On a restless city night, the street in front of a luxury hotel was a chaotic swarm of activity. Media crews and curious onlookers crowded the entrance, eager for a glimpse of the elite. Powerful businessmen, celebrities, and prominent politicians glided across the red carpet, illuminated by the rhythmic strobe of camera flashes from various news outlets.
Meanwhile, on the fifteenth floor, the main event was in full swing. The ballroom was hosting a gala for the grand opening of the new Cropic Holdings branch. Guests mingled, their conversations a hum of business deals and shallow pleasantries, passing the time before the night's highlight began.
Among the crowd stood Kenzii, disguised in a standard bodyguard's suit. He stood silently in a corner, blending perfectly with the other security personnel stationed around the room. His eyes, however, were not those of a guard; they were the eyes of a predator mapping a cage.
He scanned the assembly, mentally confirming the layout he had memorized days prior. He knew every alcove of this hotel floor, as well as the optimal exit route once the deed was done. He tracked the patrol patterns of the guards and the blind spots of the CCTV cameras. His face, subtly altered by high-grade prosthetic disguise, betrayed nothing.
Suddenly the lights dimmed. A spotlight pierced the dark, centering on a small stage as a host in a sharp formal tuxedo stepped forward.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the host beamed. "Tonight, we don't just celebrate the expansion of Cropic Holdings; we celebrate the vision of a man dedicated to the prosperity of our nation. Please join me in welcoming a true servant of the people—Senator Enrico Mendez!"
The room erupted in applause as the target ascended the stage. To the crowd, he was a pillar of the community. To Kenzii, he was a walking corpse. Above the Senator's head, a shimmering, demonic hologram only Kenzii could see displayed the man's true record. A cold, playful smirk tugged at Kenzii's lips as he listened to Mendez speak. The Senator's voice was smooth as silk, weaving lies about patriotism, his love for his employees, and his tireless service to the poor.
Every word made Kenzii's skin crawl. He knew the truth that the public didn't: Enrico Mendez, was a founding member of "The Leeches," a cabal of powerful individuals who bled the globe dry. Kenzii silently hoped the Devil's next task would lead him to the rest of them.
Mendez, known as a pillar of the community and a devoted family man, was responsible for the disappearance of a hundred drug dealers in the country—not out of concern for the law and people, but to protect the cartels under his own wing. He had personally overseen the torture and execution of scores of people, ordering their bodies dumped into a lake. His private life was even darker; he was a predator who violated women, including his own wife—and his most unpardonable iniquity, the "feeding on his own flesh and blood" through the abuse of his only daughter.
Tonight, his debt was due. His blackened heart would belong to Kenzii.
When the speech concluded, Mendez stepped down to mingle, and the hunt began. Spotting a server carrying the Senator's drink, Kenzii moved with practiced fluidity. He feigned a stumble, bumping into the waiter for a split second—long enough to slip a mysterious substance into the Senator's glass. After a brief apology, he turned and headed toward the nearest restroom.
Kenzii watched from a distance as the Senator downed the tainted drink. Within minutes, Mendez turned pale, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.
"Excuse me, partner," the Senator muttered to a colleague, forcing a smile before rushing toward the nearest restroom where Kenzii waited. As soon as Mendez entered, Kenzii followed and turned the lock. He went to the far end of the stall, opening a pre-secured cubicle to retrieve a briefcase he had hidden earlier.
Kenzii laid the briefcase open on the vanity. As expected, Mendez emerged from a stall and stumbled toward the sink to splash water on his face. Kenzii watched him in the mirror until the Senator finally noticed the gaze.
"What are you staring at?" Mendez snapped, reaching for a paper towel.
Kenzii merely smirked, slowly rolling up the sleeves of his tuxedo.
"What are you doing, you idiot?" the Senator asked, his voice is laced with arrogance.
"Are you ready to pay for your sins, Senator Enrico Mendez?" Kenzii asked. His voice was a low, terrifying rasp, accompanied by a demonic smile that spread across his face.
"W-what are you talking about? Stay back!" Mendez retreated, his back hitting the cold tiles as Kenzii closed the distance.
"Today is the day of reckoning."
"He—" Mendez tried to scream, but the sound died in his throat.
Kenzii's hand moved faster than the human eye could track. His fingers, infused with a dark, primordial energy, sharpened into demonic claws that tore through the Senator's expensive clothing and into his chest. There was no struggle—only the wet thud of a heart being uprooted. Only a few stray drops of blood hit the floor; the rest stained the Senator's own tuxedo as Kenzii placed the blackened, corrupt organ into the specialized briefcase.
…
An hour passed. The Senator's inner circle grew restless. Friends and business associates began to scan the room, questioning where he had gone. The last anyone saw of him, he was heading toward the restroom.
Before a search party could be formed, a blood-curdling scream echoed from the toilets. Guests rushed toward the sound. They found a young man collapsed by the door of the final cubicle, his eyes wide with terror as he stared inside.
The crowd gathered, gasps of horror filling the room. There sat Senator Enrico Mendez, propped up on the toilet, eyes wide in a permanent mask of terror. In his left chest was a jagged, empty hole—the signature of the serial killer who had eluded capture for years.
The vigilante the world called the "Soul Collector" had struck again.