“Ah, man. I have to kill even more people now.”

  The words fell from Shahryel Kadir like a casual verdict. The stairwell’s fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a hollow counterpoint to the cold calm that radiated from him.

  Fahim’s hand tightened on the rail. “Stop right there! Who are you?” he demanded, voice steadier than he felt.

  Shahryel didn’t slow. He turned, lips quirking into a smile that showed no warmth. “Me? The dead don’t need to know anything, though.”

  Fahim took a breath and stepped forward. “If you take another step clo—”

  Shahryel cut him off with a single, scornful word. “What will you do?”

  The air changed. Shahryel’s aura pressed down like a physical weight—an invisible force that made the hairs on Fahim’s arms stand up and the blood in his veins run colder. Instruments in nearby rooms ticked louder; a distant oxygen machine seemed to hiccup. The light above them flickered as if obedient to that pressure.

  This guy’s giving this much pressure only by his aura. I’m pretty sure his awakening rank is higher than me. In that case— Fahim thought, panic and calculation clashing behind his eyes. He swallowed and forced his voice softer. “We’re sorry, mister. If we offended you. But may I know why did you come here?”

  Shahryel’s smile widened into something thin and dangerous. “Why should I tell you?”

  “Huh?” Fahim’s brow knotted.

  “Can’t you understand? I said why should I tell you? I don’t wanna.” Shahryel’s tone was lazy, mocking—like a man dismissing an insect.

  Fahim forced his posture into deference, cheeks flushing. “Did we offend you by any chance? If we had done anything I’ll personally apologize.”

  Shahryel shrugged, as if the apology cost him nothing. “Nope, you didn’t.”

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  “Then—” Fahim started, clutching for words that might calm the mounting dread.

  Shahryel’s eyes narrowed, and the air around him went colder still. “I’m here for my personal reason. But you guys just saw me. So, I can’t take the risk of keeping you alive, you see.” His voice was soft and final. “Anyway—enough chitchat. It’s time for all of you to die.”

  He breathed, and the sound carried like a low drumbeat. Then Shahryel spread his killing intent—an all-encompassing, merciless force that rolled outward and filled the corridor like a coming storm. The world seemed to contract under it; every second stretched taut as a wire.

  Fahim dropped into a defensive stance without thinking. The other three bodyguards mirrored him, boots planting hard on the stairwell tiles, hands ready at their sides like men who had rehearsed this exact moment a thousand times.

  “Don’t panic everyone. We ca—” Fahim began, voice steady but edged with strain.

  He didn’t finish.

  In a blink—whoosh!—Shahryel blurred forward. His movement was too fast to follow with the eye, a shadow folding into itself and then exploding at the nearest guard.

  BAM!

  The impact landed against the guard’s face like a hammer. The man’s head snapped back; a wet, sick sound came from his throat. He flew backward through the stairwell air, a streak of motion that ended with a CRASH! as his body slammed into the wall. Tiles shattered, plaster dust burst into the light, and the guard crumpled in a heap on the landing, unconscious before he hit the floor.

  Fahim’s mouth went dry. The other two guards’ hands tightened on their weapons, but for a heartbeat they only saw the place where their comrade had been—the gap now filled with falling dust and a smear of red. The certainty in the stairwell had shifted into raw, immediate terror.

  Rage surged through Fahim’s veins like fire. “What the hell did we ever do to you? Are you even human?!” he roared, his aura bursting forth as he lunged at Shahryel with blinding speed.

  But Shahryel only tilted his head slightly—whoosh!—the attack sliced through empty air.

  In the next instant, a fist appeared before Fahim’s eyes, close enough for him to feel the wind pressure against his face. His pupils shrank.

  “I see…” Shahryel said, a grin stretching across his face, “So you’re also an awakened, huh? Heh-heh-heh. Now it’ll be fun.”

  Fahim barely twisted his body aside before the fist landed, but thud!—a brutal kick slammed into his stomach a heartbeat later.

  “Guh—!” he coughed, the air knocked out of him as his body flew back and crashed onto the cold floor.

  Shahryel’s eyes gleamed with madness. Raising his arms wide, he tilted his head back, laughter echoing through the corridor. “Hahahaha! Let’s make it fun!”

  Then—

  A new voice cut through the air.

  “Oho… Finally, I arrived!”

  Both men turned toward the sound.

  Johan Navraan stood there, the faint glow of the key still fading from his hand, eyes sharp and expression unreadable.

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