Chapter Text
You’d woken up too early. One of those mornings where your eyes snapped open and your brain decided to start doing laps well before the sun even bothered to show up. Anticipation thrummed under your skin, buzzing through your veins like static. There was a charged suspense hovered in the air. Everyone at the Hunter’s Association could sense it. Something big was coming.
Captain Jenna had pulled you aside before you left work the night before, quiet voice and sharp eyes. “Come and see me first thing tomorrow morning. I’ve got new mission details for you.” This was not a suggestion. It was an order, one that came wrapped in secrecy and spelled out nothing good.
So you did what you always did when nerves got the better of you: breakfast, workout, shower. All before sunrise. You’d regret it later when you were half-asleep at your desk, but at least the routine helped.
Now, sitting across from Captain Jenna, in the dim glow of the ops room, you weren’t so sure.
She didn’t speak at first,, just scrolled through her data pad, the flickering blue light casting harsh shadows across her face. Her expression was unreadable, as always, but her gaze had a new edge, sharper than usual, more assessing.
You were used to mission briefings, had gone through so many in the past, but something about this one felt different, heavier. Dangerous.
Finally, she spoke. “The N109 zone.” She didn’t look up. “What do you know about it?”
You blinked. “Uh… I've heard rumours, mostly. I’ve read reports, but I’ve never been there.”
Jenna hummed. “It’s not a place people walk into and survive. Especially not outsiders.”
You sat up a little straighter, fingers twitching in your lap. “I think I understand how it all works out there. The risks.”
“You don’t.” She tapped the pad and a projection flared to life between you. The N109 zone. Sprawling clusters of decrepit structures, flickering neon lights and seedy underground hubs all compiled together in a city whose streets more resembled veins than roads. It looked almost abandoned but everyone knew that the N109 zone was far from empty.
“This is where we’re sending you.”
Your stomach twisted. Reports and projections weren’t necessary to know what the N109 was about. Everyone in the Association knew. It was the underworld’s favourite playground. Smugglers, mercs, traffickers. The worst of the worst. And at the centre of it all-
“Sylus Qin,” Captain Jenna said, like she’d read your mind. “He runs the zone like it’s his personal empire. And we want him.”
You froze.
Sylus Qin.
You’d heard stories, of course, everyone had. He had the type of reputation that entirely preceded him. Brilliant. Brutal. Untouchable. He was the reason for countless operations that turned south and why some hunters categorically refused to even enter the N109 zone.
“We’re assigning you to bring him in,” Captain Jenna said.
Everything in your head jammed to a stop. “Me?”
She switched off the projections and fixed you with a steely gaze, one betraying the seriousness of the conversation, as if you had at all misunderstood.
"This is a high-stakes operation. The Hunter’s Association has been trying to bring Sylus in for years, but he’s too careful. He doesn’t make mistakes. He keeps his allies close and his enemies firmly in check. No one’s managed to get near him. We need you to do what others couldn’t. Get close, make him trust you enough to come willingly."
It was a death sentence.
You were sure of it.
Your hesitation must have shown on your face, understandably so.
Jenna sighed, her eyes softening a touch at your clear hesitance. “You were personally recommended. By me.”
It didn’t help, but you nodded anyway.
“He’s not careless,” she continued. “He doesn’t let people get close. Beautiful you can… earn his trust. Get him comfortable. Make him want to come in. That's the mission.”
A laugh had to be stifled at the implication. “You want me to seduce him?”
“ I want you to survive,” she said flatly.”if that’s what it takes to make that happen, then… yes.”
Dread, or something worse, crept down your spine.
“He reads people like books,” she added. “So you better be a damn convincing character.”
You schooled your features into something resembling calm, even as your brain scrambled for solid ground. “Right. And once I’ve got his trust… I lead him to an extraction point? We arrest him?”
“Exactly. Quietly. Cleanly. No backup. No heroics.”
“No pressure,” you muttered.
Jenna didn’t even blink at the tone in your voice. “Sylus has outplayed every trap we've set. He’s dismantled teams mid-mission, burned entire networks to the ground and decimated his rivals in inconceivable ways. But he will never see you coming. That’s the angle here.”
You rubbed a thumb over your palmtrying to smother the nerves crawling under your skin. “And what happens if he does see me coming? If he figures it out, I mean?”
Her gaze sharpened. “Then you die. Plain and simple.”
A lovely little motivational poster, that.
She stood, shutting down the data pad and any chance at trying to convince her this was a bad idea. “You’ve been assigned an alias. Equipment’s prepped. Mission begins tomorrow.”
“Why me though?”
“You’ve got a history of slipping into tight spaces and making people trust you.” A pause. “And you’re one of the few who hasn't been on his radar. Yet You’re adaptable. You’ve been at the HA for a long time, never failed in a covert mission and that’s been noticed. By people higher-up .”
“The Association is sure this will work?" you asked.
Jenna narrowed her gaze, her lips pressed into a hard line. "No. But it’s the best chance we’ve got. The truth is, Sylus is too dangerous to let his network grow any further. The higher-ups have made it clear, they’d prefer him alive. Alive and arrested. If you succeed, this will be the biggest takedown in recent history. You’d be rewarded of course.” Her implication is clear, the promotion you'd been after for years.
You nodded, doubt creeping in. "And if I fail?"
"You won’t." The steel in her voice was unyielding. "Failure isn’t an option. Sylus doesn’t give second chances, and neither do we. You know that.”
The silence suffocated. The mission’s weight crushing the air from your lungs. For a moment, you questioned whether you were truly ready for this, whether anyone could be.
“I’ll bring him in,” you said, steady enough.
Jenna gave a short nod. “See that you do.”
You weren’t sure why you’d come out, honestly. Distraction?Denial? Probably both. The bar was buzzing. Neon lights, the low hum of music and the accompanying murmur of too many hunters half-drunk and half-broken. You’d earned a few hours to pretend.
Back in training, after gruelling missions, this was where your cohort came to breathe.
Tara slid into the booth beside you, like she owned the place, draping her arm around your shoulder, a drink in her hand. A mischievous smile tugged at her lips as she pulled you in tighter. "You’re going after Sylus freakin’ Qin! I still can’t believe it," she hissed into your ear.
You gave her a side-eyed stare, barely suppressing a smirk. “Could you say it a little louder, Tara? I don't think the entire bar heard.”
She snorted, an inelegant but simultaneously adorable sound that only she could pull off. “Oh, puh-lease. Like half the people in here aren’t already gossiping about it.”
You sipped your drink, hoping it’d dull the creeping anxiety.
“So much for confidential,” you said simply. “Nothing stays a secret long around here.”
You breathed out a laugh. “I’m not even sure why they picked me for this.” Despite Jenna’s recommendation, others were more experienced. So why you ?
Tara gave you a playful shove, your drink sloshing around and threatening to spill as she did so. "Are you kidding? You're a total badass! If anyone can take that on and come out alive, it’s you." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Besides, I heard Sylus is ridiculously hot.”
You choked slightly. “Tara!”
“I’m just saying!” she continued, giggling loudly and brightly. “If you end up in close-quarters, you know really up close and personal , I expect details.”
Xavier, sitting across the table and pretending not to listen, let out a loud cough as he choked on his drink.
“Oh my god, don’t start. It’s really not like that.” You muttered, trying to drink your grin away.
"But it could be!" She leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a teasing whisper. "Think about it. A tall, sexy man. Dangerous, brooding, probably smells like gunpowder and leather…"
“Please,” you groaned. “You’re projecting again.”
Tara wiggled her brows. “I’m manifesting.”
Before you could shut her down again, Xavier’s voice cut through the banter. Quiet , even, but with that unmistakable edge that always made you look twice.
Xavier finally looked up from his drink, eyes cool but a little too focused. “You know the N109 zone’s not like your other missions, right?”
You didn’t answer right away. His worry scratched at something in your chest.
"Just… be careful."
You looked over. He was still holding his drink, staring at it like it held answers. Eyes lowered, jaw tight.
“You won’t have backup, and Sylus… he’s a different kind of threat."
His words were thick with an unspoken heaviness, like something else was riding on them. Xavier had always been like this. Quiet concern, wrapped up in something softer, something harder to name.
"I know,” you said. “I’ll be fine. Captain Jenna wouldn’t have assigned me if she didn’t think I could handle it.”
Tara scoffed, leaned back in her chair with a dramatic eye roll. "Please, Xavier. She’s not a rookie. She’s a grown ass woman. She can handle herself. Besides, she’s not going to let some psycho in a leather coat throw her off her game, even if he does have a jawline sharp enough to perform surgery."
You chuckled under your breath, the edge in your nerves blunted just a little.
But Xavier’s frown only deepened. "I just don’t like the idea of you going in alone," he said, refocusing his attention on you properly. “I’d feel better if you had some sort of backup."
You sighed, thumb circling the rim of your glass. "It’s a solo mission, Xav. That’s part of the deal. I’m supposed to gain his trust, remember? How can I do that with you hovering around in the background or Tara creaming herself at the mere sight of him?" You tried to lighten the mood, but Xavier’s expression didn’t change.
“I would cream myself,” Tara uttered cheerfully, not even ashamed. "Actually, gaining his trust…" she added, suddenly humming under her breath. "Mama, I’m in love with a criminal… "
You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable.”
Tara grinned, proud at her attempt to lighten the mood. “Someone’s gotta keep this place entertaining.”
Xavier didn’t laugh. His gaze said too much without saying anything at all. "Just… don’t do anything reckless, okay?"
You met his eyes. That thing, whatever lived behind his concern, was still there. Hovering. Waiting.
He’d always been protective. Maybe a little too much. You appreciated it.But it made you bristle. Like he was waiting for you to break. He should’ve known you better by now.
"I won’t," you said, keeping your voice level even as the air between you shifted.
Tara, clinked her glass against yours with a grin. "Cheers to you! The only person brave enough to flirt with death and hopefully get felt up in the process of bringing down the most wanted, sexy criminal!”
You laughed, letting the pressure crack for a moment. "You’re impossible."
"And proud of it," she quipped right back.
The conversation drifted after that, skimming lighter waters. You let yourself get swept up in the celebration with the music from the bar filling in the gaps between conversations, for a while, you let yourself forget about tomorrow. About the N109 zone. About the fact that you might not come back.
But then you caught Xavier watching again. Quiet and unreadable. Something still unsaid, still sitting behind his eyes.
You swallowed, the words falling out like a reflex.
"I’ll be fine," you said again, quieter this time. Almost to yourself.
Xavier didn't push. Didn’t argue. He just raised his glass, his voice soft and steady. "To your success,” he said. “And your safety."
Tara beamed, “To the girl who’s gonna take down the galaxy’s hottest criminal and live to give me every filthy detail.”
You clinked glasses. Smiled, and tried not to let the unease ruin the taste of victory.
Your first day in the N109 zone was, in a word, disastrous .
The unease started before you even crossed the city line. Slow and cloying, like humidity that stuck to your skin and refused to let go. The air was thicker here. Tighter. Charged with tension, secrets and the kind of danger that stays quiet. Street lights flickered with erratic pulses, casting shadows that writhed and pulsed across cracked pavements. The sky above was bruised and murky, tinged with the threat of a sunrise that would never happen.
You’d read the files. Done the prep. But none of that could’ve prepared you for this.
You pulled up the map on your Hunter’s watch, keeping your head low as you moved deeper into the district. The glowing display lighting-up in the half-dark, acting almost like a torch lighting your way.
Information flowed like a murky river in the N109 zone, and every face you passed felt like a mask hiding something sinister. Their eyes slid past, knowing looks, cold, dismissive. You didn’t belong .
The first few contacts led nowhere. Dead ends. One after the other that led deeper into the seedy underbelly of the district. Conversations fizzled into silence, doors slammed before a word left your mouth. No one wanted to talk, and even fewer wanted to talk about him.
You lingered outside a rundown bar, trying to recalibrate. You were drowning in it, completely out of your depth.
“Hey, you new around here?” a rough-looking man asked, eyeing you as he lingered in the doorway. His crooked smile didn’t reach his eyes.
You didn’t flinch. “Just looking for information.”
He chuckled, the sound sending spit flying in your direction. “Yeah?” he said when he finally collected himself from the hilarity of the conversation so far. “Then you’ll wanna stop wearing that .” he gestured lazily to your clothes.
You bristled at the implication. This could go bad fast. He chuckled again at your clear discomfort. “You stick out like a bright, shiny cop.”
Relief crept in as the threat passed. Your shoulders eased. You looked at yourself. HA issued boots, jacket, gear just subtle enough to pass in a normal area. But this wasn't a normal area. It was the N109 zone.
“Duly noted.”
“And what information are you looking for anyway?” he asked, his tone turning casual.
You paused, mulling over your next words carefully. “Sylus Qin.”
His expression shifted the second the name left your mouth. The amusement vanishing. His jaw tightened. “Don't say his name like that,” he muttered. “He’s not the guy you wanna be messin’ with, sweetheart.”
You stiffened, but stayed silent.
“Best advice you’re gonna get today?” he turned to leave. “Stop asking about him.”
Then he was gone, swallowed by the never ending shadows.
You stood there for a moment, frustration bleeding through your mask. This wasn’t working. You needed to be smarter. Subtler. Starting tomorrow, you’d change everything. It was time to ditch the uniform, blend in, move like the locals. All black. No insignia. Eyes open. Mouth shut.
Because what the files could never tell you about this place, was that the N109 zone wasn’t just dangerous. It was alive . It hated outsiders. And the beating heart of it was Sylus Qin
By the time night fell, your nerves were frayed and your instincts were screaming at you to get as far away as you could. So you cut your losses and made your way back to Linkon, head down, heart racing.
You leaned against the wall of your living room and stared at your watch, willing the day to make sense. It didn’t.
The mission felt less like infiltration and more like walking into quicksand.
The darkness of the N109 zone was not just a backdrop, it was an entity that clung to you, whispering of your inexperience and vulnerability.
The days that followed weren’t much easier, just quieter. A strange familiarity began to wave into your routine. You stopped trying to push and started watching instead. Listening. Adapting.
This is what you were good at.
A strange sense of routine began to weave itself into your days. Slipping into seedy businesses where no one asked names and everyone was armed, became your norm. The subtle nuances of the district's unspoken rules and underhanded dealings revealed themselves little by little. And slowly, you learned how to navigate the complexities of the very top layer of the N109 zone.
You tried to blend in, just enough to rouse a few glances, never suspicion. You honed your investigative instincts.
Eavesdropping in beat-up coffee shops, letting yourself fade into the background, until slowly, the district started to shift around you. Not welcoming exactly, but less hostile. You learned the rhythm of the place. Where not to walk. When to keep your eyes down. Who to avoid.
And the whispers started to take shape.
Shipments. Deals. Power shifts. Him.
“It’s near the old foundry,” a waitress murmured one afternoon, passing a coded envelope to a greasy looking regular. “He runs things from a compound, in one of them old manor houses. He keeps to himself mostly, but you’ll know it when you see it. Just follow the road past the southern docks.”
That was all you needed.
Your pulse spiked, a rush of determination thrumming through your veins. You wanted to run out and chase down the new lead, but you kept your composure. Keep it casual. You sipped your drink, stood up slowly and made your move.
A first move on a chessboard that you hadn’t even discovered yet.
You found the estate easier than expected.
It stood, proud and tall, just beyond the southern docks, like something from another era. A manor really, an old stately home, refurbished but not flashy. Its structure loomed tall against the decay around it, its wrought-iron gates polished, its exterior immaculate in a way that felt… deliberate. A calculated flex.
The house seemed to hum with unspoken arrogance. I don't need to hide. I own this place.
This was Onychinus’ base of operations. And the home of Sylus Qin.
You watched from across the street, half-shrouded in shadow, your breath catching in your throat as movement stirred near the gate.
Finally, you saw him.
Sylus.
No confirmation needed. You just knew .
He stepped out from a side building, blazer draped over his broad shoulders like a goddamn magazine cover. His silver hair tousled in that perfect, reckless way that made it look like he either didn’t care or had killed the last person who tried to touch it. His red eyes scanned the streets. No urgency. No paranoia. Just… command.
He walked like a man who never needed to run. There was nothing in the galaxy that could challenge him, so why would that ever be needed.
Too tall. The kind of height that shrank everyone around him, physically, psychologically, spiritually. And it wasn’t just the height. It was the way he moved. Fluid and calculated. Each step made with deliberate grace and dangerous intent. His steps were quiet, but you felt them. Measured. Controlled. Dangerous.
His presence, even from such a distance, was commanding.
Your eyes betrayed you.
Blame Tara and her thirsty little fantasies.
They trailed down. To his arms, his sleeves rolled up just enough to show the tension in his forearms. Veins, tendons, lines that shouldn’t be distracting. The shirt was slim-fitting, the material clinging to him like it was lucky to be there.
Your brain short-circuited at his proportions. Broad chest. Narrow waist. The ratio alone should’ve been illegal. Every line of him was sculpted like some bored deity decided to make a man too attractive for his own damn good. You blinked hard, tried to reel it in.
And then… his hands.
Strong. Elegant. The kind of hands that could probably dismantle a gun in five seconds flat, or dismantle you in half that time. Hands like those had always been your weakness. You could imagine exactly how they’d feel, tracing your- nope. You shut that thought down immediately.
He was a criminal. A warlord. A manipulative psychopath with a kill count longer than your resume. His hands, as beautiful as they were, had more blood on them than you could ever imagine. There was nothing innocent about them.
And yet… you couldn’t look away.
No one could. He walked in a room and people reacted, it wasn’t in fear or reverence. It was gravity. A directional pull of people towards him.
Your eyes snapped back up.
His face was angled slightly away, but even in profile, you saw enough. Sharp jaw, cleanly shaven and skin so smooth it would’ve made Greek statues cry at the injustice of the perfect marble. Lips full and infuriatingly kissable. You physically clenched your jaw at the sight, curing the heat that rose in your cheeks.
This was bad. You were in trouble. Not because he was dangerous, you already knew that. But because your body was betraying you. Heart racing. Mouth dry. Thoughts swirling in very unprofessional directions.
You thought of Tara, and her endless teasing. “Tell me if he’s hot.” she’d said. She had no idea.
You’d tell her the truth later. Maybe. Or maybe you’d lie. Maybe you’d say he looked normal. Plain. Not like someone who made you forget how to breathe for a full sixty seconds.
You forced yourself to focus. You had a job to do. There was no time to be mentally writing fanfiction about your target.
But then…
He smiled at someone. A soft, beautiful thing that made something in your chest twist, hard.
Shit.
Now you’d found him, you kept your surveillance as tight. As tight as you could manage.
It started small. Quick glimpses as he moved through the N109 zone. You tracked his movements, noted down his patterns and filed away every minute detail into reports. That was the plan. That was the job.
But he kept…surprising you.
One morning, early, you saw him pull up in a sleek, matte black car. Expensive. Exactly the kind of car you’d expect a power-hungry kingpin to flaunt. You figured he was off to conduct shady dealings. Intimidation, a shakedown, smacking an orphan or two. Standard Sylus behaviour.
Except, he opened the trunk and it was full of…tuna. Dozens of tins, stacked neatly like a pantry haul. You blinked. Then just stared, dumbfounded as he carried them into a narrow alleyway and crouched before a rusted pipe. A swarm of stray cats sat, waiting for him like worshippers at an altar.
And he fed them. All of them.
There was no rush to his moments, it clearly wasn’t a chore. His precision betrayed the ritual of it. And it tugged at something deep in you.
One of the cats, a scruffy tabby with half an ear, nuzzled his boot and he reached down, petting it oh so gently.
You heart fluttered and you hated it.
Get a grip . None of this erased the man’s body count, but it did make you forget it momentarily.
Still, the way he knelt, getting his trousers dirty without a second thought. The way his fingers curled and caressed the soft ear of the little animal… it didn’t match the man in the reports.
It didn’t line up. It clashed hard with every story you’d heard. The blood. The warnings from Captain Jenna, Xavier, everyone.
And it was messing with you .
A few days later, you saw him outside a rundown school on the edge of the zone. The building was a husk of its former glory. Cracked windows, crumbling paint, the playground rusting into the dirt. Still, resilient as ever, kids ran circles around each other, laughing, playing, like they didn’t know the world wanted to chew them up and spit them back out again as hollow shells.
Sylus approached the headmaster and handed over a thick envelope. It was a quiet exchange. The headmaster’s eyes misted as he opened it. Sylus just nodded and walked away.
You wrote it down anyway. Not for the Hunter’s Association. For you, because your brain wouldn’t let it go.
Why would he do that?
What was the angle?
The lines blurred a little more every day. You watched him meet with an array of men and women. Suits, shadows, finery, tattoos. Every kind of person. There was no shouting. No threats. Just…smiles. Handshakes. Laughter, sometimes. He talked with people like a leader , not a tyrant.
You knew what he could do. But watching this version of him, soft, almost kind, it rattled something loose.
You tried following him on foot once, just to see where he went after these meetings. But his stride was relentless. Long legs. Unbothered pace. You couldn’t keep up without making it obvious, and you hated how much you appreciated the sight of him.
Eventually you gave up and fell back on your surveillance equipment instead. Cameras, drones, audio links. Cold tools that didn’t care how attractive he looked in low light.
The problem wormed its way into your mind, taking root there and niggling just enough to have you thinking.
Who the hell was Sylus Qin really?
The question followed you home. Haunted you into the morning. Even as you prepped your gear and checked your optics.
Your professional mask slipped, just a touch. The feeling of being lost, chasing your own and his tail, gnawed at you.
A few days later though, for once, you were ahead of him.
You’d overheard it in passing. Just a sliver of conversation between two dealers in a grimy back alley cafe. Names dropped too casually. A location. A time. You hadn’t expected it to mean anything, but instinct told you to follow it up.
And once you were situated in the steel rafters of a warehouse, it was clear that your hunch had been right.
For once, you weren’t chasing him.
He didn't even know you were there.
The space below you was empty save for the people that Sylus would be meeting. The air was still, speckled with dust that shone in strips, lit by old industrial lighting that buzzed irritatingly overhead. Exposed brick walls stretched upwards, rusted metal beams crisscrossing like the ribs of something long-dead.
It was quiet, but not calm. There was a tension that stretched, taut. Raising the hair on the back of your neck, twisting low in your tummy. Like something was waiting to snap.
You adjusted your position quietly, setting up the mic, eyes scanning.
He wasn’t here… yet.
You pulled out your data pad, creating an entry for the meeting.
8:45 pm
51.49217141714811, -0.19296825975441936
Matthew Halbard - 43 Y/O (see file attached)
Details: MH and associates present. High-grade weapon components and altered protocores visible.
Matthew Halbard was a weapons dealer in the N109 zone. The Association already had a file on him, one that was rather comprehensive.
He was a mid-level player, with a top floor ego, dressed like money but stinking of desperation. He’d clawed his way into the outer edges of power in the N109 zone by making all the right friends and screwing over all the right enemies. Until he started believing his own hype. Extortion, tech trafficking, suspected murders. None of it unusual for the line of work he did.
You folded away the data pad and stored it as you heard a set of footsteps that you recognised.
And there he was.
No fanfare. No armed guards. No announcement. Just Sylus, walking in like he owned every inch of ground his boots touched. And he probably did.
He was flanked by two men in crow masks who left after a discreet nod from Sylus himself. He dismissed them.
The light hit him differently here. Harsher. His blazer still hung off his shoulders with that effortless sort of confidence, but the softness you’d seen in daylight hours was gone. Here, under this fractured lighting, he looked sharper. More angular. And somehow older than his 28 years.
Halbard waited for him, surrounded by armed men and a few low-rank enforces, all posturing and arrogance.
None of them spoke at first. They both just stood there, seemingly sizing each other up.
You trained your scope on Sylus.
He was calm but alert. His stance was loose in the shoulders, shifting his weight from heel to heel. Each movement precise. Minimal . Tense beneath the surface, like bowstring being pulled back just right.
Eventually, they exchanged pleasantries. Discussed the trade.
Halbard must have taken Sylus’ stillness for acceptance or compliance.
He started posturing. Gesturing too wide, talking too loud, spinning some bullshit about pricing, loyalty, supply chains. You couldn’t catch every word but the smugness carried just fine.
You waited, watching for any sign of tension from Sylus. And then, something shifted.
You weren’t sure when, but suddenly, you could feel it. The moment things turned. The way the tension in the room thickened, the way Sylus’ posture changed by a millimeter.
You leaned in close, heart picking up speed.
They must have felt it. Sylus’ instincts had to have been sharpened over the years right? He had to know that something wasn’t right. That Halbard had something other than trades and deals on his mind.
The smallest twitch. A hand going for a concealed weapon.
One of Halbard’s men.
Stupid.
Sylus exhaled.
The man who reached for his weapon froze mid-motion. Strands of red and black wrapping around his limbs and jerking him unnaturally. His limbs seized. His breath came out shaky and tight, like he was being grabbed by the throat and spine all at once. His feet lifted off the ground, body hovering for half a heartbeat.
And then he crumpled.
Literally.
His body folded in on itself with a sickening crunch, bones snapping like twigs as his chest caved under the pressure of the energy.
Sylus’ evol.
It wasn’t showy or explosive.
Just precise, silent. Inescapable.
The others reached for their own weapons with barely enough time to process what they'd seen before Sylus moved.
He was armed, of course. But he didn’t draw.
He grinned, something sinister and sardonic that had fear stabbing through your body.
He dismantled their attack with brutal efficiency, each movement deliberate and lethal. A force of nature with his fists and evol working together. His knuckles glowed with the same red light that crushed Halbard’s man. Each hit resonated in the space, a thunderclap echoing through the metal beams above.
His Evol sliced through the air with deadly accuracy.
Every strike was purposeful. No movement wasted. Sylus tortured them, calmly, decisively, acting as both judge and executioner in a single breath. The executions were brutal. Calculated. Each one more grotesque than the last. You wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Every death was horrific, yet undeniably earned. They’d underestimated him. And maybe… so had you.
This wasn’t a fight. It was a culling.
Halbard made a break for it. Coward. He bolted toward the loading bay doors, already yelling something about betrayal.
Sylus turned.
Raised his hand.
And Halbard stopped.
Just stopped mid-stride, frozen in place.
Sylus closed his fist, the red tendrils tightening around Halbard’s body. Reminiscent of how snakes constrict around their prey.
Halbard gasped, hands flying to his throat as his feet left the floor. His body dangled a few feet off the ground. Shaking. Twitching. Held in place by those ominous red and black strands.
Sylus walked slowly towards him. His evol flickering and pulsing, thrumming with energy. Steady and controlled.
He stopped just short of Halbard’s feet and spoke in a soft hush. You couldn’t hear the words but their effect was clear. Halbard sobbed. Something deep and guttural tearing from his between his lips. A plea maybe.
Sylus tiltedhis head and without so much as a flicker of emotion, he lowered his hand.
Halbard dropped like dead weight. Alive, but broken.
Dust curled around Sylus’ boots as he stood over him. And then, he smiled.
The same smile you’d seen when he fed the cats in the alley. Warm. private. Unsettling.
He looked up.
Your blood ran cold as his gaze swept the ceiling. Not frantic. Not searching. Just… checking.
You stilled completely. Didn’t so much as breathe. Your mic off, hidden in the shadows. Thankfully, you were completely hidden.
He couldn't see you.
It was the perfect time to make your escape.
And that you did. As soon as the coast was clear you were gone. The adrenaline thundering in your chest urging you to go fast. Faster.
Sylus’ lips curled upward in a smirk as he snapped his fingers.
“Mephisto.”
The dark bird on a distant beam tilted its head towards its master. The lenses in its eyes shifting with a mechanical whirr, like it was listening.
“Keep an eye on that one,” he murmured, an amused smirk curling his lips. “Let’s see what she does next.”
In your apartment, everything felt… off.
You showered. Changed. Poured yourself something strong and tried to ignore the slight shake of your fingers that made the bottle rattle against your glass. You told yourself that the tightness in your chest was just adrenaline wearing off.
But the images wouldn’t stop replaying over and over again in your head.
You paced. Got up again. Watched the footage from the warehouse, then turned it off five seconds in.
The crunch of bones..
The way his evol moved like an extension of his will. Of him .
And his face.
His beautiful, un bothered face. Focused and so serene.
You leaned your forehead against the windowpane, the glass cool against your skin. The lights from Linkon twinkled lazily outside. The trees swayed in the summer winds. Cars on the road. Normal things.
But you didn’t feel normal.
You felt on edge. Like his eyes had followed you home, like you were an exhibition.
How could it be that this vicious predator was the same Sylus that you saw feeding stray cats and donating to schools? The same man that you had begun to almost romanticise as a misunderstood, misrepresented, soft-hearted man.
You shook the thought off. You were jumpy, understandably so. He hadn’t seen you. You were careful. You’d been careful. Everything was clean, untraceable. You’d covered your tracks.
You knew you had.
You turned away from the window, reaching for your drink to clear your head. Two piercing eyes stared back at you from the balcony’s edge, making you almost scramble backwards in fear.
It was a bird.
Large. Unnervingly still. Feathers black as oil slick, eyes sharp and glassy. It didn’t twitch. Didn’t caw. It just… stared at you.
You took a step to either side, growing more unnerved as its gaze followed you. Too smoothly. Too deliberate.
You squinted at the thing. “What a strange…bird,” you murmured.
It cocked its head, as if acknowledging the comment. And, as if realising that you were uncomfortable, the bird gave a soft, mechanical click. Its wings stretched once. Then it launched into the night and vanished.
Gone.
You stood there for a long moment, pulse thrumming, hand clutching at your chest.
Sylus leaned back in his chair, the soft glow of a dozen surveillance feeds reflecting in his eyes. The bird cawed and flew to land on its perch in the corner of the room. “Mephisto,” he chuckled, a spark of amusement lighting his carmine eyes as he leaned back in his chair, focussing entirely on the footage of you in your apartment.
The bird let out a soft caw, feathers ruffling in something that almost looked smug.
Sylus chuckled under his breath, reaching for the glass of whiskey on the table beside him.
“That’s her, then,” he murmured. “Curious little kitten.”
He brought the drink to his lips, eyes fixed on the screen as you reappeared. Nervous and unsettled, pacing like someone being hunted.
“Maybe you ought to be a little more subtle next time,” he drawled lazily to the bird. “We don’t want her to know we're onto her.”
Mephisto cawed in response. Its orders received.
“Let her think she’s winning,” Sylus said softly, mostly to himself. “Let her think she’s safe.”
He smiled.
“That’s when hunters are the most interesting.”