The aftermath of last night’s massacre at the fish warehouse still hung like a lingering trauma over the North Harbor. News of The Butchers’ destruction spread like a cholera outbreak, infecting every corner of the docks, from the mouths of porters to the ears of high-level logistics tycoons. No one knew who was responsible. They only called him “The Ghost,” a figure that arrived with fire and left behind piles of unrecognizable corpses. That morning, Eduardo stood on the balcony of a container office overlooking the loading docks. He wore a pitch-black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, concealing the “metamorphosis” scars that had now healed flawlessly. A lit cigar rested between his fingers, its smoke dancing in the sea breeze that carried the scent of salt and diesel. “Boss, they’re all gathered downstairs. Ten of the biggest wholesale shop owners and three trucking bosses,” Gord appeared from behind the steel door, wearing a safari suit that looked slight

Le Sommet Restaurant stood arrogantly atop the tallest skyscraper overlooking the heart of the city. This was not merely a restaurant, it was neutral ground for elites, corrupt politicians, and businessmen whose hands were dirtier than soot. Here, candlelight reflected off pure silver cutlery, and the clinking of crystal glasses seemed to muffle the sound of shady transactions taking place at every table. That night, Eduardo had rented the entire private wing on the east side. He sat at the head of a long table draped in spotless white linen. Dressed in a bespoke midnight-blue suit worth the equivalent of a dockworker’s ten-year salary, Eduardo looked like a prince of darkness waiting for his subjects. “Damn... Boss, what kind of place is this? The floor’s so slippery I’m scared I’ll fall and break a plate that probably costs as much as a motorcycle,” Gord muttered as he entered awkwardly. His black tuxedo looked like it was strangling his massive frame. His tie was crooke

The basement of the hilltop mansion had undergone a total transformation. The scent of fresh paint mixed with the warm, metallic smell of overheated electronics filled the expansive space, roughly the size of a small basketball court. At its center stood a holographic table, an illegal masterpiece assembled by Belerik, projecting a three-dimensional map of The Grand Shark Hotel & Casino, the heart of Claude’s power in the central district. Eduardo stood at the head of the table, his hands resting on the cold mahogany edge. Around him, his core team had gathered for the first time as a unified, lethal unit. Gord sat to his left, casually sharpening his new combat knife with a whetstone, the rhythmic scrape cutting through the silence. To the right, Belerik continuously adjusted his new glasses while scanning streams of data on a transparent tablet. And in the darkest corner, leaning against a concrete pillar, stood Freya. Dressed in gray tactical gear, her sharp eyes remaine

Thick smoke and construction dust filled the casino hall of The Grand Shark, forming a hazy veil that concealed the horrors within. The roaring sound of the Chimera’s chainsaw engine shrieked through the air, clashing with the pounding of Gord’s heart as he crouched behind a concrete pillar. Yet amidst the chaos, Eduardo stood tall. His body was now fully encased in rigid, razor-sharp white bone armor, faintly gleaming beneath the flickering red emergency lights. His glowing white eyes no longer burned with hatred, but with perfect emptiness, a cold, tactical calculation."Gord, fall back now," Eduardo ordered. His voice was no longer human, but a hollow resonance echoing from behind the bone mask covering his face. "Get Belerik and Freya out of Claude’s communication frequency. I don’t want any interference."Gord swallowed hard, staring at his boss in horror. He had seen Eduardo transform before, but this time... this felt like witnessing a true god of death. "B-boss... but that thi

Night in the elite hills was supposed to be quiet, yet for Eduardo, the silence inside the mansion was more deafening than the gunfire that had roared through Claude’s casino. Ever since the car carrying Emily and Chloe disappeared down the winding asphalt road, the house had lost whatever life remained in it. The light from the crystal chandelier hanging six meters above now felt like the glow of an autopsy room, bright, sterile, and lifeless. Eduardo stood at the doorway of Chloe’s bedroom. The room still carried the faint scent of baby powder, her dolls scattered carelessly across the floor. A large teddy bear he had bought just yesterday sat in the corner of the bed, its black button eyes seeming to stare at him in silent judgment. He tried to feel something. Grief. Anger. Longing. He closed his eyes, forcing his mind to recall the sound of Chloe’s laughter back when they lived in that leaking shack. He remembered the warmth. He remembered the bland fish soup that