Chapter 22: A Game of Shadows
Max felt the shift in the air around midnight.
He was at Velvet, which was now fully operational again, functioning as the headquarters of the Hellions. Graves was drilling the new recruits in the basement, while Max sat in the VIP booth, analyzing the patrol routes of the Vittorio captains.
Suddenly, the music seemed to distort. The heavy bass slowed down, warping into a low, guttural moan. The lights didn't flicker; they simply dimmed, as if the photons were being sucked out of the room.
Warning. Supernatural Threat Detected.
Intellect Check: High.
Analysis: The weave of reality is being dampened. Spiritual interference.
Max closed his laptop. He stood up.
"Clear the room," Max said. He didn't shout, but his voice carried over the thumping music, amplified by his passive intimidation stats.
The patrons stopped dancing. They looked at the man in the VIP booth. They felt the sudden drop in temperature. Panic, primal and immediate, set in. The club emptied in under a minute.
Max stood alone on the dance floor.
"I know you're here," Max said. "You smell like a grave."
The front doors didn't open. Instead, a man simply leaked through them, passing through the solid wood like smoke. It was the Sin Eater.
He walked toward Max, his dress shoes clicking on the polished floor.
"Max," the Sin Eater crooned. "The boy with the golden contract. Do you know how delicious your soul looks? It's bright. Burning with borrowed power."
Max activated his Mastermind's Eye.
Target: Unknown Entity (Class: Sin Eater).
Abilities: Spirit Severing, Fear Projection, Intangibility.
Weakness: Calculating...
Weakness: Ego. The contract requires a verbal invitation to fully engage the soul.
Max smiled. He sat down on a barstool, completely relaxed.
"Kaelen sent you," Max said. "He must be desperate. Hiring a bottom-feeder to do a butcher's job."
The Sin Eater paused. The insult registered. "I am no bottom-feeder. I am the silencer of covenants. I am going to eat the ink off your soul, boy. And when the Devil can no longer hear you, you will be nothing but a cripple in a suit."
"Try it," Max said.
The Sin Eater lunged. He didn't move physically; he projected a wave of psychic force.
To a normal man, this would have been a heart attack. A wave of pure terror. But Max's intellect processed the fear as data. He categorized it, analyzed it, and deleted it.
Psychic Attack: Negated by High Willpower/Intellect.
Max didn't flinch. He took a sip of a drink left on the bar.
"Is that it?" Max asked. "I expected more."
The Sin Eater growled, his physical form solidifying as his anger grew. "You arrogant little..."
He rushed Max, claws extending from his fingers.
Max didn't punch. He used his intellect. He calculated the trajectory of the lunge. He calculated the friction of the floor.
Max kicked a bottle of high-proof vodka off the counter. It shattered on the floor exactly where the Sin Eater stepped.
The creature slipped. It was a momentary lapse of dignity, but it forced the creature to materialize fully to catch its balance.
Target Solidified.
Opportunity Window: 1.5 seconds.
Max moved. He grabbed a silver ice pick from the bar. Silver. The Mastermind's Eye had highlighted it as a conductive material for spiritual energy.
Max drove the ice pick into the Sin Eater's hand, pinning it to the mahogany bar top.
The creature shrieked—a sound that shattered the mirrors behind the bar. Black blood oozed from the wound.
"You bleed," Max observed coldly. "That means I can kill you."
"You can't kill me!" the Sin Eater screamed. "I am eternal!"
"Nothing is eternal," Max replied, his eyes glowing with the cold light of the void. "Except the debt."