The night after the safehouse massacre, the city woke to whispers of unease.
The assassins sent to silence the wolves had not returned. Only one limped back with terror in her eyes, whispering a single truth:
"They're monsters. They can't be killed."
But Luv and Ayu didn't wait for the city to react.
They were already on the move.
In the heart of the Red Lantern District, one of the mid-sized gangs—the Iron Vultures—operated from a gaudy nightclub. Neon lights painted the streets in red and green, music thumping from inside, masking the filth of deals and screams within.
The Vultures had laughed at the wolves' name. They thought them nothing more than a story.
That night, the wolves came knocking.
Inside, the gang reveled—drunk on liquor, women, and false power. They didn't notice when the music cut out. They didn't notice when the neon lights flickered off.
But they noticed when the first scream echoed.
A guard outside collapsed, throat slit before he could even shout. Another was dragged into the shadows, his body tossed back with his chest torn open.
Panic spread. Guns were drawn. Lights spun frantically.
And then Luv stepped into the club, black eyes glinting under the faint strobe, fists dripping red. Behind him, Ayu emerged, her blades gleaming like fangs in the dark.
"Wolves," someone gasped.
The slaughter was merciless.
Luv crashed through the first line of gunmen, his fists shattering jaws, ribs, and skulls. Every strike was final—bones broke, bodies fell, blood sprayed across velvet couches and dance floors.
Ayu moved with elegance, her blades carving arcs of crimson. She spun through the chaos, cutting throats and severing tendons, moving so swiftly the terrified gangsters barely registered their deaths.
"Please—wait!" one begged, dropping his gun and falling to his knees.
Ayu's smile was cold as her blade flashed.
"Too late."
When the screams faded, the nightclub was silent. Bodies sprawled across tables, blood dripping from shattered chandeliers.
In the center of the carnage, Luv dipped his fingers into a pool of blood. On the wall, with steady strokes, he painted a single message:
THE WOLVES ARE HERE.
Ayu stood beside him, her white skin streaked with crimson, her jade-like face glowing in the neon light. She tilted her head and whispered, almost lovingly:
"Now they'll listen."
By dawn, word of the massacre spread like wildfire. The Iron Vultures were no more. Their den had become a graveyard, their blood a message.
The gangs had sent assassins.
The wolves had answered with a massacre.
And the city understood one thing clearly:
The wolves weren't prey.
They were predators.