The city was a graveyard of shadows. The rain fell like needles, sharp and unrelenting, stabbing the cobblestones with a rhythmic violence that mirrored the chaos in Lucius's heart. He stood in the middle of the street, his boots submerged in the filthy water pooling around the gutters, his figure a silhouette against the fractured light of a flickering lamppost. Blood seeped from his knuckles, dripping into the puddles below, as he gripped the remnants of his shattered dagger.
"Is this what you wanted, Liora?" he muttered to the ghost of her memory. His voice was a low snarl, barely audible over the cacophony of thunder. The city around him seemed alive, a monstrous entity, its alleys breathing with the stench of decay and despair.
His quarry was near. He could feel it—a tug, a pulsating resonance in his mind that drew him toward the next sinner. The Mark of Sin on his chest burned with an unholy warmth, feeding on his anger, his hatred, and his grief. This wasn't just about justice anymore. It was a personal reckoning.
Lucius moved with predatory grace, his eyes scanning the dimly lit alleyways. The buildings leaned over him like silent witnesses, their cracked facades and boarded windows hiding secrets that would never see the light of day. His target was a man named Karlo Varg—a sadist who thrived on the suffering of others. Karlo had built an empire on the flesh of the innocent, selling their pain to the highest bidder.
As Lucius approached Karlo's lair, an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city, he felt the weight of his mission intensify. The warehouse loomed before him, its broken windows glowing faintly with the sickly yellow light of oil lamps. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of chemicals.
Lucius kicked the rusted door open, the sound echoing through the cavernous space. Inside, the scene was one of grotesque debauchery. The walls were lined with hooks and chains, some still dripping with fresh blood. In the center of the room, Karlo sat on a throne of twisted metal, surrounded by his henchmen. They were a motley crew of thugs and mercenaries, their faces scarred and their eyes devoid of empathy.
"Lucius Darnell," Karlo drawled, his voice oozing arrogance. He leaned forward, his greasy hair falling over his pockmarked face. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Come to join the fun?"
Lucius didn't respond. His silence was a weapon, a blade sharper than any dagger. He let his eyes do the talking, their cold, unrelenting glare slicing through the bravado of Karlo's words.
Karlo laughed, a sound that was more animal than human. "Oh, don't be shy. You're just like me, aren't you? A monster pretending to be righteous."
That was the moment Lucius snapped.
In a blur of motion, he lunged at the nearest henchman, his fist connecting with a sickening crunch. The man crumpled to the ground, his nose shattered, blood spurting like a fountain. Lucius didn't stop. He moved like a storm, his blows precise and devastating. Bones broke, screams echoed, and blood painted the walls.
Karlo watched in stunned silence as his men were dismantled, one by one. Lucius was no longer human. He was a force of nature, an avatar of vengeance.
When the last henchman fell, Lucius turned his attention to Karlo. The man's confidence had evaporated, replaced by a terror that made him visibly tremble.
"You think you're untouchable," Lucius growled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very foundation of the building. "You think your wealth and power will protect you. But there's no escape from sin, Karlo. No escape from me."
Karlo tried to run, but Lucius was faster. He grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him off the ground with a single hand. Karlo clawed at Lucius's arm, his nails drawing blood, but it was futile.
Lucius slammed Karlo against the wall, his grip tightening. "Do you feel it?" he hissed. "The weight of your sins? The lives you've destroyed? They're all here, Karlo, and they're hungry for justice."
With a flick of his wrist, Lucius threw Karlo across the room. The man crashed into a pile of metal, his body a broken heap. Lucius approached slowly, his boots crunching against the debris.
He knelt beside Karlo, his face inches from the man's. "Your punishment," he whispered, "will be a reflection of your crimes."
Lucius reached into his coat and pulled out a vial of black liquid. He uncorked it and poured it over Karlo's face. The liquid sizzled on contact, eating away at the flesh like acid. Karlo's screams filled the air, a symphony of agony that echoed through the warehouse.
But Lucius wasn't done. He took his dagger and carved the Mark of Sin into Karlo's chest, the blade cutting deep into the muscle. Blood flowed freely, pooling around them.
When it was over, Karlo was unrecognizable, his body a grotesque canvas of pain and retribution. Lucius stood over him, his chest heaving, his hands stained with blood.
The Mark of Sin on his chest pulsed, feeding on the energy of Karlo's torment. Lucius felt a surge of power, a dark, intoxicating rush that made him question his humanity.
He left the warehouse without looking back, the rain washing away the blood on his hands but not the stains on his soul.
The abyss was calling, and Lucius was more than willing to answer.