Bel'Yor City
Exterior Ward
Spring court
Hidden world, Terra
Gaea solar system
Milky way Galaxy
Neutral Free zone
27th February 2019
As Leon walked through a dark street, he had his right arm up, examining the coin he had retrieved from the tunnel underneath Lakefront City. He was studying the magic that was within the coin. Within his eyes, gone was the sky blue color, and replacing it was a golden sclera, black iris, and a sun cross-shaped pupil. This eye was an aspect of Leon's ability factor, an ocular power that gave him the esoteric abilities of the sun.
A complex web of enchantment woven into the coin spoke of dimensional magic and attraction magic merged into one spell. His eyes could process all the information that made up the magic. A magic that had pulled him towards the path of Sam. Leon thought back to the Echo field that had the shrine of Asha, one of the nine gods of Terra. The only thing he knew about the pagan gods of Terra were the stories his Mother had told him as a child.
He knew his mother was a worshipper of them. A prick of pain stabbed Leon in his gut, but he endured it. He was almost there. His destination was none other than Madame Menthos. A Nigromancer's shop. There weren't enough Black art practitioners out in the open. Golden Dawn frowned upon them as they were notorious for their acts of service when it came to dealing with the Mundanes. Luckily for Leon, he knew a Nigromancer from a mutual acquaintance, one who was skilled in all kinds of dark magic. He knew there was a high risk of danger and that Emily would stop him if she knew that he had been frequenting a black witch place. But Leon had no choice. He was nearly out of time. He felt the rush of blood down his nose, and he wiped it off at the moment when his Zodiak began to beep.
"What?" Leon said with a little bit of annoyance in his voice.
"Haravok, you don't sound so happy to hear from me," Lance's voice cut through Leon's momentary daze.
"Do you have anything for me?" Leon said as he passed around a corner in the street. A group of people gave him a wide berth, keeping their distance from him. The air around him felt very ominous.
"Your voice sounds like you have no patience for jokes, so I'll go ahead and give you the information you wanted on Vashin Pryinham," Lance said. "I'm sending it to you."
After Lance sent him the information, he disconnected the call, leaving Leon to go through the information he had sent him. Leon read it quickly and then dismissed his Zodiak.
Leon knew he had just one chance left to sort out the things that he wanted to sort out. His business with the Fallen stars. Everyone thought he was out for revenge, chasing them. And they were kind of right. But there was more to it. He needed to meet with the leader of the Fallen Star. Only then could Leon get the truth to a question that had been burning at him since he was banished.
A part of him was beginning to falter at the thought that he might find any information that would lead him to them. His mind wandered to all the sacrifices that he had made just to get close to his goal. A hand stained with scarlet red. He wondered if there was a part of him that held a tiny sliver of regret, but he couldn't feel any of it. His goal. In the end, that was all that mattered to him. His desire for it was all that he cared about. He aimed to achieve it before he met his end.
Which was why he was taking this trip to the Hidden World. The witch that he was going to meet had a shop down in one of the slums of the city of Bel Yor, one of the Major cities of the Hidden World. The store was located within one of the torn-down buildings alongside Yuruk Street in Cassena Boulevard and Forty-first Avenue, in a little village called Flushing Bay. This area was one of the ugly sides of the Hidden World. Residents could be seen crouched on the ground, clothed in filthy clothes, drunkards on various sides of the streets, and beggars begging for money.
It was also one of the few places where black witches or black wizards could practice their dark arts without trouble from the Golden Dawn. Leon's senses were on high alert, keeping track of those who passed him by. Pleiadians were not that common in the Hidden World, and there were a lot of races that despised his kind. So he had to be careful just walking the street, because you never know, a poor soul might want to pick a fight with him. He wished they did.
But the people just ignored him as they went about their day. The buildings looked run-down, struck by poverty and probably crimes. Though it was an urban area, the amount of packed, dense houses around the streets that required maintenance made it look different from the other urban areas within the Hidden World.
Leon stopped before the smallest storefront on the block.
A crooked sign hung above the door, its faded lettering barely legible beneath layers of grime:
Madame Menthos — Witch
He studied it for a moment. This would be the last time. A slow breath left him—not hesitation, just acknowledgment—before he stepped inside. The bell above the door rang, thin and hollow.
From within, something shifted. An old woman emerged from the shadows, her steps uneven, a cane tapping softly against the floor. Grey hair fell in brittle strands around her face, her body bent with age, though the air around her carried something far older than frailty.
Black robes draped her frame. Around her neck hung an Octagram pendant, its center engraved with the inverted head of a goat—etched so deeply it seemed to drink in the light.
Her eyes found him immediately. Sharp.Knowing. Leon regarded her in silence. She should have been dead. Anyone else, with a body like that, would have been. But this one—
had bargained. Bargained with an Infernal Devil for more time.
Leon could end her here. Effortless. But she was useful. And usefulness… was enough.
"I'm flattered you still trust me, Haravok," Menthos said, voice dry with amusement.
Leon's gaze didn't shift.
"…Stay out of my head."
A thin smile crept across her lips.
"My shop," she said, tapping her cane once against the floor, "my rules, Pleiadian."
A low, rasping laugh followed.
Leon exhaled faintly, already losing interest.
"I'm here for the usual."
Menthos tilted her head.
"So you've run out." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I told you—once a week. That should have been enough."
Leon didn't respond to the reprimand.
"Give it to me."
No aggression. No emphasis. Just expectation. Menthos studied him for a moment longer than necessary.
"…You're pushing it."
A pause.
Then—
"Don't come back complaining when your body starts failing faster."
Leon said nothing. Instead, he reached into his dimensional band and produced a handful of Odic shards, letting them fall onto the counter with a dull, crystalline clatter.
Dark residue clung faintly to them.
Recent.
Menthos' expression shifted—subtle, but real.
"…You've been busy."
"I don't have time to be anything else."
She gave a quiet hum of approval.
"I have a stronger batch prepared," she said. "And some for later—if you intend to keep ignoring my instructions."
Leon met her gaze briefly.
A slight nod.
"Good," she said. "Come."
She led him downstairs. The basement air was thick—humid, heavy with the scent of sulfur and decay. As they descended, a dim orb of light flickered into existence, revealing the space below. Rows of narrow beds lined the room. Some occupants slept. Others didn't.
Eyes open. Unblinking. Fixed on nothing. Their expressions hovered somewhere between peace and ruin. Shelves crowded the walls—vials, instruments, and tomes stacked without order. The floor bore a pentagram etched in dried blood, candles placed at each point, their flames trembling without wind.
Infernal work. Leon's gaze passed over it all without reaction. Menthos gestured to an empty bed.
He didn't argue. He removed his coat, folding it with precise movements before placing it beneath his head. Then he lay back, one arm resting loosely at his side.
Menthos moved away, retrieving a vial from the shelves.
When she returned, she held it out to him.
"This is one of the stronger batches," she said. "It will work—but it will put you down. You need to let your body stabilize this time."
Leon took the vial. No hesitation. He uncorked it and drank. The taste was sharp—bitter at first, biting against his tongue. Then something deeper followed, a faint sweetness layered beneath it, like aged wine left too long to ferment.
He finished it in one motion. For a second, nothing happened.Then—his vision dipped. A slow, creeping weight pulled at his senses, dragging him downward. His body grew distant.
Heavy. Unresponsive. Leon let his eyes close. Not resisting. Not fighting it. Just… allowing. The last thing he felt was the quiet hum beneath his skin—The potion taking hold. Then—
darkness.
~
The boy stood beside his mother as they received the mourners. He was six—nearly seven—but his eyes missed nothing. They came in black suits, one after another, voices lowered, heads bowed in practiced sorrow. Their words were soft. Measured. Appropriate.
But their eyes— their eyes told the truth. He saw it in the corners of their smiles. In the way their gazes lingered just a fraction too long. In the subtle ease beneath their sympathy. They were not grieving. They were relieved.
His fingers curled into his palm, small fists tightening until the skin whitened. The calluses there—earned through hours of sword practice—pressed against themselves, grounding him.
His father had died for them.
Jonathan Haravok had led the charge—had stood at the front when others hesitated—had stopped the Uprising from spreading beyond Agartha, from reaching the rest of the Federation.
He had saved them. And this—this was what they offered in return. Polite smiles. Empty words. Thinly veiled satisfaction. The boy's jaw tightened.
Ungrateful. Every last one of them. They had only just returned from the Starlight Temple. The rites were still fresh, the incense still clinging faintly to his clothes. Tradition demanded they stand here—his mother, composed despite everything—and accept the condolences of the community. But there was no comfort here.
Only performance. The boy shifted his gaze, searching instinctively for the one person who might have stood beside him through it. Rex. His foster brother. His friend. Gone. Returned to his own world. Leaving him alone in this room full of strangers. Another figure approached.
Black suit. Measured steps. But unlike the others—
a mask.
A bullhorn mask, stark and deliberate, concealing everything that mattered. The boy's attention sharpened. His mother saw him—and something broke. It was subtle, but unmistakable.
Her posture faltered. Her breath caught. Shock flickered first—then anger—then something deeper. Fear. And beneath it—
despair.
She stepped back. Just enough to lose her balance. The boy moved without thinking, catching her hand, steadying her. The masked man reached for her other hand, enclosing it in both of his.
Too familiar.
Too certain.
The boy stared up at him. He couldn't hear what the man was saying. The room dimmed around the edges. Voices blurred. Faces lost meaning. But he saw his mother's expression. He saw what that man had done— what his presence alone was doing. And something inside the boy shifted.
Not loud.
Not explosive.
Cold.
A quiet, burning rage that settled deep in his chest, sinking past thought, past reason. It spread through him, slow and absolute. The rest of the day—he would not remember. Only fragments. Only shadows. But one thing remained. Clear. Unshaken.
The boy made a promise. Whoever that man was—wherever he was— he would find him. And he would make him suffer. Not for himself. But for what he had done to his mother.
Leon woke with a violent gasp, the sound tearing from his throat before he could contain it.
His body lurched upright.
For a moment—there was no room, no memory, no context. Only the echo of something buried too deep to name.
His heart pounded, hard and uneven.
Leon dragged in a breath.
Then another.
He forced the rhythm.
In—out—count.
Two.Three.Five.Seven.
Prime numbers.
Steady. Controlled. Precise.
The chaos in his chest began to settle.
Golden strands of hair clung to his face, damp with sweat. A drop slid from his brow, trailing down the bridge of his nose.
Leon lifted a hand to his chest.
Checked.
No tearing. No rupture. No lingering fracture.
The pain was gone.
The potion had worked.
For now.
He exhaled once, slower this time—but the unease remained. A thin, persistent tension beneath the surface, like something waiting to break through again.
Leon's gaze sharpened.
He took in his surroundings.
And then—
the smell reached him.
Blood.
Thick. Metallic. Fresh.
His eyes followed it.
Bodies lay scattered across the beds.
Some twisted. Some still.
None breathing.
Dark pools spread across the stone floor, gathering beneath them, seeping into the grooves of the pentagram.
Leon didn't move immediately.
He didn't need to.
The answer was already there.
He turned.
Menthos—
was no longer standing.
She hung in the air.
Held.
A massive figure loomed behind her.
Broad. Towering. Wrapped in a sleeveless white garment stretched over a body that looked more beast than man. Shaggy orange hair framed its form like coarse fur. Its eyes—sharp, feline—locked onto Leon with quiet interest.
One hand held Menthos by the throat.
The other—
held her heart.
Still.
Beating.
Once.
Then—
still.
"So you're awake," it said.
Its voice was low. Almost conversational.
Leon said nothing.
But he felt it.
The energy.
Infernal.
Familiar.
The Beast released her.
Her body fell.
The heart followed.
It struck the floor with a wet, final sound.
"I could have killed you," the creature continued, tilting its head slightly. "While you were unconscious."
A pause.
"But where's the value in that?"
Its gaze sharpened.
"It wouldn't break her."
Another pause.
"Not yet."
Leon rose to his feet.
Unhurried.
His expression hadn't changed.
A blade of golden light formed in his hand—lengthening, solidifying into a longsword that hummed with restrained radiance.
His eyes flicked, briefly, toward Menthos.
Not at her death.
At the inconvenience of it.
"…Unfortunate."
Quiet.
Dismissed.
His attention returned to the creature.
The Beast's lips curled.
"Ah… Heavenly Radiance."
Recognition.
Interest.
"I've heard of it," it said. "The Haravok blade."
A faint shift in its posture.
Predatory.
"I wonder how long it will last."
It moved first.
A single swipe—
Five arcs of clawed force tore through the air toward Leon.
He moved just as they reached him.
A clean somersault carried him over the attack, his blade already descending in a counterstrike—
But the Beast was faster.
It wasn't there.
A blur—
Then impact.
Its knee drove into Leon's guard.
The force cracked through him.
Even reinforced—even prepared—
his arm fractured.
The impact hurled him backward, crashing through the shop's outer wall and into the structure beyond.
Wood splintered.
Stone cracked.
Leon landed hard inside the adjoining building.
For a moment—
stillness.
Then—
he exhaled.
Mana flowed immediately, threading through his arm, reinforcing, stabilizing, accelerating recovery. The fracture began to mend—fast, but not instant.
The Beast stepped through the wreckage.
Roaring.
It came down with both claws.
Leon met it.
A vertical slash—
steel met force—
deflected—
then—
a diagonal arc of gold carved cleanly across the creature's chest.
Black blood burst outward.
The impact shook the building.
Around them, doors flew open.
Tenants—half-awake, disoriented—stumbled into the halls before the pressure hit them.
Odic force.
Infernal weight.
They fled.
Instinct over thought.
Survival over everything.
Leon didn't look at them.
Didn't need to.
His focus remained on the Beast.
The creature dragged a claw across its chest, smearing the black blood away.
It scattered.
Across the floor.
Across the walls—
Across the fleeing bodies.
Three of them stopped.
Mid-step.
Their movements faltered.
Then—
broke.
Their spines arched violently as something inside them ignited. Skin split. Bones warped. Muscles swelled grotesquely, expanding beyond their frame. Their bodies stretched—tripled in size—as hardened scales forced their way through flesh.
Tails tore free from their lower backs.
Their screams didn't last long.
By the time they finished—
they weren't human.
Three lesser Abominations stood where they had been.
Breathing.
Hungry.
The Beast watched it happen.
Then smiled.
Leon's gaze shifted—just slightly.
Calculating.
Reassessing.
The situation had changed.
Not significantly.
But enough.
"Who are you," Leon said.
The question wasn't curiosity.
It was confirmation.
Only a Greater Abomination—something far beyond the lesser spawn—could do that. And this one had done it without effort.
The Beast didn't answer.
It only smiled.
"Play with him."
The three newly-formed Abominations lunged at once—massive, unstable bodies driven by fresh hunger and borrowed rage.
Behind them, the Beast stepped back.
Into shadow.
Its presence thinned—
but did not disappear.
We will meet again.
The voice slipped into Leon's mind, quiet, certain.
Gone.
Leon didn't follow.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
His attention shifted—sharp, immediate—to the creatures closing in.
The blade in his hand shifted.
Gold—
to crimson.
The light deepened, thickening as Leon channeled through the Radiance technique. The air around the sword warped, the glow no longer radiant, but dense—oppressive.
He moved once.
A single slash.
Red light surged outward.
Not fast—
inevitable.
The space it passed through bent inward, folding under its weight. The air compressed, collapsing into itself as the energy spread, forming a localized pressure field around the Abominations.
They didn't scream.
They couldn't.
Their bodies locked—
then compressed.
Bone shattered inward. Flesh collapsed. Their forms crumpled as if reality itself rejected their existence. Wherever the light touched, space tightened, crushing them from every direction at once.
Leon adjusted his grip—subtle, precise.
The field narrowed.
Focused.
Until nothing remained.
Only drifting fragments—fine, dark dust suspended briefly in the warped air—
then gone.
The crimson light faded.
The blade returned to gold—
then dissolved entirely.
Leon lowered his hand.
His arm flexed once.
Still not fully recovered.
Functional.
Enough.
He exhaled, slow and controlled, gaze lifting toward the space where the Beast had vanished.
"…So that's how it is."
A pause.
His eyes settled—cold, steady.
"…Then it begins."
****
Leon got out of bed, moving away from the pile of bodies that had been engaged in some pleasurable fun not long ago. His partners were asleep, their naked bodies lying pleasantly on the bed, covered by the quilt of the bed. He picked up a glass of wine, gulped it down, and looked out the window. He was still within Flushing Bay village, deciding to partake in some fun in the Night districts after the strange encounter with the Greater Beast. Leon needed something to clear his head.
So he found himself in this den of vipers, gambling and whoring his way through the night. Leon had won big, as usual, and had decided to spend his earnings on the Fae girls in bed.
What are you doing, Leon? You're running out of time. Leon moved his hand through his hair and then brought it down to his sight. His heart raced at seeing the clips of hair in his hand. It was getting worse. Worse than he thought. The gears of fate were twisting closer than he liked, and his goal was nowhere close to achievement.
He thought of the information Lance had given him about Vashin Priyham. That was the reason Leon was in this club, whoring his way through. The Infernal energy that the Erlking had possessed was similar to the energy that the Greater beast had. And Leon had seen that Greater Beast infect others with his blood. What Leon didn't know was how those two beasts were connected. Though he had found a lead in this den of vipers thanks to Lance. He turned to look at the ladies, a smile on his face from the information he had gained. Leon found himself leaving the room and going down to the bar.
The establishment he was in was one of the only expensive sources of entertainment within Flushing Bay. There were lots of rumors about Delacroix, the owner of the infamous brothel and most of the Hidden World's clubs. The place was owned by Maxwell Delacroix, a former Star Knight who had abandoned Starlight Order after his criminal history was revealed. He was now known for his interest in the Dark arts and association with the Black arts users in the Criminal Underworld across the galaxies.
Also, the fact that he owned lots of properties within the Neutral Free Zone. Leon always knew the criminal underworld was lucrative, and to be honest...in a different life, he could see himself getting into a little bit of the action. But his current situation required him to be on the other side of the law. His mother had different things to say about Delacroix, and from the few times they had been in the same room together, Leon preferred to keep a little bit of distance from him.
Trust was something that he had instinctively known not to give out. The Brothel building was massive, with gold paintings styled, signs of the vicious costs that had been put into the building. This was one of his favorite places in Terra to indulge his taste. The place was warded from detecting spells, and only a few people knew about the place. The bartender saw Leon, and he knew what to do. He poured him a glass of liquor, and Leon solemnly took it. The taste was bland and mild, his taste buds unable to enjoy the alcohol. It wasn't the liquor's fault.
Everything was losing its appeal. For most of Leon's life, he had indulged in every form of pleasure he could get his hands on. Food, drink, sex, and violence. But lately, he had noticed he was losing his taste for most pleasures. Even the fun he had not long ago had felt empty and unfulfilling.
He barely ate most of the time, though his body didn't show any sign of malnourishment. That was thanks to the potion he got from Menthos. He snapped his finger, and the bartender poured more drinks. Even though the alcohol had no taste, he could still feel a little bit of buzz, which actually helped with the pain in his body….
"Oi! Look, it's the Pleiadian who cheated us," Leon glanced over his shoulder at two Beastfolks who were emerging from the gambling den. They were members of the Sirianian species, their cat-like appearance marking them as one. Leon wasn't fond of cats, and seeing them interrupting his time was kind of annoying. He ignored them as he went back to his drink.
"You think you're a big deal," one of them said. He bumped himself against Leon, the stink of fish and alcohol from his breath nearly made Leon gag, and his arms then snaked around Leon's neck.
"Swinging us of our hard-earned money," The other one said. Leon sighed as he flicked both his index and middle fingers. A yellow line cut through the one who dared to put his paws on him. Blood splashed out as he fell. His friend gasped in shock, the feel of Leon's Odic force making him whimper. Leon pointed a finger at his shoulders and triggered his ability. Gold light tore through his back shoulder, followed by blood. He fell, bleeding on the floor. Leon frowned as he took a look at his victims.
There was no feeling of pleasure, none of the delight that he got from being in a fight, putting his fragile life on the line. They weren't dead, but they were probably in as much pain as he was. There was mirthless laughter and clapping. He turned around to see Maxwell Delacroix staring at him. He was wearing a business suit with the walking cane that he always carried with him.
"Always a problem with you, Leonard," Delacroix said. "I should ban you from this place."
"Do it, and then a squad of Golden Dawn's agents might just come through your front door," Leon said.
"Is that a threat?" Delacroix said. The man was in his sixties, and yet he barely looked like he was past his thirties. Leon was aware of the experience he had under his belt. What rank he was before he left the Order? A Star knight. He was a former S-class Paladin. Leon was still an A-class Paladin and had barely even reached the S-class, but he didn't care. Leon could feel his Odic force trying to break his spirit, but he didn't let it. He may be S-class, but their Odic force-their Internal strength- was of the same realm.
And Leon wouldn't be defeated when it came to spiritual intimidation. Delacroix smiled as he realized that the overwhelming will within his Odic force wouldn't bother Leon, unlike the way the others in the room were struggling to breathe. Some had fallen unconscious due to their weak will. He waved at the open door that led to his office, and Leon followed him inside, the door to the room closing behind him.
"You never cease to surprise me, Haravok '' Delacroix said as he took a seat behind his desk. Behind him was a glass window with a view of the entire gambling den, and a fireplace was lit, making the room warm. The desk was covered with numerous scrolls and books, and a Zodiak monitor was lit up. Leon wondered what he was up to.
"I try my best to be unpredictable," He said as he sat down by the couch close to the fireplace.
"So what can I do for you, Haravok?" Delacroix said.
"I was at Menthos not long ago..." Leon began.
"Death just follows you around, doesn't it?" Delacroix said. By now, Menthos' death was known to everyone in Flushing Bay, though Leon had made sure to remove any trace of himself. Leon explained to Delacroix what had happened. "Abomination in Terra. Hmm, we don't get a lot of Abominations in Terra, unless Curse magic was involved to bring them here."
Leon took out his Zodiak and passed it to Delacroix. Delacroix took it and turned it on.
"What's this?" He said.
"That was a location for Starlight base," Leon said. "Do you know anything about it?" Delacroix stared at Leon, who returned his gaze without flinching.
"I'm not involved with Starlight anymore," Delacroix said. "You of all people know that."
"Funny, that's not what I heard out there," Leon said. "You know, out in the gambling den. People talk, you know. Give them a little bit of drink, and well...you know the rest. They start spilling things they normally wouldn't dare talk about."
"What about it?" Delacroix said. He pushed Leon's Zodiak back to him.
"Do you know a Vashin Priyham?" Leon asked.
"Who.." Delacroix responded.
"An employer of yours. He works here in this club as a broker," Leon said. "At least he used to. Do you know what happened to him?" Leon said.
"Sorry, but I don't happen to know everything that has to do with one of my employees," Delacroix said.
"Funny. First, you have no idea about the Starlight base. And now, you have no idea about Vashin Priyham." Leon responded. "But do you know what connects them all together?"
"What?" Delacroix asked.
"You," Leon said. "I heard that Vashin had a side hustle. He was involved in things he shouldn't be. Things that would have landed him in trouble with Golden Dawn. And trust me, these aren't good things. And now all of a sudden he's dead. And not so soon after, the Starlight base, which he was involved with, is destroyed."
"He's dead," Leon said.
"And what does that have to do with me?" Delacroix stated. Leon was quiet, a glint of murderous impulse hidden within his eyes. The information Leon had gotten from Lance said that Vashin worked as a broker for Delacroix, representing Delacroix in many illegal dealings. Transactions such as human trafficking across planets. A resource that a secret facility that worked on inhumane experiments needed.
"I was surprised to find you on this planet," Leon said. "I thought you had business on Lamentias."
"My business there was done," Delacroix said. "I have a business to attend to in this corner of the universe,"
"Funny thing," Leon said. "You're on Lamentias, and it goes through its fair share of problems. And now you're here in Terra, and things don't seem right."
"Are you suggesting I'm responsible for the civil unrest in Lamentias?" Delacroix said.
"Nothing wouldn't surprise me about what you're involved in," Leon said.
"Involved in what?" Delacroix said. "
"Whatever shit that's going on in Lamentias, I hope you didn't bring it here with you," Leon said.
"My...Is that a threat or what?" Delacroix said. "You've come to my office, accusing me of things I do not understand or have any proof of evidence that I've done something."
"I just find it funny that a broker that works for you happens to be somehow involved with a research base that was conducting some kind of experiment," Leon said. "A broker who was involved with human trafficking, also involved with an arcane-based research that might require fresh subjects. You see where I'm going with this."
"I still don't see what it has to do with me," Delacroix said. "Unless you have proof, I suggest you try keeping your accusation to yourself. Now, excuse me, Mr. Haravok. Unlike some people, I have work to attend to. You can see your way out," Leon glared at him but said nothing as he was right. He had no proof of his guilt, but Leon planned to get it. He got up from the couch and headed for the door, stopping by it as he opened it. He turned to Delacroix with a glint of murder in his eyes.
"If I find one trace of your involvement, I won't need proof to take you down," Leon said. "I'll gladly kill you."