In a dark underground gallery, a group of men stood facing a silver-haired man wearing glasses. Their gazes met, brimming with anticipation and curiosity. Dim lamps, fixed to the walls at regular intervals, cast a soft yet sufficient glow to light the path and highlight the contours of their faces.
Among the group, one man stood out. With a teasing tone, he declared, "Well, I must say, this is quite an original meeting spot for a business discussion. An underground gallery? You've got a flair for the dramatic, my friend."
The man with glasses, Corwin, replied in a calm but sarcastic voice, "Well, my dear, I prefer places with character. But you—you didn't come alone this time, did you?"
As Corwin's gaze lingered on the group behind the man, a woman stepped forward, distinguishing herself by moving to the front. "He's just one of my underlings," she stated. "I'm the leader of the Black Manda. We're here for a very specific reason this time."
Corwin raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Oh, really? Delighted to finally meet you, Madam Leader."
"The pleasure's mutual," the woman replied warmly, "especially given the invaluable help you've provided our gang."
"So, what's this reason, Madam Leader? I'm all ears," Corwin asked.
The woman flashed a satisfied smile. "We're no longer content with just placing orders. It's clear that the smartest move to achieve our goal is to join your organization and unite with you. We hope the offer still stands."
A smile spread across Corwin's face. "This is most refreshing news. Of course, our offer still stands."
The woman bowed respectfully, her group following suit. Corwin's cheerful grin widened. "I can only congratulate you, because you've made the right choice by joining us. However, I must reiterate that our organization's goal is to dominate this country's criminal underworld. Are you ready to help us with that task? In return, we promise you a prime position in the new order we'll establish."
The group's leader bowed again. "I already knew your ambitions. Still, the benefits outweigh the risks. That's why, on behalf of the Black Manda, I declare we're ready to do what it takes to achieve that goal."
Satisfaction gleamed on Corwin's face. "With that, welcome aboard, dear Black Manda. Welcome to Dark Hand."
---
The sound of dress shoes clacked in echoes beneath marble arches. A impeccably suited man slowed his pace, his guards instantly forming a defensive perimeter. The sharp scent of fresh copper stung his nostrils before he even glimpsed the carnage.
"Standard sweep," he murmured.
His men fanned out silently, weapons at their hips. Their flashlights carved through nightmarish scenes: limbs severed with precision, guts strewn like grotesque flowers. The pristine whiteness of the entrance hall had been transformed into a canvas of human flesh.
"Boss." One guard pointed to a body slumped against a column. More intact than the others. A hand clutched an abdominal wound. Eyelids fluttered faintly.
The man crouched, his suit molding perfectly to the motion. He studied the dying man's bluish lips. A rasp. Barely audible.
"Anticipate my needs," he whispered, pressing a gloved finger to the wounded femoral artery. The contact triggered a jolt of agony. "You wanted to talk?"
The dying man gurgled. The suited man leaned in, his ear two centimeters from the clammy mouth, avoiding contact. The man's eyelids flickered, desperately seeking his gaze.
"Mercy…"
The suited man's hand slid to the bruised throat. A calculated press. "Where is he?"
Forty seconds later, he stood, brushing off his cuffs.
"Ground floor. East vault," he announced into his earpiece.
The sound of boots faded down empty corridors. Somewhere in the complex, a silent alarm had just tripped. The man checked his watch. They had seven minutes.
At every corner, mutilated bodies were displayed—some hung on walls, others sprawled carelessly on the floor. Once-splendid paintings lay shattered, decorations reduced to tatters, while blood formed nightmarish rivers.
Yet the man never veered from his path, his guards trailing faithfully, unflinching. Despite the horrific sights, he remained steady, his impassive face betraying no emotion.
At a crossroads, he halted, raising a hand to stop his men, his eyes scanning each hallway with care. Then, with a fluid motion, he revealed a .45 caliber pistol hidden beneath his jacket. A tense silence settled, broken only by the distinct click of the gun's mechanism—a tacit signal his men instinctively understood. They followed suit, drawing their firearms with military precision. Their eyes met briefly, a silent exchange of trust and resolve.
Without a word, the suited man headed down the right hallway, his guards close behind.
After long minutes of walking, they reached a massive door marking the end of the gruesome corridor. The man looked up and saw a message scrawled in blood above the lintel: "Enter." The crimson liquid had etched the word into the wood, its sinister nature unmistakable.
The suited man tightened his grip on his weapon, his face hardening subtly. A quick glance back, and two guards positioned themselves at the door. The sound of guns being cocked echoed through the halls.
A slight nod from the suited man spurred action. The two guards flung the door open, swiftly taking positions in the dark room, weapons trained inward. The space beyond was cloaked in half-light, illuminated only by the glow spilling from the hallway. The remaining guards rushed in, surrounding the room in an instant.
The suited man stepped inside calmly.
A brief glance at a guard near the door conveyed an unspoken command. The switch was flipped, and light flooded the room, revealing a stark, dark office. But the most striking feature was the turned office chair, the focal point where every guard's weapon converged.
Suddenly, the chair swiveled slowly to reveal another suited man. Despite the guns aimed at him, he showed no fear, fixing the man at the door with an unshakable calm.
"You kept me waiting," he said, his voice steady yet laced with undeniable authority.
The suited man didn't respond immediately, his eyes studying the unflinching face before him. Then, in a cold, determined tone, he replied, "Who are you?"
An enigmatic smile curled the seated man's lips. "Just a humble man," he said softly, "looking to see the beauty in this world."
The suited man's face tightened, anger rising. "Do you know who you've messed with?"
The seated man sighed. "Unfortunately," he said, glancing at the ceiling, "unlike you, I know exactly who you are."
With a casual gesture, he raised his right hand. The guards, guns trained on him, snapped to high alert. But the seated man seemed oblivious to them, his gaze locked on the suited man.
"Are you afraid of death?" he asked.
Veins bulged at the suited man's temples. His hand clenched the pistol's grip. "Take him down!"
But before the guards could act, the seated man spoke again. "I like giving everyone a chance," he said, "just as the heavens gave me one."
The suited man raised a hand to halt his men. "I'm listening."
A deathly silence fell over the room. The guards, perplexed, hesitated to follow their leader's command.
"I'm willing to make a deal," the seated man continued.
The suited man stared, incredulous. "A deal?"
"Yes," the seated man replied, a faint smile forming. "I'll spare you and your men if you abandon your path of destruction and undo the harm you've caused."
The suited man's face twisted into a mask of fury. "Are you mocking me?" he roared. "You have no power over us!"
"Maybe," the seated man said with a shrug. "But don't forget—I infiltrated your lair, defeated your men, and lured you here. Who am I? An enemy agent? A random nobody? It doesn't matter."
The suited man gritted his teeth, his hand trembling on his weapon. He let out a sigh, then fixed the seated man with an intense stare.
'He's not a mage, or the red stones would've reacted… Did he really do this alone?'
They hadn't noticed a thing. He'd slipped past their cameras and reached this high-security site—after taking out the men stationed here.
"You've got guts," the suited man said. "But you're looking down on us, and that's going to cost you your life."
The seated man raised an eyebrow slightly, a smile tugging at his lips. "You're free to believe what you want."
The suited man tightened his grip on his gun. "Enough empty words. If you won't tell us who you are or why you're here, we've got nothing left to say."
A tense silence filled the room, broken only by the faint hum of the overhead lights.
The seated man seemed to consider for a moment, his eyes piercing his adversary. Then, with a resigned sigh, he gave a slight nod. "Fine. You've made your choice."
"Die, you bastard!"
And without further warning, the suited man fired.