Bob marshaled his brothers, their steps echoing through the hospital's sterile halls, back to the familiar smoky air of the barbecue stall. Yet, the siren who had captivated his gaze and the rogue who had ignited his ire had vanished into the city's heart. Had fate not cruelly intertwined his path with the damsel's distress, he would be unraveling the enigma of that elusive beauty at this very moment.
Gazing upon his bandaged left hand, a sharp reminder of the day's misfortunes, Bob lashed out at an innocent pony, his anger finding a hapless target.
In the shadowy corners of WestMoon City, he reigned as the "security chief" of its grandest pleasure palace, a titan among the tumultuous streets. The mere whisper of "Fat Bob" could silence a wailing infant. Yet, today's humiliation at the hands of a nobody, a mere child, gnawed at his pride. They dared to mock his stature in the underworld? Let them witness the old guard's wrath.
"Boss, the pair has fled," reported a lackey, breathless from the chase.
With a resounding slap, Bob silenced the messenger. "Do my eyes deceive me? Scatter, find that whelp!"
"And the lady, boss? What shall we do?" another queried, tentative.
"The lady's preoccupied with scholarly pursuits; she's blind to our world's shattered fragments. It was mere misfortune that crossed our paths. Enough prattle—seek out the boy!"
The underlings scattered, leaving no stone unturned in their hunt for Ethan Wraith.
"Seeking the barbecue vendor, sir?" An elder approached, clad in the simplicity of white cotton and worn slippers, a fan his only companion.
"Do you bear knowledge of him?" Bob inquired, hope flickering in his eyes.
The old man's smile creased his weathered face. "Ethan White, the name is. He resides—"
"Impatience gnawed at Bob; he tossed a handful of yuan. "Out with it, elder!"
The old man's laughter tinkled like a bell. "Memory eludes us aged folk—" He pocketed the money, his act deliberate.
"He dwells in the northern quarter, past the ancient locust. House number one-two-six, you'll find."
Bob's brow furrowed, his mind a muddle. "Did you lot catch that?"
His brothers shook their heads, clueless.
"Lead us," Bob commanded, offering more yuan.
The elder hesitated, greed glinting in his eyes.
"Don't overplay your hand, elder," Bob warned, his glare sharp as a blade.
The elder acquiesced, guiding them through the city's labyrinthine veins to a desolate expanse.
"We've arrived," the elder announced, his grin wide.
"Here?" Disquiet settled over Bob. "Are you toying with us, elder? This place is barren!"
The gang's laughter filled the void, their taunts aimed at the old man.
The elder's smile turned icy, his gaze cutting through their bravado.
"Silence!" Bob's command halted the jeers. His visage darkened, his stare piercing the elder. "Where's the snare? You've led us to a trap, now reveal your hand!"
Bob was no fool; his stature demanded caution. Invoking the "Seventh Master" was a calculated risk, a warning to those who might dare cross him.
The gang tensed, their hands inching towards concealed blades.
"The trap is sprung," the elder declared, unfazed by the mention of the city's shadow ruler.
Bob's pulse quickened, the other party really had set a trap.
Bob's eyes darted to the edges of his vision, seeking the telltale signs of treachery, but the quiet streets offered no hint of deceit.
"Come now, brethren of shadowed paths, let us abandon these games of concealment," Bob jeered with a wolfish grin.
The elder's visage twisted in fury, his finger jabbing towards his chest. "The snare you seek stands before you, cloaked in aged flesh. Are you so blinded by arrogance?"
A stunned silence fell upon the gang, shattered by raucous laughter as they doubled over, their mirth near breathless.
"Have you escaped from the confines of sanity, old timer?" Bob jested, pointing an accusing finger.
The elder's chuckle was tinged with disdain. "I am the harbinger of your descent into madness. Your vile deeds, a scourge upon both divine and mortal realms, warrant an end not even a hundredfold deaths could suffice."
Bob's sneer was a mask of contempt. "I've danced with death, ignited chaos, and reveled in sin, yet here I stand. What of you, keeper of justice? Will you dare the dance?"
"Challenge accepted. Let the fates decide our course."
"Defeat us? A frail specter of yesteryears?" Bob's taunt was a hollow echo against the elder's unwavering resolve.
The elder's smile was a frosty blade, slicing through Bob's bravado, leaving a pallid shadow in its wake.
"Long Hair, will you not unleash your fury?" Bob's voice dripped with mockery.
Long Hair, his namesake a flowing mane, flushed with shame then burned with rage. He lunged, a tempest unleashed, only to be cast aside by the elder's unseen force, crumpling into oblivion.
Bob's facade crumbled, the realization dawning that they faced no mere mortal. A blade appeared in his grasp, a silent signal to his brethren. "Stand firm. This elder shall fall by our hands."
Yet, it was the elder who surged forth, a tempest cloaked in serenity, his movements a dance of winds amidst the storm of flailing limbs. One by one, they fell, their knees betraying them with each precise strike.
Bob's brow glistened with the sheen of fear; they had underestimated their foe.
"What is your demand?" Bob's voice was a clenched snarl.
"A simple penance. Tenfold self-inflicted strikes," the elder proposed, an air of finality in his tone.
Bob's response was a derisive hiss, yet his followers hesitated, their eyes seeking silent permission.
"Your defiance is futile. If you lack the will, I shall be your guide." The elder began his count, and the symphony of slaps resonated through the alley.
Approaching Bob, the elder's hand delivered justice. "One for the voiceless," he declared.
Another strike followed. "Two for the broken spirits."
Tears carved paths down Bob's cheeks, a testament to his newfound humility.
With each count, the elder's hand was both judge and jury, until the tenth resounded like a gavel's fall.
Exhausted, Bob was carried away by his retreating comrades, the elder's sigh a whisper in the wind.
"Mercy, once again, stays my hand. Will you chastise me for this leniency?"
He had spared Bob's life but condemned him to a fate worse than death—a carnivore forever denied his feast.
With a gentle touch, the elder shed his guise, revealing the youthful visage beneath.
He was Ethan Wraith, the phantom of justice.