The laughter Matteo heard in his nightmares became reality that night because Lucius finally gave the command.
"Go."
Lucius sat upon his throne, crimson eyes glowing in the candlelight, his grin sharp as a blade. Across the chamber, Darius Veylan rose, cracking his neck and knuckles. The Butcher had waited long enough. His hunger for blood was a beast caged too long, and now his master had set him free.
Night fell heavy over the Grimaldi district. The air reeked of stale liquor and fear. Matteo's soldiers gathered at their outposts, clutching their weapons, whispering about the Devil's shadow creeping closer. They tried to convince themselves they were safe, that numbers would protect them.
Then came the sound.
Crunch.Crunch.Crunch.
Heavy boots on broken glass.
Out of the darkness stepped Darius—towering, brutal, eyes glinting with sadistic joy. He carried no gun. Only an iron pipe, stained with rust and dried blood. His grin was wide, hungry, wicked.
"Good evening, boys," he growled, voice rough as gravel. "The Devil sends his regards."
The first man barely had time to scream before the pipe shattered his skull. Bone and brain painted the wall. Chaos erupted. Bullets flew, but Darius moved like a beast unleashed, smashing through flesh and metal alike. Every swing of his pipe cracked ribs, crushed faces, ended lives. The street became a slaughterhouse, and Darius was the butcher carving his art.
Some men tried to flee. They didn't get far. Cain Mortalis was already waiting at the alley's end, his axe dripping. Silent, merciless, he swung once, twice, and heads rolled into the gutter.
By dawn, the Grimaldi outpost was nothing but ruins and corpses. The few survivors babbled nonsense, trembling, their clothes soaked in piss. They could only repeat the same words over and over: "The Butcher is real… the Devil is coming… the Devil is coming…"
Back in his lair, Lucius listened to the reports with a cruel smile stretching across his face. His laughter filled the chamber, sharp and unholy. "Good," he hissed. "Let the city see what happens when a fool defies the Devil. Soon, Don Matteo will kneel—or he will be nothing but ash beneath my boots."
The Butcher's work was only the beginning. The true feast had yet to come.