The inky night was deep and dense, binding sky and earth tightly together. Not a single star shone above. The sea breeze, sharp with bone-chilling cold, skimmed over the empty docks, raising a shrill, wailing whine.
Men in black gathered silently in a corner of the pier. A few dim, yellow streetlights swayed in the wind, their meager glow barely lighting the area where the people stood.
A long-faced man sat in a chair, with sharp-looking men in black suits standing on either side.
A group of masked men approached at a measured pace. Each of them wore a red cloth over his face, concealing their features. They were a local gang; the red mask was their emblem.
The long-faced man lazily waved. "Let's see the sincerity first."
The masked leader nodded. A younger underling beside him stepped forward, carrying a metal briefcase.
One of the black suits by the long-faced man took the case, opened it to verify, and after seeing the neatly arranged box of cards, gave a slight nod and closed it.
The long-faced man smiled, satisfied.
"Cash for goods, at the same time."
He gestured to the other black suit, who immediately stepped up with a case of his own, handing over two stuffed briefcases.
The masked man opposite took them and checked. Inside was packed with banknotes. He nodded in satisfaction as well, closed the latches, and passed the case back to his people.
"So," the long-faced man spread his hands with a smile, "happy cooperation?"
No sooner had he finished than there was a sharp snap.
The few shaky streetlights went out all at once.
"What the hell?"
Everyone froze.
Then someone screamed.
All heads tilted up. Upon the top of a shipping container, in the moonlight, a demonic silhouette stood coldly, cape billowing behind him.
Everyone was taken aback. But when they looked again, the spot was empty—as if what they'd seen was an illusion.
"There!"
Someone shouted.
They turned to see that demonic shadow had somehow appeared behind them.
A masked man roared, drew a knife, and lunged to stab. But as he closed in, the figure didn't even seem to move; there was only a dull thud, and the masked man screamed as he was knocked flying.
The others yelled in unison and several burly men rushed together.
But the demon moved with uncanny agility, slipping through the gaps between them to their backs with a slight shift. He wasn't just fast—he was monstrously strong. He pressed a palm to one man's chest, and with an inhuman force sent him screaming across the floor, tumbling into a corner.
Someone drew a gun and fired, bang-bang, at the shadow. Muzzle flashes flared and bullets cut into the night, but the figure was utterly unmoved.
Perhaps they had missed entirely; or perhaps the bullets passed clean through. There was no sign of impact—the figure didn't even sway, betraying no trace of kinetic force.
Then the shadow swept an arm, and talons at his fingertips were like knives through steel. Wherever they passed, gun barrels were sheared in half, drawing a gasp of cold dread.
A powerful kick drove from beneath the cape, slamming into a man's chest. Bones crunched, and the masked thug screamed as he was sent flying.
In less than thirty seconds, only the long-faced man in the chair remained.
The demon strolled unhurriedly toward him.
The long-faced man didn't panic, though his expression grew more grave. In silence he raised his hand, revealed a Duel Disk, and flicked it open with a swish.
The demon halted at the sight of the Duel Disk, and came no closer.
"Friend, where did you crawl out from?"
the long-faced man said coldly.
"I don't recall ever picking a fight with you."
After a moment's silence, the caped demon stepped back, as if making way.
Out walked Aster Phoenix, clad in a white suit and wearing a masquerade-like mask.
The demon was the monster he had summoned: Destiny HERO - Doom Lord. Being a Duel Monster, conventional weapons did nothing to it.
Ahem, worth noting: Doom Lord actually only has 600 ATK. Ignoring monster effects and going by punches alone, in the Duel Monsters world he's about as useful as a wet noodle.
"So you're that meddlesome guy the news has been talking about lately."
the long-faced man said coolly.
"I figured it was made up. Or a pawn from some power struggle. Didn't think we still had nosy do-gooders in this day and age."
He narrowed his eyes.
"But these days, if you wanna play the game, you'd better have the goods. Let's see if you've got what it takes."
"Interesting."
Aster raised his Duel Disk with unfailing poise.
"That's exactly what I was going to say."
…
Moments later—
"Waaagh!"
[Long-faced Man, LP 0]
Beaten to a swollen, bloody mess, the long-faced man toppled over and crawled forward with difficulty.
"You gotta be… kidding me…"
he gritted out.
Way too strong…
A foot came down on the wrist he was struggling to drag forward. He screamed in agony.
Doom Lord planted his foot on the man's hand, leaned down, yanked the man's Deck from his Duel Disk, and handed it back to his master.
Aster took the Deck and quickly rifled through it.
Aster had a habit of pulling peoples' Decks whenever he hunted down criminals. Not because of some innate destiny or affinity with a certain spiky-haired someone—he pulled Decks to look for one specific card.
"Tch. As expected, not here."
Aster shrugged, unfazed.
He knew the odds of the card he sought showing up in some small fry's Deck were slim. Still, for years he hadn't let any suspect who might be tied to that kind of crime off the hook—he'd formed the habit of checking every enemy's Deck, never missing even the faintest possibility.
The long-faced man screamed as Doom Lord smashed his face into the wall.
"I'll talk! I'll tell you everything I know…"
the long-faced man shrieked.
"I do smuggle cards, yeah, and sometimes even contraband with dangerous powers…"
"But I swear I don't know anything about some Ultimate something D!"
"Is that so."
Aster wasn't surprised.
As Sartorius had said, him catching these thugs was partly to follow any lead, and partly to vent his rage on scum like the ones who killed his father.
He hadn't been expecting much.
But then the long-faced man abruptly changed tack.
"However, I know an organization with a huge stash of rare cards—lots of contraband of unknown origin among them. I think I heard they had some lead on a… something… something D card. I don't know if it's what you're after, but maybe—"
"Hm?"
Aster's eyes lit up. He pressed.
"Who?"
"They call themselves the Knights of Hanoi!"