Alex wove through the tight alleyways, his bike's engine reduced to a low growl, its sound swallowed by the decaying walls rising like ancient tombstones on either side. Trash bins lay overturned, neon signs buzzed and stuttered, casting dying glows, and graffiti screamed from every surface—warnings, gang emblems, and one unmistakable sigil:
A crimson lotus, jagged and violent, painted on a rusted steel door.
The engine cut with a dull sputter. Silence took over.
Behind him, Cypher shimmered—its smoky form dissolving silently into Alex's shadow like ink slipping into water. Alex dismounted, boots crunching against glass and grit, and approached the door.
He didn't knock.
Just a firm hand against the cold, corroded metal—then a push.
Creeeaaak.
The door groaned open, revealing a passage steeped in shadow and the scent of incense and iron.
A narrow hallway stretched ahead, lit only by blood-red paper lanterns swaying gently overhead. The floor gleamed with black tiles, while walls were draped in crimson velvet and marked with golden dragons curling into snarling forms. The air was thick. Ancient. Heavy.
This wasn't a dojo. Not a headquarters.
It was a den.
The Black Lotus.
Each step Alex took echoed, loud against the hush. Still—no one greeted him. But he felt them. Dozens of eyes, watching from every crease in the shadows.
Then came the voice—silken, sharp.
"You're either very brave… or very foolish to walk in here alone."
A figure materialized at the end of the hall—slender, robed in black silk stitched with silver thread. His face was almost painted white, marred only by a crescent scar etched across his jaw.
"I'm told your name is Alex."
Alex stopped mid-stride, arms relaxed—but his stance betrayed the tension coiled beneath.
"Then you already know why I'm here."
The pale man's lip curled faintly. "I know you're looking for Sue. And that you've stirred the attention of the Hand."
"Where is she?" Alex asked, his voice quiet—but iron.
"The Red Box doesn't interest you?" the man asked, tilting his head.
Alex's eyes narrowed. "I'm not here for treasure. I came for her."
"A shame," he said, stepping to the side. "Because once you enter this world, treasure is all that matters."
From behind the velvet curtains, they began to appear—silent, masked figures emerging one by one. Their blades glinted, their armor whispered. Curved sabers. Obsidian-tipped spears. Dozens.
Alex cracked his neck, slow and deliberate. Pop. Pop.
"Then let's find out if your treasure's worth dying for."
Behind him, Cypher rose.
A towering shadow, its shape warping with dark flame and flickering tendrils. It loomed up from Alex's back like a curse made real—soundless, merciless.
The room exploded into chaos.
Shing! Blades unsheathed. Thwip! Arrows loosed. Crack! Screams broke the silence as steel met something far worse than flesh.
Cypher surged forward—a storm of black, morphing limbs and shrieking shadow. Its form darted between slashes, absorbing impacts and answering with ruthless precision. Arms became blades, became spears, became claws.
A ninja leapt high, swinging a chain overhead. Cypher's arm lashed out midair—CRUNCH!—and slammed him through a column in a spray of plaster and bone.
Another turned to flee. Foolish.
A tendril of pure shadow lanced out—SHLUP!—spearing through his chest and yanking him back into Cypher's writhing mass.
Alex walked calmly through the carnage, the battle raging around him like a storm refusing to touch its eye. Blood pooled at his feet. Still, not a scratch.
The pale man fell to his knees as Cypher stopped inches away, towering above him like a death sentence half-written. Its shifting form curled into the hint of a grin.
"I said leave him," Alex murmured. His voice barely rose—but it silenced the room.
Cypher obeyed. Instantly.
The man looked up, trembling, his voice a whisper. "W-What are you…?"
Alex crouched, eyes level with his.
"I'm someone who doesn't like being lied to. You say you know where Sue is… start talking."
A beat of silence. The scent of blood choked the air.
"Or I let it finish."
And in that instant, surrounded by corpses and swallowed by shadows, the pale man realized something more terrifying than anything he had seen:
Alex hadn't even lifted a finger yet.
The pale man trembled, sweat trickling down his painted face as Cypher loomed silently beside him—its presence still, yet suffocating.
Alex didn't blink.
"Now," he said, voice cold as steel, "tell me where Bakuto is."
The man's lips quivered. "I… I don't know where he is. I swear."
Cypher shifted beside him, a low growl-like rumble rolling from its core, like pressure building before a collapse.
Alex's eyes stayed locked on the man's.
"You run with the Black Lotus, and you're telling me you don't know where your own master hides?"
The man swallowed hard. "I'm not that high up," he said, barely audible. "Bakuto… he doesn't deal with us directly. We get orders from the branch cell. Lower Manhattan. Hell's Kitchen."
Alex's expression didn't change.
"Address."
The man hesitated.
CRACK. A tendril of Cypher's shadow lashed the ground beside him, splintering the tile like glass.
He yelped. "T-Twenty-seven C, under the Toshiro Imports front. It's below the shop. A red door behind the freezer!"
Alex stood slowly, the dim red lanterns reflecting in his eyes.
"You ever lie to me again," he said, his voice soft like a blade sliding from a sheath, "and it won't just be your men on the floor next time."
The man nodded rapidly, shaking. "I swear—it's true, I swear…"
Alex turned without another word. Cypher melted back into his shadow, trailing behind like a living cloak of smoke.
As he reached the door, Alex paused. No glance back.
"By the way," he said calmly, "your security? Not enough."
And then he stepped out, the door creaking shut behind him with finality.
Click.
The hallway was silent again—except for the whispering flames of ruined lanterns, the soft drip of blood, and the ragged breathing of one man who now understood:
Alex wasn't hunting treasure.
He was hunting them.
The pale man stayed kneeling in the ruined hallway, surrounded by blood and silence. His breath came in shallow gasps, the metallic sting of fear still clinging to the air like smoke.
"Damn it," he muttered, wiping his face with trembling fingers. "I hope the leader got the Red Box… or we're all dead."
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