The neon sign above the bar hummed with a dying, rhythmic buzz, casting flickering shades of violet and crimson over the damp Moscow pavement. Inside, the air was a suffocating cocktail of expensive gin, sweat, and the desperate heat of bodies pressed together in the dark.
"You're really here just for a drink?" Anastaliya laughed, a sharp, melodic sound that didn't quite reach her predatory eyes. She leaned in, her presence commanding and heavy with the scent of imported perfume. "If that's all you wanted, why didn't you just drink at home? Or at least find a normal bar where people just actually talk?"
Kenzii didn't flinch. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way the ice caught the strobing lights. "I wanted to try this place," he replied, his voice a calm anchor in the sea of noise. "Is it a crime to want a change of environment just for a single night?"
"And you really think this is the environment for you?" She gestured to the room, where the patrons looked less like people and more like slaves to their own impulses. "For a man who sits in coffee shops reading literature, you seem out of place in a den of sin like this. You're interesting. Tell me—who are you really?" She rested her chin on her hand, her gaze locked onto him like a hawk.
"I'm Ken. I'm here because my girlfriend and I had a fight," he lied, the fabrication tasting like ash. He took a slow, deliberate sip, looking away. "And reading... it's just a way to kill time."
"Ken? Then maybe I'm Barbie?" She burst into another fit of laughter, though Kenzii only offered a faint, tight-lipped smile. "So, you fought. Over what? Did you forget an anniversary? Or were you too cold for her?"
"She has no time for me," Kenzii said, letting a trace of hollow sadness color his tone.
"Woah, that's new, isn't it typically the man who fails to find time for their woman? Your girlfriend must be a fool then," Anastaliya whispered, her voice dropping with disbelief. "If I were her, I wouldn't let a second go by without keeping my eyes on you. Look at you—you're the complete package. A one-of-a-kind beauty in a city of replicas."
"So you find me attractive?" Kenzii asked, finally meeting her eyes.
"Of course I do," she replied. "Do you think a woman like me would just drift over to anyone? If you weren't worth the effort, I wouldn't be sitting here."
"I'm not perfect," Kenzii remarked, leaning back slightly.
"No one is," she countered, her finger tracing a slow, daring line across the fabric covering his shoulder. "But you know... I have plenty of time for you. Want to bet on just how much time I can give you tonight?" She leaned in until he could feel the warmth of her breath against his neck.
"No thanks. I'm not interested." Kenzii's refusal was a cold blade. He turned his attention back to the crowded dance floor, effectively dismissing her.
Anastaliya blinked, momentarily stunned. Then, she chuckled. "The more you push away, the more I feel the need to uncover whatever it is you're hiding. So, what do you do for a living, Ken?"
"I'm an artist," Kenzii said, his voice flat. "And a collector."
"A collector? How intriguing. What is it that you collect? Rare coins? Art? What?"
"A debt," Kenzii said, his eyes narrowing as he finally gave her a dark, knowing smirk.
Anastaliya seemed mesmerized, caught in the gravitational pull of his gaze. "Forget about work," she whispered, her index finger hooking under his chin to tilt his face back toward hers. "It would be a tragedy to let this night go to waste. Come with me?"
"No," Kenzii said again.
She pulled back, laughing as if she couldn't believe her own ears, yet her eyes shone with a manic delight. Kenzii didn't wait for her to recover. He stood up, tossed a few bills onto the counter to cover his tab, and walked toward the exit without a second glance.
Anastaliya watched his back disappear into the shadows of the doorway, a predatory grin etched onto her face. "He didn't even ask for my name," she whispered to herself as she shook her head with a grin. She pulled a sleek phone from her purse, her fingers flying across the screen. "Hello? I have a job for you. Don't lose him."
She watched the empty space where he had been. She thought she had the prey, but it was her who was walking right into the center of his cage.
It was 11:45 PM. Outside, the Moscow air was a biting, crystalline cold. Kenzii checked his phone and his messages were still silent. Still no updates from the Czech Republic. I should have put a tracker on them, too, he thought with a frown. A flicker of genuine concern crossed his mind, but he suppressed it. He had his own ghosts to hunt.
He chose to walk, avoiding the brightly lit boulevards. He ducked into the narrow side streets of the Arbat District, where the shadows were long and the streetlights were few.
He heard them before he saw them. The rhythmic scuff of boots on pavement—two sets of footsteps keeping pace with his own. Kenzii's smirk returned. Finally…
He quickened his pace, turning into an alleyway that ended in a brick wall. A heavy, blunt force struck the back of his head. He allowed his world to tilt, his knees hitting the cold ground as he feigned unconsciousness. He felt rough hands hoisting him up and the metallic slide of a van door opening.
-
Kenzii was carried into a room and thrown onto a soft bed. He felt his hands being pulled back and lashed to the headboard. The knots were tight, but he knew they wouldn't hold him for long.
"Leave us," Anastaliya's voice rang out. "Wait outside. I'll call you when I'm done."
The door clicked shut. Kenzii felt the mattress shift as she climbed onto the bed, straddling his waist. Her hands slid over his chest, her touch possessive.
"See? You ended up in my room anyway," she whispered. "Your chest is so firm... I wonder what the rest of you looks like." She leaned down, resting her ear against his heart.
"I thought you were like the others—those who fall for me just to get a taste of power or beauty," she said, her fingers circling his pectoral muscles. "Those people are leeches. I met someone like that once, and it made me hate everyone. But I can't help it. I have needs... I crave someone loyal. Someone who doesn't care about the world, just like you." She tapped his cheek. "I know you're awake, stop pretending. Open your eyes."
"Why abduct them?" Kenzii asked, his eyes snapping open.
Anastaliya laughed. "Most people scream or beg. You ask why? Are you really that different?" She grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back. "To answer your question, I did it because I have the power to do so. Why not?" She kissed his cheeks, savoring how his skin felt against her lips.
"So you despise the people you've become," Kenzii said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You're worse than they are."
"Maybe. They say you only defeat what you hate by becoming something greater." She looked at him intensely. "Now shut up and let me do what I brought you here for. Enjoy it while you can, because this is the last time you'll ever feel anything." She buried her face in his neck, raining kisses down his skin.
Kenzii felt a heat rising—not from passion, but from a blistering, righteous fury. He looked at the woman and felt a profound emptiness. It was a tragedy of the human condition: people chose to become monsters because they were once hurt by them. They created the very evil they claimed to despise, turning a supposedly sacred world into a cycle of rot. Was this all humanity was? A self-sustaining machine of sin and justification?
He felt his left hand burn. The "Soul Collector" was waking up. The skin on his arm shifted, turning into a demonic, obsidian-like limb. With a single flick of his wrist, the ropes snapped like thread.
His vision went dark. Before Anastaliya could react, his hand was around her throat.
"Gahk—!" Her eyes bulged as she clawed at the demonic arm. Kenzii sat up, lifting her effortlessly until she was dangling, forced to kneel on the floor while he held her aloft.
"Instead of using your pain to become better, you used it as an excuse for more evil," Kenzii growled. "It's one thing to hide from the world, but you chose to prey on it."
"W-what... are you? A demon?" she gasped.
"If I am a demon, then what does that make you?" Kenzii used his other hand to brush his hair out of his eyes. "Did you ever wonder why I never asked for your name? Because I already knew it. I came to this country specifically for you."
A flicker of pure terror crossed her eyes.
"You are Anastaliya Petrovna Novikova. CEO. Criminal. Do you know who I am?"
"W-who...?"
"I am Kenzii Monteriel. The Soul Collector."
Kenzii stood up from the bed, hoisting her higher into the air. Before she could scream, he swung his left arm—the limb of the Primordials—and drove his hand straight through her chest, his fingers closing around her heart.