The city was alive with suffocating darkness, its neon lights and towering buildings casting jagged shadows that seemed to claw at the streets below. A young man sprinted through the maze-like alleys, his breath ragged and uneven. His suit, once pristine, was now rumpled and smeared with grime. In his hand, he clutched a sleek black briefcase, his knuckles white as he held it close to his chest.
"Please be safe, Mary," he murmured, his voice trembling with desperation. "Just hold on a little longer."
The sound of his own footsteps echoed unnervingly off the walls, merging with the distant hum of the city. He darted into a dimly lit passage, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds, his eyes wild with panic. His route took him deeper into the city's underbelly, away from the glittering towers and into the labyrinthine slums where neon lights flickered ominously and the air reeked of smoke and decay.
He stumbled, nearly falling as his shoe caught on a loose cobblestone. Catching himself against a wall, he paused, chest heaving. The briefcase seemed heavier with each step, its importance pressing on him like a lead weight. Shadows seemed to crawl closer with every moment, their unnatural shapes looming in his periphery.
"Just a little further," he whispered, forcing his legs to move again. His path led him to a dilapidated building on the outskirts of the shady suburbs. The garish neon sign above the entrance buzzed faintly, its lettering spelling out Paradise Lust. The building's exterior was a mishmash of cracked plaster and metal grates, its windows shrouded by thick curtains that hinted at the secrets within.
He hesitated at the entrance, wiping sweat from his brow before stepping inside. The heavy bass of music assaulted his ears, mingling with the low murmur of voices and occasional bursts of laughter. A burly man in a leather jacket appeared, his piercing eyes scanning the young man before giving a curt nod.
"This way," the man grunted, leading him through the dimly lit corridors of the club. They passed scantily clad dancers and patrons lounging in plush seats, their gazes indifferent or predatory. The air grew heavier as they descended a narrow staircase, the music fading into the background until it was a distant thrum.
The bodyguard stopped at a nondescript door and knocked twice. The door opened silently, revealing a room bathed in the warm glow of a single chandelier. The walls were lined with red velvet, and a large desk dominated the center of the space. Behind it sat a man with slicked-back hair and a sly grin, his tailored suit immaculate. He held a cigar between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily around his face.
"Ah, the prodigal genius," the gangster drawled, his voice smooth and mocking. "The boy CEO, gracing us with his presence."
The young man's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to remain calm. "Where's Mary?" he demanded, his voice strained.
The gangster leaned back in his chair, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Straight to the point, aren't we? No small talk? No pleasantries?" He gestured to the briefcase. "Let me guess—this little beauty's my payment?"
"Where is she?" the young man repeated, his tone sharper.
The gangster chuckled, tapping ash from his cigar onto a tray. "Relax, kid. You're not in a position to make demands. But since you're so eager…" He leaned forward, his grin widening. "Why don't you open the case and show me what you brought first?"
The young man hesitated, his grip tightening on the briefcase. "Not until I see her."
"Ah, stubborn. I like that," the gangster said, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Fine. Let's not keep you waiting."
The room fell silent, and the young man's pulse quickened as the sound of heels clicked against the floor behind him. The measured rhythm grew louder, each step sending a jolt of unease through his body.
He turned slowly, his breath catching as he saw her. Mary. She stepped into the room with a confident sway, her figure wrapped in a sleek black dress that shimmered under the chandelier's light. Her eyes, once warm and familiar, now glinted with something cold and unrecognizable.
"Mary?" the young man whispered, his voice cracking. "What… what are you doing here?"
She smirked, tilting her head mockingly. "Oh, darling, you really thought you could save me?"
His confusion deepened, his gaze darting between her and the gangster. "What's going on?" he demanded, his voice rising.
Mary stepped closer, her movements predatory. "Did you honestly believe I needed saving?" she asked, her tone dripping with disdain.
As he tried to process her words, her face began to shift. It grew larger, distorted, the room warping around her as her features twisted into a grotesque mask. Her eyes glowed unnaturally, and her voice echoed in his head, a cacophony of laughter and accusations.
"You can't save anyone, genius," her voice taunted, reverberating through the nightmare.
Before he could react, something struck him hard, sending him sprawling. The last thing he saw was her monstrous face looming over him, consuming his vision as everything went black.
---
Lucian's eyes snapped open, and he bolted upright with a gasp, his chest heaving. Sweat drenched his skin, his heart pounding in his ears as if trying to escape. The dim, ambient light of Selene's chambers flickered faintly, casting eerie shadows across the walls.
He clawed at his chest, his breath hitching. The phantom laughter still rang in his head, and the grotesque image of Mary's warped face lingered like a stain on his memory. His hands trembled as he wiped his face, his mind racing to anchor itself in reality.
What was that? he thought, his breathing slowly steadying. But even as he tried to calm himself, the nightmare's oppressive weight refused to fade, leaving him with an unshakable sense of foreboding.