In the stillness of the night, a lone figure strides confidently through the empty streets, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His relaxed demeanor and casual style mask the power within him. As he enjoys a rare moment of peace, shadows begin to gather. Five to eight dark figures emerge, their intentions clear and deadly.
Just as they prepare to strike, the man flicks his cigarette into the air. The shadowy assailants, momentarily distracted by the glowing ember, fail to notice the man vanish in a blur of speed. In an instant, they are struck down, their bodies hitting the ground with a thud. The attack is so fast, it happens in the blink of an eye, faster than the cigarette's ascent.
As the cigarette falls back to the ground, the man reappears, catching it effortlessly. The only sound the fallen assassins hear is the splash of water, like someone diving into a pool, before they meet their end. With a smirk, the man takes a drag from his cigarette, his eyes gleaming with a fierce determination.
As he continued to walk through the night streets, passing by many strangers, he saw the city lights showing off, trying to bait customers. From nightclubs to brothels, he walked past them, almost entering one but didn't feel like it. He thought if the girls had the look of his taste, maybe he would go to one of the places, but right now he was short on money. His paycheck hadn't come yet, and he became more frustrated. "I wish my hard work didn't just go to waste," he mumbled to himself.
Suddenly, he sensed something-a robbery in a big apartment right in front of him. The sound of water splashed, and he vanished from where he was standing. People noticed he was gone and were confused about where he went. Inside the apartment, a rich man was tied up and forced to open a large vault right below the apartment. The robbers warned the man to hurry while threatening his wife and kids. The rich man had no other choice and tried to open the vault, but they all heard the sound of someone swimming. They noticed and were aware because there was no swimming pool in the area, and it was becoming very close.
One of the robbers, with a sharp mind and steady hand, carried his rifle and slowly walked up to check. As he looked around, he found a cleaning robot stuck in the carpet making noise. The robber laughed and explained, "That's just a dumb robot stuck in the carpet." The other robbers felt relieved. The wife explained, "We don't own a cleaning robot." They became confused, then a voice came out, "Because that's just a distraction." They were shocked before the robber upstairs started to drop, sinking into the floor like he was in water and began to drown. The other four robbers panicked. One of them went up to check, only to share the same fate as the first robber.
Three of the robbers became worried and promised, "I will kill all the hostages if anyone gets close," with anger and caution. Then a sword launched from the ground, right below the robber who shouted, stabbing him right in the chest from behind. The two remaining robbers panicked. One robber decided to take the child as a shield while the other tried to reach the rich man to do the same. But a wire came out from the floor and covered the robber who tried to catch the rich man. The wire forcefully pulled back to the wall behind the robber, knocking him out as his head hit the wall. As they all saw the robber being covered by the wire, they started to see him being dragged as if wall behind him became liquid like water, slowly taking the robber inside. The last robber, scared while holding the child, said, "What the hell is that?" in a dreadful tone. Then a sound came from right behind him, "Like I said before, a distraction," and started to cut the robber, including the child he was holding. The parents panicked, but the blade passed through the child like it was cutting water before hitting the robber, ending his life with a single swing. As he dropped to the ground, it was like he dropped into a pool.
The family was safe, and the rich man couldn't thank him enough for saving them. The rich man asked the name of the guy. He replied, "My name is Anon." The rich man smiled and gifted Anon an envelope full of money. Anon's face became joyful and happy, but the wife asked, "Was it necessary to kill all of them?" Anon, with an understanding look on his face, explained to her, "Well, they had all sinned, and it wasn't the first time they had done it. After they opened the vault, they would have killed all of you." The room fell silent. The boy asked, "How do you know?" Anon replied, "I can see their memories and minds." As Anon was about to leave, he gave a farewell to the family, but for the rich man, he gave a warning as he whispered to him, "I wish you can change too. I can sense the same thing inside you. Don't let greed and pride control you. If not for your family's sake, the next time we meet, my blade will be yours." The rich man became silent, and Anon left as if he dropped into water where he was standing.
As Anon vanished into the watery abyss of his own making, the family stood in stunned silence. The rich man clutched his wife and child tightly, the weight of Anon's warning pressing heavily on his chest. His gaze shifted to the envelope of money Anon left behind on the floor.
Anon reemerged in an alley several blocks away, the rippling sound of water dissipating as his figure solidified. The streets were quieter now, the distant hum of the city blending with his thoughts. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag. The smoke swirled around him like a shroud, a subtle reminder of the darkness that seemed to follow him everywhere.
As he walked further into the depths of the city, his sharp senses picked up another disturbance-this time, a faint but distinct hum of energy. He turned a corner, finding himself in a desolate industrial area. The air felt heavier here, charged with something unnatural. Anon squinted into the dim light and saw several figures moving in and out of an abandoned warehouse. "Great," he muttered, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. "Another headache." He approached the warehouse silently, blending with the shadows like liquid. As he drew closer, he noticed strange markings etched into the walls-symbols that pulsed faintly, as if alive. Anon's eyes narrowed. These weren't ordinary criminals. This was something darker, something... ritualistic.
Inside, a group of hooded figures surrounded a glowing circle drawn on the floor. Strange chants echoed through the space, filling it with an ominous energy. At the center of the circle lay a young girl, bound and unconscious, her face pale and her breath shallow. Anon could feel the pull of the ritual-something was trying to break through. "Idiots," he muttered under his breath.
One of the hooded figures, seemingly the leader, raised a dagger high above the girl, his voice booming as the chant reached its crescendo. Before he could bring the blade down, the sound of rippling water filled the room. The chant faltered as the figures turned, searching for the source.
Anon emerged from the shadows, his calm demeanor unchanged. "I hate to interrupt your little party," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm, "but I think it's time you all went for a swim."
The leader sneered. "Who dares to disrupt the summoning of-" His words were cut short as Anon raised his hand, and the floor beneath the man rippled like water. In an instant, the leader was pulled under, his screams muffled as he vanished into the liquid void.
The other cultists panicked, their formation breaking as they tried to flee. Anon moved with precision, each step calculated. He summoned wires of liquid that lashed out like tendrils, binding and dragging the hooded figures into the watery depths one by one. Their cries echoed briefly before being silenced, leaving only the sound of splashing and the hum of the ritual circle.
Anon turned his attention to the girl. The circle was still active, its glow intensifying as if resisting his interference. He reached out, his hand glowing faintly with his own energy.
"Let's put an end to this," he said, thrusting his hand into the circle.
A wave of force erupted from the center, sending debris flying. The glow of the circle faded, and the oppressive energy in the room dissipated. Anon staggered back slightly but quickly regained his composure. He untied the girl and carried her out of the warehouse, her frail form cradled in his arms.
As he stepped back into the night, he could hear distant sirens approaching. He laid the girl on a nearby bench, ensuring she was stable. Before he left, he placed a note in her pocket: "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Stay away from people like that. Not everyone will be there to save you."
Anon vanished into the shadows once more, leaving no trace behind. The city, oblivious to the horrors that had just been averted, continued its restless slumber. But Anon knew this was just the beginning. The markings on the walls, the ritual, the energy-it all pointed to something larger, something far more dangerous brewing beneath the surface.
As he lit another cigarette, he couldn't help but smirk. "Looks like the night's just getting started."
Anon lit his cigarette with a flick of his lighter, the faint glow illuminating his face for a brief moment before being swallowed by the darkness around him. The eldritch glow of the runes on the warehouse walls still lingered in his mind. He hadn't been able to erase them completely; their power was tied to something far older and far greater than any simple ritual.
He exhaled a cloud of smoke, his sharp eyes scanning the skyline. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the faint hum of a familiar song. It wasn't audible to others, but it resonated in his mind-a discordant melody that marked the presence of Him.
"The King," he muttered under his breath, a faint smile creeping onto his face. It was both a term of reverence and a nickname he had chosen for his master-the inscrutable, otherworldly being known as the King in Yellow.
Anon didn't serve out of blind loyalty. He had made a pact long ago, one that tethered him to the will of the King. In exchange for a fragment of the King's vast knowledge and power, Anon had taken on the role of an enforcer-an instrument of eldritch justice. His task was simple: to eliminate those who disrupted the natural flow of the cosmos with their greed, their corruption, and their meddling in forces they couldn't comprehend.
The hum grew louder as the sky above the city shifted subtly. The stars seemed to shimmer unnaturally, and a faint yellow hue tinged the edges of the horizon. Anon stopped walking, closing his eyes and tilting his head as if listening.
"I know, I know," he said quietly, his voice carrying an edge of irritation. "Another sinner messing with things they shouldn't. You never let me rest, do you?"
The melody grew sharper, more insistent. Anon sighed, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. "Fine. Lead the way."
The path the King guided him down took him deeper into the city's underbelly, where the streets grew narrower and the shadows longer. The air felt heavier here, almost oppressive, and Anon could sense the presence of something unnatural ahead. He followed the trail until he reached an abandoned cathedral, its once-majestic structure now a crumbling ruin.
Inside, the air reeked of decay and desperation. At the center of the decrepit hall, a group of individuals surrounded a massive, ornate mirror that pulsed with a sickly yellow light. The mirror's surface rippled like liquid, and faint whispers emanated from its depths.
Anon's eyes narrowed. "Idiots. Trying to summon what they can't control."
One of the cultists turned, sensing Anon's presence. "Who dares to enter this sacred-" The words died in his throat as he saw the sigil glowing faintly on Anon's chest-the mark of the King in Yellow. The cultist staggered back, his face contorted in fear.
"Y-you serve Him..." the cultist stammered.
Anon stepped forward, his voice cold and commanding. "You've called upon forces you can't even begin to understand. Did you think the King wouldn't notice your insolence?"
The mirror's surface began to ripple more violently, as if responding to Anon's words. The cultists scrambled, their bravado crumbling in the face of the eldritch energy radiating from the mirror. One of them foolishly tried to attack Anon, but before he could get close, his body was seized by unseen forces. His limbs twisted and bent unnaturally before he was dragged into the mirror, his screams fading into the void.
Anon didn't flinch. He raised his hand, the air around him distorting as liquid-like tendrils of light and shadow erupted from the floor. The tendrils lashed out at the remaining cultists, pulling them into the ground or slamming them against the crumbling walls. Each one met their end with a wet, echoing splash, as if they were being consumed by an unseen ocean.
The last cultist dropped to his knees, trembling. "Please... have mercy..."
Anon knelt down, his glowing eyes meeting the man's. "Mercy isn't my department. You've sinned against the natural order. The cosmos demands balance."
With a flick of his wrist, a blade of liquid light appeared in Anon's hand. The cultist's scream was cut short as the blade passed through him, leaving his body to dissolve into a pool of shimmering water.
Anon turned his attention to the mirror. It pulsed violently, the whispers growing louder, almost deafening. He reached out and touched its surface, his hand sinking into the liquid-like glass. His voice was calm, but it carried an undeniable authority.
"Your will is done, my King. This portal is no longer needed."
The mirror's glow dimmed, its surface solidifying and cracking before shattering into countless fragments. The oppressive energy in the cathedral dissipated, leaving only silence.
Anon stood there for a moment, staring at the shattered remains of the mirror. The faint hum of the King's melody returned, a reminder of his eternal duty.
He lit another cigarette and walked out of the cathedral, his expression unreadable. As the stars above shifted back to their normal positions, the faint yellow hue on the horizon faded.
"Another job done," he muttered. "Now, where's that paycheck?"
As Anon stepped out of the decrepit cathedral, the cool night air hit him, bringing a brief moment of relief. He reached into his coat pocket, fishing out another cigarette. The stars above had returned to their usual positions, their light faint but constant.
He struck his lighter, the small flame casting a soft glow on his face. Just as the cigarette touched his lips, a loud whoosh sounded above him.
THUD!
A large, overstuffed burlap bag dropped from the sky, landing squarely on Anon's head and sending him crashing to the ground. His cigarette flew out of his mouth and rolled to the side, unlit. He groaned, sprawled out on the cobblestones, rubbing his head.
"Why," he muttered with a groan, "why can't I smoke in peace?"
The bag, now resting beside him, split open slightly, revealing stacks of cash-crisp, neatly bundled bills that almost glowed in the moonlight. Anon blinked at the sight, his irritation fading into a mix of disbelief and amusement. He reached out, grabbing a handful of the money and inspecting it.
"Well, guess my paycheck's here," he said with a wry grin, pushing himself up to sit against the crumbling wall. "Nice of Him to drop it on my head. Subtle as always, King."
Anon leaned back, the bag of money resting beside him as he finally lit his cigarette. He took a long drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke that spiraled upward like an otherworldly sigil.
"Slay cultists, sinners, and monsters, he says," Anon muttered to himself, counting the cash. "Disrupt the cosmos, and they pay the price. And here I thought eldritch gods didn't believe in rewarding their employees."
The faint hum of the King in Yellow's song returned, swirling in Anon's mind like a distant, haunting hymn. It wasn't oppressive this time; instead, it carried a faint sense of approval, as if the King were acknowledging a job well done.
Anon chuckled, shaking his head. "I get it, I get it. I'll keep cleaning up your messes. Just try not to give me a concussion with the next payment, yeah?"
He stood, slinging the bag of money over his shoulder. The weight was substantial, but Anon carried it effortlessly. He began walking down the street, the glow of his cigarette illuminating his path.
But as he walked, the night grew unnaturally quiet. The faint whispers of the King's melody shifted, becoming sharper, more urgent. Anon paused, his senses on high alert.
"Another one already?" he asked aloud, scanning his surroundings. "You've got to be kidding me. Can't a guy enjoy his smoke?"
The shadows around him began to ripple unnaturally, like the surface of a disturbed pond. A cold, otherworldly presence filled the air, and the stars above seemed to dim. Anon sighed, dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his boot.
"Guess the cosmos never sleeps," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "All right, King, show me where the next freak show is."
The rippling shadows coalesced into a single point, forming a jagged tear in the fabric of reality. Beyond it, Anon could see glimpses of a grotesque, otherworldly landscape-twisted spires, endless voids, and shifting colors that defied logic.
From the rift emerged a hulking figure, its body covered in writhing tendrils and eyes that blinked erratically. The creature let out a guttural, echoing roar, its very presence distorting the air around it.
Anon smirked, tossing the bag of money to the side. His hands crackled with energy as liquid-like tendrils of light and shadow emerged from the ground, coiling around him like living weapons.
"All right, big guy," he said, his voice dripping with confidence. "Let's dance."
As the eldritch monstrosity lunged toward him, the faint hum of the King in Yellow's melody rose to a crescendo, guiding Anon's every move.