Damien reached the location Aria mentioned in her note, his eyes scanning the area with sharp precision. Broken glass was scattered across the ground, glinting faintly under the muted sunlight. The scene looked like a fight had taken place not too long ago. His pulse quickened—Aria was nowhere in sight.
Kneeling down, he inspected the ground closely. His gaze shifted, catching a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Moving quickly, he picked up a small piece of torn fabric. It was red, the exact shade Aria was wearing. Bringing it closer to his face, he sniffed, and a familiar scent filled his nostrils—a soft, natural fragrance like fresh jasmine after a rainstorm.
The piece of fabric was jagged at the edges, clearly ripped apart in a struggle. A chill ran through him. Whoever—or whatever—took her didn't do so willingly.
Suddenly, the faint crunch of footsteps sounded behind him. Damien's body tensed. He glanced at the shattered glass in front of him, spotting the reflection of a man raising a sword, aiming to strike him from behind.
In an instant, Damien shifted to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade. His reflexes were sharp. Grabbing the attacker's wrist, he twisted it with enough force to make the sword fall to the ground.
"Please!" the man cried out, his voice cracking as pain shot through his arm. "I thought you were one of them!"
Damien's grip didn't loosen. His voice was calm but firm. "One of who?"
The man winced, his knees buckling under Damien's hold. "Ahhh... They call themselves the Reapers! They're just a gang of thugs who steal food and imprison anyone who doesn't obey. They were here about an hour ago. They took my people!"
Damien's brows furrowed. "Did they take a girl wearing red?" His voice was edged with urgency.
The man's eyes darted nervously, his mind struggling to focus under the pain. "Red...?" He paused, clenching his teeth. "Now that you mention it, I do remember a girl wearing red. Beautiful, with long black hair and green eyes..."
Damien's heart skipped a beat. That was Aria.
"Where did they take her?" Damien demanded, his grip tightening slightly.
The man hesitated, clearly terrified. "Their camp... it's not far. But listen—don't go there. Forget about the girl. She's theirs now."
Damien's eyes darkened. "What do you mean, 'she's theirs now?'"
The man's voice lowered, his expression solemn. "Their leader... he's known for capturing beautiful women and keeping them for himself. If she's with him, there's nothing you can do. Just walk away, man. It's not worth it."
The air around them seemed to grow colder as Damien stared at the man. His next words came out low and threatening, sending a chill down the man's spine. "Take me there."
"S-Sir... but—if you go—"
"Take me there."
The man gulped, his fear overwhelming him. "Y-Yes... it's this way," he stammered, leading Damien toward the camp.
---
When they arrived, Damien's eyes narrowed. The camp was set up in an abandoned police station, the building's windows boarded up and the structure fortified with makeshift barriers.
Three guards stood at the entrance, lazily playing dice on the ground. Each of them held a gun, but they were too engrossed in their game to notice Damien's approach.
Damien's companion, Sam, barely noticed when Damien slipped away. Silent as a shadow, Damien crept toward the guards.
"I envy the boss, not gonna lie," one of them said, chuckling.
"Dude, that girl's got quality. Pretty face, perfect frame, nice ass"
"Hahahaha," the others laughed, oblivious to the danger behind them.
"Nice topic you're discussing out here," Damien said calmly, standing just a few feet behind them.
The guards froze, their laughter dying instantly. One of them spun around, his eyes wide. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Your end," Damien replied, his voice ice-cold.
Without another word, he delivered a crushing punch to the closest guard's face. The man's eyes rolled back as he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
"Shit!" The second guard scrambled to raise his gun, but Damien was already on him. "Too slow," Damien whispered in his ear before kicking the gun from his hands. A swift chop to the neck sent the guard collapsing to the ground, gasping for air before passing out.
The third guard didn't waste time. He raised his weapon and fired.
Pow!
The gunshot echoed through the empty streets. The guard's hands trembled as he searched for his target, expecting Damien to be lying in a pool of blood.
But Damien was already behind him.
"H-How did you—"
Before he could finish, Damien delivered a devastating kick to his chest. The force sent the guard flying backward. He hit the ground hard, coughing up blood before losing consciousness.
Damien stood over the three unconscious men, his breathing steady. He had been careful not to kill them. The world already had enough death; he wouldn't add to it if he didn't have to.
Turning back to Sam, who stood frozen in shock, Damien gestured toward the entrance. "Let's go."
Sam nodded, his legs shaking as he followed Damien inside.
The echo of the gunshot stirred the entire camp into action. Inside the abandoned police station, the Reapers scrambled into position. Barricades made from overturned desks and steel lockers were set up across the main hall. The gang members crouched behind them, clutching their guns tightly.
"Stay alert!" barked one of the men, his face grim. "Whoever took down the guards is coming this way!"
The room fell into a tense silence. Each member's eyes darted toward the entrance, their fingers resting on their triggers.
But the expected enemy didn't come through the door.
"Where is this guy? He should've been here by now," came a calm, mocking voice.
The men froze. The voice wasn't coming from the entrance—it was behind them.
They turned around as one, their faces filled with shock and fear. There, standing casually on top of a filing cabinet, was Damien. His hands were in his pockets, his posture relaxed as if he didn't have a care in the world.
"Fuck! He's here!" one of the men shouted, panic breaking the silence.
The room erupted into chaos.
Several of the Reapers fired their guns, the sharp cracks echoing in the confined space. But Damien wasn't there anymore. He moved like a shadow, disappearing before their bullets could find him.
"Over here," his voice called out again, this time from the far side of the room.
The men whirled around, firing in the direction of the voice. But again, there was nothing.
"Too slow," Damien whispered, suddenly appearing beside one of them. Before the man could react, Damien grabbed the barrel of his gun and bent it upward with terrifying ease. The man's eyes widened in disbelief just before Damien delivered a sharp blow to his temple, knocking him out cold.
The others yelled and fired, but Damien was already gone, moving through the room like a ghost.
Another Reaper found himself face-to-face with Damien. He swung the butt of his rifle in desperation, but Damien ducked effortlessly. Grabbing the man's arm, Damien twisted it sharply, forcing the weapon to fall to the ground. A swift kick to the chest sent the Reaper sprawling across the floor.
"Is this the best you've got?" Damien taunted, his voice calm yet cutting.
"Spread out!" one of the remaining men shouted, his voice shaking.
The group tried to encircle him, their guns raised. But Damien was faster—inhumanly fast. He dashed toward one of the men, ducking under a hail of bullets. With one fluid motion, he grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him into the barricade. The impact was so strong that the makeshift structure collapsed.
"Stay down," Damien muttered, watching as the man slumped unconscious to the floor.
The remaining Reapers were visibly terrified now. "He's not human!" one of them screamed, his voice cracking with fear.
"Thanks for noticing," Damien said dryly, appearing right behind him.
The man spun around, his gun shaking in his hands. But before he could pull the trigger, Damien grabbed the weapon and crushed it with one hand. The man stumbled backward, his eyes wide with horror. Damien didn't give him a chance to react further—one swift jab to the stomach, and the man collapsed, clutching his midsection.
The last two Reapers stood back-to-back, their guns trained on the shadows. "Show yourself!" one of them yelled, his voice trembling.
Damien's voice echoed around them, cold and mocking. "If you insist."
He dropped down from above, landing between them with the agility of a predator. Before they could react, he grabbed one by the wrist and twisted, disarming him. A quick roundhouse kick sent the man crashing into a wall.
The final Reaper tried to run, but Damien was faster. In a blur, he appeared in front of the man, blocking his path. "Going somewhere?" Damien asked, his tone as calm as ever.
The man's knees gave out, and he dropped to the ground, his hands raised in surrender. "Please... don't kill me," he begged.
Damien stared at him for a moment before stepping back. "Leave. Tell the rest of your gang what happens when you mess with the wrong people."
The man didn't need to be told twice. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted toward the exit, stumbling over the unconscious bodies of his comrades on the way.
Damien surveyed the room, his breathing steady. Broken barricades, crushed weapons, and unconscious bodies lay scattered around him. He hadn't killed a single one, but he had made his point loud and clear.
Turning toward Sam, who had been hiding near the entrance, Damien gestured for him to follow. "Let's keep moving. We're not done yet."