Several flashlight beams stabbed straight into the wrecked van.
The cabin was empty except for one corpse strapped tight in the driver's seat, neck snapped at a sickening angle.
"Shit! Only one body—no one else!"
The guard's face went bone-white the second he recognized the dead man. "This is one of our cleaners—the guy we sent to grab the targets! He's been dead for hours!"
"What?!"
"What the fuck is going on?!"
Panic ripped through the crowd. Every guard yanked their weapons up, eyes darting wildly into the darkness.
"There!"
Someone jabbed a finger at the factory roof.
All heads snapped upward.
On the rooftop, a couple of dark silhouettes had appeared out of nowhere.
Soren stood with his hands in his coat pockets, night wind snapping his red trench coat around him like a cape. A dead sniper lay at his feet, rifle still clutched in lifeless fingers.
He stared down at the heavily armed mob below with lazy interest. Patty stuck close behind him, eyes wide.
"Evening, you worthless pieces of garbage," Soren's voice floated down, calm and echoing across the empty yard.
"Sorry to crash your little party like this, but tonight this place is shutting down early for a full inspection."
"Open fire! Turn that bastard into Swiss cheese!!"
The boss pointed straight at the roof and roared.
But before a single trigger could squeeze, thick white fog swallowed the entire abandoned factory.
Flashlights and searchlights cut through it like it wasn't even there.
Then the ground under their boots started peeling away in huge chunks, revealing pulsing, blood-red flesh that rose and fell like it was breathing.
"What… what the hell is this?!"
"The ground… it's alive! It's fucking breathing!"
…
Rusty iron wires exploded out of the mist like striking snakes, wrapping the outer guards in an instant.
"AAARGH!!!"
Screams tore through the night as the wires hoisted them into the air spread-eagle. More wires coiled tighter and tighter until—
Thick streams of blood poured out and were instantly sucked into the living flesh below.
The once-cocky cleaners completely lost it. Some dropped where they stood. Others ditched their guns and bolted screaming into the fog like headless chickens.
From deep inside that fog, twisted, twitching black shadows started shuffling forward.
"Go enjoy your final party," Soren said, nodding to the little girl floating beside him.
"Alessa, the rest is yours. Leave none alive."
…
Basement Level One – Monitoring Room.
Security bodies were stacked in the corner like discarded trash.
Patty covered her mouth, face paper-white. Her eyes stayed glued to the wall of monitors, stomach twisting violently.
The scenes playing out were a hundred times more brutal than any R-rated horror flick she'd ever seen.
Well-dressed white-collar types—lawyers who preached justice in court, doctors who played the caring healer, friendly neighbors who smiled at you in the elevator—were now wearing butcher aprons. They wielded power drills, bone saws, and every nightmare torture device you'd only read about in textbooks on the bound tourists strapped to chairs.
Severed limbs. Excited, twisted grins. A living picture of Hell.
"How you holding up?" Soren asked quietly, standing right beside her. He flipped the master switch and killed every screen.
"Sometimes the monsters wearing human skin are worse than anything that actually crawls out of Hell."
"Soren…"
Patty closed her eyes. Tears slid down her pale cheeks. Her voice shook. "Can you… kill them all?"
Soren watched her trembling shoulders. Violent purple-red demonic energy flared across his body.
"Of course. That's exactly why I came."
…
Basement Level Three – VIP Torture Suite.
Ingrid—the top-tier rich bitch who'd flown in overnight from Holland—had changed into a luxurious dark-red evening gown. She paced anxiously inside the specially decorated "romantic" playroom she'd ordered just for tonight.
She clutched a leather whip, mind already spinning with every depraved way she was going to break that beautiful mixed-Asian stud once he arrived.
The elevator indicator lights climbed floor by floor.
Ding.
The pleasant chime sounded.
"Finally, my little treasure…"
Ingrid tossed the whip aside. Her eyes burned with sick excitement as she stepped forward eagerly.
The elevator doors slid open.
Instead of the bound-and-helpless hunk she expected, a corpse was kicked out first.
Thud!
Soren stepped into the room after booting the body out of his way.
Ingrid didn't even glance at the dead man. The second she saw Soren, her breathing turned heavy and ragged.
His body was so tall, strong, and young—pure explosive power in every line. That raw masculine scent mixed with the faint tang of blood made him ten times more intoxicating and dangerous than the auction photo.
Like a rabid animal, Ingrid spread her arms and lunged to grab him.
The next second—
She flew backward faster than she'd charged, slamming hard onto the soft bed.
Ingrid clutched her stomach in agony. Her pampered body screamed from the impact.
The sharp pain finally dragged her lust-fogged brain back to reality.
"Evening, you old hag," Soren said, standing there with open disgust.
At her age still trying to prey on fresh meat? She should've been twenty years younger at least.
"I heard you spent a fortune to buy me?" he asked casually.
"Goddammit, what the hell are those idiots outside doing?!" Ingrid hissed through the pain as she scrambled off the bed, fury twisting her face.
She'd paid tens of millions to be the one in complete control—to enjoy one-sided torture and domination. She had zero interest in being on the receiving end!
She snatched the intercom from the nightstand and hammered the call button. No response. She slammed it harder.
"Save your breath. They're all pretty busy right now—probably standing in line for their resurrection tickets in Hell."
Soren watched her coldly.
"You… who the hell are you?!" Ingrid finally started to panic. She looked at Soren, then at the corpse, finally realizing how wrong this all was.
"Who I am doesn't matter. I'm more curious about how much you actually paid for me."
The terrifying pressure rolling off him made Ingrid's throat tighten. She forced out, "Th-thirty-five million dollars…"
Soren's eyebrows rose slightly.
Holy shit. He risked his life fighting actual demons and barely made pocket change.
But one photo on the dark web and he sold for thirty-five million?
If he'd known rich old ladies paid this well, he could've auctioned himself off a few times instead of doing commissions and hunting demons.
Of course, that was just dark humor in his head.
The thought of actually being touched by a disgusting old woman who reeked of decay made him prefer fighting succubi for three hundred rounds instead.
"Very generous," he said with a cold laugh. "Now, let's talk about a little business between us."
"What business?"
Ingrid shivered. Years in high society instantly told her where this was going.
She grabbed onto the lifeline desperately. "I have money! Lots of money! Name your price—just let me go! I'll pay anything!"
"Smart girl."
Soren snapped his fingers and held up one finger.
"One million?" Ingrid breathed in relief.
One million dollars for her life? Total bargain. She honestly thought she was worth way more.
But Soren shook his finger with regret.
"Ten… ten million?!"
Ingrid asked, voice shaking.
She had already bled heavily to buy Soren. Ten million would seriously hurt even her.
"Wrong again," Soren said gently, shaking his head. "I run an honest business. No cheating anyone—young or old."
He tossed a blood-stained phone onto the bed. His calm, almost friendly tone sent ice straight down Ingrid's spine:
"From now on, for every one million dollars you transfer into my account, you get to live one extra minute… or avoid one of the torture tools in this room."
He gestured toward the corner packed with every sick instrument imaginable and smiled.
"After all, Alessa over there is quite fond of these little toys."