Kenzii stood amidst the cooling silence of the room, a silent sentinel over his latest "work of art." On the bed, the body of Anastaliya Petrovna Novikova had finally found a stillness that her living self had never known. The silk sheets, once ivory and pristine, were now a cartography of crimson, soaked through with the lifeblood of a woman who had spent her years draining it from others.
Kenzii looked down at his right hand. The demonic, obsidian-like limb—the arm of the Primordials—pulsed with a faint, dying violet light as it hungrily absorbed the final droplets of gore from his skin. As the last of the blood vanished into the black scales, the darkness receded, and the limb shifted back into the pale, human hand of Kenzii Monteriel.
A sharp, rhythmic throb began to pulse at the back of his head. Wincing, Kenzii reached back, his fingers coming away sticky and warm. The blow from the abduction had been harder than he had initially let on. He glanced at the pillow where he had been feigning unconsciousness and saw the small, dark stain he had left behind.
"Now," he whispered, his voice a dry rasp. "I need to clean up."
Kenzii moved with the practiced efficiency of a man who had spent half his life erasing his own existence. He stripped the blood-stained pillowcase from the bed, using the clean side to dab at the wound on his scalp until the bleeding slowed to a dull ache. Pulling a pair of surgical gloves from his pocket, he donned them with a snap of latex, his movements methodical.
He began a sweep of the room, collecting every item that could possibly hold a trace of his presence. He picked up the discarded ropes that had "bound" him and anything that had his DNA or fingerprint—now nothing more to use against him. He dumped it all into a metal trash bin he found in the corner.
Entering the ensuite bathroom, Kenzii cracked open the frosted window to survey their surroundings. They were in a remote industrial area, the skeletal remains of an abandoned warehouse district far from Moscow's prying eyes. The air outside was stagnant and smelled of old rust. Leaving the window ajar for ventilation, he pulled a lighter from his pocket and flicked it. The flame danced in his eyes for a second before he dropped it into the trash bin.
He watched as the evidence began to curl and blacken. He fed the fire with rolls of toilet paper and flammable toiletries from the bathroom cabinet, ensuring the heat would be intense enough to reduce everything to fine, unidentifiable ash.
From beneath the sink, he retrieved a large bottle of industrial-strength rubbing alcohol. He began to spray a thick, translucent trail across the hardwood floor, leading from the bathroom back toward the bed. He scanned the corners of the ceiling one last time; as he suspected, there were no cameras. A woman like Anastaliya, who dealt in secrets and blood, would never allow a digital record of her private chambers to exist.
"If only you had chosen a different path," he murmured, his eyes lingering on the target for the final time. He didn't feel pity, only a cold observation of a wasted life.
He dragged her body toward the door and retrieved the bagged heart. After dousing the mattress in the remaining alcohol, he sparked the trail. He watched for a moment as the fire crawled hungrily toward the bed before he turned his back and opened the door.
Outside the room, the atmosphere was drastically different. The two men who had kidnapped Kenzii were sitting at a scarred wooden table, the air thick with the smell of cheap tobacco and vodka. They were laughing over a game of cards, oblivious to the fact that their employer was currently dead on the floor, heartless.
They jumped in shock, eyes widening as the man they had abducted walked out of the room an inferno raged behind him.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing?!" the larger man shouted, his hand reaching for the holster at his hip.
Kenzii didn't give them the chance to stand. He moved like a shadow cast by a dying sun. Before the man's fingers could even brush his weapon, Kenzii was across the room. A swift, brutal strike to the throat silenced the man's shout, followed by a sweep that sent both men crashing to the concrete floor.
Kenzii stood over them, sitting into the man's back with enough force to make his ribs groan while his foot pinned the second man down.
"Let's see if you two are worth killing," Kenzii said, activating his system:
Name: Dmitry Vlasimorovich Kuznetsov.
Age: 40 Years Old.
Status: Single.
Occupation: None.
Ethnicity: Russian.
Transgressions: Homicide, Kidnapping, and Sexual Assault.
Name: Nikolas Sergayach Ivany.
Age: 45 Years Old.
Status: Married with 4 children.
Occupation: Construction Worker.
Ethnicity: Russian.
Transgressions: Accomplice to Kidnapping.
"Hmm. A true animal," Kenzii said, his eyes locking onto Dmitry. He reached down and grabbed the man by his greasy hair, hauling his head up. "You have quite the nerve, living a life this stained and thinking you could put your hands on me."
"What are you talking abou—" Dmitry began, but he never finished. Kenzii slammed his head into the concrete floor with such devastating force that the skull fractured instantly. Kenzii didn't stop until the man stopped moving entirely.
He turned his cold gaze toward Nikolas, who was trembling violently at the sight of his dead companion.
"Are you still breathing?" Kenzii asked.
"P-please... don't kill me. I have a wife and four children," Nikolas sobbed, tears streaming down his face. "I only followed Dmitry because I needed the money. My wife is sick... she needs surgery. Please, let me live."
Kenzii studied the man. The system confirmed his words; Nikolas wasn't a monster, just a desperate man making a terrible choice.
"Don't worry. I won't kill you," Kenzii said. "I only kill those who deserve to die. Stand up and do exactly as I say."
"W-what do I have to do?" Nikolas stammered.
"Take those two bodies outside," Kenzii commanded as he walked toward the exit.
He waited in the cool night air, watching as Nikolas dragged the corpses onto the grass. "Follow me," Kenzii said, leading him to the black van used in the abduction and a red BMW which he assumed belonged to Anastaliya. He took his cellphone from his pocket and illuminated the interior of the van. As he suspected, he found his own blood on the seat.
"Get a torch from inside," he ordered. When Nikolas returned with a makeshift torch made from his own cloth, Kenzii used it to burn the upholstery where his blood had spilled, erasing his presence from the vehicle.
"The keys?" Kenzii asked. Nikolas handed them over along with the keys to Anastaliya's personal BMW. Kenzii just looked at it and ordered Nikolas to open the gas tanks and using the torch he set the vehicle ablaze.
As Kenzii watched it slowly catch fire, he began walking toward the red car.
"Open it," Kenzii ordered. "Drive," he added, climbing into the passenger seat. Terrified of meeting Dmitry's fate, Nikolas obeyed without question.
During the drive back toward Moscow, Kenzii wrapped the bagged heart in a handkerchief he found in the car. Nikolas caught a glimpse and quickly looked away.
"This is the heart of your boss," Kenzii said, his voice flat. "I think you know why."
"Because... she was an 'evildoer'? Just like those people from the articles you've been spreading?" Nikolas asked, his voice shaking. He couldn't believe he was sitting next to the Soul Collector—the man from the news who harvested the hearts of the wicked.
"Correct. I collect their filth as a souvenir," Kenzii smirked, though his expression quickly turned serious. "Tell me, am I wrong for what I've done?"
"I have no right to answer that," Nikolas whispered, staring straight at the road. "I am a sinner myself. But... why spare me? I helped them take you."
"Because your heart still beats for something other than yourself," Kenzii said, his eyes turning toward the window. "And because I only needed one trophy tonight."
"Now, follow my orders." Kenzii leaned in, his tone becoming dangerously serious. "After you drop me off at the location I tell you, go straight to the police station and report this incident."
Nikolas looked at him, confused. "But why?"
"Because it is the right thing to do," Kenzii replied simply. Nikolas was even more puzzled, thinking to himself: What right does a murderer have to say what is right or wrong when he himself is evil?
"Report everything. Surrender yourself as a witness. Tell them about your boss's crimes and turn over any evidence you have. But," Kenzii gripped Nikolas's shoulder firmly, "you will not describe my face. Make an excuse. Lie if you have to. Even if this isn't my real face, I want no descriptions given to the authorities. Do you understand?" Kenzii lied, he only wore a disguise and he wouldn't let go of any possibility.
"You know who I am. I can find you again," Kenzii warned. "There is a reason I have never been caught. Don't test me."
.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Jacob." The cousins bow to the couple, they are in front of their vehicle the following morning after the previous night's conversation. "We will make sure to come back here," Sota said with a smile.
"No problem, son. You can come back whenever you like. It's nice to have visitors every now and then," Jacob said, as he and his wife, Ann, smiled at the cousins.
Sota reached into his jacket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to the man. "Please accept this as a token of our gratitude."
Though puzzled, Jacob accepted it. The couple's eyes widened when they saw the money inside.
"Son, I can't—" Before he could finish, Sota held his hand and pushed the envelope back toward the man's chest.
"Please, it's our way of thanking you both. It's just a small amount."
"What do you mean small? This is a lot," Ann said.
"No, it's just right in exchange for taking in strangers like us," Alas chimed in with a smile.
After a few more minutes of goodbyes, they finally left and headed back to their hotel.
On their way back, they saw Kenzii's messages—who was now on his way back to China to travel onward to Japan—they immediately got to work. Sota checked all of Kenzii's paths for any potential evidence, while Alas began finalizing the crimes of Kenzii's victims so Sota could post them that very same day.
That afternoon, they flew back to the Philippines.