A few moments ago—
First floor, inside the office of the club owner—
Three figures cloaked in dark robes sat on a plush sofa encircling a glass table at the room's center. Opposite them sat Lucien Carver, a chubby man in his late forties, his sharp gaze flickering uneasily in the dim light, silver-streaked hair catching the chandelier's restless glow.
His tailored charcoal suit, usually a symbol of his ironclad control, clung to his broad frame, now damp with sweat at the collar. The faint scent of cedar and tobacco cologne hung in the air, soured by the nervous tang of his perspiration.
A heavy black briefcase sat atop the table, its sleek, metallic surface reflecting the tension like a dark mirror.
"Hahahahaha! You don't need to worry about it. This will be an instant hit in the underworld. In fact, there is already a huge demand for this drug, even if most treat it as a myth," Lucien boomed, his laugh brittle and overloud, a stark contrast to the cold authority he wielded over the city's underbelly.
"It is not a drug," A deep, glacial voice cut through the room, sharp enough to freeze the air in Lucien's lungs.
"P-pardon..?" Lucien faltered, his usual swagger crumbling as his eyes darted to the robed figures.
In the underworld, Lucien was one of the untouchable bigshots who crushed dissent like ants underfoot. But now, in the presence of the three figures sitting before him, that unshakable confidence faltered.
"I said that it is not something as lowly and filthy as a drug. It is 'Spirit'. A gift from the lord himself. You mortals should kneel in gratitude that he has deigned to offer you unity with his divine will." One of the men, cloaked in the blood red robe, tilted his head, revealing frost-pale skin drained of vitality.
His cold blue lips twisted into a grave sneer, bright yellow hair falling across a face shadowed with menace. Crimson eyes burned behind him, their abyssal pupils adrift in a sea of blood-red, slicing through the gloom with unearthly intensity.
"A-ah-hahahaha! Right, right! I wasn't aware of its name. So it's called Spirit." Lucien forced out, his chuckle high-pitched and shaky.
His meaty hand twitched toward his handkerchief, pressing it harder against his temple, blotting sweat that wouldn't stop. 'Fu*k!! These fu*king zealots! If not for their so-called 'spirit' amounting a fortune, I'd have them tossed out like the trash they are.' He swallowed hard, the bigshot who crushed dissent now reduced to a man picking his words like stepping through a minefield.
"Ah, but," He steadied his voice, clinging to the remnants of his composure, "I'd need some advance. You see, the risk—" before he could continue,
"There is no advance." the man snapped, his tone an icy blade.
"Umm..." Lucien's throat tightened, dread twisting his gut. He ruled the underworld with an iron fist, yet here he was, hesitating, calculating. Offending them could tank this deal—and his empire. "Please don't misunderstand, but without an advance, it's tricky. I need some bones to toss to those government dogs—"
"There is no advance. In return, you can keep all the profits."
"Huh?!" What he heard was very shocking. It is important to note that what was resting inside the briefcase before his eyes was not anything ordinary. It was a thing that has an insane amount of demand in the whole underworld.
This thing, known as "Spirit," was originally developed by the once bio-tech giant Evergarden about a decade ago. It erupted onto the market with fervor, fueled by both its potent effects and the reputation of those behind it.
Its effects were so profound that rumors spread of people turning into monsters if they were deprived of the drug for too long.
After the collapse of Evergarden, Spirit faded into legend, known only to those who dealt with it, those who endured its maddening effects, or those who witnessed the chaos firsthand.
'To not ask for any profit... either these guys are truly fanatic idiots or they are scheming something.' he thought of the situation that seemed too good to be true, suspicion sharpening his gaze.
Regaining his nerve, he pressed, "How many units of this spirit are in the case?"
"One." The blunt reply hit like a slap, frustration bubbling beneath his forced calm. 'Heh! So that's how it is! You fu*king fanatics! How much profit do you think a single fu*king unit could bring!' his patience was slowly thinning out.
Noticing his irritation, the man added in his icy voice, "But it is not like the ones from the past."
"W-what do you mean?" The man's words successfully caught Lucien's attention.
"This is ten times more potent than Evergarden's version. Sell it to whomever, for whatever price. We won't interfere nor do we care. Our desire is simple: let the lord's will reach as many mortals as possible. Succeed in your task, and more will come."
A grin tugged at Lucien's lips, greed overtaking his unease. 'Hmph! Then I shall hold a grand auction for those idiots and will not settle for anything less than a million bucks.' His mind raced with dollar signs.
"With the same conditions?" He asked.
"With the same conditions." And The confirmation fueled his fantasies. 'A single unit for a million with no profit sharing is already good enough but if I can get more...!' greed was clearly visible over his face.
After letting his imagination run wild, Lucien calmed himself and, "Can I... take a look?" He man. His tone cautious, a man used to barking orders now asking permission.
In response, the robed man gave a slight nod.
Lucien's smile widened as he slid the briefcase toward himself, hands trembling not from fear now, but anticipation.
Click!
Fwoosh!
The case snapped open with a crisp click, followed closely by a sharp hiss, releasing a plume of frigid vapor that curled upward like spectral tendrils. Inside, cradled on a black microfiber bed, lay a sleek syringe of polished metal, its surface etched with a faint, glowing blue circuitry.
A small, transparent window on the syringe's barrel revealed a glimpse of what it holds: a strange, green liquid that writhed like a living thing, its hypnotic dance casting eerie shadows across the steel barrel.
Cooling coils hummed faintly within the briefcase, preserving the spirit in its otherworldly state.
"So this is spirit..." Lucien whispered, awe tinged with a shiver of dread.
Just then—
"Aaaarhg!!" A muffled scream broke through, dampened by the pulsing EDM and the office's soundproofing, yet too near for comfort.
"Hmm?" Lucien snatched the phone, dialing security that was guarding the door outside.
Ring— Ring—
The electronic ring escaped the phone's earpiece.
Tut— Tut—
No response.
Before he could attempt to re-dail—
Bang— Bang—
The crisp sound of gun shots followed the suit of the scream into the room.
'What the hell is going on!' Fury flared at his guards' failure, but Lucien plastered on a smile for the robed men, "Seems there's a little issue outside. Please don't worry, I'll go and check it." He stood up and approached the door.
But before he could even grab the door handle, "No need." The icy voice stopped him cold, an invisible weight slamming him in place.
"H-huh?" He slowly turned his head around, his heart pounding crazily under the invisible pressure. He saw the man in the dark red robe getting up from the sofa and taking hold of the syringe that was resting in the briefcase.
"A-ah, y-you don't n-need to worry! I-I assure you, there will be n-no problem! You can leave the d-distribution of the spirit to me!" Lucien stammered, panic clawing up his throat. 'Shit! Just who the fu*k dared to make so much commotion outside when I am in the middle of the deal. I swear I'll make that motherfu*ker pay for it if this deal doesn't reach to a positive conclusion.' he cursed the one who was causing such ruckus outside his office.
"I said there is no need." The man intoned, inspecting the syringe in his hand, "I already told you. There is no profit motive behind our actions. Our only motive is to give the spirit to as many mortals as possible." He lightly pressed the flange, a few droplets of the squirming liquid arcing free, "And now that he is already here, you can be the very first mortal to be blessed by the lord's divine gift."
"W-what?" Before Lucien could react, the man raised his left hand towards him and a strange force dragged Lucien forward, towards his wide open palm.
Grab!
"G-gieuhk!" Iron fingers locked around his throat, choking off his air. He thrashed, fists pounding uselessly against the grip.
Right at that moment—
Click—
A soft click entered everyone's ears as the door swung open.
"..." The man glanced at his other two companions.
Receiving a silent command, with an inhuman speed, one of the figures surged toward the intruder, hand slashing out with lethal intent. The strike blurred, but the intruder sidestepped with liquid grace, retreating a few paces.
"Now this is interesting," the intruder—Karan—said, voice calm, eyes narrowing as the air thickened with menace. A smirk curling his lips.