The Killing Ground
The underground club was filled with smoke, music, and the scent of sweat and sin. It was a place untouched by law, where the rich and the damned came to lose themselves.
Vincent walked in like a phantom.
Dressed in black, his long coat sweeping behind him, his presence sucked the air from the room. He moved without hesitation, his green eyes glowing under the dim lights, a predator in a cage full of prey.
The moment he stepped inside, whispers filled the air.
"Vincent Blackwood?"
"What is he doing here?"
"No way—that Vincent Blackwood?"
People froze in place, their gazes torn between awe and terror. This was not his world. This was the underbelly of society, a place where beauty and fame meant nothing.
But power?
Power was everything.
And Vincent carried it like a second skin.
His gaze scanned the room, and then—he saw them.
A group of men laughing at the back, their suits expensive, their watches dripping in wealth. They had no idea that their lives were about to be cut short.
Vincent took slow, measured steps toward them. Each footfall was deliberate, silent, a countdown to their doom.
The men turned as he approached, eyes widening in recognition. One of them—the leader—smirked, clearly amused.
"Well, well. If it isn't the pretty boy."
Vincent didn't respond.
He simply pulled out his gun and shot him in the kneecap.
A scream tore through the room, sharp and brutal. Blood splattered onto the pristine marble floor. Chaos erupted—people scrambling, chairs toppling, gasps and shouts filling the air.
Vincent, unfazed, watched as the man collapsed, writhing in pain.
The others reached for their weapons, but they were too slow.
Vincent moved like a shadow, a blur of deadly precision. One by one, they fell—each bullet a statement, each death a release.
By the time it was over, the air was thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder. The club had gone silent, the remaining guests frozen in fear.
Vincent stood amidst the carnage, his coat unblemished, his expression unreadable.
His heartbeat was steady.
His breathing, calm.
But inside—
Inside, the monster was wide awake.