Ingrid, the noble socialite who usually stood high above others and could squander tens of millions of US dollars on a single man to satisfy her twisted desires, had now drawn her final breath.
The blood flowing from her body merged with her expensive dark red evening gown, making it impossible to distinguish fabric from mangled flesh.
The face she had maintained with countless fortunes and blood was contorted in extreme agony; no one could guess the extent of the torture she had endured before death.
Sephirot stepped out of the torture chamber, glancing at the payment confirmation text on his phone with a satisfied and pleasant expression.
She truly was a wealthy woman. She had already spent thirty million on him before this, even if that money hadn't passed through his hands directly.
But now, he had managed to squeeze another twenty million US dollars out of her.
What a kind soul.
As the saying goes, a horse doesn't get fat without midnight grass, and a man doesn't get rich without a windfall.
The ancients truly did not deceive me.
Now, not only could he settle the debt for Morrison's sports car, but in the days to come, he could finally order, without any hesitation, extra-large, double-crust, stuffed-crust pizza, overflowing with molten cheese and Italian sausage, and absolutely no black olives!
A bite of a sundae, then a bite of pizza...
This was a life he never dared to dream of while following behind Dante.
On both sides of the corridor, screams of agony and pleas for mercy echoed from behind the sealed iron doors.
Sephirot strolled down the hallway, kicking open a door every time he passed a torture chamber to perform a simple and crude act of extortion.
After draining their wealth, he would either give them a quick death depending on his mood or break their limbs and leave them as toys for Alessa.
They were all scum anyway, undeserving of sympathy.
However, after repeatedly entering and looting several rooms, Sephirot's brow furrowed deeper and deeper.
"Why is everyone so poor?"
He looked disdainfully at the transfer records on his phone, ranging from a few thousand to a few tens of thousands.
Wasn't this supposed to be a transnational criminal organization serving the world's top elites?
As it turned out, almost everyone he encountered tonight was a white-collar corporate drone burdened with loans, out here just to vent their frustrations.
Sephirot rubbed his temples and happened to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror of a torture chamber.
A thought suddenly flashed through his mind...
Did those big shots recognize him?!
He was a nobody, but his flashy uncle was world-renowned in the industry.
To slay demons, Dante had once sliced the Golden Gate Bridge clean in half with his sword!
A dangerous element with a "wherever he goes, everything collapses" constitution was likely blacklisted by the upper echelons long ago.
They wouldn't dare get close, let alone cross paths with him.
Realizing this, Sephirot's face darkened. He kicked the man who had just finished a transfer to death and stepped out of the torture chamber.
Ahead, an iron door was slammed open from the inside.
A man splattered with blood stumbled out in a panic, cursing under his breath while wielding a dripping chainsaw: "I'm out! Fuck! What the hell is this place?!
"This isn't fun at all!"
He ran toward the elevator in a daze, completely ignoring Sephirot standing in the middle of the path.
Sephirot curled his lip and ignored him; one look was enough to tell this was another penniless wretch.
He stepped into the open torture chamber.
A tiger chair sat in the center of the room, with a woman tightly secured to it by restraint straps.
The tight camisole she wore had been mostly stripped away, and her blood-soaked body trembled uncontrollably.
A horrific wound, deep enough to see the bone, slashed across her beautiful face. Blood flowed incessantly, and her chest heaved slightly; it seemed she hadn't fully drawn her last breath.
Hearing footsteps, Whitney struggled to open her eyes.
Seeing Sephirot, what remained of her lips twitched slightly.
"Heh... heh..."
Waves of blood welled up from her mouth. The sounds emerging from her throat seemed like a plea for help, or perhaps a hope that this man would help release her from her agony.
Sephirot walked up to her and remained silent for a moment.
With injuries like these, perhaps only a god descending to earth could save her.
"Sleep now."
Sephirot reached out and took her by the neck.
He applied a small amount of force.
Crack.
Rather than leaving her to die slowly in this endless agony, it was better to give her a swift end.
Whitney's body jolted violently, and then her tense muscles relaxed completely.
Her eyes, once filled with pain and despair, stared blankly and hollowly at the ceiling.
Sephirot withdrew his hand and turned to walk out of the room.
Reaching the end of the hall, a familiar cry echoed from inside one of the torture chambers.
"No! Please! Don't touch me! I have money! I can give you so much money!"
Inside the room.
Beth was also tied tightly to a chair, her tears smearing her exquisite makeup.
In front of her, a middle-aged man was excitedly selecting from rows of blood-stained torture tools.
In reality, he was a spineless loser who took abuse from everyone, especially at home where he suffered under the contempt of his wife.
But he never dared to resist.
Only here, listening to the wails and pleas for mercy from beautiful women who wouldn't even look at him on a normal day, watching them cower in fear of him, could he reclaim some pathetic shred of self-esteem.
Unable to choose a suitable torture tool, he couldn't wait any longer and stripped off his shirt.
He had secretly used his daughter's tuition for elite schooling and mortgaged his house to afford this chance to vent; he didn't want to waste a single second.
Just as he was about to pounce on Beth,
BOOM!
The iron door let out a massive crash as it was kicked flying off its frame by sheer force, slamming hard against the wall.
The man shuddered in fright, nearly going limp.
He turned his head and cursed loudly: "God damn it! What's wrong with the service in this place?! Do you understand the meaning of privacy?!"
"I haven't even started getting off yet! You bunch of–" His shouting came to a dead stop.
A giant purple hand composed of demonic energy seized his body and hoisted him into the air.
Only then did the man's lust-clouded brain suddenly snap into clarity.
He stared at the intruder, kicking his legs desperately and letting out muffled whimpers for mercy.
As for Beth, who was tied to the chair, the fire of hope ignited in her despairing eyes once she saw it was Sephirot.
"Sephirot! Save me! Please!"
She shouted, her voice raspy.
"Good evening, Miss Beth."
Sephirot ignored Beth's pleas for help, stepping into the room of his own accord.
"It seems you've run into a bit of trouble. Do you require professional security and rescue?"
Beth nodded frantically, asking in a rush: "How much?! I'll pay you, just get me out of here!"
Sephirot rubbed his chin, considered for a moment, and held up a single finger:
"Not much. Flat rate, one million US dollars."
He had already hauled in a massive fortune from Ingrid tonight.
For a rescue like this that was simply along his way, he didn't mind offering a discount.
After all, he wasn't some common robber. It was better to nurture long-term connections; building a sustainable client base was the true way to go.
Beth agreed without a moment's hesitation: "Fine! One million it is! As long as you can guarantee my safety and take me back to Los Santos, I'll transfer the money to you immediately!"
"Rest assured, Miss Beth, just as I said in the car earlier."
"I am a respectable private detective who happens to take on security work. I have immense professional integrity; I would never do something as classless as extortion."
Sephirot smiled with satisfaction. Controlling the Devil Bringer in mid-air, he brought the still-struggling middle-aged man right in front of Beth.
"To thank you for supporting my business, I'd like to make one more little side deal with you."
Sephirot looked into Beth's eyes, which were bloodshot with hatred.
"For just a little bit more money... this man is yours to do with as you please. How about it?"
(Translated by yourtl.app)
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