Chapter 19 - Hunting the Shadow

Leo's private Gulfstream cut through thunderheads toward Chicago, where the first Rogue Reaper franchise burned. Vincenzo piloted the strike team—47 lieutenants, armed with AR-15s and gold scythe pendants. Elena and Sophie monitored satellite feeds from the restaurant, faces lit by laptop glow."No killing," Leo said flatly, sharpening his boning knife mid-flight. "Take alive. Interrogate."Vincenzo nodded. "Si, Reaper."Chicago - Rogue StrongholdThe imposters had seized a shuttered steel mill, spray-painting scythes and olive pits across rusted walls. Eight Rogue Reapers patrolled—tattooed fanatics chanting shadow prayers, AKs slung casual. Inside, 200 hostages: Reaper's Table staff, bound for "purification."Leo kicked open the side door, apron over tactical vest. No gun. Just knives and a thermos of scalding consommé.First guard spun—throat slashed by Leo's flick, non-lethal, windpipe bruised. Second caught boiling broth to the face, screaming blind. Third met Leo's skillet—CRACK—unconscious before hitting concrete.Vincenzo's team breached main doors. Gunfire echoed. But Leo moved faster, shadow-trail flickering independent, hungry.The Rogue AltarDeep in the mill, "High Shadow" Viktor Kane knelt before a crude altar: Patel's bloodied chef coat, Volkov's cleaver, 47 olive pits arranged in skull. Ten hostages trembled behind him.Kane rose, eyes fanatic. "The true Reaper comes! Blood for the shadow!"Leo stepped from darkness, knives gleaming. "My shadow. Not yours."Kane laughed, drawing twin machetes. "It spoke to me! Said you weakened! Mercy fails—"Leo hurled a paring knife. Pinned Kane's sleeve to the wall. "It lies."The Shadow RebelsAs Vincenzo freed hostages, Leo's shadow detached—full manifestation, 9 feet tall, scythe materializing from mill smoke. Red eyes locked on Kane."This one serves," it hissed, voice shaking girders. "Pure faith."Leo's knives flashed—scythe intercepted, steel screaming. Sparks lit the altar like hellfire. "My rules."Shadow swung wild. Leo ducked, countering with chef's knife to smoky wrist. Black ichor sprayed—not blood, but void.Kane gaped. "You fight Death?"Vincenzo's men froze, weapons limp. Hostages prayed.Shadow roared, mill trembling. Pipes burst. Floodlights shattered. Darkness absolute except scythe-glow and Leo's calm gray eyes."Choose, vessel! Me or vermin!"Leo vaulted rusted machinery, closing distance. Shadow telegraphed—arrogant. Leo sidestepped, drove cleaver into scythe haft. CRUNCH.The blade shattered. Shadow screamed—first time Leo heard fear.It imploded, sucked into Leo's own shadow—normal again. Mill lights flickered on. Kane wet himself.Interrogation - Reaper Jet, 30,000 FeetKane strapped to jumpseat, medicated but lucid. Vincenzo loomed. Leo plated tortellini—casual."How'd it contact you?" Leo asked, offering a bowl.Kane spat. "Dreams. Black kitchens. Said pick critics. Start pure. You corrupted prophecy!"Leo tasted his own pasta. "Needs sage." To Vincenzo: "Dump Mumbai. Bangkok. Delhi. Full amnesty. Feed everyone."Vincenzo hesitated. "But Don—the hardliners—""Feed."Marchetti's Table - 0400 LocalSophie hugged Leo at touchdown. "Dad! You fought your shadow?"Elena scanned his cuts—minor. "It lost."Leo hung his apron. Shadow at his feet stayed normal, sullen.But as he slept, the whisper returned—fainter, wounded: "You delay inevitable. Vermin multiply."Morning news: 23 Rogue cells surrendered worldwide. Lines reformed at franchises. Soup simmered.Leo stirred the master stockpot. One black drop swirled, then dissolved.For now, the chef ruled Death.