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The wet squelch of leather shoes against the rain-slicked alley floor was the only sound breaking the oppressive silence. Dim streetlights cast sickly yellow halos through the mist, throwing the newcomer's face into a patchwork of light and shadow.
Russell stood there, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like someone out for a casual evening stroll rather than someone who'd just interrupted an assassination.
"...Are you also a member of the Spirit Begging Society?"
The question came from the man in the black suit, his voice strained with barely contained violence. But it was his appearance that drew the eye—grotesque surgical scars crisscrossed his body where human flesh met... something else. The splicing was crude, obvious, like a child's art project made from different animals.
The man's mental power lashed out toward Russell, an invisible probe meant to gauge his strength.
It vanished without a trace. Like dropping a pebble into the Mariana Trench and waiting for the splash.
Russell didn't bother answering. Words were unnecessary when you had Kiss-Shot.
The vampire lord moved faster than thought, faster than the suited man's enhanced reflexes could track. One moment she stood beside Russell, beautiful and still as a marble statue. The next, she had the man's skull in her grip, introducing it to the brick wall with enthusiastic force.
"You don't know what's good for you—!"
CRACK!
The threat died as his face met brick at approximately thirty miles per hour. Kiss-Shot's delighted laughter rang through the alley, wild and unhinged. This wasn't the elegant, refined violence of aristocratic vampires who killed with poison words and political maneuvering. This was primal, savage, joyful violence—the kind that came from someone who genuinely loved their work.
The man thrashed like a fish on a line, feet kicking desperately at nothing as Kiss-Shot held him effortlessly off the ground with one pale hand. The more he struggled, the tighter her fingers pressed into his skull. She could feel the delicate bones beginning to crack under the pressure, like an egg in a vice.
"Shhh," she cooed, her voice honeyed poison. "Fighting just makes it hurt more."
But the pain wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the draining sensation—his strength, his life force, his very essence being pulled out through those slender fingers. Kiss-Shot's [Absorb] ability worked like a vampire's kiss, except instead of two neat puncture wounds, it was his entire being getting slurped up like a juice box.
"Ummmph!"
His muffled screams grew weaker, more pathetic, until they were just whimpers. Then nothing.
The two Spirit Begging Society members—the sturdy man and his bloody companion—stood frozen like deer in headlights. They'd been running for their lives from this monster in a suit, this thing that had killed three of their comrades without breaking a sweat. And now that same monster was being handled like a misbehaving puppy.
Kiss-Shot glided back to Russell's side, dragging the semi-conscious man by his neck like a cat bringing its owner a dead bird. Her smile was radiant, expecting praise.
"Good girl," Russell murmured, examining their catch. "A member of the Sect of Unification?"
The man was still technically human—in the same way a hot dog was technically meat. But demonic energy radiated from him in waves, and several of his organs were definitely not factory standard. The crude surgical scars suggested someone had been playing mix-and-match with human and demon parts.
This was why Russell had intervened. Not out of any love for his Society subordinates, but because he'd sensed this wrongness, this violation of natural order. The Sect of Unification was supposed to be a northern problem, active on the border tens of thousands of miles away. Finding them here in Soochow was like finding a polar bear in the Sahara—technically possible but deeply concerning.
"My lord," the sturdy man ventured, his voice carefully respectful. He wasn't stupid. Anyone who could manhandle their pursuer like that was clearly high-ranking Society brass. "He is from the Sect. We... we accidentally disrupted one of their gatherings. They sent him to clean up loose ends."
Russell's eyes narrowed. The Sect has spread this far south? Either the Master-level secret realm in the north has destabilized everything, or the entire inland region is going to hell. Neither option is great.
"Do you remember where their gathering was?" he asked, his voice carrying the kind of casual authority that suggested terrible things would happen if the answer was no.
The sturdy man's eyes widened. "I... yes, I remember! But my lord, are you planning to eradicate them?" He swallowed hard. "Forgive my presumption, but there were many of them. Too many for—"
"We in the Spirit Begging Society," Russell interrupted, his tone dripping with condescension, "should use our brains when doing things. Why would I waste our resources cleaning up the Association's mess? They're perfectly capable of handling a Sect infestation. They just need... proper motivation."
The truth was more pragmatic. Russell couldn't exactly storm a Sect hideout in his current false identity without raising questions. Even being here was pushing it.
The sturdy man's face flushed with embarrassment. Of course. Why fight when you could manipulate others into fighting for you? "You're absolutely right, my lord. The address is..."
Russell memorized the location as the man rattled it off. Then, with a casual gesture to Kiss-Shot, the conversation was over.
CRACK!
The Sect member's neck twisted 180 degrees with the sound of bubble wrap popping. Before the body could hit the ground, shadows rose from Russell's feet, swallowing the corpse whole. The darkness consumed everything—body, blood, even the lingering smell of death.
Thank god I made that Oni Mask storage space, Russell thought. Nothing worse than having to carry bodies around. So inconvenient.
He turned his attention to the two surviving Society members, who stood there like soldiers awaiting orders. Or mice waiting to see if the cat was still hungry.
Russell's eyes grew cold, calculating. Should I...?
The thought hung in the air like a guillotine blade. These two had seen him. They could talk. Spread rumors. Ask questions. Dead men, on the other hand, were notably tight-lipped.
Both men must have sensed the shift in atmosphere because they suddenly looked like rabbits who'd just heard a twig snap. Pure, primal fear—the kind that bypassed higher reasoning and went straight to the lizard brain screaming 'PREDATOR!'
After a long moment, Russell dismissed the idea with a mental shrug. Too messy. They might have friends, contacts, people who'd ask questions if they disappeared. Besides, he'd already killed his quota for the week.
"You two. Go." His voice was dismissal and warning combined. "And remember to hide yourselves properly. I won't save you twice."
They had no idea how close they'd just come to joining their Sect friend in the shadow dimension.
"Yes, my lord!" The sturdy man's relief was palpable. "But... might we know your name? So we can properly thank—"
Both men lowered their heads in respectful submission, waiting. After a long pause, a deep voice carried on the wind:
"Five."
Out of an abundance of caution—or perhaps just because he found it funny—Russell had Kiss-Shot alter his appearance before he'd even entered the alley. He now looked like a perfect replica of Lord Five, down to the slight scar on his left eyebrow.
We're all executives, Russell reasoned. I'm sure Five won't mind me borrowing his identity for a little light impersonation. What's a little identity theft between colleagues?
The two men's pupils dilated to the size of dinner plates. Being coastal Society members, they knew exactly what that name meant. Lord Five wasn't just high-ranking—he was practically mythical, one of the original five who answered only to Regent Jin himself.
"Lord... Lord Five... in person..." The sturdy man dropped to one knee so fast he probably gave himself bruises, head bowed in absolute submission.
But the alley was already empty. Only shadows remained.
"Gulp." The younger man's audible swallow echoed in the silence. "Brother... I think we just met someone way above our pay grade."
Russell maintained his Five disguise as he emerged from the alley, straightening his suit and checking his reflection in a puddle. Perfect resemblance. Now for the fun part—reporting the Sect of Unification to the Soochow Cardmakers Association.
But reporting required finesse. He couldn't just walk in and say "Hey, there's a demon cult in your city." That lacked style. Panache. The proper amount of chaos.
His eyes landed on a kid, maybe eight or nine, doing tricks on a hoverboard near a fountain. Perfect.
"Hey, kid," Russell called out, his voice now pitched to 'friendly uncle' rather than 'terrifying crime lord.'
The boy executed a pretty impressive spin before stopping, eyeing Russell with the suspicion of a child who'd sat through too many stranger danger lectures.
Russell pulled out his ace—a massive bag of imported snacks he'd just "retrieved" from his shadow storage. Kit-Kats, gummy bears, chocolate. The good stuff.
"All of this can be yours," he said, channeling his inner game show host. "Just do your uncle one tiny favor."
The kid sniffled, rubbing his nose with his sleeve. "My mom says we can't take stuff from strangers."
Smart mom. Annoying, but smart.
Russell picked up a chunk of concrete from the crumbling curb. He held it up, making sure the kid was watching, then slowly crushed it in his fist. The concrete crumbled to powder, sifting through his fingers like sand.
"How about now?" he asked pleasantly.
Most kids would have run screaming. This one's eyes lit up like Christmas morning.
"THAT WAS SO COOL!" The boy practically vibrated with excitement. "Uncle, I'll totally help you! But can you do that again later? Can you crush bigger stuff? Can you teach me!?"
Russell blinked. Kids these days have no survival instinct.
"Sure, kid. Whatever you want." He handed over a folded piece of paper with the Sect's address sketched on it. "Just give this to the people in that building over there." He pointed to the imposing structure of the Cardmakers Association. "Tell them a concerned citizen wanted them to have it."
The boy snatched the paper and took off running, his hoverboard forgotten in his excitement to complete his mission.
Russell waited until the kid was halfway there, then turned to face the security camera mounted on the corner. He gave it his best villain smile—the kind that said 'I know something you don't know, and it's going to ruin your day.'
The camera would capture Five's face clear as day. When the Association reviewed the footage and saw one of the Spirit Begging Society's most wanted criminals personally delivering them intelligence, they'd have to investigate. Their paranoia wouldn't let them ignore it.
Sorry, Five, Russell thought cheerfully. But someone's got to take the heat for this, and better you than me. Consider it a team-building exercise.
With his mental apology complete, Russell vanished into the shadows just as the boy reached the Association's front door.
Inside the Cardmakers Association, the receptionist—a middle-aged woman who'd seen enough weird shit to be unflappable—accepted the note from the excited child.
"This seems important," she said, reading the crudely drawn map and the words 'DEMON CULT HERE' written in neat handwriting. "Who gave this to you, sweetheart?"
The boy turned and pointed enthusiastically at where Russell had been standing. "That uncle right there! He crushed a rock with his bare hands! It was AWESOME!"
The receptionist looked where he was pointing. The street was empty except for an abandoned bag of expensive candy sitting on the sidewalk, practically glowing under the streetlight like evidence at a crime scene.
She was already reaching for the emergency phone.
(End of this chapter)
Plz THROW POWER STONES.