Nikolai Volkov's POV:
I stared at the broken mirror in front of me, blood dripping down my knuckles as it reflected a lifeless monster back. The reflection wasn't just me—it was every failure, every weakness I had ever shown, staring back with cold, accusing eyes.
I had just returned from visiting my sister, someone whose name I no longer deserved to speak. I had broken her. I was the reason she was the way she was now. My chest ached with guilt, but beneath it simmered something darker: a cold, relentless rage.
The time I had spent in the hospital room had been torturous. Every second as she stared at me reminded me of how I had failed her. I had faced the wall, refusing to meet the obvious resentment in her eyes—the proof that her brother had failed her. I wanted to tear down those walls, scream at her, and at the same time, I wanted to disappear. I couldn't handle it.
I had always been an arrogant bastard. Born into power, I had been automatically respected and feared. That had given me the illusion of invincibility. It had been my downfall. I should never have taken her out without guards. I should never have taken my eyes off her. I had been too cocky, too blind to think someone might harm her. Every second of that thought burned into me like fire.
Now, I could only see the monster in me. The cocky, naive kid I once was, had died. What stared back at me through the shards of glass wasn't just a monster—it was a predator, waiting to rip the world apart for revenge. One thing I was sure of: I would kill every motherfucker who had touched her. Every single one. And I would enjoy making them regret it.
I would embrace this monster—and grow it into their worst nightmare. I might be going to hell, but I would drag them there with me, screaming all the way.
This was a blood pact I signed in the name of my sister. Let the hunt begin.
-----
I went to my father's office later that evening. He looked up from a pile of papers and stared at me through his glasses.
He had not scolded me or spoken to me again since the day I lost her. My chest tightened. My fists clenched under my coat, white-knuckled. I ignored it.
"I will join the hunt," I said, my voice low and hard.
"Nyet."
"I was not asking."
He glared at me for a long moment. My skin prickled. Numbness had settled deep, but beneath it, a pulse of anger throbbed like a drum.
"You'll take responsibility for your actions. Go with Igor. You will work under him."
I nodded. My jaw ached from clenching as I left the room.
-----
"You're late."
Igor didn't turn as he looked through the glass into the confessional room. It was anything but holy—filled with the metallic stench of blood and the sound of screams as a man sat cuffed to a chair while Kirill peeled his fingernails off, one by one.
I watched every movement. The man's body convulsed with each peel, his cries cutting through the air like shattered glass. Blood spattered the floor, a dark rhythm to the pain. I leaned slightly, eyes tracing Kirill's hands, the way the light caught the steel, the subtle twitch of the victim before each strike landed.
"I had something to take care of," I replied, eyes fixed on the man writhing in front of me.
"Don't do anything reckless, Nikolai. You are still a child."
I glared at him, rage burning through me.
He merely glanced back, as if I were all talk, and said, "If you want to change that, prove me wrong with your actions."
"Now come with me."
I stayed a moment longer, taking in the smell of iron and sweat, the staccato rhythm of pain and scream, the way the man's body bent and jerked under each strike. Every detail was a pulse, a lure, a taste of what could be done to the men who had signed their names in my death note.
-----
I went to the training compound behind the warehouse. The grounds were massive, enclosed by steel fences wrapped in barbed wire—enough to see the outside but not enough to be caught off guard. The air smelled faintly of sweat, leather, and iron.
Armed men were stationed at every corner, some patrolling in precise, scheduled loops.
We entered the indoor training room at the center. The space rang with the sounds of fists striking flesh and bodies hitting mats. Five boxing rings lined the floor, floodlights glaring down as men and women sparred brutally, no rules beyond survival. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the echo of grunts and shouts.
I had not yet been allowed into the training grounds until now, having trained privately since the age of three under handpicked martial artists chosen by my father.
My eyes scanned the room as Igor clapped his hands. Everyone inside froze and turned toward us.
"This is Master Nikolai Volkov. Most of you have probably already met him. He will be joining us from today onwards. No special treatment is to be given. He starts from the bottom rung of the organisation. Treat him accordingly."
I glanced at Igor as he flashed a sinister grin, silently saying, let's see you survive. I turned my focus forward.
"What do I start with?"