That night, Ethan Bishop was at the VIP lounge of the Crimson Shot Bar, one of the most luxurious and elite bars in all of Pantheon Valley. He was there with a couple of friends, celebrating a new international deal acquisition he had made, thanks to his earlier interview. He was having the time of his life when suddenly—
"Ethan Bishop, for someone so bold and audacious, you really are an easy man to find," a voice said.
Ethan Bishop's heart skipped a beat before he raised his gaze to see who had spoken. It was Jacob Harrington.
"Jayy, my man!" he beckoned excitedly.
Jacob and Ethan had known each other for quite some time. They had fought for the same causes and opposing ones. For lack of a better word, they were frenemies.
"Come on, have a seat! Join us," Ethan Bishop invited cheerfully.
"I was hoping to speak to you alone," Jacob said.
"Really? Is it that important?" Ethan Bishop asked, reluctant to leave the party just yet.
"Presumably so, I'm afraid," Jacob explained.
"Can't it wait? As you can see, I'm kind of in the middle of something," Ethan said, still trying to sway him into leaving.
Jacob Harrington rolled his eyes and wondered to himself why he was trying so hard for a man who couldn't care less.
"A second later, and it could cost you your life," Jacob Harrington uttered.
The entire lounge suite fell into abrupt silence at the threat. Ethan Bishop signaled for everyone to get out, which they did instantly.
"I appreciate your audience," Jacob said, taking his seat.
"Only a fool prioritizes pleasure over their life, so tell me, my good friend, what is this about?" Ethan replied.
"This is about your earlier interview."
"Yeah, what about it?"
"As well as the rumors which appear to be flying around faster than the wind itself."
Ethan Bishop erupted into a burst of laughter, realizing what Jacob's visit was about.
"Is this about the whole Seraphina Lockwood Maverick contract thing? Are you here to ask if it really happened?" he squeezed out between his uproarious laughs.
"No, I am here to ask you to retract your statement about it during the interview and publicly address it as a rumor," Jacob Harrington said with a straight face and voice.
"Is that a joke?" Ethan asked, still laughing, but his laughter had subsided by a good margin.
"As well as clearing Seraphina Lockwood's name from this mess," Jacob Harrington ordered.
It was then Ethan realized how serious Jacob Harrington was. Ethan Bishop rearranged his composure and cleared his throat before speaking.
"And why would I do that?" he asked.
"Because I am asking you to," Jacob said authoritatively.
"Haha, and what makes you God?" Ethan Bishop jested.
"Name your price," Jacob said again authoritatively.
A blank check from Jacob Harrington was a dream for anyone, even someone as wealthy as Ethan. But retracting his statement would make him look like a fool in the eyes of everyone. He could become the jest of Pantheon Valley, dragging his family name through the mud as well. He would become a loser. But most of all, he wanted to teach Seraphina and Alexander a lesson. A mean, nasty lesson.
"Hmm, tempting, but I'm afraid I'll have to pass," Ethan Bishop said.
Jacob was admittedly shocked by his rejection of the offer.
"Please reconsider, for your own sake."
"Or what, Harrington? What are you going to do if I don't comply with your wish? Besides, why do you care about this so much? This clearly has nothing to do with you. But either way, do your worst, Harrington. I ain't scared of you."
Jacob Harrington let out a soft chuckle. "I am not the one you should be scared of."
"Who then?"
"When I was younger, my butler used to tell me a story of the sleeping knight."
"What's that?"
"It's a story about a knight who defended and protected his village until one day he was betrayed badly by the villagers he had sworn to protect. Fumed with rage and spite, the knight was going to destroy the entire village but instead cast himself into a deep slumber, along with his rage and spite. But he did so with a declaration to destroy the village if he was ever woken up."
"That's one hell of a story, but could you get to the point so I can return to the party?"
Jacob Harrington was about to explain, but then he realized it was useless. Ethan Bishop was too stubborn, prideful, and wicked to heed his words by apologizing to Seraphina Lockwood and fixing the mess he had dragged her name into. And for that, maybe he deserved what was coming. Jacob concluded to himself. He rose to his feet.
"Have a good night, Ethan. Let's hope it's not your last."
...
That midnight,
The night was electric and still young for Ethan Bishop and his friends, who were crammed into a sleek, black mini limousine, cruising down the deserted highway. They were returning from the Crimson Bar, having an after-party. The stereo blasted rock music, and the group was in a blend of laughter and singing. Ethan, sitting in the passenger seat, glanced at the speedometer — they were pushing 80 mph.
Suddenly, without warning, the night erupted into chaos. The driver spotted a figure just up ahead.
"Sir," he beckoned, catching Ethan Bishop's attention.
It was a man, clad in a dark, skin-tight suit with a green emblem, a hood over his head and a mask across his face, standing ominously in the middle of the road. His presence was like a shadowy specter, radiating an aura of agility and menace. He wielded a pair of escrima sticks, glinting under the streetlights.
"Don't stop!" Ethan barked, his voice cutting through the laughter. "Hit him!"
The driver, eyes wide with a mix of fear and adrenaline, floored the gas pedal. The engine roared as the car hurtled towards the stranger. At the last second, the man leaped into the air, performing an effortless somersault over the speeding car.
Ethan's heart pounded in his chest as he watched in awe. The stranger, mid-air, drew an escrima stick from his belt and hurled it with precision. The stick pierced through the rear windshield, shattering glass everywhere, and embedded itself into the car radio. Sparks flew, and the music died abruptly, replaced by an eerie silence. The group's laughter turned to terrified gasps.
Ethan twisted in his seat to see the pole now lodged in the back of the car. Bold letters, stark against the metal, read: **Prepare to meet your end.**
"Who the hell is that?" one of Ethan's friends whispered, panic edging his voice.
Ethan's mind raced. This wasn't a random encounter; it was a challenge. His eyes met the dark, now-distant figure in the rearview mirror, and he knew — the night was just beginning, and they were far from safe.