"BREAKING NEWS."
"Just tonight, the running politician Mr. Stolin was found dead in his home, along with everyone residing there," the reporter announced as Hayden sat slouched alone in his room.
"According to investigators, most victims died from blunt force trauma, while one child was found shot. Authorities suspect robbery as the motive after discovering missing jewelry."
Hayden's grip on the remote tightened, totally pissed.
"Fraud," he hissed.
Furious, he threw the remote to the TV, but missed.
Hayden might be as cool as a cucumber during missions, but he has severe anger issues. Missing that remote to hit the TV only fueled his anger.
*Ring*
His phone buzzed. A name Franklin flashing on the screen.
Franklin is the founder/owner/ leader of the Headhunters. He's Hayden's boss.
Hayden answered as he stomped toward the TV, grabbing it by the frame and slamming it down like a sumo wrestler.
Glass cracked. Plastic bent. He kept stomping until silence filled the room.
Hayden is broke as fuck. He doesn' t have the luxury to replace the TV he broke, but at least that calmed him down.
"Throwing tantrums again?" Franklin's voice teased through the speaker.
"Mission accomplished, Franky. I want my pay tomorrow."
"Mission accomplished, my ass! You were told to eliminate Stolin, not massacre the whole damn house—including the kids!"
Hayden pulled his phone away from his ears. "You loud ass motherfucker," Hayden replied. "I only did what's best."
Franklin sighed. "And the robbery part? Missing jewelry? You're a pain in the ass, you know that? I should've sent agent Cat instead."
"Scold me all you want," Hayden said with a smirk. "That politician couldn't take his dirty money to the grave anyway. I get paid for the mission and extra for the loot—two birds, one bullet. Aren't I brilliant?"
Hayden said that so confidently. He's desperate for some cash for one specific reason.
"Get a load of yourself, smartass! Just get your ass on the HQ tomorrow, Nine a.m. I've got another mission—something that'll help with your grandmother's bills."
Hayden's grandmother was the only family he had left, bedridden and terribly ill. Franklin knew that, so he kept feeding Hayden all of the mission. While they always bark at each other, Franklin stood as Hayden's father figure
"Fine," Hayden sighed, the thought of another mission bored him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Two thousand years ago, gates from the Demon Realm tore open across the Earth.
Thousands of them appeared without warning, scattered all over the globe. Emerging from the gates are hordes of demons. In mere seconds, the world descended into chaos as pandemonium spread like wildfire.
Yet, as suddenly as the gates' arrival, several humans awakened extraordinary powers. Their physical abilities exceeded normal limits by tenfold, and they possessed unique supernatural gifts. These powers came to be known as Blessings.
Those who bore these Blessings were called Demon Hunters—or DHs—and they stood as humanity's last line of defense against the demonic invasion.
Although some gates close over time, new ones continue to appear elsewhere. Even as chaos persists, the Demon Hunters never rest. Generation after generation, they pass down their blessed bloodlines, growing in number and strength to safeguard what remains of the human world.
~Hayden's POV~
9:03 a.m.
No breakfast. No dinner last night. And my stomach's rumbling at a magnitude 7 as I glide down the sidewalk.
I'm on my way to HQ, starving to death.
Broke as hell, too. I've been trying to save lately since my expenses are—let's just say—seven digits of pain.
I stop at an intersection, waiting for the green light that never turns. The red's been stuck there for a full minute.
Guess it's broken.
Franky told me to be there by nine, and I'm already running late. My stomach's staging a protest, my head's half-empty, so I take a quick glance to my left, right, up, down, behind—no cars. Well, except for one police cruiser parked by a coffee shop.
Surely I won't get caught by crossing an empty road, right?
Cops these days aren't too strict on road rules. They're more focused on watching for demon gate openings.
So, I figure—what's the worst that could happen?
I take my chance and cross.
*Squeal*
*CRASH*
Before I can even blink, a black Mercedes-Benz blasts through at 180 mph and slams into me. I get yeeted twenty meters down the street, rolling like a human sausage.
I stand right back up. Perfectly fine. Not a scratch. If I don't have a blessing, I'd probably be dead in that crash.
The driver steps out.
And—oh great—it's one of those people.
Raven black hair, perfect tux, polished shoes, designer shades. The kind of man whose cologne alone cost more than my monthly rent.
Then I noticed his car.
The hood's completely wrecked, crumpled like paper.
My brain freezes.
He hit me, sure, but the light was green. Meaning… I'm the one in the wrong.
And judging by that luxury badge gleaming on the grill… yeah, that's a Mercedes-Benz.
I can barely afford a bicycle, and now I've just totaled a car worth more than my soul.
Then it hits me.
I know that face.
Froilan Esperanza.
The country's richest man. Owner of Twilight—the biggest Demon Hunter guild.
Oh, not to mention, an SSS-rank DH himself.
Basically, a walking nuke in a suit.
And me?
I'm a Headhunter—a guy from the group the world literally put bounties on. Demon Hunters kill demons. Headhunters kill people.
If he figures that I'm Wolf… I'm toast.
The cops nearby start heading over, but before they can even open their mouths, I already dipped.
Screw the Mercedes. Screw the cops. Screw the billionaire demigod.
I sprint like my life depends on it—because it probably does—and make it to HQ by 9:13.
The HQ looks like a coffee shop that is near bankruptcy.
With this bland, antique-looking facade and the decaying wooden signage in front barely hanging on rusty nails atop the entrance, no customer is foolish enough to try this .5-star coffee shop.
I went through the creaky, old wooden door and found Franky in a plain white polo shirt behind the L-shaped counter, brewing a coffee.
Franky's middle-aged, yeah, but built like he eats dumbbells for breakfast. His physique could rival a Greek god. The wrinkles on his face? Not from age—just battle souvenirs. Six feet tall, packed with muscle, hair slicked back to perfection—a little too perfect for a man who makes a living out of killing.
I walked over to him and sat on the counter stool as he ground the coffee beans, the low hum of the grinder filling the room.
"It's weirdly quiet today. Are the other agents out on a mission?" I asked, resting my arms on the table.
"Nope. There are less and less missions coming up these days, so I gave the them a short vacation."
"Wow… That's so biased. You let them rest while I shoulder all the missions. Talk about favoritism."
I knew Franky purposely left all the missions for me so I could earn more, but I kept talking just to mess with him.
"Coffee?"
"You know I can't say no to that."
Franky handed me a mug of my favorite brew, and honestly, it was enough to quiet my stomach.
We sat across from each other, sipping our coffee like it was our unspoken morning ritual.
"So… who's the target?"
Franky told me last night that I'd be heading out again, so I just asked straight up who I'd be killing this time.
He froze mid-sip. His mug hit the counter with a dull thud. Then gave me a glare, a glare so terrifying even demons would run.
"Try killing a person," he growled, "and I'll kill you myself, brat."
Spooked, I looked away. "I… I won't."
Franky's presence alone was enough to make the air feel heavy. He's a former S-rank DH from back in the day, and probably even deadlier now.
Still, I couldn't help feeling confused. The Headhunter kills humans. That's our job. We don't kill innocent humans though. The government is invested in saving the world against demons and they overlook that humans themself are a threat. Some are corrupt and some abuse their powers, and due to the government's lack of attention in those matters, the Headhunter maintains peace by eliminating those inimical people.
So if Franky says I'm not allowed to kill this time, then what kind of mission is this?
Before I could ask again—
*Knock, knock*
"Speak of the devil," Franky muttered with a smirk. "That's probably our client. Go check it out yourself."
Curious, I stood up and walked to the door.
The moment I opened it, I froze.
Standing there was a man in a black tuxedo, hair as dark as ink, shades reflecting the dull light of the room. A briefcase hung in his hand. He didn't have to say his name… I recognized that smirk from the crash earlier.
"Hey there, muffinhead. Looks like I ran into you again—without my car this time."