The city pulsed with life, its towering buildings scraping the heavens and casting shadows over the bustling streets below. The sun shone fiercely, as if trying to burn away the city's grime, while the air was filled with the blaring wail of police sirens. People swarmed around a crime scene—a man, middle-aged and portly, lay dead in a puddle of his own blood. His business suit was stained, his life extinguished far too soon. Nearby, an open locket sat, its delicate hinges revealed a photograph: the man, his wife, and their young daughter. Paramedics hurried to remove his lifeless body, while officers and detectives scoured the scene for clues. Onlookers gathered, drawn by the allure of the spectacle, their eyes wide with morbid curiosity. The crowd spilled into the streets, causing a chaotic blockage that halted the flow of traffic.
Just across the street, standing at a distance from the uproar, was a man. His long, curly hair cascaded down to his shoulders, but one red strand, distinct and unruly, draped over one of his eyes. He wore a simple white shirt, jeans, and carried a duffel bag, his demeanor indifferent as he watched the chaos unfold. He took out a pair of shades and slid them on.
"Small world!" A voice called from behind.
Sirius turned slightly, spotting the source. A blonde man, with striking orange eyes, approached. His jean jacket was weathered, and his ripped jeans screamed of a youthful rebellion.
"Odd seeing you out of work, Sirius!" the blonde man remarked, his tone lighthearted.
Sirius didn't seem surprised. It wasn't unusual for Zayd Clark to pop up uninvited, but still, the situation felt... off.
"I'm... it's my birthday," Sirius muttered, shifting his weight, uncomfortable with the sudden intrusion.
"Ah shit!" Zayd's eyes widened, "How old are you turning?"
Sirius paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on the scene across the street, where a police officer waved a hand to keep the crowd at bay. Then he answered, without looking at Zayd.
"Twenty-one."
Zayd raised an eyebrow. "Jeez, man, you're young! Not younger than me, but you sure do give off depressed middle-aged man vibes."
Sirius sighed inwardly. Can't this guy just leave me alone? I barely talk to him at work. What's with this sudden "buddy-buddy" act? He quickened his pace, walking away, hoping the conversation would die.
"Shouldn't you be at work, Zayd?" Sirius asked, still walking.
Zayd fell into step behind him, undeterred. "I'm off these days."
"Really?" Sirius turned his head, looking at Zayd with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. "What were you up to before you decided to start talking to me?"
Zayd scratched his head. "I was gonna buy a TV for my apartment."
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Apartment? Aren't you 18, just out of school?"
Zayd shrugged. "Got kicked out of my parents' house. Didn't want to go to college, so they didn't want me around."
Sirius couldn't help but scoff under his breath. "Eighteen and living alone. Must be a hell of a way to start life."
Zayd looked at him with a faint, nervous smile. "Now that I think of it, Sirius, you're young enough to be in college."
"I dropped out," Sirius replied, without missing a beat. "Got bored with it."
Zayd let out a short laugh. "Maybe I dodged a bullet by not going to college."
Sirius gave him a sideways glance. This guy joined a week ago as a part-time janitor. He's barely of age and doesn't even work full-time. He's probably just starting to get the hang of living alone. That explains why he's buying a TV in the middle of the day—he's probably celebrating his first paycheck. And I'm guessing he's talking to me because he's lonely. He's looking for a friend. How... sad.
"Sirius, hello?" Zayd waved his hand in front of Sirius's face.
Sirius blinked, breaking free from his inner thoughts. "Sorry," he muttered. "I tend to zone out."
Zayd grinned. "It's alright! Oh, by the way, I've never heard a name like Sirius."
"Yeah, it's Greek or something," Sirius shrugged. "My parents realized it was weird after they named me, so they started calling me S.H."
"Why S.H.?" Zayd asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sirius exhaled sharply. "My full name is Sirius Helios Ariti. S.H. is just the first letters of my first and middle name."
"Sirius HELIOS Ariti?" Zayd laughed. "Your name makes you sound like some ancient god. Like someone's casting a spell or something!"
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Sin of the parents."
The two of them continued their walk, the sounds of the city washing over them, until they reached an apartment building. Sirius stopped, and for the first time, he looked at Zayd directly.
"This is my stop," he said, his voice terse. "Goodbye."
But Zayd didn't move. He stepped in front of Sirius, blocking his way.
Sirius's patience snapped. What the hell is this guy doing? Why won't he just leave me alone?
"Stop, S.H.! Give me your phone!" Zayd said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
Sirius took a step back, confused and cautious. "Huh? Why?"
Without waiting for an answer, Zayd lunged forward, hands diving into each of Sirius's pockets. Sirius struggled to keep him at bay.
"Hey! What are you doing?!" Sirius snapped, trying to pull away.
Zayd ignored him, finally yanking out the phone and turning it on. "What are you doing with my phone?" Sirius demanded, his heart rate picking up.
Zayd began swiping furiously through the phone, his fingers a blur.
"My phone has a password," Sirius warned, though he knew it wouldn't stop Zayd.
"Unlock it!" Zayd barked, thrusting the phone back into Sirius's hands.
Sirius sighed, feeling the weight of the intrusion. He typed in the password quickly, but before he could pull it back, Zayd snatched it again.
"You could have just given me your number, instead of pulling all this corny crap," Sirius muttered, trying to keep his annoyance in check. "This is just embarrassing."
Zayd's eyes widened as he scrolled. "Jeez, you've got a ton of bad pictures and videos of yourself on here..."
"HEY!" Sirius shouted, lunging forward. "QUIT DIGGING THROUGH MY PHOTO ALBUM!" He grabbed the phone back, this time holding it tightly.
"Just give me your number, dude," Sirius growled, more irritated now than ever.
Zayd, unfazed, pulled out a pen and paper from seemingly nowhere. Sirius blinked in surprise. Where did he get that from?
Zayd scribbled down his number and handed it over, his grin awkward and almost... desperate.
"See ya!" Zayd called, then awkwardly waddled away, his steps unsure.
Sirius stood there, shaking his head in disbelief. Why did he approach me like that? Like some schoolgirl with a crush?
With a heavy sigh, Sirius finally turned and climbed the stairs to his apartment, eager to escape the madness of the day.
Sirius finally reached the door to his apartment, his shoulders slumping with a deep, tired sigh. The apartment was quiet, as always—too quiet. He locked the door behind him with a soft click and stepped inside, greeted by the sterile emptiness of his surroundings. It was neat to the point of clinical, an orderly space that reflected his own need for control. The bed was neatly made, the TV sat untouched, the table was clear, and a bookshelf was lined with a collection of books that seemed untouched by time. A lamp provided a soft glow, but the one item that caught his eye was the framed picture on the shelf—a younger version of himself, smiling with his parents. His mother's red hair was just as vivid in the photograph as it was in his memory, and his father's curly black hair looked just like his own. He stood there for a moment, staring at it, before the sound of his own breath broke him from his reverie.
With a soft, resigned grunt, Sirius removed his sunglasses, kicked off his shoes, and dropped his duffel bag at the foot of his bed. He laid down, flat on his back, his phone resting beside him on the pillow. The ceiling above him seemed to stretch endlessly as he stared up, lost in thought.
Why do I do these kinds of jobs? he wondered, his mind clouded with the familiar anxiety. It always brings me stress. Stress of being caught, exposed, killed. The thought was unsettling, gnawing at him as he lay there, unmoving, until his phone vibrated on the bed beside him. His eyes flicked toward it almost instinctively. An anonymous call. Without hesitation, he snatched up the phone and answered.
The voice on the other end was cold, detached. "Xaldris, good job on completing the job," the voice said smoothly, each word calculated. "I'll have your pay ready by your house tomorrow. Make sure to stay out of trouble; this murder is all over the TV."
Sirius's lips pressed into a thin line as he listened, but his voice remained calm. "It'll fizzle out in a couple of weeks," he replied, confident. "I got rid of all the evidence. Unless the police make the right line of assumptions, nothing should lead back to you or me."
The caller seemed satisfied. "Ah yes, good job. I may call you back for another job in the future. See you later, Xaldris."
The line went dead, and Sirius tossed his phone aside, his gaze returning to the ceiling. He exhaled sharply, his thoughts swirling. A couple thousand bucks, right before rent is due. I'll probably spend the rest on food and stuff. He turned onto his stomach, sinking deeper into the bed, his mind racing.
That was my first time killing in daylight.
Suddenly, a flashback seized his thoughts—unbidden, but vivid. The memories of the earlier job flooded him with brutal clarity.
Sirius had been clad in his sleek, matte black exo-suit, the sharp angular lines of the armor stark against the dark alleyway. The plating, a metallic silver that gleamed faintly, hugged his chest, shoulders, and arms, offering protection and a foreboding presence. Subtle blue lines glowed at the seams, like the pulse of something sinister beneath the surface. The full-face helmet concealed his features, the reflective visor hiding his eyes, but a bold red stripe ran down the center, cutting through the darkness. The angular design of the helmet was sharp, like the face of an executioner, with the "X" across the forehead a reminder of his alias. His gloves were armored, the reinforced knuckles glinting under the faint light, and his boots had the rugged military look that spoke of efficiency and strength. A long scarf was neatly wrapped around his neck, completing the ominous look.
In the alleyway, Sirius stood, a pistol gripped tightly in one hand, the other clutching a phone. He glanced at the time on his phone—17:28. He usually comes out at 17:29. I'm thankful for the birthday money, it got me this damn silencer. Once I take the shot, it'll look like he just collapsed and started bleeding. The only problem is the bullet hole, but... you can only do so much with a bullet hole.
The seconds ticked by slowly, the air thick with tension, until finally, the man walked out of the building across the street. He pulled out a locket and gazed at it, a tender smile curving his lips. Sirius's gaze narrowed. I hate doing this to a family man... but it's my survival over yours.
With a deep breath, he raised the gun, his finger settling on the trigger, and without a sound, he fired. The man collapsed instantly, his body jerking as the blood poured from the wound in his chest. Sirius's pulse raced, but the quiet of the silencer made it almost surreal.
The flashback dissipated, and Sirius was left with nothing but the sound of his own breathing, the weight of the memory heavy on his chest. He picked up his phone again, checking the time. It was 19:45. He walked over to his duffel bag, his movements mechanical, almost detached. He opened it and retrieved his suit—the one he'd worn earlier—and the gun, along with a knife.
"I did have a job tonight," he murmured to himself, "but I'm too worn out to do another killing."
His phone vibrated once more. This time, it was a call from Zayd. With a sigh, Sirius picked up.
"What do you want?" he asked, his tone flat, tired.
"Hey, man, I just wanted to apologize about earlier," Zayd's voice came through, his words rushed, but sincere. "I was feeling awkward, I'm shy around new people."
Sirius's lips curled into something between a smile and a grimace. "It was fine, I guess."
"Sweet," Zayd continued, his tone lighter now. "Well, happy birthday, S.H.! And see you tomorrow!"
Sirius's expression softened, though it was brief. "Cya," he said, before hanging up.
He stared at the phone for a moment, then let out a small sigh. I guess I should sleep. Tomorrow's another day. He dropped his stuff on the floor and flopped onto his bed, his body sinking into the comfort of the mattress as he closed his eyes.
The city outside continued to hum with life, but for Sirius, in this brief moment, there was only silence.
The night had descended upon the city like a blanket, but it was far from peaceful. The air hummed with the sound of helicopters, their spotlights cutting through the smoke that billowed from the devastated district below. A grotesque sight unfolded beneath the hovering machines—creatures that defied the laws of nature stalked the ruined streets.
Grotesque humanoid forms, the Necrovores, roamed mindlessly in search of destruction. Their bodies, twisted and malformed, were a grotesque amalgamation of withered flesh and jagged stone-like fragments fused into their forms. Their limbs were impossibly long and disproportional, ending in claws that glowed with a sickly light. A network of dark energy coursed beneath their cracked and decaying skin, pulsing faintly with eerie yellow veins. The creatures' eyes, hollow and sunken, flickered with an unnatural glow, as though they were both dead and disturbingly aware. Lightning arced across their bodies, further enhancing their terrifying appearance.
Above, the helicopter pilot's voice crackled through the intercom, its urgency clear.
"Alright, sir, the targeted Necrovores have been identified as Electrovores. They're all coming from a Spawnlord Necrovore, which is making more of them as we speak."
The voice of an unseen figure responded from the shadows of the helicopter's cabin. His tone was calm, controlled, yet carried the weight of authority.
"Alright, I got it."
Without warning, the figure leapt from the helicopter, plunging into the chaos below. His silver hair flowed behind him, tips dipped in sky blue, catching the light of the helicopter searchlights as he descended rapidly. His red eyes gleamed with a fierce intensity, the darkness of the night doing little to dull their glow. His dark blue trench coat billowed in the wind as he fell, and a katana, sheathed and bound by chains, hung from his waist.
The helicopter pilot, now clearly panicked, spoke into his radio.
"Reporting, all helicopters evacuate. Five star Syntharc, Fujikawa Issei."
Issei hit the ground with absolute silence. He landed atop a building, his movement a blur as he immediately surveyed the horde below. His hand rested on his sheathed katana, and with a sudden, fluid motion, he manifested a glowing blue blade in his other hand.
The Electrovores, sensing his presence, responded with a vicious fury. They fired bolts of lightning from their bodies, sending beams crackling through the air. Issei moved like a shadow, deflecting several of the blasts with ease while nimbly dodging the rest. His sword slashed through the air in a flurry of deadly precision, cutting down Electrovores left and right. He danced through the chaos, his movements almost inhuman in their speed and grace.
As he cut through the mindless creatures, a massive, mountainous figure loomed in the distance. A Spawnlord Necrovore—a towering, hulking monstrosity that loomed over the rest, surrounded by a swirling storm of energy.
"Spawnlord spotted," Issei muttered, his voice as calm as ever.
He flicked his wrist, and his manifested katana disappeared in a flash. With swift and practiced movements, Issei inserted his finger into the keyhole of his katana's sheath, twisting it. The chains that had bound the sword loosened, and he pulled out the blade—a flawless weapon, gleaming with deadly intent.
In one fluid motion, he rushed forward, slashing through a cluster of Electrovores who had gathered in his path. They crumpled in an instant, their bodies torn apart by the sheer power of his strike. He leapt into the air, soaring toward the Spawnlord, his blade held high.
The Spawnlord, furious and desperate, fired a massive beam of lightning straight at Issei. But the Syntharc didn't flinch. His eyes narrowed, and with a swift slash of his katana, he cut the beam clean in half. The explosion of energy lit up the night sky, but Issei continued his descent, crashing down upon the Spawnlord with unrelenting speed.
"You're finished," Issei declared, his voice carrying a chilling calmness.
In a blink, he dashed through the Spawnlord, his sword flashing with deadly precision. The giant creature's body was cleaved in two, its monstrous form disintegrating into nothingness as the energy binding it collapsed. The city around him seemed to hold its breath as the Spawnlord was obliterated, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.
Issei sheathed his katana in one smooth motion, locking it back into place with his finger. He casually pulled out a radio, his voice steady and unaffected.
"Spawnlord down, horde cleared."
Without another glance at the destruction he'd left behind, Issei turned and began to walk away, his figure vanishing into the shadows of the city as if the chaos had never happened. The helicopters began to move away, leaving the city to deal with the aftermath of another night of battle. For Issei, it was just another job. Just another day