Kenzii stood in the cooling silence of the room, looking down like a silent shadow over his latest work of art. On the bed, the body of Anastaliya had finally found a stillness that her living self had never known. The silk sheets, once ivory and clean, were now a crimson mess, soaked through with the lifeblood of a woman who had spent her years draining it from others.
It was one of the bloodiest crime scenes he had ever created, since he had killed her in mid air and pierced her chest with too much force, blood had splattered everywhere.
Kenzii looked down at his right hand. The demonic, obsidian-like limb, pulsed with a faint, dying violet light as it hungrily absorbed the final droplets of blood from his skin. As the last of the blood vanished into the black scales, the darkness disappeared, and the limb shifted back into the pale, human hand of Kenzii.
A sharp, rhythmic throb began to pulse at the back of his head. Wincing, Kenzii reached back, his fingers coming away sticky and warm. The blow from the abduction left a wound. He glanced at the pillow where he had been feigning unconsciousness and saw the small, dark stain he had left behind.
"Now," he whispered, his voice a dry rasp. "I need to clean up."
Kenzii moved with the calmness and efficiency of a man who had spent half his life erasing his own existence. He stripped the blood-stained pillowcase from the bed, using the clean side to dab at the wound on his scalp until the bleeding slowed to a dull ache. Pulling a pair of surgical gloves from his pocket and putting them on.
He began to look around the room, collecting every item that could possibly hold a trace of his presence. He picked up the discarded ropes that had bound him and anything that carried his DNA or fingerprints—leaving nothing behind to be used against him. He dumped it all into trash bin he found in the corner.
Entering the bathroom, Kenzii cracked open the window to survey their surroundings. They were in a remote area, the skeletal remains of an abandoned warehouse district far from Moscow's prying eyes. The air outside smelled of old rust. Leaving the window ajar for ventilation, he pulled a lighter from his pocket and flicked it. The flame danced in his eyes for a second before he dropped it into the trash bin.
He watched as the evidence began to curl and blacken. He fed the fire with rolls of toilet paper and flammable toiletries from the bathroom cabinet, ensuring the heat would be intense enough to reduce everything to fine, unidentifiable ash.
From beneath the sink, he retrieved a large bottle of industrial-strength rubbing alcohol. He began to spray a thick trail across the hardwood floor, leading from the bathroom back toward the bed. He scanned the corners of the ceiling one last time; as he suspected, there were no cameras. A woman like Anastaliya, who dealt in secrets and blood, would never allow a digital record of her private chambers to exist.
"If only you had chosen a different path," he murmured, his eyes lingering on the target for the final time. He didn't feel pity, only a cold observation of a wasted life.
He dragged her body toward the door and retrieved the bagged heart. After dousing the mattress in the remaining alcohol, he sparked the trail. He watched for a moment as the fire crawled hungrily toward the bed before he turned his back and opened the door.
Outside the room, the atmosphere was drastically different. The two men who had kidnapped Kenzii were sitting at a scarred wooden table, the air thick with the smell of cheap tobacco and vodka. They were laughing over a game of cards, oblivious to the fact that their employer was currently dead on the floor, heartless.
They jumped in shock, eyes widening as the man they had abducted walked out of the room while an inferno raged behind him.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing?!" the larger man shouted, his hand reaching for the gun at his hip.
Kenzii didn't give them the chance to stand. He moved like a shadow cast by a dying sun. Before the man's fingers could even brush his weapon, Kenzii was across the room. A swift, brutal strike to the throat silenced the man's shout, followed by a sweep that sent both men crashing to the floor. Unlike the inside of the CEO's room which had wooden flooring, the outside floor was made of concrete.
Kenzii noticed it, the unhuman moves he made, it was new. He looked over his hands feeling the surge of strength flow into them, his hands form to fist. What the fuck is this?
Kenzii stood over them, pinning his knee into the bulky man's back with enough force to make his ribs groan while his foot pinned the second man down.
"Let's see if you two are worth killing," Kenzii said, activating his system:
[Name: Dmitry Vlasimorovich Kuznetsov.
Age: 40 Years Old.
Status: Single.
Occupation: None.
Ethnicity: Russian.
Transgressions: Homicide, Kidnapping, and Sexual Assault.]
[Name: Nikolas Sergayach Ivany.
Age: 45 Years Old.
Status: Married with 4 children.
Occupation: Construction Worker.
Ethnicity: Russian.
Transgressions: Kidnapping, Robbery.]
"Hmm. A true animal," Kenzii said, his eyes locking onto Dmitry. He reached down and grabbed the man by his greasy hair, gripping his head up. "You have quite the nerve, living a life this stained and thinking you could put your hands on me."
"What are you talking abou—" Dmitry began, but he never finished. Kenzii slammed his head into the concrete floor with such devastating force that the skull fractured instantly. Kenzii didn't stop until the man stopped moving entirely and his brain was out of his skull. After he realized what he had done, he almost backed away.
Shit, what the fuck just happened?!
He shook his head, masking his terror from his new ability. He turned his cold gaze toward Nikolas, who was trembling violently at the sight of his dead companion.
"Are you still breathing?" Kenzii asked.
"P-please... don't kill me. I have a wife and four children," Nikolas sobbed, tears streaming down his face. "I only followed Dmitry because I needed the money. My wife is sick... she needs surgery. Please, let me live."
Kenzii studied the man. He knew he was telling the truth, Nikolas wasn't a monster, just a desperate man making a terrible choice.
"Don't worry. I won't kill you," Kenzii said. "I only kill those who deserve to die. Stand up and do exactly as I say."
"W-what do I have to do?" Nikolas stuttered.
"Take those two bodies outside," Kenzii commanded as he walked toward the exit.
He waited in the cool night air, watching as Nikolas dragged the corpses onto the grass. "Follow me," Kenzii said, leading him to the black van used in the abduction and a red BMW which he assumed belonged to Anastaliya. He took his cellphone from his pocket and lit up the interior of the van. As he suspected, he found his own blood on the seat.
"Get a torch from inside," he ordered. As he waited for Nikolas he saw his own reflection on the car window, his own profile flickered in the air.
[Soul Collector:
Name: Kenzii Macque Monteriel.
Age: 24 years old.
Occupation: Hellbound Justiciar.
Ethnicity: Filipino (Philippines).
Status: Single.
Transgressions: Soul mortgaged to the Devil.
System Upgraded:
Movement Speed: 20%
Physical Strength: 20%]
Instead of feeling joy, anger consumed Kenzi. He hated the system's upgrade—feeling as if his humanity had been stripped away, leaving only a demon in its place.
When Nikolas returned with a makeshift torch made from his own cloth, he almost stepped back when he saw Kenzii's lifeless expression. He even flinched when Kenzii hand riched for the torch. Exhaling, Kenzii moved closer and used it to burn the fabric where his blood had spilled, erasing his presence from the vehicle.
"Keys."
Nikolas, shaking, handed them over along with the keys to Anastaliya's personal BMW. Kenzii just looked at it and ordered Nikolas to open the gas tanks. Using the torch he set the van ablaze making his reflection dance in the car window.
As Kenzii watched the fire slowly grow, he began walking away from the burning wreck
"Open it," Kenzii ordered. "Drive," he added, climbing into the passenger seat. Terrified of meeting Dmitry's fate, Nikolas obeyed without question.
During the drive back toward Moscow, Kenzii wrapped the bagged heart in a handkerchief he found in the car. Nikolas caught a glimpse and quickly looked away. From that moment he knew exactly who his passenger was.
"This is the heart of your boss," Kenzii said, his voice flat. "I think you know why."
"Because... She was an 'evildoer'? J-just like those people from the articles you've been spreading?" Nikolas asked, his voice shaking. He couldn't believe he was sitting next to the Soul Collector—the man from the news who harvested the hearts of the wicked.
"Correct. I collect their filth as a souvenir," Kenzii smirked, though his expression quickly turned serious. "Tell me, am I wrong for what I've done?"
"I have no right to answer that," Nikolas whispered, staring straight at the road. "I am a sinner myself. But... W-why spare me? I helped them take you."
"Because your heart still beats for something other than yourself," Kenzii said, his eyes turning toward the window. "And because I only needed one trophy tonight."
"Now, follow my orders." Kenzii leaned in, his tone becoming dangerously serious. "After you drop me off at the location I tell you, go straight to the police station and report this incident."
Nikolas looked at him, confused. "But w-why?"
"Because it is the right thing to do," Kenzii replied simply. Nikolas was even more puzzled, thinking to himself: What right does a murderer have to say what is right or wrong when he himself is evil?
"Report everything. Surrender yourself as a witness. Tell them about your boss's crimes and turn over any evidence you have. But…" Kenzii gripped Nikolas's shoulder firmly, "...you will not describe my face. Make an excuse. Lie if you have to. Even if this isn't my real face, I want no descriptions given to the authorities. Do you understand?" Kenzii lied, he only wore a bit of disguise and he wouldn't let go of any possibility.
"You know who I am. I can find you again," Kenzii warned. "There is a reason I have never been caught. Don't test me."
.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Jacob." The cousins bow to the couple, they are in front of their rented vehicle the following morning after last night's conversation. "We will make sure to come back here," Sota said with a smile.
"No problem, son. You can come back whenever you like. It's nice to have visitors every now and then," Jacob said, as he and his wife, Ann, smiled at the cousins.
Sota reached into his jacket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to Jacob. "Please accept this as a token of our gratitude."
Though puzzled, Jacob accepted it. The couple's eyes widened when they saw the money inside.
"Son, I can't—" Before he could finish, Sota held his hand and pushed the envelope back toward the man's chest.
"Please, it's our way of thanking you both. It's just a small amount."
"What do you mean small? This is a lot!" Ann said.
"No, it's just right in exchange for taking in strangers like us," Alas butting in with a smile.
After a few more minutes of goodbyes, they finally left and headed back to their hotel.
On their way back, they saw Kenzii's messages—who was now on his way back to China to travel onward to Japan—they immediately got to work. Sota checked all of Kenzii's paths for any potential evidence, while Alas began finalizing the crimes of Kenzii's victims so Sota could post them that very same day.
That afternoon, they flew back to the Philippines.