The mysterious figure vanished from the room after the grand conversation ended, and the flames returned to light once more. Silas gripped his cleaver, a sinister smile stretching across half of his face.
Twenty years later…
A series of horrific crimes began to plague London. All of them carried the same terrifying signature—"The Half-Headed Man"—the killer who turned the city into a nightmare.
Silas, the dreadful legend himself, sat on a chair, tapping his foot rhythmically against the floor. In his hand was a paper bearing one word: "Siclav"—the district where the gang that murdered his parents once lived.
He took his cleaver, placed a mask over half of his face, and began the march toward the vengeance he had waited two decades to unleash. After 40 minutes, he arrived at Siclav, now a decaying place—dark, abandoned, and riddled with ruins. But at the end of one alley stood a strangely elegant building, Victorian in design and clearly renovated.
Silas approached the gate, where two guards stood watch. One of them was visibly shaken by Silas's grotesque appearance. When the other pulled a gun, Silas grabbed his arm and snapped it, then seized the other guard and tore his head clean off, the spine dangling grotesquely from it.
Inside, a grand party was underway—dancing, music, laughter. That is, until Silas entered. The moment they saw the towering figure with only half a face, fear consumed them.
As he made his way to the upper floor, a guard fired at him. The bullets did nothing. Silas rushed him and sliced him in half. A group of others tried to stop him, but he annihilated them with ease. Panic swept the room. Everyone fled—everyone but three men who descended the stairs, women clinging to their sides.
One of them, a scarred man, spoke arrogantly before he noticed the devil standing before him.
"What's all the noise? We're trying to enj—"
He didn't finish. The wine glass slipped from his hand as he laughed nervously.
"The living legend… The Half-Headed Man. I never thought a human could survive decapitation. That's… terrifying."
The fat one approached Silas, tapped him twice on the chest mockingly, and laughed.
"What's this, huh? Here for mommy and daddy's revenge? Pathetic!"
His laughter filled the room, joined by the others.
Silas didn't laugh.
He grabbed the fat man's arms and ripped them off. The man didn't understand until he saw Silas holding his detached limbs. Shock turned into a scream, but Silas grabbed his face, yanked out his tongue, then tore out his eyes. He split open his chest and pulled out his heart before their horrified eyes. The man collapsed lifelessly.
The other two fled upstairs. The one-armed man tripped. Silas caught him, severed his remaining arm, stuffed it into his mouth, and decapitated him.
Silas then chased down the scarred one who was trying to escape to the rooftop. He grabbed him, slammed him onto a table, and lifted his mask, revealing his one glaring eye.
"Where is my mother's body?" he asked, voice cold with fury.
The scarred man trembled.
"I—I don't know… I swear!"
Silas bashed his head against the floor and repeated, louder:
"Where is my mother's body, you bastard!"
The man wet himself in terror before finally crying out:
"We… we chopped her into pieces and threw her into the sea!"
Silas's eye widened with a rage beyond comprehension. The man looked around in desperation and grabbed a teapot, throwing boiling water into Silas's face. His skin sizzled and burned. But Silas, unfazed, grabbed him again, tore out his windpipe, crushed his heart, shattered his bones, and hacked him into small pieces—stuffing the remains into the very teapot.
Silas walked out of the building, breathing in the scent of vengeance. He made his way to his parents' grave, knelt before it, and whispered:
"At last… I avenged you… my most precious ones."
He collapsed to the ground, embracing the tombstones, sobbing like a child.
"I want to be with you… I miss you so much… I wish I could see you again."
Even after fulfilling his revenge, the killing didn't stop. The long trail of bloodshed finally ended at the hands of Detective Neuvillette.
Blood streamed from Neuvillette's eyes as he stared into the image. He staggered back, clutching his head, and sighed heavily.
"Some monsters aren't born… they're made by the devils who break them. But that doesn't excuse their actions."
He approached the corpse, yanked out the skull with the spine still attached, and tied it to his horse's rope.
Upon returning to his precinct, he hung the grisly trophy along the length of his coat. Two guards saw his battered state but said nothing—just greeted him silently.
Neuvillette entered his office.
He threw the skull and spine at the feet of Captain Greystone, who sat smoking in his chair. The captain looked down at the trophy and chuckled.
"Looks like you took some deadly hits, Detective Neuvillette. But bringing back such a prize… impressive."
Neuvillette lit a cigarette, exhaled slowly, and stared proudly at the captain.
"I killed him. I brought what you asked for. Now tell me—what's the next mission? But before that… who is the man sitting next to you?"
Sitting nearby was a towering man, wearing a blood-stained notebook over his head. He wore a black shirt with red stripes, black pants, and a modern-era wristwatch. He held a smoking pipe—and stood about 3.10 meters tall.
Captain Greystone smiled subtly and gestured toward him.
"This… is the cosmic bounty hunter—
Cryos Nyx—the one who hunts murderers no one has been able to capture for light-centuries."**
"So he's a bounty hunter," he sighed as he spoke, taking the bloody notebook off his face. His sharp features appeared, along with dark black eyes, deep shadows beneath them, and long black hair.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to take things that don't belong to you?" Neuvillette spoke with furrowed brows.
Krayos laughed, exhaling smoke toward Neuvillette as he looked at him and said,
"Don't worry, the notebook doesn't contain any writing. It seems it holds secret words between the writer and the reader… and the reader is you."
Neuvillette was surprised at Krayos' understanding of things that were still a mystery to him. He spoke sarcastically:
"Is this a family visit or what? Mr. Greyston, what's the next mission?"
Greyston laughed, pointing toward Krayos and saying:
"No, it's not a family visit. Mr. Krayos was on a mission and wanted to drop by to say hello… As for the next mission, it's going to be very difficult for you, Mr. Clown. So, are you ready for it?"
Krayos yawned and placed a piece of paper on his head, saying:
"When you're done with your nonsense, Mr. Greyston, wake me up."
Neuvillette was puzzled by this mysterious person, and Captain Greyston interrupted his thoughts, saying:
"Forget about him, detective… What matters is that this mission will take you to the next level."
Neuvillette sat on the couch, his primitive mind not quite processing these strange words.
"The next level? Do enigmas speak in riddles or what?"
Captain Greyston smiled, explaining very calmly:
"In this mission, you must capture or eliminate the global Russian gambler, 'Grigory Rastov.' This gambler is known for his strange way of playing—especially in chess… Whoever challenges him never comes out alive. The location of his tavern is unknown. If you want to challenge him, you have to solve a small riddle to find his location, and it takes someone brilliant to solve such a riddle."
Neuvillette lit a cigarette, crossing one leg over the other and speaking arrogantly:
"And what is this riddle? Could you clarify a few things? Because, by the way, no riddle stands in my way."
A sarcastic smile formed on Greyston's face as he said:
"The riddle lies in the secret of the building… There are three buildings scattered across London, forming a perfect triangle. Each is dedicated to gambling, and Russians gamble in all of them. They don't allow English nationals—or any other nationality—to gamble with them except under certain conditions. If you want to challenge the Grand Gambler, you'll find a set of letters in each building. You must examine every corner of the building to find one letter."
Neuvillette stretched his hand forward, questioning:
"And how will I know these are the intended letters?"
Captain Greyston took a knife, cut his hand, and then threw it at the wall:
"This is how you'll see the name in blood-red, dripping… But you won't find it easily. You must search."
Captain Greystone threw a paper covered with the names of Russian taverns toward him, speaking mockingly:
"These are the tavern spots forming a triangle around the city of London."
The bounty hunter Kraios spoke from behind Neuvillette:
"You could become a cosmic detective… just like I became a cosmic bounty hunter."
Neuvillette was startled by Kraios's sudden appearance behind him. His eyes had been fixed on him sitting—how did he rise and suddenly stand at his back?
Captain Greystone stood up and put on his long black coat. He opened a rift—an alternate dimension of pure black. Kraios approached him casually.
"Looks like you've got something to say to the detective. I'll go ahead," Kraios said, placing his hand on the rift's edge, yawning as if utterly uninterested in the matter.
Captain Greystone turned slightly toward Neuvillette, glancing at him with half-lidded eyes, speaking with a mocking tone:
"Let's hope luck is on your side this time. Also… let's see if the Lord of Wagers intervenes again, just like he did the last time."