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Dark, damp, and reeking of a mixture of rust and decaying flesh.
This was a corner used by the Church of Light to "purify" heretics.
Water droplets slid down the stone walls covered in green moss, dripping onto the cold floor with a monotonous and continuous "drip-drop" sound.
Luis Sera leaned against an iron-barred door at the deepest part of this dungeon.
The original color of his clothes was no longer visible, covered in mud and dried bloodstains.
But on that face, which possessed the distinct contours of a Spaniard, there wasn't the slightest hint of the despair or fear typical of a prisoner.
His expression even held a touch of bored laziness, as if he weren't locked in a cage where he could be dragged out at any moment to be made into a kebab, but was instead waiting for a late date on a dull afternoon in Madrid.
Sitting right next to him was a "companion."
A corpse that had long since gone cold was huddled in the corner, its head slumped against its chest at a bizarre angle, its hollow eye sockets staring blankly at the ground as if still protesting the pain it had endured while alive.
Luis seemed completely indifferent to this silent cellmate.
From his inner jacket pocket, he carefully pulled out an outdated portable cassette player.
He blew the dust off it and skillfully pressed the play button.
A burst of slightly static-filled, passionate Spanish dance music abruptly echoed through the deathly silent dungeon.
The spirited castanets and fervent guitar chords formed a surreal absurdity against the grim and terrifying surroundings.
Luis closed his eyes, an expression of enjoyment appearing on his face.
Following the beat of the music, his body began to sway gently.
Then, in this narrow cell, he began to dance.
His steps were light and rhythmic, his arms stretching out, his waist twisting, and his feet treading precise Flamenco steps.
It was as if he weren't a prisoner, but a dancer standing in the center of a magnificent stage, performing a solo carnival for his only audience.
This carnival was not lonely.
Because at the other end of the dungeon, a more "lively" and bloody drama was unfolding.
"Aaaaah—!"
A scream so shrill it was distorted pierced through the melody of the dance music, stabbing harshly into the eardrums.
A Villager wearing the robes of a Church of Light Follower stood before a man suspended by iron chains.
The Villager's eyes were dull and hollow, devoid of any human emotion, like a manipulated puppet.
In his hand, he held a sharp small knife.
He was using that knife to slice flesh from the poor soul, piece by piece, extremely slowly.
He seemed to enjoy the process, his movements unhurried and steady, carrying a near-pious concentration.
Blood flowed down the victim's body, pooling on the ground into an ever-expanding, dark red puddle.
The victim's screams and the fiery dance music coming from Luis's player formed a rhythm that was both incredibly eerie and incredibly harmonious.
Every spin and every stomp Luis made seemed to land on the highest note of those painful wails.
In this ball accompanied by death and pain, he poured out his vitality as one of the "living" to his heart's content.
Just as the song was about to end and Luis's dance steps were reaching a climax, a series of heavy, shuffling footsteps echoed from the dungeon entrance.
The music came to a sudden halt.
Luis pressed the pause button, and the smile on his face vanished along with it.
Several tall executioners, wearing blood-colored aprons like butchers and coarse burlap hoods over their faces, walked with stiff strides toward his cell.
They carried rusted iron hooks and heavy cleavers, each step feeling like it was treading on one's heart—dull and oppressive.
One of the executioners pulled out a large ring of rusty keys and fumbled with the iron-barred door, creating a piercing sound of metal grinding.
Luis looked at them, and that cynical smile reappeared on his face.
He turned his head and said in a relaxed tone to the motionless corpse beside him, "Looks like it's my turn, buddy."
With a "click," the cell door was opened.
Two executioners approached Luis from either side.
Luis took a deep breath; he didn't give up without a fight, but instead took a standard boxer's stance, his body sinking slightly and his fists protecting his face.
There was a hint of playfulness in his eyes.
He intended to use his mediocre police combat skills to win a final bit of dignity for his life.
In this moment of tension where the smell of blood was about to ignite.
The executioner walking at the very back suddenly moved.
Her figure was somewhat more slender than the other two hulking men.
She was completely wrapped in a layer of dirty white cloth, looking no different from the other executioners.
But her movements were as fast as lightning!
A cold gleam slid silently out from her wide sleeves.
She closed in on the executioner on the left like a phantom; her left hand, clad in a black leather glove, suddenly covered the man's mouth, while the dagger in her right hand was thrust upward from under his jaw at a sharp, ruthless angle!
"Mmph...!"
The tall executioner didn't even have time to groan; his body stiffened abruptly, and the cleaver in his hand fell to the ground with a "clang."
Almost at the same time, the other executioner sensed something was wrong, but his dull nerves, controlled by the parasite, only allowed him to turn around stiffly.
What greeted him was a sharp, high whip kick from the white-clothed figure as she spun around!
Boom!
The foot, encased in a tactical boot, whistled through the air and slammed hard into his temple.
The head covered in a burlap hood was like a watermelon hit by a high-speed truck; with a dull sound of bone cracking, it snapped to the side at a terrifying ninety-degree angle.
The entire process was fluid and clean.
From the moment she struck to the moment she finished off the two enemies enhanced by the Plaga parasite, it had taken less than three seconds.
There wasn't a single wasted movement; every strike was precise and lethal.
Luis's boxing stance, prepared for a desperate struggle, was still frozen in mid-air.
He watched the sudden scene before him, dumbfounded, his brain unable to process it for a moment.
The white-clothed figure who had resolved the trouble slowly turned around.
She raised her hand, removing the mask covering her head and the cumbersome, foul-smelling white cloth from her body.
Supple short black hair tumbled down.
An Oriental face, as exquisite as a doll's yet possessing a somewhat cool temperament, appeared before Luis.
Those charming almond eyes shimmered with a heart-stirring light in the dim firelight.
Ada Wong.
She looked at Luis, who was still holding his comical boxing pose, and her red lips curled slightly into a faint, knowing smile.
"You haven't finished your dance yet, have you?"
Her voice held a unique magnetism, with a hint of teasing in its laziness.
Luis was stunned for a moment, then quickly snapped out of it.
The shock on his face rapidly faded, replaced by an even brighter smile.
He lowered his fists, straightened his already crumpled collar, and then, with extreme gallantry, extended a hand toward Ada.
"Beautiful lady, may I have the honor?"
A glint of amusement flashed in Ada's eyes.
She took a graceful step forward and lightly placed her leather-gloved hand in Luis's palm.
Luis pulled her gently, and the two of them spun elegantly once, their bodies coming together in a perfect finishing pose for a dance.
In that moment, the interrupted dance music in the cassette player seemed to play its final, magnificent coda in their hearts.
"Whew..." Luis let out a long sigh of relief, as if he had just finished a hearty performance.
Ada stepped back from his embrace, her movements natural and smooth.
From the small tactical pouch at her waist, she pulled out a cigarette and stuffed it into Luis's mouth, which was slightly open from excitement.
Then she pulled out an exquisite metal lighter and, with a "click," lit it for him.
A wisp of blue smoke rose slowly.
"I remember you like this brand, right?" Ada smiled slightly, tossing the remaining pack of cigarettes and the lighter to Luis.
Luis caught the cigarette pack as if he were catching some rare treasure.
He didn't even smoke the one in his mouth immediately; instead, he brought the whole pack to his nose, closed his eyes, and took a deep, full-bodied sniff of the tobacco aroma.
An expression of utter intoxication and satisfaction appeared on his face.
"Exactly, darling, that's the flavor!" He opened his eyes and looked at Ada, his gaze filled with sincere gratitude.
"Do you know how miserable it is being locked up here with no ladies, no wine, and not even a single cigarette?"
"Those damn lunatics, they stripped me of everything! Every single thing! Including my last bottle of precious cologne!" he complained indignantly, as if having his cologne taken was harder to accept than being thrown in a dungeon.
Ada watched his exaggerated display, her smile gradually fading as her expression turned serious.
"Where is the 'Amber'?"
The playful look on Luis's face also vanished. He took a deep drag of the cigarette, inhaling the acrid smoke into his lungs before slowly exhaling.
Amidst the swirling smoke, his eyes became sharper and clearer than ever before.
"Don't worry," he said in a low voice, his tone carrying the confidence of one who had everything under control.
"Before I intentionally let them catch me, I already hid our 'little baby' in an absolutely safe place."
Ada nodded; she didn't seem surprised by this answer at all.
"Lead the way."
That trademark, slightly flamboyant and dashing smile bloomed on Luis's face once more.
He tossed away the cigarette and made an impeccable Spanish gentleman's "after you" gesture toward Ada.
"At your service, my beautiful lady."
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