Chapter 3 003
Dorian Voss stood in the shattered doorway, his polished leather shoes crunching over scattered teeth and bone fragments as he stepped deeper into the blood-drenched living room. His expression shifted from shock to raw, trembling fury.
Six heavily armed men fanned out behind him, hands hovering near their weapons. When they saw the mangled corpses and shattered skulls, several of them hesitated, faces paling.
“Well, well, well,” Dorian said, forcing an amused tone that didn’t quite hide his rage. “The prodigal nephew finally returns. I must admit, Nyxor Raventhorn — I’m impressed. We tortured your precious aunt for hours. Smashed her legs into splinters. Made her scream until her throat bled. All to force her to tell us where you were hiding.”
He gestured lazily at Aunt Selene’s unconscious, broken form on the floor.
“The stubborn old woman wouldn’t say a word. Tougher than she looked. And your little sister?” He let out a low, cruel laugh. “We had our fun with her too. Slapped her around. Described in vivid detail all the horrors waiting for her. Made her cry and beg for her big brother to come save her.”
Dorian took another step forward, his expensive shoes squelching through thick pools of blood.
“But she didn’t know where you were either. And now…” He spread his arms wide, grinning like a predator. “Here you are. Walking straight into our trap like a fool marching to his own execution. This is almost too easy.”
Nyxor Raventhorn stood perfectly still in the center of the carnage, his dark tactical coat soaked in blood that wasn’t his own.
“What do you plan to do with me?” he asked, voice flat and ice-cold.
Dorian threw his head back and laughed. “What do I plan to do? Let me think…” He wiped imaginary tears from his eyes. “Originally, I was going to ship you off to the auction with your sister. A lovely family bundle.”
His smile twisted wider.
“But who would buy a broken soldier like you? You’re just a trained attack dog. Your sister, though…” His eyes gleamed with malice. “She’s young. Beautiful. Still innocent. She’ll fetch an obscene price from some wealthy degenerate who enjoys breaking delicate little things.”
He licked his lips.
“She’ll make such a perfect plaything. I hear they love the ones who cry the loudest when—”
“So you do know exactly where she is,” Nyxor interrupted, his voice dangerously quiet.
Dorian’s smirk faltered for a split second before returning, sharper and more venomous.
“Clever. Even now, you’re trying to squeeze information out of me.” He shook his head in mock admiration. “I almost respect it.”
His expression turned glacial.
“But you made a fatal mistake coming here alone, Raventhorn. You should have stayed buried in whatever hole you crawled into. You should have never come back.”
He snapped his fingers.
“Kill him. Slowly. I want to hear him scream.”
The six armed men surged forward, drawing guns and blades, circling Nyxor from every side.
Nyxor didn’t move.
He stood perfectly still, eyes tracking each man like a wolf studying sheep.
“Last chance,” one growled, aiming his pistol at Nyxor’s chest. “Get on your knees and—”
The man never finished.
Nyxor blurred forward. His hand seized the gun barrel and wrenched it upward just as the trigger was pulled.
BANG!
The bullet punched through the ceiling. Plaster rained down.
Nyxor twisted violently. The man’s finger — still caught in the trigger guard — snapped with a sickening CRACK. His scream was raw and piercing.
Nyxor ripped the gun free and smashed the butt into the bridge of the man’s nose. Bone fragments drove deep into the sinuses. Blood erupted like a fountain.
Before the man could fall, Nyxor reversed the weapon and fired point-blank into his kneecap.
BANG!
The joint disintegrated in a spray of red mist and shattered bone. The man collapsed, shrieking, his leg bent at an impossible angle.
The second attacker lunged from behind with a combat knife aimed at Nyxor’s kidney.
Nyxor spun. The blade sliced through his coat but missed flesh by a hair.
He caught the wrist, stepped in close, and drove his elbow into the man’s temple with crushing force. The temporal bone shattered. Eyes rolled back.
Still gripping the wrist, Nyxor twisted the arm until the shoulder dislocated with a wet POP, then slammed his knee into the falling face. Nose exploded. Teeth shattered. Jaws broke in multiple places.
The body crumpled.
Two down.
The third and fourth attacked from opposite sides at once.
The one on the left swung a heavy metal baton at Nyxor’s skull.
Nyxor ducked under the whistling arc, grabbed the extended arm, and yanked the man off balance. His fist drove into the solar plexus with catastrophic power.
The blow stopped the man’s heart instantly. Eyes widened in shock. The body convulsed once, then went rigid. He dropped dead before hitting the floor.
The fourth man opened fire — three rapid shots aimed at Nyxor’s center mass.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Nyxor moved like liquid shadow, twisting between the bullets with impossible precision. All three rounds slammed into the wall behind him.
The shooter’s eyes bulged in disbelief. “What the—?”
Nyxor closed the gap in a heartbeat, forced the man’s own gun under his chin, and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The top of the skull vanished in a red spray. Brain matter painted the ceiling. The body stood upright for a moment before collapsing.
The fifth man tried to flee.
He bolted for the door.
Nyxor snatched the combat knife from the floor and hurled it in one fluid motion.
The blade buried deep into the back of the man’s thigh. He crashed face-first into the doorframe, breaking his nose, then screamed as he hit the ground.
Nyxor walked over calmly, yanked the knife free — intensifying the scream — and drove it precisely into the base of the skull where the spine met the brain.
The screaming stopped instantly. The body twitched once and went still.
The last man — the biggest and once the most confident — was now backing away, gun shaking wildly in his hands.
“Stay back!” he screamed. “Stay the fuck back!”
He fired wildly.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
All shots missed by a wide margin.
Nyxor advanced like the bullets were nothing.
The man’s gun clicked empty. In panic, he hurled it at Nyxor’s head.
Nyxor caught it one-handed without slowing down.
“No… no no no—”
Nyxor’s hand shot out and clamped around the man’s throat. He lifted him effortlessly off the ground. Feet kicked uselessly in the air. Hands clawed desperately at the iron grip.
“Please…” the man wheezed, face turning purple. “I have… a family…”
Nyxor’s expression remained cold and empty.
“So did she.”
He slammed the man’s head into the wall with bone-shattering force. Again. And again. And again.
On the fifth impact, the skull cracked. On the sixth, brain matter began leaking. On the seventh, the body went completely limp.
Nyxor dropped the corpse and let it slide down the blood-smeared wall.
He stood in the center of the slaughter, breathing steady, his coat drenched in crimson.
Across the room, Dorian Voss was frozen in place. His face had gone deathly pale. The arrogance had vanished, replaced by naked terror. His legs trembled so badly he could barely stand.
“What… what the hell are you?” he whispered.
Nyxor turned his head slowly. When their eyes met, Dorian felt something inside him shrivel.
“I never imagined…” Dorian’s voice cracked. He stumbled backward, shoes slipping in blood. “I never imagined you’d be this strong.”
He swallowed hard, trying to summon some remnant of courage.
“But if you touch me,” he said, voice shaking, “you’ll bring the wrath of Seraphine Voss herself down on your head!”
Nyxor tilted his head slightly. “Who is Seraphine Voss to threaten me with?”
Dorian let out a desperate, broken laugh. “You really don’t know? You ignorant fool! Seraphine Voss controls half the underworld of Blackspire City! She’s forging an alliance with the War God who just crushed the Eastern Dominion! Do you understand what that means?”
“And who is this War God?” Nyxor asked calmly.
Dorian stared in disbelief. “You… you can’t be serious. He’s been everywhere — the commander who led a hundred thousand troops to total victory. The man who ended a three-year war in one decisive strike. They call him the Abyssal King! He’s—”
CRACK!
Nyxor’s boot came down on Dorian’s hand with merciless force.
Bones shattered like dry twigs. The thumb dislocated completely.
Dorian screamed like an animal and collapsed to his knees, cradling his ruined hand as tears streamed down his face.
“Get to the point,” Nyxor said coldly. “Where is my sister?”
“The Velvet Abyss!” Dorian sobbed, voice completely broken. “She’s at The Velvet Abyss in the eastern district! That’s where they process all the girls for auction! Please! I’ve told you everything!”
He gasped through the pain. “If you keep this up, Seraphine and the entire Voss Family will hunt you down! They’ll destroy everything you care about!”
“Should I be afraid of Seraphine Voss?” Nyxor asked quietly.
Before Dorian could answer, Nyxor called out, “Vesper.”
The front door opened smoothly.
Vesper Kane stepped inside, followed by eight elite shadow operatives. Behind them came two specialized teams.
One team carried advanced repair equipment and construction tools. The other wore medical gear and wheeled in state-of-the-art portable hospital units.
“Everything is prepared, my King,” Vesper reported.
Nyxor gave a single nod.
The repair team moved with mechanical efficiency. Laser scanners mapped the room. Advanced polymers filled cracks and bullet holes, hardening instantly. Blood was erased with industrial solvents that left no trace. The shattered doorframe was replaced with a seamless unit. Within minutes, the living room looked completely untouched — as if the massacre had never happened.
Meanwhile, the medical team swarmed Aunt Selene.
Sensors were placed. Vital signs flashed on portable monitors — heart rate critical, blood pressure collapsing, massive internal bleeding.
“Multiple compound fractures to both legs,” the lead medic reported. “Severe tissue damage. Blood loss nearing forty-five percent. She’s in deep hypovolemic shock.”
“Stabilize her,” Nyxor ordered. “Use whatever resources are necessary. Spare no expense.”
“Yes, my King.”
They worked with terrifying precision. IV lines delivered fresh blood and advanced clotting agents. Carbon-fiber splints locked the shattered bones in perfect alignment. A portable bone-regeneration unit hummed to life, emitting targeted waves that accelerated healing tenfold, combined with stem cell injections.
“Vitals stabilizing,” a medic announced. “She’s responding.”
Dorian Voss watched the entire scene unfold with growing horror.
His eyes locked on Vesper Kane and widened in recognition.
“No…” he whispered, face draining of all colors. “That’s… impossible. You’re the War God’s right hand… Vesper Kane… second-in-command of the Shadow Legion!”
He turned to Nyxor, eyes bulging with terror.
“Who the hell are you really?” he gasped.
Nyxor looked down at him with those bottomless, empty eyes.
“You don’t need to know.”
His hand shot out and clamped around Dorian’s throat, cutting off any scream.
“You don’t deserve to live.”
CRACK!
Dorian’s neck snapped. His body jerked once, eyes going glassy. Nyxor dropped the corpse to the floor like discarded waste.
He turned to Vesper. “The tracker.”
Vesper stepped forward, holding a small medical tray. On it lay a tiny, blood-covered micro-device — military-grade, GPS-enabled, with a battery life measured in years.
“Seraphine wanted to make sure they could never disappear again,” Nyxor said softly.
He glanced down at his blood-soaked coat, then at the now-pristine room.
“Vesper… we’re heading to The Velvet Abyss. Immediately.”
Nyxor walked toward the door, his boots leaving faint bloody prints on the freshly cleaned floor.
At the threshold, he paused and looked back one final time at Aunt Selene,
now surrounded by cutting-edge medical equipment and a team fighting to save her life.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” he whispered.
Then he vanished into the night, his soldiers melting into the shadows behind him like ghosts of vengeance.
