Several flashlight beams shot inside simultaneously.
The interior of the vehicle was empty, save for a single corpse strapped tightly into the driver's seat by a seatbelt, its neck snapped at an unnatural angle.
"Damn it! There's only one body, no one else!"
After seeing the corpse's face clearly, the guard shouted in terror, "This is the guy we sent to grab them, he's been dead for a long time!"
"What?!"
"What the fuck is going on?!"
A wave of commotion instantly erupted among the crowd as the guards raised their weapons, scanning the surrounding darkness nervously.
"Over there!"
Someone suddenly pointed toward the roof of the factory and shouted.
Everyone jerked their heads up.
They saw several dark silhouettes had appeared on the rooftop of the factory at some unknown moment.
Sephirot stood with his hands in his pockets, the night wind making his trench coat snap and rustle. At his feet lay a corpse clutching a sniper rifle.
He looked down with interest at the group below who were acting as if facing a great enemy, while Patty followed closely behind him.
"Good evening, pieces of trash."
Sephirot's voice drifted down from above, echoing through the vast, open factory grounds.
"I apologize for interrupting your work in such a manner, but I'm afraid this place will have to cut the power and close down for inspection tonight."
"Fire! Turn him into a sieve!!"
The leader pointed toward the rooftop and roared.
However, before they could pull their triggers, they realized to their horror that the entire abandoned factory had been covered by a thick white mist.
Furthermore, neither flashlights nor the searchlight could pierce through the heavy fog.
The dirt and concrete beneath their feet actually began to peel away in massive chunks, revealing blood-red, slightly pulsating flesh tissue underneath.
"What... what the hell is this?!"
"The ground... the ground is alive! It's breathing!"
"..."
Rusted iron wires shot out from the white mist like venomous snakes, tightly snaring several guards on the perimeter.
"Aaaaghh!!"
Piteous screams rang out as the iron wires suspended them in the air in a spread-eagle position. More wires shot out, coiling around the guards' bodies layer by layer, tightening further and further.
In the end, nothing remained but a massive outpouring of blood, which was absorbed by the fleshy tissue below.
The cleaners, who had been aggressive and imposing just a second ago, were now completely broken by these eerie scenes.
Some collapsed onto the ground, while others dropped their weapons like headless chickens and charged blindly into the thick mist.
And within the fog, twisted, twitching silhouettes began to emerge from the depths one after another.
"Enjoy your final carnival to the fullest."
Sephirot nodded to the little girl floating beside him.
"Alessa, I'll leave this place to you. Leave no one alive."
...
—--
Basement level 1, surveillance room.
The corpses of the security personnel were piled in a corner. Patty covered her mouth, her face as pale as paper. Her eyes were fixed on the row of surveillance monitors on the wall, her stomach churning.
The scenes unfolding on the screens were a hundred times bloodier than any R-rated horror film she had ever seen.
Who could have imagined that these white-collar elites, usually so well-dressed and proper, were now wearing butcher's leather aprons, holding electric drills, hand saws, and various torture tools only seen in books, indulging their depravity upon the tourists tied to chairs?
They might be lawyers who spoke of fairness and justice in court, doctors who kindly treated your illnesses in hospitals, or even the friendly neighbors who greeted you with a smile when you met in the elevator every morning.
The severed limbs of the tourists and the ecstatic faces of the deviants formed a literal picture of Hell at this moment.
"How does it feel?"
Sephirot stood quietly by her side. He pressed the master switch, cutting off all the surveillance feeds, and spoke softly.
"Sometimes, these things wearing human skin are more like demons than the actual demons in Hell."
"Sephirot..."
Patty closed her eyes, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, her voice trembling. "Can you... kill them all?"
Sephirot looked at the girl's shivering frame, a layer of violent purplish-red magic power erupting from his body.
"Of course. That is exactly why I am here."
...
—--
Basement level 3, VIP premium torture chamber.
Ingrid, the top-tier wealthy socialite who had flown in overnight from the Netherlands.
She had changed into a luxurious dark red evening gown and stood waiting anxiously inside a cozy, erotic room meticulously decorated to her specifications.
Clutching a leather whip in her hand, she paced back and forth, already fantasizing in her mind about the various ways she would humiliate and play with that mixed-race youth.
The elevator indicator lights lit up floor by floor.
Ding.
A pleasant chime rang out.
"Finally here, my little darling..."
Ingrid dropped the leather whip, her eyes filled with a morbid fever and anticipation as she stepped forward to greet him.
The elevator doors slowly slid open.
The man bound in ropes she had expected did not appear; instead, a corpse was kicked out from within.
Thud!
Sephirot kicked the obstructing corpse aside and stepped into the room.
But Ingrid didn't care about the corpse at all. On the contrary, when she saw Sephirot's appearance clearly, her breathing suddenly became ragged.
His frame was so upright, robust, and young, he looked brimming with explosive power.
The scent of hormones emanating from his every move, combined with the faint smell of blood clinging to him, made him far more charming and dangerous than he appeared in the photos.
Like a frenzied beast, Ingrid spread her arms, about to lung forward to embrace Sephirot and drink him in.
But in the next second.
Her body was sent flying backward even faster than she had approached, crashing onto the soft bed.
Ingrid clutched her stomach in pain. Her body, pampered and privileged, throbbed with agony under the force of the impact. The pain radiating through her body finally allowed her reason, which had been overwhelmed by desire, to retake the high ground and snap back to clarity.
"Good evening, you old hag."
Sephirot stood where he was, a look of pure loathing on his face.
This woman wanted to graze on young grass at her age? To even stand a chance, she'd need to be at least twenty years younger.
He asked flatly, "I heard you spent a fortune to buy me?"
"Dammit, what the hell are those idiots outside doing?!"
Ingrid hissed in pain as she scrambled clumsily off the bed, her heart burning with rage.
She had spent tens of millions to dominate her prey and savor the pleasure of one-sided torture; she had no interest in being a masochist! This wasn't the way she wanted to play at all!
She grabbed the communicator on the nightstand and pressed the call button several times. After waiting a moment with no response, she slammed her palm against it.
"Don't waste your breath. They're all very busy right now; they should be lining up in Hell by now for their respawn matches."
Sephirot watched her as he spoke.
"You... who exactly are you?!"
Ingrid started to panic. She looked at the man in front of her, then at the corpse nearby, finally realizing that something was terribly wrong.
"Who I am doesn't matter. I'm just curious, how much did you actually pay to buy me?"
Awed by the terrifying pressure radiating from him, Ingrid gasped for air with difficulty:
"Thirty... thirty-five million US dollars..."
Hearing this, Sephirot clicked his tongue inwardly.
Good grief. He risked his life to slay demons, and his commission fees were piddling change at best.
Yet, as soon as a photo was posted on the dark web, it fetched a staggering price of thirty-five million?
If he'd known it was this easy to take money from these rich hags, he'd have just packaged himself up and sold himself a few times. Why bother taking commissions or being a Devil Hunter?
Of course, he was just venting in his head.
At the thought of being touched by this old woman who reeked of filth, Sephirot would rather fight a succubus for three hundred rounds.
"Quite the big spender," he sneered. "Now, let's talk business."
"What business?"
Ingrid trembled all over. Her instincts from years of navigating high society immediately told her what was happening.
Clutching at this like a lifeline, she shrieked, "I have money! I have plenty of money! Just name a price and let me go! I'll give you whatever you want!"
"Smart."
Sephirot snapped his fingers and held up one finger.
"One million?"
Ingrid breathed a sigh of relief and asked.
One million US dollars for her life was a bargain; she even felt her life was worth far more than that.
However, Sephirot wagged his finger dismissively.
"Ten... ten million?!"
Ingrid asked, her voice shaking.
She had already bled herself dry to buy Sephirot; ten million US dollars was a massive sum that would cut her to the bone.
"No, no."
Sephirot shook his head, his tone mild. "I've always been fair in business, set prices, no cheating anyone."
He tossed a blood-stained phone onto the bed. The words he spoke in that gentle tone made Ingrid feel as if she had been plunged into a pit of ice:
"For every million you transfer to my account from now on, you get to live for one more minute, or suffer one less of the torture tools in this room."
He pointed to the dazzling array of torture tools in the corner of the room and smiled.
"After all, Alessa is quite interested in these toys."
"..."
(Translated by yourtl.app)