Chapter 30 – The Forest of Shadows
The night in Liberty City was painted in rain. Droplets clung to the glass towers like silver veins, streaking down until they vanished in the endless sprawl of neon. The streets reflected the glow of signs and distant sirens, but even the usual chaos of the city felt muted, as though something unseen had pressed a cold hand over its throat.
Jack sat in his car, the engine humming low, eyes unfocused on the road ahead. The windshield wipers swept away the rain, but his vision tunneled inward, trapped in a reel of memories that refused to let go. His fingers trembled on the steering wheel. In the silence of his vehicle, his breaths sounded like the rasp of an old man's lungs, labored, uncertain.
He could still hear them. The screams. The wife's desperate plea. The child's laughter twisted into shrieks of horror. He pressed his palms to his face, nails digging into the skin, but the memory didn't fade—it grew sharper, fresher, as if the rain outside whispered the story back to him. He had killed many in his life, but that night… that night was different. That night had birthed something.
He could still see himself standing with the man—his brother in arms, his partner in shadows. They had fought side by side through countless missions. The city's worst criminals, drug lords, assassins, human monsters—all had fallen before their combined skill. He remembered the way they used to laugh after a long mission, blood still on their knuckles, joking about who deserved the bigger cut. He remembered nights of cheap whiskey, smoke filling dim bars, and the rare moments when they allowed themselves to feel human.
But then, the orders changed. Jack had turned, knife in hand, and betrayed everything. His friend, the man who trusted him most, lost everything that night. His wife's last scream still carved into Jack's ears. His daughter's small, broken body—his fault. He had looked into the man's eyes that night, and instead of killing Jack, the man had simply… vanished. Only his hatred remained.
Jack gritted his teeth, gripping the steering wheel tighter until the leather creaked. He had lived with it for years, pretending he didn't care, burying it beneath cheap thrills, alcohol, and violence. But tonight was different. Tonight, regret was no longer hiding. Tonight, it sat beside him, a passenger whispering in his ear.
He started the engine harder this time, the car lurching forward through the sheets of rain. Headlights carved a pale path through the mist as he drove away from the city and into the outskirts. He didn't know why his body guided him there. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was fate. But something told him the forest was waiting.
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Meanwhile, in the heart of Liberty City, chaos unfolded at City Hall.
Detective John Stellman stormed through the main doors, boots slamming against the marble floor, the echo ringing through a silence too heavy to be natural. The smell hit him first—iron, thick, metallic. Blood. His jaw clenched as his eyes adjusted to the carnage laid out before him.
Bodies.
Rows of them. Men and women who had once filled these halls with noise and politics now lay scattered like broken dolls, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, faces frozen in horror. Pools of crimson spread across the polished floor, reflecting the flicker of still-burning chandeliers. It wasn't a massacre. It was a statement.
Gina stood in the middle of it all, her coat soaked, not from rain but from blood. Her expression was flat, but her eyes carried weight.
"John…" she said quietly, her voice fragile against the oppressive silence.
Stellman's eyes burned. His knuckles whitened as his hand gripped the hilt of his sword strapped at his side. "What happened here?" he demanded, his voice rough, trembling with a fury that barely stayed chained.
Gina shook her head slowly. "I don't know."
That answer only ignited the fire within him. He looked again at the bodies, at the horror painted across their faces. This wasn't random violence. This was surgical, precise. Something—or someone—had cut through them like shadows with blades.
Stellman closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to breathe. He couldn't afford to lose his head now. Not here. Not in front of Gina. Not with so many lives already stolen. He pulled out his communicator, his voice steady despite the storm inside.
"HQ, this is Detective Stellman. Send all ambulances and clean-up crews to City Hall. We've got a full-scale massacre. Seal off the perimeter. No one in or out."
As his voice echoed through the channel, Stellman slowly released his grip on the sword. His rage simmered beneath the surface, but his detective's mind clicked into motion. There was only one figure who could orchestrate something this merciless, something that felt less like murder and more like vengeance carved into stone.
H.I.M.
The thought struck like a hammer. Stellman clenched his jaw, his heart pounding. He knew the man was still out there, lurking, watching. A ghost, a shadow, a devil who no longer played by the rules of humanity. Stellman swore under his breath, his voice a low growl.
"I'll find you… no matter how far you've fallen."
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The forest outside the city was thick, its trees bending beneath the storm. Lightning slashed across the sky, illuminating the winding road Jack followed until he finally stopped, tires crunching against gravel. He stepped out into the night, the rain instantly soaking through his clothes, but he didn't care. The forest air smelled of earth and decay, heavy with something unnatural.
He walked slowly, his boots sinking into mud, his eyes darting between shadows. And then he felt it—eyes on him. A presence, suffocating, ancient, and merciless. His heart skipped, his breath caught in his throat, and instinct screamed at him to run. But he didn't. He couldn't.
The shadows shifted.
From the darkness of the trees, a figure emerged. Not walking, not striding, but bleeding out of the dark itself. His coat swayed with the storm, his face hidden beneath the hood, but the aura was unmistakable. It pressed down on the air, choking it, forcing even the rain to fall slower around him.
H.I.M.
Jack froze, his body trembling. For years he had dreaded this moment, prayed it would never come. Yet here he was, face to face with the consequence of his sins. His eyes darted to the ground, to the sky, anywhere but the figure standing before him. But the shadows offered no escape.
H.I.M. didn't move at first. He simply stood there, watching, his presence louder than thunder. And then, faintly, from the darkness at his back, a sound emerged—a laugh. Not his own. Something darker. The devil that walked with him, whispering joy at the reunion, mocking Jack with every note.
"The show," the voice hissed, "has only just begun."
Jack swallowed hard, rain running down his face, mixing with tears he refused to admit. He raised his head slowly, meeting the faint glimmer of eyes beneath that hood.
The man he had betrayed.
The friend he had destroyed.
The monster he had created.
And in that forest, beneath the storm, Jack realized that regret was no shield. Not tonight. Not against H.I.M.
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