The Harvest Festival parade snaked through the streets. Giant mascot floats rolled along while masked performers tossed cheap candy into the roaring crowd.
Tourists screamed and cheered, the thumping music drowning out everything else.
Using the night as cover, Soren grabbed Patty's hand and slipped through the packed bodies like a horny young couple desperate for privacy. They ducked into a dimly lit alley.
"We doing that 'fishing for bad guys' thing again?" Patty kicked an empty bottle out of the way and sighed. "Come on, Soren. That trick's getting old."
"One good move never goes out of style." Soren leaned lazily against the wall, unwrapped a piece of festival candy he'd caught earlier, and popped it in his mouth. "Besides… the fish are already biting."
The second the words left his mouth, seven or eight burly men in black stepped out of the shadows on both sides of the alley.
Black caps, crackling tasers, restraints—every tool for grabbing and packaging "goods." They closed in slow and confident.
"Keep it clean," the leader ordered calmly. "These ones are worth a fortune—don't bruise the merchandise…"
His sentence died when a thick purple glow suddenly wrapped around him.
The light condensed into a massive skeletal hand in mid-air.
"What the fu—"
The hand clenched. The leader didn't even scream. He went limp and slid lifelessly to the ground.
The rest of the cleaners froze in pure terror. They stared at the eerie purple energy swirling around Soren like he was some kind of demon.
"Monster…!"
"Shoot! Shoot him now!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire exploded through the narrow alley. Muzzle flashes lit up the darkness as bullets formed a deadly steel net.
Facing the storm, Soren casually pulled Patty behind him and stood his ground.
"Soren! Move!" Patty screamed, terrified he was about to get turned into Swiss cheese.
Soren didn't answer. Crimson light flared in his eyes. With his Sparda bloodline active, the bullets that should have been lightning-fast crawled like snails.
He could dodge. One Double Jump and he'd be gone.
But he wanted to test something.
The instant the bullets were about to hit—
Soren's hands snapped up and down into a strange defensive stance.
[Royal Guard]: Reinforce the body with demonic power. Massively reduce damage while active.
"Vrrrrrm—"
A purple demonic shield snapped into existence around him.
The bullet storm hammered the barrier, sending ripples across it with a low hum.
Then came the part that made the cleaners' skin crawl.
Every bullet that struck the shield was instantly wrapped in purple-red demonic energy.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The empowered rounds reversed course and shot straight back along the exact paths they'd come from!
At the same time, system messages flashed in Soren's mind.
[Ding!]
[Unlocked Royal Guard Advanced Technique!]
[Royal Guard – Perfect Block]: Precisely timed activation reflects 100% of incoming damage.
Note: If attack force exceeds current defense limit, the block will shatter and the user will take overflow damage.
"Nice. It works."
Soren slowly lowered his hands, watching the reflected bullets fly, and gave a satisfied nod.
"Real life is the best. Once you understand the basics, you can do whatever you want. No rigid game mechanics holding you back."
"Saved myself a bunch of points too."
While Soren was feeling pleased, the cleaners on both ends of the alley weren't so lucky.
They watched in horror as the bullets they'd just fired came screaming back wrapped in purple light.
"No!"
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The sound of bullets punching through flesh filled the alley. The once-confident cleaners dropped like harvested wheat, bodies jerking as their own rounds tore them apart.
In just a few heartbeats the entire crew was turned into sieves, blood painting the ground.
The gunfire stopped. The alley fell silent again.
The only survivor was one lucky bastard who'd been crouched behind his buddies.
His brain had shut down. His legs gave out and he collapsed among the corpses.
Survival instinct screamed at him to run for help, but pure terror kept him frozen in place.
Soren stepped through the blood, stopped in front of the shaking man, and pointed at the black van parked at the alley entrance.
"Drive. Take me to your bosses."
"As a self-aware piece of merchandise, I figured showing up in person would be more polite."
…
On the outskirts of town.
Razor wire surrounded an abandoned factory. Searchlight beams swept the darkness.
On the surface it was just an old industrial site. Underground it was a slaughter playground for the ultra-rich.
Armed guards with attack dogs patrolled the perimeter while hidden snipers watched from the rooftops.
"Static—attention, Checkpoint Two. Unscheduled van approaching fast. No reservation code in the system."
"Copy. I'll stop it."
One guard raised his rifle, stepped into the road, and lifted a hand for the van to halt.
The van didn't slow down. It barreled straight toward the gate like a charging bull.
"Shit! What idiot is driving that?!"
BOOM!!!
The barrier exploded. The van smashed through, fishtailed wildly, and rolled onto its side.
"Everybody out! Hands up!"
The entire facility's security system lit up. Dozens of armed guards poured in from every direction. Red laser dots danced across the wrecked van.
The boss who ran this underground playground heard the commotion and stormed outside with his crew, face twisted in rage.
He was already in a foul mood tonight.
The new batch of "goods" was top-tier. He'd expected to milk a fortune out of the usual politicians and billionaires.
Instead, the big American players had all mysteriously ghosted—no bids, no appearances. It was like they knew something was wrong with this shipment.
The only people who showed up were low-level white-collar types and broke idiots who'd mortgaged everything for one night of fun.
A bunch of cowards wasting premium stock.
Not only had he lost a huge payday, he'd missed the chance to collect dirt on the real power players.
He was still stewing when some suicidal idiot decided to crash his gate.
In all the years he'd run this place, plenty of would-be heroes had tried to play savior. Every single one ended up as dog food.
The authorities? Don't make him laugh. Those same powerful men needed this place to vent their darkness. They'd never shut it down.
"Check the van," he growled.
A brave guard approached with his pistol raised, kicked the crumpled door open, and peered inside.