Later That Evening..
Raven arrived at the mafia hideout, a place that once symbolised his suffering and captivity.
Memories of torture, humiliation, and dehumanisation flooded his mind as he approached the familiar building.
He would've preferred to scout the area, maybe observe the guards' shifts, but he didn't have access to any stealth abilities yet. That was still on his to-do list.
But he didn't care.
He knew this place like the back of his hand. He'd worked here for three long years. He knew the back entrance—the one rarely watched.
He slipped on his Devil's Mask, gripped his D-rank sword, and stepped through the shadows of the back door with unshakable confidence.
He didn't care about survival. He didn't care about strategy.
All he wanted was pain. Excruciating pain.
Two guards were posted by the entrance, but the moment they sensed his presence, it was already too late. His sword gleamed in the dim light, already at the throat of the first man.
Shiiinnng!
Blood sprayed.
"You—"
The second guard didn't hesitate. He drew his handgun and fired
Bang!
It was a direct hit.
But something went wrong
Raven wasn't stupid enough to waltz into a gunfight if he knew he couldn't handle it.
With his upgraded defence and enhanced healing, he knew he would definitely survive, and honestly, he was curious.
'I should figure out just how I fare against humanity's greatest weapons now, so I can plan ahead, in the future, if they do cause any problems.'
The bullet struck Raven's hand; he had reflexively thrown it up to block, but instead of tearing through flesh, it barely dented his skin.
A small line of blood trickled out... then stopped. The wound closed right before their eyes.
The guard's face turned pale.
"P…Player."
Raven let out a short, ugly laugh. It wasn't joy, not even close. It sounded more like something breaking inside him. The man on the ground kept begging, tears and snot running down his face.
"Please… I have a family…"
Raven froze for a second. The words hit something he didn't want to feel. For a moment, he saw flashes of faces—people he couldn't save, people he loved.
His jaw tightened.
'I had one too.'
"You made your choice," he said, almost a whisper.
"No taking it back now."
The blade went in fast. The man's scream cut short, replaced by a gurgle. Then silence.
Raven stood there, breathing hard. His hand shook as he pulled the sword free. Blood ran down the blade and, drop by drop, fell onto the floor, creating uneven splatters.
He was already getting used to this.
The sound of boots echoed from the hallway. More were coming.
Raven stepped back, flexing his stiff, bloody fingers. He was more than happy to continue, especially since he knew that if they were allowed to live, more innocent people would suffer instead
When they finally came through the door, they froze.
The room looked like hell. Blood everywhere. A headless corpse on one side, a dismembered body on the other.
Raven could see the horror in their faces. Even killers had their limits.
A single footstep behind them made them turn.
Raven stood there, soaked in blood, the mask hiding everything except the look in his eyes.
"Show yourself," one of them said, voice unsteady.
"Do you even know who we are?" another asked, trying to sound braver than he felt.
Raven didn't answer. He stepped forward.
Each step echoed loudly on the wet floor.
Inside, he just felt tired. Still, that wouldn't stop him from exacting his revenge.
One man raised his gun.
Raven tilted his head slightly. Not to scare him, just because he already knew how this would end.
And then he moved.
Steel flashed.
A body dropped.
The others panicked, firing wild shots, shouting over each other. Raven cut through them like nothing, his sword quick and efficient. He didn't drag it out. He didn't enjoy it.
By the time the last one hit the floor, the room was quiet again.
Raven stood in the middle, chest heaving, blood dripping from the blade.
The mask grinned its hollow grin.
Underneath, he was just a man.
A man who had forgotten how to be anything else.