Three years later....
Beep. Beep.
The city pulsed with life. Cars buzzed up and down the streets, people spilling in and out of buildings like restless bees. The golden glow of sunset was swallowed by towering skyscrapers, though some reflected the light—casting a magical shimmer across the skyline.
A beautiful sight to behold.
But not all corners basked in gold.
Shadows draped the downtown slums—the Darkside. A place where the forgotten lived, and illicit dealings thrived.
A hooded figure, cloaked in black, moved cautiously through the eerie quiet streets. Their gaze flicked side to side, scanning for tails. They turned down a narrow alley, walked a few paces, then slipped into a building that looked like an abandoned warehouse.
Their footsteps echoed in the hollow space.
They reached a rusted door leading to the basement, glanced over their shoulder, then descended the stairs.
Soft music drifted from below. A sliver of light cut through the darkness.
The figure reached a heavy door and knocked.
"What? Who is it?" rasped a voice from inside.
"It's the mailman," the figure replied.
A small window creaked open. Eyes peered through.
"I've got a special delivery."
"Yeah, you do," the voice muttered.
Metal clanked. The door creaked open.
Inside, four men occupied the room. Two bulky figures sat near the entrance, while two leaner ones lounged at a makeshift bar, sipping beer.
One of them with black curly hair, sunken red eyes, a flat nose, and swollen lips—approached the figure.
"I thought Bailey the mailman was more… intimidating," he sneered. "You look like a skinny-ass sucker who smokes more weed than he lifts weights. Am I right?" He laughed and the other men in the room joined him.
The figure smirked beneath the hood and mask, voice low and husky. "Sorry I'm not what you expected. But I believe what matters here isn't appearance—it's business. So… you got my goods?"
The man chuckled. "Fair enough. Yeah, I got your goods. You got my money?"
The figure pulled a thick envelope from their coat, opened it, and revealed a bundle of crisp bills.
The man grinned, snatching the cash and flipping through it.
"Genuine paper, baby. Woo! Welcome home to daddy."
"My goods," Bailey said flatly.
The man snapped his fingers.
One of the men at the bar stood and approached, carrying a small briefcase.
The curly-haired man took it, popped it open.
Inside, two Blue Diamond Roses shimmered under the dim light. Their rare glow pulsed like stars trapped in crystal.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" he said, grinning. "Got them from the Abyss. These things are damn near impossible to find these days—but this time, I got lucky. And now, you're the lucky fella."
Bailey didn't respond. He took the briefcase and handed over the rest of the cash.
"Pleasure doing business, Bailey," the man said, retreating to the bar.
Bailey turned toward the door.
Then paused.
"Nice doing business with you too," Bailey said coolly. "Oh, and by the way… I always say goodbye to my clients with a special parting word."
The man with the curly hair raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? And what's that?"
Bailey turned, eyes glinting through the mask.
"Touchè."
BOOM!
The envelope exploded in a burst of flame, engulfing the man's face in fire.
"AAAH!" he screamed, stumbling backward as the flames devoured his skin, his voice raw with agony.
The bulky guards froze—just for a second.
Then chaos erupted.
One lunged toward Bailey, but Bailey launched into the air, twisting mid-flight and slamming a flying kick into the man's jaw. The impact sent him crashing into the wall.
Before the second one could react, Bailey spun and delivered a roundhouse kick to his ribs, knocking him to the ground with a grunt.
In one fluid motion, Bailey drew his pistol.
Bang. Bang.
Two clean shots were fired—both guards dropped, clutching their legs, howling in pain.
The lean man at the bar scrambled for his weapon, but Bailey was faster.
Bang.
The bullet tore through the man's hand, sending the gun clattering to the floor.
"AAAH!" he shrieked, clutching his mangled fingers.
Bailey didn't hesitate.
Bang. Bang.
Two more shots—one to each leg. The man collapsed, writhing.
Bailey turned slowly, eyes locked on the man with the curly hair, now curled on the floor, his face a scorched ruin.
"Next time… trust no one. Especially your boss." He sneered. "Have a good evening."
Without another word, Bailey turned and strode out of the room.
Up the stairs.
Into the open space.
He paused, scanning the shadows.
Then opened the briefcase.
The Blue Diamond Roses shimmered inside—ethereal, rare, his.
A flicker of satisfaction crossed his masked face.
Before he removed it, to reveal, fiery red hair and a beautiful face glimming with satisfaction.
Then—
Beep! Beep! Beep!
A piercing alarm blared through the building.
Red lights flashed.
Footsteps thundered from every direction.
They were closing in.
Bailey—no, Anastasia—clutched the briefcase tight.
She pulled up her hood, secured her mask, and bolted.
She burst into the night air, boots pounding against pavement, cloak whipping behind her.
Goons spilled into the alley, shouting, chasing.
But Anastasia was already gone—vanishing into the shadows like a flame in the wind.
....
Meanwhile…
In a dim underground chamber, the air reeked of blood, sweat, and human waste.
Chains creaked softly as a man hung upside down in the center of the room—naked, drenched in his own filth. Deep gashes marred his flesh, carved by something sharp and merciless.
Nearby, a rusted table displayed an array of cruel tools—twisters, screwdrivers, nails, knives. Each one stained, each one waiting.
Splash!
A bucket of cold water slammed into his body, jolting him awake.
He gasped, breath ragged, vision blurred by exhaustion and pain.
"Tsk, tsk… what a pitiful creature," a voice echoed, smooth and venomous. "Covered in your own blood and filth. Tsk..tsk.. It didn't have to come to this you know. If you'd just confessed, I could've made your death… less painful."
The prisoner squinted through the haze, focusing on the man standing a few feet away.
Golden-blonde hair. Blue eyes. Flat nose. Thin brows. Plush pink lips. His physique was sculpted, wrapped in a navy-blue suit and black slacks—elegance masking cruelty.
The prisoner coughed, blood flecking his lips.
"I… I'd rather die… than betray the Sect," he rasped. "You asshole… I'll see you in hell before I give you anything! Bastard!"
The man smirked.
"Oh, is that so…"
A second voice cut through the room—deep, chilling, unnatural.
The air suddenly became cold. Suffocating.
The man felt like his body was being clothed with frost, biting into his bones like sharp needles. His breath turned to mist. He felt the cold freezing up his lungs and it became even more difficult to breath.
Then—footsteps echoed in the room
Slow. Measured.
A silhouette stood in the darkness.
Looking like a ghostly shadow.
Eyes glowing red.
The prisoner's heart seized.
He knew the stories, heard the rumours. Everyone in the Sect knew about him.
The Beast of Shadows. The Demon. The Dragon. The Grim reaper.
He was known by many names. None of them pleasant.
Those who crossed his path were never seen again. Rumours said, he would drain their souls and feast on them and leave their bodies in a sorry state like withered flowers, dried to the bone. Hollow. Lifeless.
The prisoner whimpered.
Feeling not so bold now.
The shadow laughed—a sound so deep and monstrous it seemed to shake the walls.
"Since you're so eager to go to hell…" the voice rumbled.
"…then I'll gladly take you there."
The prisoner's blood ran cold.
He whimpered. Then sobbed.
Then peed himself.
Urine trickled down his body as he squirmed in terror, eyes locked on the glowing red gaze before him.
This is the end… I'm done for.
....
Back to the chase.
Anastasia sprinted like a deer through the streets, leaping over trash bins, ducking under low-hanging signs, weaving between parked cars.
Bang! Bang!
Bullets sliced through the air, one grazing her left side—so close she felt the heat of it.
"Get him! Go! Go!"
Shouts echoed behind her.
She turned sharply down another street—this one cloaked in darkness, broken streetlights flickering like dying stars.
AAAH!
A sharp sting tore through her right leg. Something had gored her. She yelped, stumbling, but didn't stop. Blood trickled down her calf, warm and fast.
Bang! Bang!
More shots. One clipped the pavement near her foot, sending shards of concrete flying.
She dove into a dark narrow alley, heart hammering, lungs burning. She crouched behind a car, clutching the briefcase to her chest.
Her leg throbbed. She touched the wound—wet, sticky. She didn't need to guess. It was bad and it needed to be treated fast. And if the object was rusted…it could cause a tetanus infection.
No time to think.
"I think he went this way! Come on!"
Footsteps thundered closer.
Anastasia didn't hesitate. She yanked open the backseat door and slipped inside, slamming it shut behind her.
She curled into the shadows, breath held, body trembling.
Two goons entered the alley, flashlights sweeping the walls.
The alley was a dead end. No way through.
They tried the car doors—locked.
One of them stepped closer, flashlight raised.
Anastasia considered sliding under the seat, but there was no space. Any movement would give her away.
The beam of light crept toward the backseat.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
Then—
"I found something! He went this way!"
The goons turned, bolting toward the voice.
Anastasia exhaled, chest heaving. She clutched the briefcase tighter, pressing it to her heart like a lifeline.
She peeked again outside to see if there was no movement, waiting to exit the car and run away.
Then...
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
A low, husky voice whispered in her ear.
Anastasia froze.
Her blood turned to ice.
She hadn't misheard.
For the first time after entering the car, she felt it. Something was wrong. The seat beneath her felt… off. Coarse. Lumpy.
She reached back slowly.
Her fingers touched skin.
Muscle.
Her eyes widened in horror.
She wasn't sitting on a seat.
She was sitting on a lap.
She turned—slowly, carefully.
The darkness obscured his face, but his eyes glowed red. Unnatural. Dangerous.
The air in the car thickened, suffocating.
For the first time in her life, Anastasia felt like a small rabbit who just ventured into the hawk's nest and with no way out.
She swallowed hard as his voice rang out again.
Low. Husky
"You're in some serious trouble…"
*************
Spoiler alert!!
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Red." Daniel growled. "I don't fuck rabbits."
But then he stepped closer in a seductive but predatory way. His eyes glowing like marbles under the chandelier lights.
He leaned in and whispered in a low, husky, honeyed voice. "But...come a little closer.....and maybe..I might bend my rules for you."
His words sent a heat of sensation licking like tounges of flame on skin.
Too alluring to resist.
And too dangerous to surrender into.
But she didn't care. Even if the flames consumed her whole.
One thing was for sure. It was a pleasure to die for...