In one of the Bronx's narrowest, darkest alleys, a man lies motionless while a distant streetlamp barely lights the scene. His pristine white clothes and black fedora are drenched in fresh blood. Six bullets have ripped through his chest. Somehow, he's still breathing. His name is Vincenzo Carbone—Vinny to most, one of Little Italy's most notorious bosses. He is a middle-aged man, short, broad-shouldered, and bald, with a long, curly mustache.
Three men stand around Vinny's body; two wear sharp dark-gray suits. The third is different, much more muscular, wrapped in a long black cloak that brushes the ground. His hood covers his face completely, leaving only darkness. The man in the black cloak makes a silent hand gesture; no words are needed—the other two understand immediately. They walk to the mouth of the alley and stand guard, making sure no one sees or disturbs their boss, Vinny.
«B-Bastard... who the hell are you?» Vinny asks, his voice gurgling as fluid fills his mouth. The masked man stays silent. «Are you with the Santoro family...? COUGH... COUGH...» Vinny wheezes. His words turn into violent coughing, spraying blood-tinged spit. «...Or maybe the Moretti? How much did they offer you? COUGH... COUGH... I'll pay you double—just let me live! I'm the most powerful boss in all of New York!»
«That's exactly why you have to die,» the hooded man replies. It's the first time Vinny hears the voice; it strikes a strange chord in his memory—familiar, yet impossible to place.
«Your voice... it's warm, deep... not something someone forgets easily. And yet, even though I know I've heard it before... I just can't place it...» Vinny's words grow heavier with each breath. Blood rises in his throat, choking every syllable.
«Don't worry, Vinny. I won't let you die wondering.»
The man pulls back his hood, revealing his face. He is a strikingly handsome man in his forties, with slicked-back black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a clean-shaven jaw. Vincenzo recognizes that face instantly.
«I-I can't believe it...» Vinny murmurs, stunned. «John Hawkley... one of the men I trusted more than anyone else... Knowing I'm dying by your hand hurts more than the damn bullets in my chest.» John lets out a quiet, wicked laugh. «That pain? It's nothing compared to what you're about to feel.»
He crouches in front of Vinny, grabs his face with both hands, and lifts it until their eyes are just inches apart. In that instant, John's gaze changes. His eyes vanish, replaced by a glowing, sinister yellow light. He opens his mouth far wider than any human should, revealing a row of razor-sharp fangs. A faint blue mist rises from Vinny's mouth along with the blood and drifts into John's open jaws. The pain Vinny feels is beyond description, yet not a single scream escapes his lips.
Once every trace of that strange, ethereal blue energy is drawn from Vinny—leaving him a lifeless corpse—John sets him ablaze. But the fire isn't ordinary. Emerald-green flames burst from his palm, ignited by magic as he touches the body. The flames give off no smoke and don't spread; they devour the corpse, leaving not even ashes behind. Finally, John returns to his human form. His eyes fade back to blue, and his monstrous fangs shrink into normal teeth.
He walks to the mouth of the alley, where his two companions—known to humans as Frank Callhan and Oliver Segel—are waiting. Frank looks like a bald, middle-aged brute, a walking mountain of muscle with a not-so-bright expression. Oliver, on the other hand, looks like a young man in his late twenties, short and scrawny, with an almost angelic face.
«We could've handled him too. No need for you to get involved with small fry like that, Marquis Velshekar,» Frank mutters in a low voice.
«I've already told you—I don't want to be called that anymore!» John snaps, visibly annoyed. «The Marquis Velshekar is gone. I'm John Hawkley now. Remember that—unless you want to end up like Vinny.»
«Y-Yes, boss! I-I'm sorry...»
«Anyway... still no report about that thing, huh?» John asks.
«No, boss. None of our agents across the globe have reported finding the two hybrids. With all due respect, boss... it's been fourteen years—fourteen years of searching without a single clue. Even if this world is smaller than N'raeth, it's still massive. They could be anywhere. Wouldn't it make more sense to call off the hunt and return to our homeland?»
«Don't you ever tell me what I should or shouldn't do again!»
That single line is enough to freeze Frank's blood and kill any thought of arguing further.
«Can I ask you something, John...?» Oliver cuts in. «With the kind of power you have, you could erase New York with a snap of your fingers. So why go through all this trouble—acting like just another human gang?»
«Because ordinary human gangsters don't get hunted by HESPARC. And in this world, money and influence beat even the strongest demonic spell,» he says, his tone darkening. «Now find those two brats. I don't care how—bribe a HESPARC officer if you have to. But I want them by the end of the month. If you fail... you'd better start hiding too.»
«At your command, boss!» the two henchmen answer in unison.