Supreme Demon Emperor Returns

18. Symphony of Property Destruction

The dull thud of electronic music pulsed from behind a set of gold-inlaid double doors. A wild party was raging inside the luxurious fiftieth-floor penthouse.

In the outer hallway, two security guards in black uniforms stood with bored expressions. Short-barreled rifles were slung over their shoulders.

"A hell of a party," the first guard said, lighting a cigarette. "People are panicking about the stock market, and our boss is busy hiring dozens of girls for the night."

"Let him be," the second guard replied. He leaned against the marble wall. "As long as we get paid. Rich people can do whatever they want. You got a light?"

"Here," the first guard said, offering his lighter.

Suddenly, a gigantic man stepped out from the shadows of the corridor. The man wore the same security uniform as they did. The uniform was stretched taut over his massive muscles.

"Hey," the second guard called out. He frowned. "Who the hell are you? I've never seen your face on the night shift roster."

The giant man didn't answer. He continued to walk toward them, his expression flat.

"I said stop, you bastard," the first guard barked. He raised his rifle and aimed it at the man's chest.

The giant's movements were too fast for the human eye to follow. He grabbed the barrel of the rifle and crushed it with one hand. The steel metal crumpled instantly.

The first guard's eyes went wide. Before he could even scream, the giant's massive hand closed around his neck. There was a loud, sharp crack of breaking bone. The guard died instantly.

The second guard panicked. He tried to draw the pistol from his hip. The giant man kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him flying into the marble wall. His skull fractured. Fresh blood poured from the back of his head. He collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

Fenrir stood tall in the now-silent hallway. He hadn't even broken a sweat. He pressed the earpiece in his right ear.

"Main corridor is clean," Fenrir reported, his tone bored. "You can start the party."

Elsewhere. Inside a black van parked far across the street. Lyra smirked at her laptop screen. Her fingers danced across the keyboard. Her monitor displayed a scrolling list of global stock market figures.

"Good work, big guy," Lyra replied over the comms. "Boss, I've just finalized the algorithm. The mass short-selling has begun."

Xavier sat in the back passenger seat of the van. He lit his cigarette slowly. His face was illuminated by the dim glow of Lyra's laptop screen.

"How much are their losses?" Xavier asked coldly.

"Aristhos's property division stock has plummeted forty percent in just one hour," Lyra answered. "I spread false rumors about Maxwell's bankruptcy. Investors panicked and pulled their funds simultaneously. Maxwell's financial lifeline is completely severed."

Xavier exhaled a cloud of smoke. He stared at the peak of the luxurious building across the street.

"I'm going up now," Xavier commanded. He opened the van door and stepped out into the cold night.

Inside the fiftieth-floor penthouse, the atmosphere was riotous. Disco lights flashed in a rainbow of colors. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and cheap perfume.

Maxwell Aristhos sat on a red velvet sofa. The flamboyant man had his arms around two scantily clad women. He was laughing uproariously, enjoying the glass of champagne in his hand. He felt all-powerful tonight.

Suddenly, his personal assistant ran through the crowd. The thin man was pale and trembling violently.

"Mr. Maxwell," the assistant screamed in a panic. "Sir. We're ruined."

Maxwell frowned. He pushed the two women away and stood up.

"What the hell are you talking about," Maxwell snapped. "I'm having a good time. Don't bother me."

"Our stock has crashed, sir," the assistant reported, his voice desperate. He shoved a tablet in Maxwell's face. "Forty percent in one hour. There are rumors we're bankrupt. All of our liquid assets have been frozen by the central bank."

The champagne flute slipped from Maxwell's hand. It shattered on the floor.

Maxwell's eyes bulged as he read the red graph on the tablet screen. His heart hammered in his chest. He knew exactly what this meant. His company was in ruins.

"Damn it. Who dares to play with my stock," Maxwell roared. He punched his assistant in the face, sending the man sprawling. "Get the private jet ready, now. I have to get the cash from my office safe."

Maxwell ran in a panic from the party room. He shoved several guests out of his way. His mind was consumed with fear. If the Aristhos board found out he was bankrupt, Isabella would surely have him killed by morning. He had to escape with what was left of his illicit fortune.

Maxwell arrived at the door of his private office. He entered the security code with a trembling finger. The teakwood door swung open.

The office was dark. The main lights were off. There was only the dim glow of the streetlights from outside the giant glass window.

Maxwell stepped inside and locked the door behind him. He ran toward a large painting on the wall. Behind the painting was a steel safe that held tens of millions of dollars in cash and a fake passport.

Suddenly, the sharp smell of cigarette smoke hit his nose.

Maxwell froze. His heart felt as if it had stopped. He slowly turned his head toward his desk in the corner of the room.

The silhouette of a man sat calmly in Maxwell's oversized chair. The man had his legs crossed casually. The red ember of a cigarette glowed in the darkness.

"Who's there," Maxwell snapped. His voice trembled violently. "Security. Get in here, damn you."

"Your guards are taking a long rest in the hallway," the figure said. The voice was low, cold, and lethal.

The man leaned forward. The dim light from the window illuminated his face.

Maxwell took a step back. He swallowed hard. His legs felt weak. He recognized that cold face.

"You. you're Xavier," Maxwell screamed in panic. "It's not possible. You died at the bottom of a ravine, you bastard."

"You all seem so fond of repeating that line," Xavier replied flatly. He took a slow drag of his cigarette. "Death is just a door. And I hold the key."

Maxwell backed away until he bumped into a bookshelf. A horrifying realization dawned on him.

"So this was all you," Maxwell accused, his face flushing. "Umbra Capital is yours. You're the one who crashed my stock tonight."

"I only hastened the fall you built for yourself," Xavier said. He rose from the leather chair and walked slowly toward the desk. "You built a property empire on a foundation of lies. Now, it's time to pay your debts."

Xavier reached into his coat. He pulled out a thick document. He tossed the document onto Maxwell's desk.

"Sign the acquisition contract," Xavier commanded, his voice absolute. "Surrender the remaining assets of your company tonight."

Maxwell stared at the document with pure hatred. His arrogance returned. He felt he still had some control.

"I will never sign," Maxwell spat. "Do you think I'm stupid. If I sign, you'll just kill me like you did Henderson, won't you. I'd rather die than give a single penny to an illegitimate brat like you."

Xavier was not provoked in the slightest. His face remained as cold as ice.

"Death is too light a punishment for your sins," Xavier whispered.

The temperature in the office suddenly dropped to freezing.

The streetlights outside the window went out instantly. A thick darkness enveloped the room. Xavier's eyes changed color. His blue irises glowed, radiating a palpable, hellish aura.

Maxwell began to shiver uncontrollably. His breath turned to puffs of white vapor.

There was a sound of cracking concrete from the floor. The smell of cement dust and dried blood filled the air. Maxwell covered his nose, coughing violently.

"What are you doing, you bastard," Maxwell screamed in fear.

"You cut costs on a subsidized apartment building three years ago," Xavier's voice echoed from all directions. "You used cheap materials. The building collapsed, killing one hundred and twenty workers and residents. Do you remember them?"

The wooden floor beneath Maxwell's feet suddenly transformed into a thick pool of blood.

Pale hands tore through the surface of the blood. The figures of mangled human beings crawled out one by one. There was a man with a shattered skull. A woman impaled on a concrete rebar. Their faces were ashen, their eyes a milky white.

They all crawled toward Maxwell.

"Give us back our families," the dozens of corpse illusions whispered in unison. Their voices were a heart-wrenching drone. "Murderer."

"NO. GO AWAY. DON'T COME NEAR ME," Maxwell roared hysterically. He kicked at the shadow of a corpse but his foot passed through empty air.

The figure of a woman with a blood-soaked head crawled onto Maxwell's body. She gripped the flamboyant man's face. Her touch was as cold as ice and felt terrifyingly real. The smell of rotten blood filled Maxwell's lungs.

"Mercy. I beg you, mercy," Maxwell shrieked, crying uncontrollably. He fell to his knees on the floor. He desperately tried to pry the corpse's hands from his face. "I was wrong. Take them away. Please."

Xavier stood calmly, watching the mental torture. He felt no pity. But he also felt no pleasure. His heart was truly numb. He was simply watching his enemy break as a business procedure.

"Sign the contract," Xavier commanded. His voice cut through Maxwell's hysterical screams.

Maxwell crawled desperately toward his desk. The illusions of the corpses continued to pull at his jacket and legs. Maxwell's cries were raw and animalistic. He grabbed the pen from the desk with a violently shaking hand.

"I'll sign. I'll give you everything," Maxwell sobbed, scribbling his name on the acquisition paper. His tears dripped onto the legal document. "Please make it stop."

Xavier looked down at the shattered man. The man who had been laughing arrogantly at his party was now nothing more than an empty shell, driven mad by fear.

This game was far too easy for the Devil of Wall Street.