Mou stood in the cage like a statue carved from pain. Bloodied. Battered. Breathing—barely.
Chains cut into his paws. A shattered bottle jutted from his side. One eye swollen shut. The other? Cold. Calculating.
He didn't cry. Didn't growl. Didn't flinch.
He stared.
A goon leaned in with a jagged metal rod, sneering. "We're gonna carve you up, mutt. One ear at a time. Organ by organ."
Another lit a cigar off a torch. "He's just meat now."
Still, Mou didn't blink. Didn't move.
He just watched them. Silent.
Judging.
And somehow, that silence was louder than any bark or snarl. It wasn't weakness.
It was a verdict.
Meanwhile…
Alya and Nolan stormed into the den. The air stank of spice, sweat, and sin. Neon lights buzzed above. Shadows crawled along cracked walls. Bloodstained cards scattered across poker tables. Coins and syringes littered the floor like dirty secrets. Addicts whispered in corners. Losers screamed at empty skies.
At the center sat The Broker the loyal creature of Deadsmoke
A hulking beast of a man—scaled skin gleaming, four muscular arms resting like serpents beside him.
His lekku twitched lazily as he sipped a hissing, glowing drink.
"You're back," he rasped, grinning like a god over garbage. "Didn't expect that."
Alya stepped forward, voice steady but sharp like a blade.
"Where's Mou?"
The Broker exhaled smoke through his nose. "Too late. Sold him to the Nexus Hunters. They like mutts that fight back."
Nolan's fists curled. "You set us up."
The Broker chuckled, flashing jagged teeth.
"No, kid. I sold you. You were never partners. You were just—"He waved his hand casually. "—inventory."
His eyes flicked to Nolan, scanning him like a menu.
"That eye of yours? Worth a fortune. I'll take it out myself. Slow. You'll feel every cut."
Then, his gaze shifted to Alya.
Lingering. Predatory.
He leaned forward, breathing spice and rot.
"And her? Oh, the clients will love her. Tough girls are their favorite. I'll rent her out. Let the bids climb while her screams echo."
A tall Zorathi goon stepped forward. Tentacles reached to grab her.
Alya froze. Just for a second.
Fear flickered. Then her hand darted—glass shard in her grip.
But before she struck—
CRACK.
A rock smashed into the Zorathi's limb. The arm twisted unnaturally. He howled, stumbling back.
Everything stopped.
All heads turned to the doorway.
A figure stood there.
Still. Towering. Silent.
Maroon hoodie draped over his frame like a shroud.
Black hair hanging messily. Eyes glowing—not bright, but deep. Like embers in the heart of a dying star.
And then it hit them—The aura.
It poured into the room like a flood of shadows.
Heavy. Suffocating. Every breath felt like inhaling ash. The air warped around him, lights flickering violently. It wasn't just darkness. It was void. The absence of mercy. The presence of inevitable death.
Addicts whimpered. Goon hands trembled. Even the torchlight dimmed, as if scared to burn in his presence.
He chewed gum with slow, deliberate rhythm. Hands in his pockets like he was strolling through a graveyard he already owned.
Alya's heart skipped. Nolan felt cold sweat on his back.
This wasn't a man.
This was a force wearing skin.
The Broker stood, startled. "Who the hell are you?"
The figure didn't answer. He stepped forward. Each footstep louder than the last. Not in sound—but in pressure. Like the walls could feel it.
Then, finally, he spoke.
Soft. Calm. Deadly.
"Repeat what you said about the girl."
The Broker blinked. "What? You her bodyguard or something? Want a discount? Back off, hoodie boy. She's mine."
The figure smiled.
Not a kind smile.
This was the smile of something that doesn't care if it has to burn the whole galaxy to fix one mistake.
"I'm not here for a cut. "He tilted his head slightly. "I'm here for a Promise"
Weapons raised. Goon laughter filled the air like nervous static.
"Twenty of us. One of you. Bad math, hoodie freak."
He cracked his knuckles. Slowly.
The air trembled.
"No," he whispered. "These are the perfect odds…"A pause. His eyes narrowed into red daggers."…for a massacre."
And then—He moved.