Somewhere…
The music pounded through the room, wild and relentless. Bodies moved in chaotic rhythm, some lost in dance, others tangled in darker indulgences.
Two hooded figures, cloaked in black and gold, slipped through the crowd like shadows with purpose, heading straight for the bar.
"Hey Charlie, come help me grapple some more orders, will you!" shouted one of the bartenders—a man with brown curly hair, round eyes, a flat nose, plush lips, and a medium-muscled frame. His black, buttonless shirt clung to him as he moved between sloshing drinks and impatient hands.
He froze when the hooded figures appeared before him.
He didn't know who they were. He didn't need to. But their aura said enough, they were not to be messed with.
The bartender swallowed hard. "Hi, gentlemen… can I get you something?"
No reply.
One of the figures pulled out a photo—a man in a hood and mask, blue eyes piercing through the shadows.
The bartender studied it. Recognition flickered across his face for a split second before he buried it beneath feigned ignorance. But the figures saw it. Too well.
"If you're asking whether I've seen this guy… sorry, I haven't. Maybe someone else might recognize him. You could ask around."
They stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then, without a word, they pocketed the photo and vanished back into the crowd.
Goosebumps crawled up his arms as he watched them disappear.
Just then, another bartender arrived and clapped him on the back, making him flinch.
"Alright, I'm here now, Jerry. Let's get this over with. I've got a date with my hot new girlfriend tonight, and I want to make a good impression by showing up on time."
Jerry didn't respond. His eyes kept darting into the crowd, scanning for the hooded pair.
"Hey, Jerry. Jerry!" the other bartender called.
"Huh?" Jerry turned, distracted.
His companion frowned. "You okay, man? You look pale—like you've seen a ghost."
Jerry leaned in, voice low. "Charlie… I gotta ask. Have you ever heard of the Dragonflies? Ruthless. Heartless. Killers. The kind that show up when someone's messed with the wrong person."
Charlie's face drained of color. He whispered back, "Shhh… man! Don't say that name. Ever. That kind of talk gets you six feet under before you've enjoyed the prime of your life, man. But... why are you asking? What's going on?"
Jerry's gaze swept the room one last time. Then he turned to Charlie.
"Hold the fort. I need to hit the restroom."
He peeled off his apron and walked away, leaving Charlie speechless.
"Seriously…" Charlie muttered, just as the bell rang—another order.
"Urrgh… coming."
.....
Meanwhile, in the restroom…
"The person you are trying to call is unavailable right now. Please leave a message after the beep."
Beep.
Jerry sighed and spoke in a low, automated voice.
"Cody, it's me—JR. Listen, we've got a Code Black. I repeat: Code Black. I just saw some bad people at the bar. I think they're the rumored DFs—and they're looking for you. Call me as soon as you get this."
He ended the call and peeled off the transparent tech pad from his neck, slipping it into his pocket. Then he headed for the door.
Wack!
A fist met his face the moment he stepped out, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Groaning, Jerry clutched his bruised lip. "The hell—who do you think you—"
The words died in his throat.
The hooded figures stood before him.
His blood ran cold.
He began to whimper, scrambling backward, eyes wide with terror.
They advanced slowly, like predators savoring the moment.
"Please… please… I don't know anything. Just let me go…" he stammered, inching away until his back hit the wall.
One of the figures reached for him—
But a sudden commotion erupted as a group of clubgoers shoved toward the restroom, breaking the moment.
Jerry seized the chance.
He sprang up, landing a flying kick to one figure's chest, sending him stumbling. Then a roundhouse kick knocked the second to the ground. Without hesitation, Jerry bolted.
The music blared. Lights flashed. Bodies swayed and collided as Jerry weaved through the crowd, desperate for the exit.
"Shit! Fuck!" he cursed, struggling against the tide of dancers. He glanced over his shoulder—no sign of the figures. A flicker of relief passed through him. Even if they're chasing me, they'll never catch me in this crowd.
But above him, two shadows moved silently across the railings of the upper floor of the club, leaping from pillar to pillar like acrobats, eyes locked on their target.
Just as Jerry broke free from the crowd and neared the exit—
One of the figures spun through the air in a triple twist and landed in front of him like a phantom ninja.
Jerry stumbled backward, falling in shock. He scrambled to his feet, ready to turn but the second figure landed in front him giving him no escape route.
Crack!
Something heavy struck his head.
Jerry collapsed.
The music throbbed on, faint and distant, as the shadows reclaimed the silence.
....
The lighting was dim, candlelight flickering in a daze. The sweet scent of roses filled the room, trailing from the floor to the bed.
Golden drapes fluttered gently on the canopy, stirred by the breeze slipping through the window.
On the bed lay a beautiful figure, wrapped in a glittering lace outfit that left little to the imagination. Rose petals adorned her body like a lover's promise.
Her fiery red hair spilled across the sheets, lips tinted a deep crimson more temptation than color. Though half her face was blurred, her golden-brown eyes glowed like drops of honey.
Sensing a presence, she stirred. Slowly, she rose from the bed, her creamy skin, full luscious breasts, bell-shaped figure revealed beneath the lace.
She smiled, voice sweet and theatrical.
"I've been waiting for you."
Then she slowly, seductively moved towards the presence, stopped. Then whipped her back her hair, leaned back, bending her neck, bit her lip, moaned softly, then chuckled.
"Ready to finally make me yours…"
Then she leaned in, whispering,
"I'm ready."
The wind brushed past her, carrying the scent of wildflowers on a sunlit breeze. She smiled, then leaned closer for a kiss—
Knock! Knock!
The sound of someone knocking shattered the romantic scene.
Daniel's eyes snapped open, flashing a dangerous crimson hue. He heaved in frustration, turning to the side only for his eyes to be poked by the morning light peeping through the curtains.
"Grrr…" he hissed, wincing as he brushed against something beneath the sheets—still standing, poking the sheets, still hungry from the dream's aftermath. Needing to be satiated.
Knock. Knock.
"Whoever's at that door is so… fucking dead," he muttered, throwing an arm over his eyes.
Knock. Knock.
"Grrr… Who is it?! Stop with that annoying ruckus!" he roared.
A shaky voice answered from outside.
"I'm sorry, my Prince… but may I have a word with you?"
Daniel sighed. "You may enter."
The door creaked open. Blake stepped in, dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and polished shoes. His blonde hair was neatly swept to the side.
He froze.
Daniel sat on the bed, tousled black hair falling over his brow, chest bare and sculpted like a Greek god. The sheets draped over his lower body, outlining toned legs. But the scene was marred by one unmistakable detail, a poking stick standing beneath the sheets and the crimson eyes that burned with warning.
The predator was awake and one wrong move will result in his head rolling on the floor.
Blake swallowed hard, rubbing his palms to steady himself.
"My apologies, my Prince, for disturbing your… sleep. But I thought you should know—the Dragonflies caught one of the individuals involved in the Royal Archives break-in last night. As per your command, I've brought the news immediately."
Daniel said nothing. He simply stared.
Blake felt the chill crawl down his spine. He hadn't meant to provoke the beast. It wasn't his fault Daniel was having wild dreams. But he was paying for it anyway?
The crimson eyes locked onto him, unblinking.
Then—as if the winds have shifted, the beastly eyes vanished into warm golden-brown honey hued eyes.
Blake exhaled, quietly, as if he'd been holding his breath the entire time.
Daniel rose from the bed and walked toward him. He placed a hand on Blake's shoulder.
"Good work, Blake."
Then he leaned in, voice low.
"Next time… you won't be so lucky."
He patted Blake's shoulder and strode toward the bathroom.
To take a very cold shower.
Blake stood there, breathless, watching his Prince disappear behind the door.
"Who the hell is she?" he muttered. He was really curious to know who was the girl responsible for riling his Prince like this. His Prince was famous for being a deadwood, everyone in the palace knew it. But it seems someone has finally tamed the beast. But who is it. He had to find out.
Shrugging he turned and left the room.
...
"JR was caught by the Dragonflies last night. Cody's already gone into hiding, but I don't know how long he can stay off the grid."
The voice crackled through the phone as Ariel stood on the balcony outside her bedroom, the wind teasing strands of her hair.
Her own voice came through, low and automated.
"Looks like the royal family has a darker side. And they don't hesitate to use it the moment they feel threatened."
She paused, eyes scanning the horizon.
"Get everyone on standby, Ricky. If they think they're the only ones with power… they're wrong."
"What are you going to do?" Ricky asked.
Ariel sighed. Her voice sharpened.
"We're getting JR out. I won't let my friends—or my soldiers—die at the hands of bloody maniacs. We've worked too hard to lose one of our own now. What will happen to those scumbags poisoning and ruining our kingdom's streets if we get defeated? While those royal jerkasses lounge in plush luxury, whilst people are being killed and exploited every day. No. I won't let that happen. They mess with one of us… they mess with all of us."
A beat of silence passed on the other end.
"As you wish, Boss. I'll get the best of the best ready. When do we move?"
"Tonight. We don't waste another second. JR's life depends on us. And we can't afford to lose him."
"Understood. See you when you see me."
The line went dead.
Ariel lowered the phone, her gaze sweeping across the garden below.
"If those people think we are easy to bully, then they got another thing coming. We are going to show them that they can't mess with us. Monarch, be damned. They should be grateful instead of spiteful. We will show them that they are not the only ones who hold power." She muttered.
Then she looked up.
Dark clouds scattered across the blue sky, curling like smoke.
A storm was brewing.
And it wasn't going to be pleasant.
.....
"We're going to get JR out. I won't let any of my friends—or my soldiers—die at the hands of bloody maniacs. We've worked too hard to lose one of our own now. What will happen to those scumbags poisoning and ruining our kingdom's streets if we get defeated? While those royal jerkasses bask in plush luxury, whilst people are being killed and exploited every day. No. I won't let that happen. They mess with one of us… they mess with all of us."
Ariel's voice crackled through the speaker in the study where Raymond sat, swirling a glass of brandy as he gazed out over the garden.
"Looks like we've got a hidden army among us," he murmured. "And by the looks of it… it's powerful."
He sipped the brandy and sighed. "What are we going to do?"
He turned to the figure standing by the window, back turned, posture still.
The figure sighed.
"We stick to the plan. Make the girl Queen. As for the video of the illicit relationship—we'll use it to leverage something else. The Queen Dowager's already taken a liking to her. I'm confident she'll bend the rules to get her into the selection."
He paused, voice sharpening.
"With her hidden special forces, we're poised for victory. But we need her hooked—emotionally, politically to us. She must not turn against us. We still don't know how large or dangerous her army is. So we proceed carefully. Send some of the Spiders from the Sect to monitor their mission tonight. I want a full report."
"Of course, my Lord," Raymond replied, turning to his phone and dialing.
.....
Later that night…
The sky was silent. Too still. However a blanket of dark clouds loomed in the distance, threatening to cover the sky in stormy darkness.
"Aaaa… aaaa… aaa!"
The scream tore through the silence inside a dimly lit warehouse, echoing off rusted beams and cracked concrete.
A figure hung upside down, naked, his body a canvas of gory scars. He writhed as another man twisted his fingers with a metal twister, each rotation drawing another agonized cry.
A few meters away, Blake stood watching, his blonde hair catching the flicker of a single overhead bulb. Behind him, cloaked in shadow, Daniel sat—his red-glowing eyes burning with disdain and boredom. Hours had passed. The man still hadn't spoken. Daniel's patience was wearing thin.
He wanted to get his hands on his mystery woman and find out who she really is. But the bloody bastard was not relenting.
Blake raised a hand. The torturer stopped.
He stepped forward, crouching beside the bloodied figure.
"Your time's running out," Blake said calmly. "You would've been free to go, a long time ago if you have just confessed. It didn't have to come to this."
He studied the man's face.
"Jerry, right?"
Jerry spat blood and glared.
Blake sighed. "Look. Just tell me who you're working for. Where are your friends? You're still in one piece. If you talk, I can get you a doctor, to treat you. You'll be back on your feet in no time. Just give me what I need."
Jerry said nothing. Just kept glaring.
Blake turned to Daniel, who rose from his chair and began walking away.
"Too bad, kid. Your time's up. It was negotiable while it lasted."
He gave the torturer a subtle nod.
'Kill him.'
Then he followed Daniel.
But behind them, Jerry lifted his gaze toward the window—and started chuckling.
Both men froze.
Blake turned slowly. "What's so funny, Jerry? Got something to say?"
Jerry spat more blood. His voice was hoarse, but clear.
"Yeah…"
He heaved.
"Touché."
BOOM!
The ceiling exploded, sending rubble and dust cascading to the ground in a violent roar.
Hooded figures in masks flooded the room, surrounding Jerry like a living shield—weapons drawn, swords gleaming, guns locked and ready.
A few broke formation, rushing to untie Jerry. They wrapped a cloth around his battered body and hoisted him onto one of their backs.
"Hurry! Get him out of here!" one of them barked.
But before they could move, figures in black and gold materialized from the shadows—Dragonflies. They encircled the rescuers, cutting off every escape route.
Then—
Clap. Clap. Clap.
A slow, deliberate applause echoed through the room. All eyes turned toward the sound.
A figure emerged from the darkness, his silhouette barely visible—except for the glowing red eyes that pierced through the haze.
The masked rescuers shuddered.
"Wow. What a daring rescue," the voice said, smooth and venomous.
It slithered through the air, chilling skin and rattling nerves.
He stood just meters away, still cloaked in shadow.
"A very stupid and daring rescue."
He exhaled.
"I wonder who ordered you to do something so reckless. To walk into the lion's den and expect things to go your way. How typical. Tsk… and sad."
The masked figures flinched.
"Deal with them."
The Dragonflies surged forward, ready to strike.
But then—white smoke burst into the room, thick and blinding.
Three masked figures in white swept in like phantoms, their movements sharp and calculated. In seconds, they disarmed the Dragonflies, giving the rescuers a fighting chance.
Punches flew. Blades clashed. Gunshots rang. Yells echoed.
Within minutes, the Dragonflies were down.
The phantoms secured ropes to the man carrying Jerry. A mechanism above lifted them swiftly through the roof—vanishing into the night.
The others slipped through the smoke, weaving past the chaos and disappearing out the windows like ghosts.
"Fuck!! Don't let them get away, you fools! Stop them!" Blake roared.
Dragonflies spilled out of the warehouse, now in full force, flooding the streets and searching every alley, every shadow.
But the intruders were gone.
Just like phantoms.
They vanished.
....
Rumble. Rumble.
Thunder roared like an angry lion, and lightning slashed across the sky in jagged bursts.
Inside the room, Daniel stood motionless as the lightning briefly flooded the space with ghostly light.
Some Dragonflies laid sprawled on the floor. Whimpering and crying in pain because of their injuries.
Blake lingered at a distance, the cold aura in the room biting through his skin. The beast was awake—and heaving with rage. It would've been better if the incident hadn't unfolded in Daniel's presence. But now that he'd witnessed it… heads would roll.
Especially if Daniel had been rendered powerless to stop it on time.
Or—maybe he hadn't wanted to.
After a long, suffocating silence, a low, husky voice echoed through the room, shaking the walls.
"Blake…"
Blake jolted.
"Y-yes, Sire," he stammered, stepping closer.
Daniel's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"What the hell just happened?"
"Si...Sire?" Blake stammered.
Then Daniel chuckled—darkly. The sound reverberated through the walls, through Blake's bones. The storm was brewing, and it was on the verge of breaking.
"Ha. Ha. Ha. Did you see that? I was like, 'This is the end of the line for you.' I was ready to watch them squeal as the Dragonflies tore them limb from limb. But then— poof! Smoke broke out and filled the room. And three white phantoms sweep in, disarm my best men—well, what I thought were my best men—and beat them like pussies. Ha. Ha. Wow! It felt like I was watching a movie. Didn't you feel the same?"
He turned to Blake, eyes glowing a deep, dangerous crimson.
Blake swallowed hard and lowered his head.
"Forgive us, Your Highness. I'll make sure we find them and—"
"Hissss!"
Daniel hissed and grabbed him by the collar.
"If I don't hear news by tomorrow morning… may the Heavens help me with what I'll do to you. bloody. useless. scumbags."
He released Blake.
"Find out who they are!" He roared and stormed out of the building.
Rumble. Rumble.
Thunder roared with him.
Blake exhaled sharply, clutching his chest.
"Oh… ha… that was close. Ha…"
"My lord."
"Ha!" Blake jumped as a Dragonfly appeared beside him.
"You startled me, you bastard!"
"Apologies, my lord."
Blake sighed.
"Did you find them?"
"No, my lord. But we've stationed agents in every nook and corner of the city. We'll find them soon."
Blake leaned in, voice low.
"You better fix this mess. Otherwise, it's going to be a bloodbath—and believe me, it won't be our enemies paying the price. Now hurry up."
"Yes, my lord."
The Dragonfly vanished into the shadows.
Rain began to pour in violent torrents. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the room in stark white.
Blake stared at the sky.
"I hope this is the last violent storm. Otherwise… I don't think we'll last much longer."
He sighed.
---
Meanwhile, not far from the warehouse…
A black car with tinted windows sat parked, overlooking the scene.
Inside, a figure in shades and a black jacket held a phone to his ear.
"Yes… they defeated the Dragonflies."
"Yes… it was unbelievable."
"Less than ten minutes. They rendered them useless. And now the Dragonflies can't find them. Unfortunately, neither can we."
"Understood. Tell the Sect we'll keep searching."
He ended the call.
Lightning flashed. Thunder roared.
The figure stared at the building.
Rumble. Rumble.