spoke with surgical precision.

Minerva: “You think sitting in a corner office answering phones for Demetio Donati is a step forward. But you don’t belong in an administrative queue. I didn’t engineer your clearance, train your instincts, and give you this job just for you to fetch coffee for a vanity project in a lower-tier tower.”

Jordi held his ground, his grin slipping into something a little more grounded.

Minerva watched him, the calculating gears behind her eyes practically visible. She tapped a fingernail against her gold pendant.

Minerva: “Demetrio Donati doesn't know what you actually do for me, does he?”

She asked softly.

Jordi: “He knows I get things done.”

He countered cleanly.

Minerva took a step closer, resting a hand gently on his arm—a gesture that felt less like affection and more like an owner inspecting fine machinery.

Minerva: “Jordi, you refused to get Jiro for me on several occasions. I let that slide.”

She said calmly. Jordi bowed his head.

Jordi: “Not really? You tickled me until I cried.”

He replied. Minerva chuckled.

Minerva: “...Can’t say we didn’t enjoy that…”

She leaned against her desk, examining him.

Minerva: “What if I double your salary and double what Demetrio is offering?”

Jordi shifted his eyes.

Jordi: “...Why? I keep failing your missions, so why would you want me here?”

He asked as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Minerva closed the distance between them, her movements fluid and predatory. She reached out, but instead of the professional hand on the arm from before, her fingers found the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck. She began to drum her fingers there in a rapid, fluttering motion that sent a jolt of involuntary laughter through him.

Jordi: “HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!”

He yelped.

Jordi: “Ah—Minerva, wait!”

He squeaked, shoulders hunching as he tried to pull away, but she followed his movement, her fingers dancing relentlessly against his skin.

Jordi: “HEHEHEHEHEHEHE!”

Minerva: “Because, Jordi, loyalty is a rare quality, and yours is uniquely resilient, even when you’re being ‘difficult.’ Plus...”

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper even as she delivered a particularly sharp tickle that made his knees buckle slightly.

Jordi: “HehehHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Minerva: “...who else would provide me with such high-quality entertainment on a Tuesday morning? Demetrio doesn’t have the temperament for your failures. But I do.”

She whispered in his ear.

Jordi wrenched himself away, rubbing his neck.

Jordi: “Minerva, I am glad you granted me the opportunity to work for you—really. However, I feel I am not really growing here, and I want to move on.”

He replied and knitted his eyebrows.

Minerva: “Growth?”

Minerva’s laughter was devoid of warmth, a sharp, crystalline sound. She let her hand drop from his neck, only to trail her fingers slowly down his shoulder, her touch lingering with possessive intent.

Minerva: “You speak of growth as if it were a garden weed, something to be sought in the wild. You are a masterpiece of my own design, Jordi. If you feel stagnant, it is because I have not yet decided where to push you next. Do you truly believe a man like Demetrio Donati has the vision—or the patience—to curate a talent as complex as yours?”

Jordi straightened his jacket.

Jordi: “Yes, I do. My mind is made up.”

He said firmly.

Jordi: “I’ll turn in my badge and everything this evening. Have a good day.”

He said before he left her office.

Minerva smirked as she watched him leave.

Minerva: “He’ll be back… and if he wants back, I think I will make him my partner.”

She purred. Alfie twiddled his thumbs.

Alfie: “I can… take his place. I can… fight lamorii… and kidnap Jiro.”

He murmured.

Minerva: “Shut up, Alfie.”

She hissed at him.

Alfie: “Yes, dear.”

He hung his head.

Alfie: “Minerva, if I may? Why didn’t you tell him about Gaston Beaumont’s son coming in?”

Minerva wagged her head.

Minerva: “He doesn’t work here anymore, so why should he know?”

She scoffed.

~

Jordi strolled out of Minerva’s office. Vasilos leaned against a column, grinning.

Vasilos: “Got fired, Jordi? Who’s gonna pay for Grampy’s Pampies?”

He laughed. Jordi turned to Vasilos with a sneer.

Jordi: “What do you care? I got a better job offer, and I don’t have to see you or smell your stinkers!”

He fired back. Vasilos’ smile faded.

Vasilos: “Fuck you! I could have my father—”

Jordi put his hand up.

Jordi: “I quit, Vasilos! Your father can’t do anything, so make all the threats you want!”

He spread his arms out. Vasilos clenched his fists tightly, feeling his fury soar.

Jordi: “Enjoy your life… without Andrew or any man. No man worth his salt will want you.”

He huffed and left. Vasilos glared at him furiously. He had to destroy him. He was tired of Jordi destroying his pride repeatedly and wanted to make him pay.

That and his lame cousin, Deimos, had the most gorgeous man in Pink Top City—no, the world. Tristan deserved better than that lame dipshit, but I can only do so much, he thought as he examined his hands.

~

Vasilos stormed into the Etheressum Research Division using a keycard he swiped from Alfie. Stupid fucking dipshit, he thought.

The lab was dim, bathed in the sickly, rhythmic pulse of emergency lights. Rows of stainless-steel workstations stood like tombstones in the dark. Vasilos didn’t care about the security protocols or the potential for exposure; he just wanted to find something that would hurt.

He moved toward the central console, his footsteps echoing too loudly in the quiet. He yanked open a heavy, lockless drawer on the main lab bench.

Inside, nestled in protective foam, lay a row of glass vials filled with a glowing, neon-green liquid. Ehtytrim. A predatory grin spread across his face as he reached for one.

Vasilos snatched the vial from the protective foam. His eyes scanned the workstation until he spotted a sterile, unused syringe resting on a nearby tray. He grabbed it, cracked the vial open with a practiced flick, and drew the glowing, neon-green Ehtytrim into the chamber. The liquid pulsed with an eerie, rhythmic light.

He grabbed a thick rubber band from the drawer, snapping it tight around his bicep until the vein in his forearm stood out, rigid and ready. With a cold, predatory focus, he drove the needle into his skin and depressed the plunger, watching the neon-green serum vanish directly into his bloodstream.

He dropped the needle onto the floor and collapsed, wailing in pain.

Vasilos: “Wh-What the FUCK is happening to ME?!”

He screamed as he clasped his hands over his head as he screamed in pain.

~

Jordi drove down Main Street, and then he saw the Donati Tower.

It stood monolithic against the blue sea, a towering grid of glowing windows that cut through the gloom. At its summit, blazing in a halo of cold cyan light, the name crowned the skyline like a mark of absolute ownership. From the lower open-air decks, magenta floodlights cast a sultry glow over the dark waters, reflecting off the bay in long, shimmering ribbons.

Everything about the scene felt charged, as if the entire boulevard were holding its breath under the watchful eye of the skyscraper. Jordi made the turn and drove into the underground parking lot.

~

Once inside, he was in The Ocean Concourse.

Above, a massive glass atrium arched across the grand space, framing the lingering bruises of twilight over the open sea outside. The vast concourse buzzed with the quiet, expensive murmur of the elite—men in sharp, dark tuxedos and women gliding across polished marble floors in flowing evening gowns of sapphire blue and dusty rose. They moved effortlessly between indoor palm trees, trickling stone fountains, and the warm, golden glow of high-end boutiques like Sol & Gold Jewelers and Elegance 87.

In the center sat the sleek glass box of the Donati Customer Service Center, a quiet reminder of who truly ran the show behind this paradise. But dominating the entire east wall, mounted high above a grand marble staircase, was the brilliant cyan glow of a massive neon emblem:

THE OCEAN CONCOURSE

DONATI TOWER • PINK TOP CITY

The artificial light washed over the promenade in a cool electric haze, contrasting with the warm chandeliers hanging from the upper balconies. Off to the right, behind tinted glass, the pink hum of the Neon Lounge beckoned the night’s late arrivals, promising cocktails, secrets, and late-night deals away from the wandering eyes of the crowd.

Jordi examined the place. He had never set foot inside this tower, and this would be his new workplace starting next week.

He heard a familiar woman’s voice call his name. There he saw Mattie sauntering out of Elegance 87. She wore an emerald wrap dress with a large brown belt around her waist, several gold bracelets, green heels, gold hoop earrings, and carried a grown Gucci purse.

Mattie: “Hello, Jordi, fancy meeting you here…”

She purred. He smiled at her.

Jordi: “Hello, Mattie. Well…”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

Jordi: “Starting Monday, I’ll be Demetrio’s personal assistant.”

He nodded. Mattie’s eyes lit up.

Mattie: “Oh yeah? Are you going to be able to tolerate Blair’s whining?”

She teased. Jordi laughed.

Jordi: “I don’t think Blair will be around much. He never really leaves his bedroom.”

Mattie: “Except to stalk that weird girl, but I think the only girl he will get is her.”

She laughed. Jordi shifted his eyes.

Jordi: “So what are you doing here besides shopping?”

He asked as he planted his hands on his hips.

Mattie: “Oh, I own a condo here.”

She giggled. Jordi’s Byzantine eyes widened.

Jordi: “Really? You can afford living in one of these condos?”

He practically breathed the answer. Mattie flipped her hair.

Mattie: “I’m a junior ad sales exec at Rogue Rouge.”

She said loftily. Jordi raised his eyebrows.

Jordi: “Very lovely!”

Mattie: “I’m sure you heard of it.”

Jordi: “Of course, I have.”

Mattie: “So, Jordi…, is this the part where you ask me out to dinner?”

Jordi paused and reddened a bit.

Jordi: “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Mattie: “How about The Apex Club?”

She purred. Jordi blushed and inhaled sharply.

Jordi: “Isn’t that an elite club in this tower? I don’t have the connections to get inside.”

He stammered. She rested her manicured hand on his chest. He shivered.

Mattie: “I do. So is it a date?”

She asked and fluttered her eyelashes. Jordi smiled tightly.

Jordi: “Sure!”

~

High above the teeming expanse of Pink Top City, the Apex Club perched like a jewel box set against the void, wrapped in the cool, neon glow of cyan and magenta.

Crystal chandeliers hung low from the sculpted ceiling, casting warm, golden pools of light across plush velvet booths and dark, polished wood. Below the curved glass windows, the city sprawled into the night—a glowing sea of electric violet skyscrapers bleeding into the dark waters of the bay.

Well-heeled patrons in tailored suits and glittering evening gowns moved easily through the room, their quiet laughter drifting beneath the low melt of live jazz. Near the edge of the circular bar, a pianist struck soft, rhythmic chords on a baby grand, the melancholic notes trailing around the subtle wail of a saxophone player standing just beyond the piano's shadow. Behind the counter, a bartender moved with practiced, mechanical precision among tiers of top-shelf spirits, bathed in the electric hum of the club’s sign.

They were led to a prime corner booth overlooking the glowing swimming pool on the tower.

Mattie: “Told you I’d get us a table. Took some convincing, but when you know the maître d’, anything's possible in Pink Top City.”

She winked.

Once seated, Jordi leaned back, resting one arm over the back of the leather booth.

Jordi: “Order whatever you want, Mattie. It’s on me.”

Mattie: “Oh, really?”

She teased, fanning herself gently with the velvet menu.

Mattie: “Are you celebrating something, or are you just trying to impress me?”

Jordi let out a low chuckle.

Jordi: “Didn’t you ask me out?”

Mattie: “Well, it’s here with me or at home with Little Miss Weirdo.”

She scoffed.

Jordi signaled the bartender. He approached them.

Jordi: “I’ll have domestic on tap.”

Mattie: “No, we’re having champagne.”

She smiled. Jordi nodded.

Jordi: “Of course.”

The bartender returned a few moments later, carrying an ice bucket with the champagne nestled inside. Popping the bottle open, he poured a flute for each of them. Mattie lifted her glass, prompting Jordi to smile and raise his own as they clinked them together.

Jordi slipped his glasses on as he read the menu.

Mattie: “Do you wear glasses?”

Jordi: “Just to read.”

He replied as he examined the menu.

The waiter approached them.

Waiter: “What can I get for you both?”

Jordi: “I’ll get the porterhouse steak medium rare with mushrooms and onions.”

Mattie: “No, Jordi, we’re getting the oysters.”

She smirked. Jordi smiled.

Jordi: “Yes, of course.”

~

As the night progressed, the tension between them softened into easy laughter. They shared a dozen fresh oysters while sipping their champagne.

Mattie talked about her big ambitions—how she was going to make a massive name for herself in Pink Top City before she hit twenty-five. Jordi listened intently, resting his chin on his hand, captivated not just by her lofty dreams, but by the intensity and passion in her eyes when she talked about the future.

The waiter glided over, bowing slightly as he presented the leather-bound bill on a small tray. Jordi looked at the total, and his eyes grew large. There goes most of my paycheck, he thought. He pulled his wallet from his jacket and produced his card, placing it atop the bill.

He signed the receipt with a quick, practiced hand, and calculated a tip. As the waiter retreated with the card, Jordi stood, smoothing the front of his jacket as he offered his hand to Mattie. Mattie’s eyes glittered. The waiter returned with his card. Jordi placed it back into his wallet, and the two left the restaurant.

Jordi was taken aback when she interlocked her arm with his. He reddened and rubbed the back of his neck.

Mattie: “Walk me to my condo?”

She purred, tracing her nail over his chest, making him laugh and shiver.

Jordi: “S-Sure.”

The waiter serving them gazed at them. He turned to his co-worker.

Waiter: “I am going on my break.”

He said tersely as he left.

~

Jordi and Mattie got off on the 22nd floor, and he walked her to her door.

Mattie: “You coming in for a nightcap?”

She ran her hands over his chest. Jordi flushed red and cleared his throat.

Jordi: “N-No. No, sorry, I have to prepare for my new job and be at the Megalos Tower tomorrow morning to turn in my badge.”

He replied.

Mattie: “Oh, come on. You can leave tomorrow morning.”

Jordi hung his head.

Jordi: “I’m glad you enjoyed tonight, but I really should be going.”

He nodded, forcing a smile.

Mattie pursed her lips.

Mattie: “It’s that weird girl, isn’t it?”

Jordi shook his head.

Jordi: “No! It’s not them at all! I really have to prepare. I’m sorry.”

That dinner did cost me my paycheck, and I have to use my savings to buy groceries, he thought.

Mattie: “We will go out again, right?”

Jordi smiled and nodded.

Jordi: “Of course. Have a wonderful night.”

He said gently and backed away. Mattie watched him go. When he entered the elevator, she looked away. That weird fat girl gotta go, she thought.

~

The city lights smeared into long, neon ribbons across the windshield of his purple Ferrari 328 as Jordi navigated the late-night traffic. The engine hummed a low, mechanical purr, a stark contrast to the quiet anxiety tightening in his chest. He gripped the steering wheel, his mind replaying the dinner with Mattie.

That was a fortune, he thought, the sting of his drained paycheck making him wince.

Jordi: “I’m starting a high-stakes job, and I’m already counting pennies for groceries.”

He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusting his sunglasses. The weight of his resignation from Minerva sat heavily in his mind, as well as turning down Mattie’s invitation to spend the night. Was he making the right move? He wondered.

The sleekness of the Donati Tower—it all felt like a different world, one he was desperate to claim but terrified he wouldn’t fit into. And then there was the thought of home, of Ashley. He sighed, the neon glow of Pink Top City casting long, dancing shadows across his face as he accelerated, leaving the elite heights of the tower behind for the uncertainty of the road ahead.

The shimmering illumination of The Starlight Club caught his eye. Checking over his shoulder, he switched on his turn signal and steered the car into the parking lot.

~

Jordi sat at the bar, the end of his cigarette a lone, burning ember in the dim light of The Starlight Club. He took a slow pull of his pilsner, the cold bitterness of the beer doing little to wash away the financial sting still throbbing in his chest.

That dinner had been an exercise he couldn’t afford; the memory of the bill’s total felt like a physical weight. He stared into the amber liquid. Minerva’s sharp, possessive gaze haunted him—she was a devil he knew, while Demetrio had offered him this job even though he barely knew him. And then there was Ashley.

Guilt curled in his stomach like smoke, tangling with his confusion. He had told them he needed time, yet here he was, performing the role of a high-roller for a woman who saw him as an accessory. He leaned back, exhaling a gray cloud that vanished into the rafters, enjoying the solitude only because it meant he didn’t have to explain the hollow feeling growing inside him.

~

Blair drove his red Subaru XT down the road until he parked in front of Jordi’s house. His spy delivered him the goods, and Blair would make sure he was handsomely rewarded with a bonus and Spider-Man cards. Blair wore a Batman shirt, red shorts, white calf socks, and blue sneakers when he got out.

He saw Ashley seated on the porch and beamed. Ashley was wrapped up in their mother’s shawl, waiting for Jordi to come home. He’s a bit late, they thought. They soured when they saw Blair approaching them. Ashley was about to leave until Blair stopped in front of the door.

Blair: “Hey, Ashley! I wanted to show you this. Jordi doesn’t love you! Why? Because you’re fat. But I love you despite your fatness.”

He smiled dumbly as he thrust the pictures of Jordi and Mattie into their hands.

Ashley: “Wh-What are these?! Did you use something to make these up?!”

They rose, dropping the shawl to the ground. Blair gawked at their chest.

Blair: “You need bigger boobs, Ashley, but I still love you.”

He grinned. Ashley shook their head, overcome with emotions as they glanced at the photographs of Jordi taking that mean girl out and walking her to her door.

Ashley: “NO, YOU DON’T! YOU NEVER DID!”

He smacked Blair’s hand away. Why would Jordi tell me he needs time but do this to me?! They wondered.

Blair: “Uh, yeah, I do, Ashley! You’re all I think about, and you choose some jerk who is with another woman!”

He snapped.

Ashley: “She’s also fat! What is wrong with me?!”

They sobbed.

Blair: “Uh, I guess because your boobs aren’t big and your bum is bigger?”

He offered an answer, then shrugged. Ashley glared at him.

Ashley: “LEAVE ME ALONE!”

They sobbed and shoved him.

Surrounding Blair, a swarm of fairies began whacking him with their tiny wands. He cried out and fell to the ground, trying in vain to swat them away.

Blair: “OWWHHHHHH!!!”

He cried.

Suddenly, the headlights of Jordi’s Ferrari shone in on him when he turned into his driveway. He quickly got out and marched to Blair, who was flailing his arms and legs on the ground.

Jordi: “What the fuck are you doing here?!”

He bellowed.

Blair: “Showing Ashley what a playboy you are!”

He whined as he staggered to his feet.

Jordi bared his teeth and delivered a punch that sent Blair crashing to the ground. He sobbed loudly.

He knelt to pick up the pictures of him and Mattie and then rose to gaze at Ashley, who was distraught.

Jordi: “Nothing happened, Ashley. It looks like we spent the night, but… here I am.”

He said and hung his head. Ashley embraced themselves and looked away.

Jordi: “Get out of here now.”

He hissed at Blair.

Blair: “SCREW YOU, BEATNIK! They need a NICE GUY who won’t choose a bimbo over a princess!”

Jordi shot his hand out, and a jagged, violet arc of electricity erupted from his fingertips. With a deafening crack that split the night air, the bolt slammed into the pavement just inches in front of Blair, sending a spray of soil and sparks showering into the darkness.

Blair: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! You missed me!”

He stuck his tongue out at Jordi.

Jordi: “I know. But if I do it again, I won’t!”

He hissed through clenched teeth.

Blair glared at Jordi.

Blair: “Well, if I didn’t tell them, would you have?!”

He challenged him. Jordi marched toward Blair as purple electricity coursed through him. Blair stomped his foot.

Blair: “I’m going, I’m going, but Ashley? If you change your mind, you know where my castle is, if you want a TRUE prince!”

He said as he got into his car. He started the engine and drove down the road.

The moment Blair vanished down the street, everything fell quiet except for the crickets chirping and the wind rustling through the grass.

Ashley: “...W-Were you going to tell me?”

Jordi drew a long breath.

Jordi: “We’re not seeing each other, and nothing happened, so I didn’t want to.”

Tears welled in Ashley’s eyes.

Ashley: “Why not?”

Jordi looked away.

Jordi: “Because I knew it would hurt you and you would see something that wasn’t there.”

He said harshly.

Ashley: “Y-You said you needed time.”

Jordi lifted his head to look up at the night sky.

Jordi: “Yes, I do, but that doesn’t mean I report back to you!”

He said as his voice rose.

Jordi: “Nothing happened, but it’s always like you to make mountains out of molehills! If this is how it will be, maybe moving out would be best. I lived most of my life reporting back to others. I did what I did for you as a friend, but you always looked into things that weren’t there. This is why you went with Lazaros, of all people.”

Ashley drew back as his words slashed at them like razors.

Jordi: “I am going to bed. Decide what you want. It doesn’t affect me.”

He said coldly and went inside. Ashley picked up their mother’s shawl and held it close as they cried into it.

~

Jordi went inside Lena’s room and sat on her bed. She’s not waking up, he thought. Jaxon is the crimson ghost, Deimos isn’t picking up, and neither is Tristan, he thought. Deimos and Tristan have their own lives, but Jaxon wanted to be with her, and he’s not here, he thought bitterly.

He gazed at Lena and knitted his eyebrows. Why is she like this? He wondered.

~

At the Megalos mansion, the tennis court was quiet.

The manicured green surface lay pristine under the moonlight, the white lines sharp and still. But the serenity lasted only a heartbeat. Without warning, the asphalt beneath the net buckled and tore open, spitting a geyser of violet and magenta flames into the night air. The fire roared with impossible speed, licking up the backstops and turning the pristine recreation area into a blazing, neon inferno that cast long, dancing shadows against the mansion’s towering walls.

Vasilos stepped through the flames as a path suddenly opened up before him. Lifting his hands, fire erupted forth from them.

Vasilos: “Oh, FUCK YES! Jordi will roast, but more importantly…”

He grinned.

Vasilos: “My lame cousin will feel the burn and Tristan will be MINE!”

As the blaze consumed the tennis court, he threw back his head and laughed out loud.