This novel is currently on hold, and much of the content is copied and pasted. Please do not subscribe to it.
==================
This novel is currently on hold, and much of the content is copied and pasted. Please do not subscribe to it.
========
This novel is currently on hold, and much of the content is copied and pasted. Please do not subscribe to it.
Nightfall draped itself over New York City, its skyline glinting with sporadic lights against the velvety canvas of the sky. Nestled in a contemporary Manhattan high-rise, Lennox's office remained bathed in artificial luminance.
Despite the vibrant cityscape beyond his window, Lennox was engrossed in an investigative report, dissecting it with meticulous care.
Emblazoned on the report's cover was a lone name: "Charles." A particular phrase within the document seized Lennox's full attention: "Demon Angel."
His phone shattered the contemplative silence, its ringtone specially reserved for private calls.
"What is it?" Lennox answered, icy in demeanor.
"Boss, Foreskin has arrived," his secretary informed him.
"Show him in."
Just as Lennox spoke, a knock echoed from the other side of the door.
"Come in," he beckoned, smoothing his attire and casting a glance toward the frosted glass door.
He pivoted to find his elegant secretary ushering in a man whose grin was unnerving, to say the least.
"You wanted to see me, boss?"
At Lennox's unspoken command, the secretary exited, leaving the two men alone.
"Sit. We need to talk about someone."
Curious yet cavalier, Foreskin settled onto the couch, crossing his legs casually.
"Who?"
"Charles."
Confusion flickered across Foreskin's features.
"Who?"
Lennox tossed a duplicate of the report onto the coffee table. "Demon Angel."
Foreskin scrutinized the document, his unnerving smile fading into a mask of impassivity as the room's lighting cast subtle shadows over his face.
"He's in New York?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Are you familiar with him?"
Foreskin hesitated for a long while, as if reluctant to delve into a discussion about Charles. He seemed uncomfortable.
"Boss, you know our family… has a sort of illness," Foreskin finally spoke.
"But I prefer to call it a gift."
"A thirst for slaughter courses through our veins, unchanged for generations."
"That's why my father became an arms dealer."
"Because arms come with blood and sin!"
"His 'gift' is the most exceptional I've ever seen. He's been in countless battlefields; many wars bear his hidden hand. The number of people he's killed—women and children included—runs in the tens of thousands."
"Since childhood, surpassing my father has been my ultimate life goal."
"Until…"
Foreskin's voice trailed off, sinking into a deeper gravity.
Sitting across from him, Lennox lifted his coffee cup replying, "So you're saying, your father—the arms king Dashiell—had his bloodlust 'cured' by Demon Angel?"
There was no decipherable emotion on Foreskin's impassive face. To him, it was a humiliation!
Killing was etched into their DNA; how could such an intrinsic trait be cured? Yet, it was true; his father Dashiell had indeed been healed of his murderous tendencies by Demon Angel.
And it was for that very reason he had killed his own father.
Foreskin couldn't bear the sight of his father, once a kingpin of arms and a shadowy orchestrator of wars, standing at the apex of the world's food chain, suddenly transformed into a benevolent old man who spent his days fishing and sipping tea.
He'd rather have no father at all than have one like that.
"How much do you know about the treatment he administered to your father?" Lennox inquired.
Foreskin paused to consider seriously.
"Their treatment was conducted in secrecy. And although they spent a long time together, the actual treatment lasted a very short time...
Probably within a day, maybe within half an hour. It was because of this brief duration that I felt as though my father had turned into a different person altogether."
Lennox squinted his eyes. "Have you ever had direct contact with him?"
A memory seemed to bubble up in Foreskin's mind, triggering a slight tremor in his fingers.
"Once."
"And what did it feel like?"
"Fear."
The admission was startling. Here was a man, a murderous fiend who considered himself at the apex of the food chain, a sadist of the highest order, acknowledging his own fear.
Intrigued, Lennox felt his interest in Charles intensifying. "Is he that cruel, to instill such fear in you?"
Foreskin's fists clenched tightly. After a long moment, he exhaled deeply.
"Boss, where is he?"
Clearly, he was reluctant to revisit his prior encounters with Charles.
And even that not-so-distant memory seemed strangely blurred, as if everything about Charles was dissolving away. The only thing that remained vivid was an indelible sense of dread.
"He's currently at a café in New York. You know, he's just a doctor—extraordinarily gifted in medicine, of course—but physically..."
Lennox's voice trailed off. He looked at the contemplative Foreskin and smiled. "Alright, prepare yourself well. I'm sure you know exactly how to handle this."
"I understand... I will personally cleanse my family's shame!" A chilling intent to kill flashed in Foreskin's eyes.
.....
Charles sat by the window of a cafe, holding a cup of latte in his hand, soaking in the bustling New York street scene through the glass while unidentified music played through his earphones.
After finishing his coffee, he prepared to head home. Before he could, however, a group of masked men abducted him and took him to an abandoned factory.
Foreskin was already there, waiting for him.
Trying to maintain a façade of calm, Foreskin locked eyes with Charles and asked, "Do you know who I am?"
Charles replied, "I don't. Let me guess...you're Dashiell's son?"
The middle-aged man nodded. "Correct. Since you've heard of me, you must understand what kind of person I am—"
Charles interrupted. "Actually, I don't. And if we're being honest, I'm skeptical you're Dashiell's biological offspring. Your peculiar name doesn't exactly ring of paternal affection."
Tension palpable, the henchmen exchanged nervous glances. They knew their boss well enough to understand how volatile he could be, especially when it came to his name. Charles was playing a dangerous game.
"Amused, are we?" Foreskin's voice dripped with barely concealed menace.
"I usually find myself quite entertaining. 'Handsome' doesn't fully cover it," Charles retorted, casually sitting down and crossing his legs.
One of the masked kidnappers drew a gun, pointing it at the back of Charles's head. A single nod from Foreskin, and his brain matter would splatter across the room.
"Your interference led me to kill my own father. You will answer for that!" Foreskin bellowed, his features twisted in loathing, as if his own patricide was Charles's fault.
"So, you can murder your dad, but I can't give him medical treatment? Is that your ethical stand?" Charles fired back, unfazed by the loaded gun behind him.
"You're quite the poster child, aren't you? Your father wasted his life on you. His parenting was an utter fiasco."
Foreskin's eyes narrowed, his voice a frigid whisper. "Had you understood that, you would've stayed away from him."
Charles mimed a gun with his hand, aiming it at Foreskin. "Do you know what's going through my mind?"
"I couldn't care less about the thoughts of a madman. But you'll soon know what's on my mind..." Foreskin sneered.
Charles cut him off, his face suddenly twisted with pent-up rage. "What I'm thinking is that, if I had a real gun, I could blow your brains out with one shot!"
Seeing Charles's raw emotion, Foreskin's anger mutated into a sick thrill. His dread of Charles seemed to vanish, supplanted by newfound confidence.
Flicking ash from his cigarette, Foreskin mocked, "Look at you, pathetic as a worm. You boast about being a top doctor, yet you can't even afford a gun."
"I—"
Bang!
Before Charles could finish, his eyes flashed a horrifying crimson, spinning like some manga character's Sharingan. Foreskin was paralyzed.
Incredibly, a gun materialized in Charles's hand. He pulled the trigger, turning Foreskin's head into a gruesome tableau of blood and brain matter.
Stunned silence engulfed the room.
"Thought he'd dodge that, did you?" Charles grinned, tucking the gun back into his coat while the room remained agog.
He knew his fate was sealed, that he'd likely never leave this room alive. But he'd determined to make his final move, to take matters into his own hands.
Using wily dialogue and calculated theatrics, he'd distracted Foreskin long enough to catch him off guard and kill him.
Suddenly, reality reasserted itself among the henchmen. Another gunshot echoed, and Charles's head exploded, his consciousness extinguished in an instant.