Not paying more attention to their chatter, Cier moved silently toward the door, his footsteps light and deliberate. Reaching it, he noticed it wasn't locked. He carefully pushed it open just enough to peek inside.
The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by a few flickering candles on the table. His eyes scanned the scene. Four men occupied the space: three were seated, their casual conversation continuing, while the fourth appeared to have already succumbed to the effects of the alcohol. His head rested on the table, snoring lightly amidst the clutter of opened bottles and half-filled glasses.
Empty bottles lay scattered, and the faint smell of strong liquor wafted out. The three awake men looked relaxed, their postures careless as they sipped and joked, oblivious to any potential danger outside their little bubble of indulgence.
Cier's gaze darkened as he calculated his next move.
Cier knew this had to be quick and decisive. Hesitation or creating any commotion could risk alerting others in the brothel, something he could not afford. His mind raced as he devised a plan, the urgency sharpening his focus.
Without wasting another moment, he extended his threads. They moved silently, slithering through the air like invisible serpents, latching onto their targets with precision. One thread attached to each man's head, while another found its way to their hands.
The room remained undisturbed as the threads settled into place. The three awake men continued their casual chatter, unaware of the danger that had silently ensnared them. Even the sleeping man remained oblivious, his snores a faint backdrop to the tense atmosphere.
Suddenly, the men froze, their casual expressions twisting into confusion and fear. An unsettling force had seized control of their heads, rendering them helpless.
Before they could even react or shout for help, their mouths opened involuntarily, as though controlled by some unseen puppeteer. Panic flashed in their eyes, but it was too late.
With a swift, brutal motion, their jaws snapped shut, as if compelled by an unrelenting force. Teeth sank into soft flesh, tearing through their own tongues with sickening ease. Blood gushed from their mouths, spilling onto the table and floor in crimson streaks. The severed pieces fell limp, leaving them choking on the metallic taste and the overwhelming pain. Their muffled screams were nothing more than garbled sounds, their attempts to cry out reduced to pathetic gurgles as they writhed in horror and agony.
With another commanding tug on the threads, their free hands moved in unison, grabbing nearby bottles with a chilling precision. In one swift motion, they smashed the bottles against the ground, shards scattering across the floor. Before any of them could resist or comprehend what was happening, the jagged edges of the broken glass were driven into their own necks with merciless force. The sharp, exposed points tore through skin and flesh, unleashing streams of blood that spurted and pooled on the ground.
Within moments, the gruesome act was over, and their lifeless bodies collapsed to the floor, the once-lively room now eerily silent, save for the faint drip of blood falling to the ground.
Looking at the bloody scene, Cier remained surprisingly composed. He wasn't too disturbed—his past had exposed him to far worse. Bloodshed was not new to him, and these men, in his eyes, had earned their fate. Being part of the Lizardborn gang, they were notorious for their cruelty, often killing for sheer entertainment and sport. Their demise was insignificant to the world.
With his work here done, he turned his attention to finding Abel. Scanning the surrounding rooms, he sharpened his focus on one in particular. From behind its door, faint sounds could be heard—muffled voices and the occasional creak of furniture. Cier knew he had found his next target.
Coming closer, Cier operated his threads with precision, using them to manipulate the lock. Living in this rough part of the city had taught him a few things, and picking a lock was no longer a challenge. The door clicked softly, and he carefully pushed it open, peering inside.
What he saw confirmed his guess. On the bed, two figures were tangled together—Abel, unmistakably, and the woman he assumed was the one called Jenny. They were too preoccupied to notice the intrusion, giving Cier the perfect opportunity to act.
Without hesitation, he sent a thread toward Abel, seizing control of both his hands. Abel's movements froze mid-action, confusion briefly flickering across his face. At the same time, Cier directed another thread, swiftly landing a precise chop at the base of the woman's neck. Jenny slumped forward, unconscious, her body collapsing onto the bed.
"Who—" Abel's voice broke into a panicked gasp, but before he could finish, one of the two threads detached from his hand and shot toward his head. It drilled into his temple with unnerving precision, silencing him instantly. His body stiffened, his eyes wide with fear and confusion, as he realized he was utterly powerless.
"Now I ask, and you answer. Got it?" Cier's muffled voice was cold and commanding, his identity carefully concealed.
"And remember," he added, his tone darkening, "answer correctly, or the Lizardborn gang might find itself short one member today."
"Do you know a boy named Cier?" Cier asked again, his voice cold and controlled as he released his grip on Abel's head.
"Y-you—" Abel stammered, his fear escalating. "I am a member of Lizardborn! Let me go, our gang leader is powerful—"
Before Abel could finish, Cier swiftly took control again, sending a thread into Abel's head, halting his words.
"Haah," Cier exhaled, his frustration evident. "Why don't you understand? I only told you to answer my question."
With a swift pull, Cier forced Abel's hand to punch the wall with all its force. A Abel's fingers snapped as the impact shattered them. The pain caused Abel to writhe, his feet and hands jerking uncontrollably, but he couldn't scream or resist as his body was forced to move in agony.
"Now you understand, right?" Cier asked, his voice laced with satisfaction as he savored the small measure of revenge.