The nightclub, as if torn from a dream on the edge of reality and fantasy, was filled with an atmosphere of pulsating chaos. Soft neon light flowed along the walls, reflected in glossy surfaces, and painted everything around in aquamarine-violet shades. The air was thick and warm, saturated with a mixture of aromas - sweet smoke, cocktails with fruity notes and a barely perceptible smell of electricity.
The music beat like a living being, the bass passed through the bodies, forcing the heart to synchronize with the rhythm. The dance floor, filling the space with movement, seemed like a kaleidoscope of human emotions - someone laughed, others merged in the dance, forgetting about everything, and someone stood in the shadows, watching this whole spectacle.
On the second level of the club, hidden behind translucent curtains, a more intimate atmosphere reigned. Dimly lit tables created islands of privacy where secrets were whispered or deals were made. There, bartenders worked magic in glasses like alchemists, and each cocktail seemed like a small story.
Sometimes the silence was broken by laughter, like a flash of light, or someone's sudden cry of delight, until everything was again drowned in a rhythmic symphony of sound and light. In this atmosphere, the club lived its own life, offering everyone something different: freedom, temptation, or just an opportunity to forget.
Izune and his friends were lighting another cigarette.
- Imagine, she blocked me! Ha-ha! What a slut.
- My ex did the same shit, and then she threw me in jail.
- Izune, why are you silent? - asked one of his friends.
- Oh, just remembering our trip to Grimm.
- Don't hang your head. That dick paid us well. Big deal, some chick. She was probably Grimm!
- Ha-ha-ha! - his friends appreciated the joke. Izune smiled. What difference did it make what happened a couple of years ago if you can live now?
Suddenly, a message came to his phone from the leader of their former cult, already de facto disbanded, but the connections and contacts were still there.
- Holy shit. Look who wrote it. - Izune showed the message from Watanabe.
-I don't believe Watanabe came out of a drug-induced coma? - someone joked. - someone joked.
- What does he want?
- He called everyone together. He says there's some business with Grimm.
- Dude, this topic has been dead for a long time, hasn't it?
- Watanabe made a deal with that rich bastard last time. Maybe we can earn some money again? Honestly, I'm already short on cash.
-Yes, Watanabe won't offer bullshit. - everyone agreed.
...
Taiko was in a den where he found Watanabe, the former leader of the Cult. He kicked out all the drug addicts, shouting something loudly about the cops. Now, a stoned Watanabe was curled up in pain in the corner of the room, like a cornered animal.
- Isn't that psilocybin? - Taiko fed Watanabe all the hallucinogens, having first sent everyone connected to the cult through his phone. Including a contact named Stendhal. - They've already started working, huh? - he grabbed him by the top of the head. Watanabe's red and wide eyes were a sign of the drugs' effect. - Understand, creature, you will not get out of here alive. - Taiko hit him in the stomach with all his might, breaking his ribs.
You can't tell right away, but Taiko got some kind of pleasure from this. Perhaps this was influenced by the incident with the pedophiles and their torture, which led to a certain kind of recklessness and sadism in Taiko. Now his duality became clearly apparent. The everyday world and his true character are completely opposed to each other.
- Agh! No! P-please! Stop!
- Maybe I should cut out your tongue? - he beat him half to death. His body flew around the room and hit the walls, ceiling and floor with great force. Taiko bent down and whispered: - You will watch as I cut out all your friends, and in the end I will make you lick my boots and beg me, worm.
Watanabe was shaking in pain and drugged terror, lying in his own vomit and blood. Taiko tied him to a chair and put him in the corner of the room. - They're already here.
A large group of fifteen guys entered the house, they wondered why Watanabe invited them after so long, but in fact, it was a trap by Taiko to gather everyone together and make the hunt easier.
Stendhal, the vigilante, was also present. It was essential for him to find and kill Grimm, because this was a man who once worked for money and at one time had great popularity on the Internet, carrying out criminal justice for profit. A fake hero. It was difficult to even call him a vigilante. Much time had passed, and Stendhal no longer hoped to find Grimm, until today.
In hopes of finding Grimm, Stendhal joined the Cult as a temporary measure, there was not much hope for the Cult. The members of the closed cult often talked, and he listened to them from a distance. Many talked about "That Night" which they called "Grimm's Judgment Night". Connecting the fact that after that night Grimm really stopped showing up and at least no traces of his activities were found, Stendhal could connect these facts into one. It is quite possible that Grimm was really killed. But he continued to wonder: "Why would the former junkie leader suddenly give life to the Cult again?"
"An abandoned building on the edge of town?" Stendhal thought in his signature uniform and mask. Entering inside, a group of people saw the den with their own eyes. Only those close to Watanabe knew that he was into drugs, but this seemed too much even for them. Taiko invited them here specifically so that they could see what kind of inveterate drug addict their leader really was.
-Fucking junkie.
-There's a bunch of needles. Ugh!
-Brrr. Why did Watanabe invite us here? - echoed through the concrete corridors.
-"Another question. Why is it so quiet here?" thought Stendhal, keeping his distance.
-Oh, come on. Watanabe?! - the guys noticed ahead. They hid in a large, closed room and ran up to Watanabe sitting on a chair.
-Look how they beat him up...
-There's not a single healthy spot on him!
-NO! Run!!!! Grimm!!! - Watanabe screamed incoherently, foaming at the mouth.
When everyone entered the room, they were trapped and the massive door slammed shut. It was propped up with a cabinet from behind.
-What the...
-Hey! Let us out! It's not funny, asshole!
Several tear gas grenades flew into the room, smoking heavily. - "What the hell is going on here?" Stendhal tore the fabric, covered his eyes and airways, and lay down in the corner without moving, holding his breath for the last time.
- Your mother! - the crowd ran around. They vainly banged on the door while the gas filled the huge concrete hall.
- Look, there are windows over there! - one of the guys pointed to the sealed windows located at a great height. It seemed that this was their only way out of the abandoned factory. The crowd tried to build a ladder from their bodies and climb up, but panic destroyed the structure. The result was bedlam and chaos without much result. No one could get out because of the panic.
- A-a-a-a!!! Cough-cough! - massive throat-tearing coughs were heard.
A silhouette in a gas mask entered the room full of coughing and choking crowds. He pulled the gun straight out of the holster and shot the unconscious guy in the head. The frozen horror of the remaining suffocating ones watched through tears in their eyes as the silhouette slowly walked over the heads, killing with each shot to the head. Having finished with the penultimate one, he approached the last body crammed into a corner, looking strange, so Taiko kept away from it.
Stendhal felt a threat, he waited until the gas more or less dissipated. With a quick movement, he hooked the silhouette with his foot. Stendhal wanted to use the chance to strike with his sword while the killer hesitated, he managed to cut the stomach, but the killer did not even think about falling from the pain, as if ignoring it. An exchange of blows began, where Taiko was significantly losing against the swordsman due to Stendhal's good fencing skills. Because of the bloody body under his feet, his step was knocked off and the katana hit his shoulder, but taking advantage of the wound he received and the position of the katana, Taiko broke it in half with one blow of his chitinous claw.
-!!!- Stendhal retreated, missing a couple of strong blows to the mask, which cracked it. Stendhal planned to use his quirk, because after tasting human blood, the target temporarily lost mobility, up to complete paralysis. But Taiko somehow either guessed about this, or simply took advantage of the swordsman's opportunity to deprive the sword. In any case, Stendhal now had little chance in close combat, considering that a rather deep wound did not make Taiko fall from pain, which quite indicated high resilience and battle hardening.
- I give up. - Stendhal hissed and dropped the broken sword into a pool of blood. Moreover, it would be difficult for him to find even a drop of the killer's blood in pools of blood. He wanted to buy time to escape. The constant question hanging in the air tormented him. -Who the hell are you? Could you be connected to that Judgment Night that the cult was talking about?
-That night... Those bastards, perhaps you yourself killed an innocent man. A person very close to me. - Taiko's voice was filled with hatred and contempt.
-I see. So they didn't kill Grimm. - Stendhal suddenly realized. -Really... are you Grimm?
The silhouette remained silent.
Stendhal continued. -My name is Stendhal and I have come to judge you for your crimes!
-Stendhal, answer me. Are you guilty or not... - an ominous tension hung in the room. Taiko realized that he had made a mistake by not fully checking the guilty parties. It is quite possible that Stendhal, like Matsurada, were innocent and only became witnesses - victims of circumstances.
-And you are only asking about this now?! You killed these people without even asking whether they were guilty or not.
-I don't care. If they are connected to the cult, then they will die.
- I don't even know what happened there, I wasn't there at all! I joined the cult recently to find Grimm!
- I'll tell you what happened there... When I returned to my burning house and walked further down the corridor, I saw the slashed and gutted body of a person very close to me. An innocent girl died at the hands of these monsters. - He raised his hands to demonstrate who exactly killed her. The guilty ones were lying around, bleeding. At that moment, Taiko felt a strange feeling emanating from Oneself. Again, a resonance was felt in his head.
Stendhal didn't know what to say. - I would have done the same... But that doesn't give you, Grimm, the right to be a hero for money. This is false heroism! Such people do not deserve to live in our society.
- And who deserves it? - Taiko interrupted him. - At least I did not hide my motives.
The answer made Stendhal fall silent and doubt his own convictions. This was also influenced by the ominous and bloody atmosphere of the massacre, which Grimm had arranged with one cunning trap.
-How tired I am...- Taiko said in the silence, -She would have supported me... - Taiko said with clenched teeth, leaving Stendhal, who was quite thoughtful, alone, standing among the bodies.
Taiko was clutching a pistol in one hand, and holding the wound on his stomach with the other. -"Don't worry, there's enough for you too, brother." - Taiko meant AFO. Since Taiko is a clone, this is not a guarantee that he is his son, but rather a defective clone who was lucky enough to survive in the arena one day.