Domino City.
The sunset poured like molten gold across the sky, dyeing the horizon a gentle orange-red. A jet streaked through the gorgeous dusk, carving the firmament like a silver shooting star and leaving a long trail across the tapestry of blue and amber.
Kira—or rather, the Revolver—was inside the cabin.
Kurozaki respectfully handed him a tablet.
Kira took it, idly swiped a few times, and skimmed.
"Soul Eater," Kira read the dossier. "That's what they call this guy?"
"Yeah."
Kurozaki nodded.
"A newcomer who popped up in the last two months, mostly active in Domino City and the surrounding area," Kurozaki briefed. "Thirteen serial murders over two months, all victims are women with similar looks.
"And the common point: modern forensics can't determine the cause of death. But according to reliable intel, anyone with sight for the supernatural can see the same dark energy fluctuation inside the victims."
"The power of Dark Games," Kira said blandly.
"Yeah. If you ask me, there's an eighty percent chance he's a freshly awakened ability user."
Kurozaki shrugged.
"This kind of thing's not rare. The world's big—every so often, some idiot who doesn't know the height of the sky crawls out of the woodwork.
"Maybe he stumbled on some antique, or a single card—whatever it is, he accidentally gets some extraordinary power he's never even heard of.
"Then he decides what he's got must be the pinnacle of worldly might; it goes to his head, and naturally he starts thinking about using it to do as he pleases."
He shook his head.
"Nine times out of ten these are self-taught nobodies. The moment they get a little skill, they think they're beyond restraint—laughable."
Kira knew what he meant.
If he'd been fostered by a proper organization of Dark Duelists, he wouldn't be acting so suicidally cocky. Anyone with a clue about the supernatural side of the world should understand there's always someone stronger.
The truly formidable bosses can destroy worlds and overturn time—and even at that level, they don't dare get cocky. After all, even the real eldritch gods with that ability have had grass five yards high growing over their graves by now.
So the more you know of the dark world, the more you should realize that truly doing whatever you want is almost impossible. Only frogs at the bottom of the well, who've never seen the breadth of the world, get smug over their tiny puddles.
"I still don't get it, boss."
Kurozaki looked puzzled.
"Why do we—uh, I mean, why do we go out of our way to mess with these guys?"
This wasn't the first time.
Ever since Revolver came back from the Dark Web, he'd gotten very interested in people who abused dueling power for evil, and had specifically set up an intel net to track them.
Kurozaki didn't understand why.
Kira only gave him a slight smile.
"Because we're allies of justice."
Kurozaki almost choked.
He thought of this leader's duels brimming with malice, and remembered the vicious, insidious methods he'd seen on previous field ops—more ruthless than the nastiest cartel boss.
"You're an ally of justice? Then justice in this world sure is dark…"
Kurozaki muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Kira arched a brow.
Kurozaki jolted.
"I—I said, leader, how insightful!"
Fortunately, the pilot's voice from the front broke in and saved him.
"Approaching the target."
From the cockpit.
"Alright, open the bay."
Kira stood, stepped to the wall. A folded white mechanical glider was strapped on like a backpack.
"Need our people to support you?" Kurozaki asked.
"No. Have them hold outside. When I'm done, come in and clean up. Wait for my signal," Kira waved. "Move on my mark."
Then, with a single lunge, he jumped into the gale outside the hatch.
The rushing wind struck his goggles with a soft whine. As a Dark Duelist with spirit-boosted physique, he could easily focus on the destination and maintain balance even midair.
He pressed his arms to his sides, accelerated in a headlong freefall, then ignited midway. The metal wings snapped open behind him with a swish, twin plumes of flame roared from the engines, and he traced a gorgeous arc through the sky.
Below lay an abandoned warehouse, with plenty of goons inside carrying guns. They'd been local thugs before, subdued by the Soul Eater's supernatural means to serve as his hired muscle.
Of course, they could only handle ordinary security officers. In fights between Dark Duelists, they were dead weight.
Like now.
Boom!
A blast from the ceiling. The roof blew apart like paper under raw force. A flaming silhouette descended from above and landed in a crouch squarely in the center of the floor.
The goons were stunned and scrambled to open fire.
Bullets pinged and clattered off around Kira harmlessly. He rose unhurriedly, didn't even glance at them, and said casually:
"Leaving this to you."
"You got it!"
A shout—and the entire Dark Scorpion gang surged forth!
The five Scorpions fanned out at once.
Don Zaloog drew his revolver, squinted with his single eye—bang, bang—two shots, and two men toppled from the second-floor catwalk, slamming to the ground bleeding.
Meanae snapped her wrist—the long whip writhed like a serpent, coiling guns out of two men's hands, then flicked back like a flying dart to smash their faces, dropping them both cold.
Cliff vaulted a railing, flipping over the containers the thugs hid behind. One stroke opened a throat. Two others backpedaled and opened up in a staccato burst, bullets sparking all around him. Cliff dropped low, and behind him Chick used his back as a springboard—one burst of speed and he soared in front of the two retreating thugs, a spinning kick dropping them both.
They looked like comic relief, but they were monster spirits—more than enough against gun-toting mortals.
With the warehouse fight in the Scorpions' hands, Kira didn't look back once, ignoring the cacophony as he strode straight through.
Boom!
He simply blasted the locked door apart and entered the deepest room, where he found his target.
A man in his thirties. Shirtless, musclebound, body crisscrossed with knife scars, his vicious appearance downright terrifying.
"Soul Eater?" Kira arched a brow, giving him a once-over. "A bit of an overstated title."