The Sovereign Awakens At Sunset

Chapter 1: The Sovereign Awakens At Sunset

 

The wall clock ticked to 5:50 PM.

"Look at me when I am speaking to you, rubbish man!" Manager Mack barked, slamming his palm flat onto the counter desk. "Your performance this month is terrible. Zero commission earned, Archer. Just like your life."

Archer kept his eyes on the floor.  It wasn't fear; it was calculated survival. Ten minutes he thought, tightening his fists. Just hold on. Just hold on for ten more minutes.

"Sir, I worked overtime every single day,"  Archer said, trying to keep his voice steady. "My mom is in the ICU. I need to pay the hospital bills tonight to keep her machines running."

"Do I look like I give a damn about your half-dead mother?" Mack laughed cruelly, turning his head toward the side desk. "Hey, Clay! Have you heard this? This loser thinks my luxury showroom is a charity house."

Clay smirked, sipping his coffee without looking up. "Manager Mack, why do you even waste your breath? People like him are born to stay at the bottom. Hey Archer, Hey Archer if you beg properly maybe Mack will throw a ten-dollar bill at you."

"Please, sir, " Archer whispered. His heart was racing. His mind was on the clock.

"Pick those up and get out of my sight " Mack snapped, throwing a folder at Archer's chest.

The lock broke, and papers burst out, papers scattered all over the floor.

"For incompetence, I am cutting your base salary by 50% this month," Mack sneered. "If you don't like it, go starve on the streets."

Clay chuckled. "Hurry up. Clean that floor Archer. Try not to trip over your failures on the way."

Archer didn't argue. He silently picked up the papers, stacked them on the desk and walked out into the Manhattan evening.

Deep inside his skull, a cold, heavy frequency vibrated.

[Warning: 5 minutes left until sunset. Maintain disguise at all costs. Do not engage in combat.]

I know, Charlie. I know Archer thought, pulling his hood over his face. Five more minutes of being a ghost. Five more minutes of letting them think they won.

"Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to crawl out."

A rough, mocking voice blocked the exit of the dark alley right behind the dealership.

Three heavy shadows stepped out from behind a massive metal dumpster. At the front stood Ranger’s top enforcer, a guy famous for breaking bones for the city's rich elite. The two thugs behind him were casually swinging heavy steel pipes.

" Maverick Parker sent us to give you a personal message, little boy," the man said, smiling.

Archer took a step back, keeping his weak daytime posture. "I don't have any money. Maverick already took my father's company. He took our family house. We have nothing left."

The man laughed. "You think this is about money?" he said. "Maverick does not want your money. He wants you to be hurt. He said your face is annoying. Let's break his knees first."

"Yeah, let's see if he begs as good as his old man did before he died," the second thug sneered, stepping closer.

Archer looked up at the dark, sharp edges of the sky. The final orange border of the sun dipped below the horizon line. The very last ray of daylight vanished from the city.

6:00 PM.

Ding.

[Daytime restriction lifted completely. Activating Sub-Soul: Dallas.] [Host’s physical strength multiplied by 500%.] [Morality filter: DEACTIVATED.] [Current Sub-Soul Points available: 200]

The helpless, pity look in Archer's eyes vanished instantly. The inner switch flipped. A heavy, suffocating aura filled the narrow alley.

When he raised his head, his pupils were burning with blood-chilling scary red light.

Dallas had awakened.

"What the hell..." The lead enforcer stumbled backward, his breath catching as his survival instincts screamed that something was terribly wrong. "Why... why are your eyes looking like that? Hey! Attack him!"

The second thug roared and rushed forward, swinging the heavy metal pipe directly at Dallas's head.

Crack.

Dallas didn't even move. He caught the solid iron pipe mid-air with his bare hand. He squeezed it. It bent like paper.

"What kind of—"

Before the thug could finish his sentence, Dallas gripped his wrist and twisted it. Bones shattered like dry twigs. Dallas followed with a straight kick to the chest, sending the man flying ten feet backward into the wooden shipping crates. The thug hit the wood and went completely silent.

"He's a monster!" the third thug screamed, dropping his weapon and trying to run the safety of the main street.

Dallas blurred. To a normal human eye, he was nothing but a passing shadow. He appeared instantly in front of the running man, gripped his throat with one hand, and slammed him face-first into the concrete pavement. The ground cracked under the impact. The man went limp.

The lead enforcer fell straight to his knees, his face pale as ash. "Who... who are you? Please, don't kill me! It was Maverick Parker! He paid us!"

Dallas walked over slowly, standing over the kneeling man like a silent god of death. He didn't waste words. He reached down, pulled a vibrating smartphone out of the enforcer's jacket, and looked at the screen.

The caller ID read: Maverick Parker.

Dallas answered the call and held the phone up to his ear.

"Did you break his legs yet, Ranger?" Maverick’s arrogant, lazy voice came through the speaker. "Send me a picture of his bloody face. I want to see him crying."

Dallas stared down at the trembling enforcer, his red eyes gleaming in the pitch darkness of the alley.

"Maverick," Dallas spoke. His voice was deep, hollow, and utterly devoid of human emotion.

The music in Mavericks house stopped. "Who is this? Where is my man?"

"Your dogs are broken in the dirt," Dallas said, his tone perfectly calm, yet terrifyingly heavy. "And you are next on my list. Maverick...enjoy your money while you can. Your time is running out."

"You arrogant piece of—"

Crunch.

Dallas dropped the phone and slammed his boot right onto the screen. Glass shattered, the battery sparked, and Maverick’s voice was instantly cut off.