BLOODCAPE
Chapter 110: Praises and Pitfalls

Chapter 110: Chapter 110: Praises and Pitfalls

The banners hung like victory scars across the silver plaza of District 6’s Concord Spire.

Twin rows of holographic columns shimmered blue and gold, each one replaying a dozen angles of the same manufactured glory: Hernan Vale—code-named Rook—slamming his fist into the chest of a rogue Vaskari warlord. A split-second later, the alien’s exosuit burst open in a supernova of light and blood, his body flung back like a toy tossed by a god.

The crowd cheered every time the loop restarted.

Hover-cams floated in formation overhead, each feeding clean feeds to the major newsnets, slicing the battle into digestible, heroic fragments. Somewhere in the city, someone was already buying an action figure.

Hernan stood now on a raised platform beside the District Governor, the Hero Association envoy, and three low-tier local heroes who hadn’t fired a single shot. His black field uniform gleamed beneath the stage lights—polished chestplate removed to seem more personable, gold-trimmed undersuit smoothed flat by stylists backstage. No visible scars. No cracks in the mask.

The blood had been scrubbed hours ago. The stain in his mind was still fresh.

The mic popped once. Static sizzled.

"District 6 stands safe today," the Governor boomed, his smile stretched too wide to be real. "Because one young man stepped in where legends once stood. He didn’t wait for orders. He didn’t ask for backup. He acted."

Thunderous applause. A drone whirred so close to Hernan’s face he could feel the pulse of its repulsors in his cheekbone.

The Governor turned to him with an outstretched hand. "Rook Vale—our Hero of the New Age."

Hernan stepped forward into the floodlights.

He smiled.

He hated how easy the smile came now. Hated how well it fit.

"Thank you," he said, voice calm, low, measured—crafted in every syllable to sound noble and humble. "But this wasn’t a solo win. My team was there. Aya Sparks kept the perimeter tight. Tessa Rye got civilians to safety. I just... played cleanup."

Somewhere to the side, he saw Tessa shift her weight. Her eyes flickered. Her shoulders were tense.

"You all know what happened," Hernan continued. "The Vaskari broke through our borderlines. They took a housing block hostage. We had twelve minutes before collapse. So I moved. That’s what we’re trained to do. That’s what I believe heroes should be."

He paused. Let the silence breathe. Let the media shape headlines.

Then he dipped his head in practiced humility and stepped back.

More applause. More cheers.

And none of it mattered.

Because behind the mask of Rook Vale, Hernan’s mind had already replayed the final ten seconds of that battle three times since stepping onstage.

The Vaskari warlord—massive, twitching, one arm severed at the joint. Hernan standing over him in the rubble, boot crushing bone, smoke rising in curls from the corpse pile behind them.

"You shouldn’t have had that tech," Hernan had whispered, soft and cold. "Where’d you get it?"

The alien grinned, despite the blood foaming through his teeth.

"You know."

Hernan put a round through his eye before the last syllable could form.

The ceremony dissolved into flickering interviews and overstated soundbites. Reporters swarmed. Civilian fans screamed his name. Dozens of eager hands reached for a selfie, a handshake, a piece of manufactured legend.

Tessa found him first.

She moved through the crowd with silent purpose, braid swinging over her shoulder, undersuit scorched where she’d absorbed shrapnel protecting a child. Hernan could see the strain in her shoulders—the quiet stiffness that came from pushing her healing ability too far.

"You didn’t flinch once up there," she said, voice level but not light.

He gave her a small grin. "Practiced in the mirror."

She didn’t smile back.

"You’ve been off since the mission," she said. "Since you killed him."

Hernan raised an eyebrow. "We’ve killed before."

"You weren’t numb before."

The words didn’t accuse. They observed.

He glanced toward a monitor behind her, where the sanitized replay of the battle was looping again—cut cleanly before the alien’s body collapsed.

"Maybe I’m tired," he said. "Maybe seeing more of them just... feels heavier."

Tessa tilted her head, studying his face the way she might a puzzle with one missing piece.

Then she nodded once. "Right. Tired."

She turned before he could say more and disappeared into the crowd, where Aya was already waving her down with a drink and a crooked grin.

Hernan watched her go, watched the people celebrate, watched the children who didn’t know their heroes bled and lied.

In his mind, he saw the suppression collar again.

Black. Burned. Still humming.

Zodiac tech. Series IV. Long-since outlawed.

Except now, he had it.

Hidden. Untagged. Dissected.

And someone in the Zodiac had put it in enemy hands.

Later, the common floor of Tower Six buzzed with recycled air and warm synth-pop.

Aya spun her cup lazily between her fingers, seated backwards on a chair with her boots on the table. "Two more of these and I’m dancing with the vending unit."

Tessa sat near the window, arms crossed, half-listening.

Hernan entered quietly.

Aya looked up and grinned. "The conquering hero returns. Cheers to your jawline."

"I’d prefer silence and a bottle of disinfectant," he replied dryly.

"Boring," she yawned. "Be hot and fun, Rook. Pick a lane."

Before she could roast him further, Nico appeared by the snack table, holding a protein bar like a forgotten prop and a blinking lens unit in his free hand.

"Rook," he said.

Too casually.

Hernan met his eyes, nodded, and followed him into the corridor.

The tech lab smelled like scorched wire and Nico’s favorite synthetic peppermint gum.

A single overhead lamp buzzed against the dark. Circuit boards littered the desk. Twin gauntlets half-disassembled rested beside an open case.

"Did you bring it?" Nico asked.

Hernan opened his coat and set down the case. The lock clicked.

Inside, the suppression core glowed faintly—scorched, dented, and unmistakable.

Nico swore under his breath.

He opened a schematic on the wall. A clean, unused version of the same core spun in 3D, annotated with red warnings.

"Series IV," he said. "Decommissioned after the Melkris Trials. Side effects include hemorrhaging, memory instability, nerve crystallization. Shouldn’t exist anymore."

"Yet here we are."

"And the serial’s only half-scrubbed. This wasn’t scavenged. It was deployed. Rook—this was issued."

Nico keyed up another feed. "And look at the stabilizers from the alien’s armor. Earth-manufactured. Zodiac mod level. These weren’t imports. This was a care package."

"You’re saying—"

"I’m saying someone with Zodiac clearance is giving war gear to off-world butchers."

Hernan met his gaze. Cold. Controlled.

"Could be sabotage. Could be theft."

"Could be an inside job," Nico said, stepping closer.

"You want to accuse the Zodiac of arming enemy factions, you’d better have more than a scorched core and a bad feeling."

Nico didn’t back off. "I’m not accusing anyone. Yet."

He closed the case and looked at Hernan. "You want me to stop digging?"

Hernan hesitated.

Then: "Don’t make noise yet. But keep your eyes open. Quietly."

Nico nodded. But Hernan knew him too well.

Quietly didn’t mean passively.

That night, Hernan sat alone in his quarters.

The light was off. His suit hung folded on a chair. The case was locked in the corner.

He activated a hidden subroutine in his wrist device—one Nico himself had once helped design. Firewalls bypassed. Access granted.

Footage streamed onto the wall display. Old. Untouched. Untampered.

Zodiac #7 — Virgo. The Techmaster.

Clad in obsidian. Face hidden. Hands precise.

In the footage, Virgo stood beside a stacked array of crates. Crates marked with the same prototype seals. The same serial strings.

The timestamp: five months after the decommission order.

Hernan watched as Virgo passed one crate into the hands of a black-cloaked Vaskari mercenary.

The audio crackled.

"Tell your warlord this is a down payment. We’ll want blood for it later."

Hernan paused the feed.

Outside, the lights of District 6 sparkled like a city too proud to suspect corruption.

Inside, the son of Solaris sat in silence.

Rook Vale would smile again for the world tomorrow.

But Hernan Vale had already chosen the next name.

And this time, he wouldn’t fake the accident.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.