As night fell and the city lights came to life, Sean, having enjoyed the finest services at the Hilton Garden Inn, was now seated in a black sedan heading toward the suburban manor...
Accompanying him was the tense figure of Mordo, the sorcerer dressed in a well-fitted suit that accentuated his muscular frame, perfectly embodying the image of an intimidating bodyguard.
Six hours earlier, Sean had arrived at his reserved hotel suite, instantly winning the personal attention of the hotel manager with his extravagant, free-spending demeanor. From his demeanor to his attire, this young tycoon exuded an aura of wealth.
The sharp-eyed manager could tell at a glance... bespoke luxury clothing, polished leather shoes, a limited-edition wristwatch, a bodyguard in tow, and a demand for the hotel's most exclusive services...
Every detail screamed that this young man was not only wealthy, but utterly unconcerned with the thickness of his wallet.
So when, after a lavish French dinner, Sean subtly inquired about "entertainment options" in the area, the manager wasn't the least bit surprised. Men of such wealth weren't like ordinary tourists, content to snap photos at famous landmarks and post them online. They sought far more thrilling games.
Pocketing the generous tip, the manager discreetly made a call. Within half an hour, a black Chevrolet waited outside.
After a brief exchange to confirm identities and security, Sean calmly stepped inside. As the engine roared to life, they left the bustling city behind, the sprawling manor looming ahead in the outskirts.
Through the car window, Sean glimpsed a sea of luxury vehicles and a steady stream of VIP guests... powerful figures in opulent attire, each flanked by personal bodyguards, as though attending a grand gala.
Unfazed, Sean maintained his indifferent expression as the sedan rolled into the manor's inner grounds.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. He could sense a thick, oppressive darkness shrouding the estate like a living shadow. His fingers twitched imperceptibly, casting a subtle glow over his eyes. It was a minor trick that he borrowed from Kamar-Taj's libraries.
His vision pierced through the manor's façade, revealing wailing spirits and sinister energy woven into every brick. The lingering anguish of countless victims had festered over time, transforming into wraith-like entities.
Probing deeper, Sean detected a vast subterranean chamber pulsing with a grotesque, shifting sigil... a forbidden black-magic array designed to distill suffering into raw power. Undoubtedly, this was the handiwork of vampires.
"What's our move?" Mordo whispered through gritted teeth, equally aware of the horrors around them.
Sean snapped his fingers and grinned, "We join the party, of course."
Inside the manor, eight heavily armed mercenaries stood guard at a metal gate, distributing handmade white masks to each guest.
One held a card reader for identity verification. Sean produced the magnetic card given by the hotel manager, noting the complete loss of signal... It seems jammers ensured total isolation beyond this point.
Past the gate, they descended three floors into a brightly lit corridor lined with metal doors. Guests were ushered into different rooms based on status, while regulars strode confidently down the opulent hallway.
"Mr. Cyphers, this way." As a newcomer, Sean was led to an exquisitely furnished VIP room.
Its centerpiece was a massive one-way glass window, offering guests a front-row seat to the depravity below. Rumor had it many elites enjoyed watching the bloodshed while taking their companions against the glass, chasing heights of pleasure unattainable elsewhere.
For those without female company, the manor provided. To Carrigan, beautiful young women were an inexhaustible resource. Any nationality, any skin tone... for the right price, he could procure them all.
To some, this place was hell incarnate. To the wealthy and powerful? A paradise of unbridled indulgence.
The dark space suddenly flooded with light, revealing a colossal nine-foot werewolf roaring in a steel cage below.
Thick fur, razor fangs, and an electric collar around its neck... its opponents were burly mercenaries armed with shotguns and kukri knives. Victory promised a million-euro prize, driving these battle-hardened desperadoes to fight without fear.
The blood-soaked cage match was merely an appetizer. Sean flipped through the "menu" of activities, each more grotesque than the last. The so-called "hunting games" were child's play compared to what else was offered.
No wonder many called this manor hell on earth...
Mordo stared at the caged beast... a low-grade werewolf that was unable to shapeshift, pumped full of stimulants to heighten its bloodlust. The crowd's frenzied cheers reached a crescendo as the creature lifted a mercenary overhead and tore him in half.
Shotgun blasts tore chunks from the werewolf's chest, yet it charged forward, slamming another man into the cage with enough force to embed his shattered body into the bars.
Blood sprayed as the beast ripped off its victim's head, sending the audience into euphoric hysterics. The raw brutality electrified their numb nerves, delivering a high no drug could match.
"How much longer must we watch this?" Mordo's eyes burned crimson as fury boiled in his chest.
With a sigh, Sean rose, his white mask gleaming. A flicker of gold passed behind its hollow eyes as he pressed a palm against the one-way glass.
In the cage, the last surviving mercenary knelt before the werewolf and begged for mercy. The crowd roared for the kill, their collective bloodlust cresting like a tidal wave.
*Crack!*
The reinforced glass of the VIP box shattered. Amid the falling shards, a tall figure in a white mask stepped into view...