London lay silent under the weight of night.
On the church spires, crows with ghostly green eyes perched like grim sentinels.
A chilling wind stirred the fog-laced streets, whispering through dark alleyways. The black iron streetlamps stood solemn, their dim yellow light flickering against the fine mist that dampened the wooden benches below.
Jack Arnold's coat billowed slightly as he stepped forward, his broad-brimmed hat, now damp with rain, casting a deeper shadow over his chiseled face.
Before him loomed a Scottish-style mansion, its architecture rigid and severe. Armed guards patrolled the grounds, their polished revolvers glinting under the lanterns.
"I've never been here before," Marilyn murmured.
In theory, this was her father's house.
In reality, she had never even set foot inside it.
Her mother, Maryanna, had never been allowed inside either.
The so-called "Zenoni" had once roamed London as a debauched 'painter', preying on young girls and beautiful boys, disguising his true status behind the guise of a struggling artist.
He was a liar. A manipulator. A predator.
Maryanna was merely one of his discarded flings.
She had severed ties with her family for him—only to be abandoned, left to raise Marilyn in a dingy slum apartment.
"And this will likely be your last visit," Jack remarked.
His gaze remained locked on the heavily guarded estate.
He signaled to Ivins, who emerged from the shadows.
"Are the others in position?"
"Yes," Ivins confirmed. "Michelle and Green have taken their teams into position."
"We can begin at any time."
Jack nodded.
If Zenoni were just another corrupt businessman, this mission wouldn't require so many of the 'Anointed Cross's' elite members.
Jack could have handled it alone.
Even if East London was riddled with 'Sorcerers,' it was unlikely that a man of Zenoni's social standing had access to high-level supernatural forces.
And even if he did—
Then every single member of 'Anointed Cross' gathered here tonight would be useless.
No… the real reason for deploying them was to test their skills.
"Move in," Jack ordered.
The hunt began.
Darkness pooled at his feet, rippling outward like ink soaking into wet cobblestone.
A rustling sound in the night.
A patrolling guard froze, sensing something amiss.
He turned—
—and met a pair of glowing, brass-hued eyes.
"Ugh—!"
His throat seized.
Before he could react, a massive hand clamped around his neck, crushing his windpipe.
The guard's eyes bulged, his face flushing red as he clawed desperately at Jack's grip.
A shadow slithered into his throat.
Organs ruptured. Blood vessels snapped.
A sickening squelch.
A corpse hit the ground.
Blood seeped through the cracks between cobblestones, disappearing into the damp grass.
"These guards..." Marilyn whispered.
Jack wiped the blood from his hand.
"A vampire should not concern itself with unnecessary mercy."
"Mercy is for the Lord to decide."
His cold, abyssal gaze settled on Marilyn.
"We are merely His blade."
Marilyn lowered her gaze.
"Understood."
A sorcerer could easily overpower a mundane human.
And so could a vampire.
As Jack and Marilyn advanced, Michelle and Green's teams infiltrated from the mansion's wings, ensuring that no third party could intervene.
Ivins, meanwhile, worked quickly.
Eliminating guards.
Disposing of bodies.
His approach was crude but efficient.
A sharpened nail to the spinal column. A quick twist.
Instant death.
The corpses were stacked like firewood.
No hesitation. No questions.
Only obedience.
"You two—stay and guard the perimeter."
"I'll handle the inside."
Ivins exhaled, his cheeks slightly flushed with excitement.
For the first time in his life—he felt truly alive.
This was the way it should be.
Vampires hunting in the night.
Reaping lives. Drinking souls.
Making even gods tremble.
Zenoni was nothing. Just another fool waiting to die.
Elsewhere… hidden in the shadows…
Lorien watched.
He observed Jack and Marilyn cutting through the estate like a scythe through wheat.
No wasted movements.
No survivors.
The perfect assassination.
Two of the fallen were reanimated as undead servants, shambling alongside Marilyn as she advanced.
"A flawless operation," Lorien mused.
"They're efficient. Ruthless. Exactly as I hoped."
'Anointed Cross' was growing into something formidable.
It wasn't just Jack.
The entire organization had become an entity to be reckoned with.
A beast with many fangs.
A shadow with many hands.
Perhaps... it was time to expand.
Before the 'Scotland Yard' dogs began sniffing too closely.
For now, though—
The matter at hand.
Zenoni.
His sins had finally caught up with him.
Inside the Mansion.
Zenoni hummed softly, brush gliding across canvas.
A nude young woman reclined before him, body tense, eyes filled with silent dread.
"Relax, darling," Zenoni cooed. "Hand on your waist—yes, just like that."
"You have such natural talent."
"A perfect muse."
The painting took shape under the warm glow of his bedroom lamps.
Zenoni's technique was, by all standards, flawless.
If he had pursued art instead of politics, he would've had a real career.
Instead, he chose corruption.
BANG!
The bedroom door exploded inward.
Jack Arnold stepped through, hat low, coat soaked with blood.
Dripping.
Pooling.
Trailing behind him like an omen.
"Ah!"
The woman screamed.
She grabbed a sheet, curling into herself, trembling.
Zenoni shot to his feet.
"Who the hell are you?"
His attention flicked to the trail of blood at Jack's feet—and his face paled.
Jack didn't answer.
He merely stepped aside.
Two crooked, shambling corpses lurched forward.
And behind them—
Marilyn.
She tilted her head.
"Mr. Zenoni," she murmured.
Her crimson eyes flickered in the lamplight.
"Do you recognize me?"
Silence.
Then—
Zenoni's lips trembled.
His breath hitched.
His body swayed.
Because he did.
And he knew, without a doubt—
That this was the night he would die.
��� TO BE CONTINUED...