The commotion upstairs had already reached Lucien through the muffled echoes traveling down the passage.
He didn't need to see it to understand what had happened.
Johnny, blinded by resentment and pride, had forced his way into the cursed room despite repeated warnings. Whatever happened to him after that was of no concern to Lucien.
Some people died because of fate.
Others died because of stupidity.
Johnny belonged to the second kind.
Lucien's attention remained fixed on what truly mattered.
The real enemy was here.
Ahead of him stretched a narrow underground corridor, its walls lined with broken furniture, rotting boxes, and forgotten debris. At the far end, a dim orange glow flickered like a dying flame, casting long shadows that twisted unnaturally across the walls.
Then footsteps echoed.
A figure emerged slowly from around the corner.
Tall.
Well-dressed.
Calm.
The man wore a crisp white shirt with suspenders, his appearance refined enough to resemble a lawyer or professor rather than a murderer.
Luke Sarsgaard.
At least, that was the name attached to this body.
The soul inside was something far older.
Something rotten.
Luke looked at Lucien with mild amusement.
"You passed through the curse array without a scratch," he said, voice smooth and cultured. "Interesting."
His lips curved into a faint smile.
"So… you must be the one who destroyed Lina's ritual."
His gaze sharpened.
"What should I call you, mysterious wizard from the East?"
Lucien said nothing.
His eyes swept past Luke, deeper into the corridor.
Where was Abigail?
The answer was obvious.
She was below.
Continuing the soul-transfer ritual.
That meant time was running out.
Luke let out a disappointed sigh.
"Silent type, hm? That's unfortunate."
A darker smile appeared on his face.
"I was actually curious. I've never tried an Asian body before."
The moment those words left his mouth—
Lucien moved.
No warning.
No hesitation.
His foot slammed against the ground, and his body shot forward like an arrow released from a drawn bow.
The distance between them vanished instantly.
Luke's pupils shrank.
Fast.
Far too fast.
But instead of panicking, he smiled.
A dagger flashed into his hand, its blade gleaming coldly in the dim corridor as he thrust it straight toward Lucien's chest.
A fatal counter.
Yet Lucien's expression didn't change.
His body twisted mid-step, avoiding the blade by a hair's breadth.
The knife sliced through empty air.
Luke stepped back, smirking.
"You should understand something," he said calmly. "When a man lives long enough, he becomes skilled at everything."
His tone carried naked arrogance.
"Fighting. Assassination. Firearms."
"I've mastered them all."
He lifted the dagger slightly.
"You can't beat me in close combat."
Lucien finally looked at him properly.
Then he smiled.
A cold, sharp smile.
"Immortality?"
His voice dripped with contempt.
"You call this immortality?"
He took another step forward.
"You're nothing more than a parasite hiding in stolen bodies."
Each word hit harder than a punch.
"A hundred years, and this is all you've achieved?"
His gaze turned almost mocking.
"Even a dog given a hundred years could accomplish as much."
Luke's face darkened instantly.
Lucien's voice grew colder.
"A mediocre fool remains mediocre, no matter how much time he steals."
His eyes locked onto Luke's.
"I'll show you exactly how worthless your century has been."
Something snapped inside Luke.
His refined expression shattered into rage.
"I'll carve that mouth open," he hissed.
Then he lunged.
Fast.
Deadly.
Like a predator.
But Lucien was faster.
The corridor was too narrow for retreat, and that was exactly what Lucien wanted.
The instant Luke entered range, Lucien's fist exploded forward.
Baji Quan.
Short range.
Maximum force.
Luke raised his dagger arm to block—
Too slow.
Lucien's strike crashed into his forearm, forcing it aside.
Then came the second punch.
And the third.
Each attack flowed into the next like an unstoppable storm.
Explosive.
Direct.
Merciless.
Luke tried to retaliate with the dagger multiple times, but every attempt was intercepted.
His wrist.
His elbow.
His shoulder.
Lucien shut down every movement before it could fully form.
Luke's expression changed.
For the first time—
Fear.
This wasn't a fight.
This was domination.
He had spent nearly a century refining his combat skills across body after body.
Yet against Lucien—
He was being overwhelmed.
No.
Crushed.
Lucien moved like a shadow fused to his body, never giving him even half a step of breathing room.
Then—
Lucien's hand shot out and caught Luke's knife wrist.
A violent twist.
Crack.
The sound of bone breaking echoed through the corridor.
Luke screamed.
The dagger clattered to the floor.
Before he could recover, Lucien pulled him forward with brutal force, drove his knee into Luke's leg, and slammed an elbow toward his temple.
Luke barely raised an arm in time.
The impact sent him crashing sideways into the wall.
He rolled desperately across the floor, blood already spilling from his mouth.
Lucien advanced.
No mercy.
No pause.
But then—
A gun barrel appeared.
Black.
Cold.
Pointed directly at Lucien's chest.
Bang!
The gunshot thundered through the basement.
Upstairs, Carl and the detective froze.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then realization hit.
Lucien didn't have a gun.
Carl's face went pale.
The detective immediately stepped forward.
"We're going down."
Carl grabbed him.
"I'm coming too."
The detective didn't argue.
Instead, he pulled out another talisman from inside his coat and handed it over.
Both men drew their pistols.
Then rushed inside.
A second later, they jumped down into the hidden passage.
"Lucien!"
Carl shouted.
"We're here—"
His voice stopped.
Around the corner, the scene before them left both men speechless.
Lucien stood completely unharmed.
One foot pressed firmly against Luke's chest, pinning him to the ground like prey beneath a predator.
In Lucien's hand was a small revolver.
The same weapon that had fired moments earlier.
Luke, beneath him, was coughing blood violently.
Both arms hung at unnatural angles.
Broken.
Destroyed.
Carl stared in disbelief.
The detective swallowed hard.
Lucien had taken the gun.
And beaten the man down before they could even arrive.
Lucien didn't even glance at them.
His eyes remained fixed deeper into the darkness ahead.
Toward Abigail.
Toward the ritual chamber.
His voice turned ice-cold.
"If you don't stop the ritual…"
He pressed the revolver against Luke's temple.
"…I'll kill him."
The darkness ahead fell silent.
And for the first time—
The hunters had become the hunted.