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Chapter : The Devil Wears Her Pain
The wind in Vienna that night was cold—brutal. But it wasn't colder than Rayyan's blood.
His boots crunched over gravel as he walked toward the iron gates of a forgotten estate tucked in the forest outskirts. No name on the mailbox. No guards outside.
But he knew what they did inside.
Traffickers. Killers. Flesh sellers. The same monsters who whispered in shadows and traded girls like products. Dee had once called them "the roaches that survive every fire." It was when they watch a horror movie and then Dee give comment about them the whole night .
Tonight, he was the fire.
Rayyan adjusted his gloves, black leather stitched tight around fingers already bruised from the last raid. His jaw clenched, his eyes ice. He hadn't slept in days, hadn't eaten properly. He didn't care.
Everyone girl is unsafe and these people still breathed.
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The front door wasn't locked.
He kicked it open.
The room inside was warm, low jazz humming from a speaker in the corner. Laughter. A man in suspenders turned in surprise, holding a wine glass.
Rayyan didn't speak.
He raised the bat in his hand—not a gun. A bat. Iron and wrapped in barbed wire.
The man's face twisted into confusion.
"Who the fu—"
Crack.
The sound echoed. Skull against metal. Teeth scattered like coins. Blood sprayed across the cream wallpaper.
Another man ran out from the back hallway, gun drawn. Rayyan ducked under the bullet and flung a blade straight into his throat.
The man gurgled. Dropped. Twitched. Stopped.
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Room by room, Rayyan became death.
He found a girl—maybe sixteen—locked in a cage in the basement. Her face swollen, wrists cut. She flinched at the sight of him.
He whispered, "You're safe now." His voice trembled.
But safe wasn't enough.
He covered her with his coat, handed her the keys, and pointed to the van outside.
"Don't look back," he said.
He did.
He always looked back.
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There were five left upstairs. And Rayyan wanted them to suffer.
One he tied to a chair, poured acid slowly over his legs while the man screamed so loud the walls shook. Rayyan didn't blink. His hands didn't shake.
Another, he dragged into the kitchen and slammed his face repeatedly into the stove burner until flesh sizzled and teeth stuck to the metal.
"You took them," Rayyan growled, breath ragged. "You took girls who laughed. Who danced. Who lived."
"You took some Minor's!"
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The third man tried to beg. On his knees, bleeding from his mouth.
"I have a son—please, please—"
Rayyan stared into his eyes.
"So did the woman you sold last week."
Then he shoved a knife into his chest. Slowly. Twist. Push. Deeper. He kept staring until the man's eyes rolled back.
The fourth ran.
Big mistake.
Rayyan caught him outside. Beat him with the bat until the handle snapped and his arm was covered in blood, until his own shoulders ached and his throat burned from screaming.
He stood over the body, panting. Blood dripping off his chin. He looked unrecognizable—not Rayyan anymore. Just rage. Just revenge.
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He saved the fifth for last.
The ringleader.
He was hiding in the attic like a rat, surrounded by old art and antiques. He held a pistol but his hands were shaking too much to aim.
"You're him," the man whispered. "The one they warned us about. The boss of the east. The one who vanished after the girl went missing."
Rayyan stepped forward.
"You know me you know Evey said her name," he murmured. "Say it again."
The man stuttered, backing into a wall.
Rayyan pulled out a blade, long and curved like a reaper's smile.
"Say. Her. Name."
"I—Dee. Please. I didn't touch her, I swear—"
That was enough.
Screams followed. Long. Guttural. Hollow.
Blood seeped through the cracks in the wooden floor like rain. When Rayyan was done, the body was still twitching, but unrecognizable.
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Then came the silence.
Rayyan stood in the middle of the massacre, covered in blood that wasn't his, the bodies around him stinking of rot and evil.
He looked at his hands. Red. Soaked. Trembling.
But all he felt was cold.
"I did this for you," he whispered to the ghost of her. "For every tear you cried. For every moment I didn't find you."
He walked to the edge of the estate, lit a match, and dropped it on the alcohol trail.
The fire roared to life, swallowing the house, the screams, the crimes.
Rayyan didn't watch it burn.
He walked away into the rain.
Silent. Empty. Gone.
Her silhouette disappeared into the night, leaving him shattered on the cold floor, the silence screaming louder than any words.
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Back in — The Hotel Room in Vienna
The city lights bled through the cracked window, casting jagged shadows on Rayyan's bloodied face. The kills were done. The enemies dead. But inside, a storm raged fiercer than any battlefield.
He fell to his knees, voice raw, broken, screaming into the emptiness. He sees a figure standing Infront of him .
Dee:
"You've hurt me too many times. It's over. You were supposed to protect me, not destroy me."
Rayyan (shouting):
"Come back , Dee! Come home! Please... please..."
His voice turned into a desperate plea, trembling with every word.
Rayyan:
"I want you. It's okay. Hurt me. Betray me. Curse me. Stab me. I won't say a word. I won't complain. I'll carry every wound, every scar... but please, Dee... just let me see you."
He collapsed forward, tears burning hot, a quiet sob breaking through the anger.
Rayyan (whispering):
"I can't live without you... I don't want to."
His fists clenched the sheets, knuckles white with pain and longing.
Hours passed. The hotel room was cold, empty of warmth except for the shadow of a man who had lost everything.
Rayyan sat motionless, head bowed, hands stained — not just with blood, but with regret and shattered hope.
He whispered into the dark, a vow and a plea tangled into one.
Rayyan:
"I'll wait for you, Dee. No matter how long. No matter how broken I am. Because losing you... that's the real death."
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