Adam nonchalantly tossed the paper onto a greasy plate and watched as the parchment flushed red. A heartbeat later, it ignited, spontaneous flame reducing it to ash that mingled with oil and grime.

  Elliot’s soft chuckle reached him. “Don’t worry,” he said lightly. “You won’t be going in blind.”

  He retrieved a second file and slid it across the table without another word.

  Adam picked it up and skimmed the contents quickly. Moments later, he flicked the letter onto the same plate. It burned just as swiftly.

  Unlike the first, this file had contained a comprehensive profile of the targets—their ages, abilities, combat styles, and a wealth of supplementary intelligence.

  “Any questions?” Elliot asked at last. “I know it isn’t an easy mission, but I’m confident you can pull it off.”

  Adam tore his gaze from the contaminated plate and met Elliot’s eager smile.

  “What about X?” he asked. “Is she part of this mission?”

  Elliot’s brow creased. “Who?”

  “What do you mean who?” Adam frowned. “My handler. The one assigned to me by the Scavengers.”

  “Oh… you mean Mo—” Elliot cut himself off just before speaking her true name.

  He laughed softly, his posture relaxing. “She won’t be needed. Focus on yourself,” he said. “After all, you only have a two-day window.”

  “What?” Adam snapped. “There was no deadline mentioned—”

  “Two days,” Elliot repeated, nodding. “This is the only time all three brothers will gather this year. Miss it, and the mission becomes at least ten times harder—tracking them afterward would be nearly impossible.”

  Adam remained silent, his expression darkening.

  “If you’d arrived sooner, maybe…” Elliot sighed, abandoning the thought. “Two days. That’s all you get.”

  “Where do I find them?”

  Elliot smiled. “I was hoping you’d ask. Something interesting happened before you left Dratol.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t stress over the minor—”

  “No,” Adam cut in flatly. “Don’t gloss over it. My life’s on the line. I need to be prepared for every possibility.”

  Elliot scratched the back of his neck, smiling wryly. “Try not to let the boss hear I told you this.”

  Adam nodded.

  “Before I continue,” Elliot said, “did anything unusual happen before you left Dratol?”

  Adam frowned. An incident?

  He searched his memory but found nothing remarkable.

  “No,” he said finally. “Everything was routine.”

  “Well…” Elliot coughed quietly. “Bishop Mikan made a request to the brothers.”

  “What kind of request?” Adam pressed. “And how does that concern me?”

  “He offered you as tribute,” Elliot said plainly. “Material to be used in elixir production.”

  Adam’s smile vanished. His hands clenched beneath the table.

  Then he laughed—loud, harsh, and filled with venom.

  “Oh?” Elliot raised a brow. “Mind sharing the joke? I don’t recall saying anything funny.”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Adam replied, his voice low and dangerous.

  Elliot grinned. “I like that confidence. Just remember—failure has consequences.”

  Without waiting for a response, he snapped his fingers.

  Four mannequins materialized beside him.

  “Now that the unpleasant part is done,” Elliot said, sitting upright, “I’ll explain the infiltration method we’ve prepared. Listen carefully—I don’t enjoy repeating myself.”

  Adam nodded.

  Long into the night, he listened in silence as Elliot spoke, committing every detail to memory. If he wanted to survive, he couldn’t afford to forget a single word.

  Anthony sat inside a massive carriage—built more like a cage. Eight horses strained against their harnesses as they thundered through a brightly lit underground cavern.

  “Please, let me go!” a man cried from within the cage. “I swear I’ll return Marquis Loban’s money today! I have a daughter!”

  “Do you know who I am?!” another snarled. “You’ll pay for this!”

  “I—I don’t want to be a slave!” someone sobbed. “Please don’t sell me! I didn’t know she had a husband!”

  “Somebody—please help!”

  Anthony stared at them, barely suppressing his laughter as the carriage rattled onward.

  Idiots.

  There were ten prisoners in total, their wrists and ankles bound with blackened chains.

  “I swear I’ll repay it, just don’t—”

  “Give it a rest,” Anthony interrupted. “No one’s coming. And honestly, the more you scream, the worse it’ll be for you.”

  The others turned toward him.

  “But I don’t belong here!” one protested. “I’m—”

  “Save it for someone who cares,” Anthony said, waving him off. He pointed to a motionless figure slumped against the bars. “Keep shouting, and you’ll end up like him.”

  Their eyes followed his gesture.

  The man was barely conscious, his body bruised and broken. Blood soaked his clothes, mud clinging to his dark hair.

  “Keep yelling if you want,” Anthony added coolly. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Silence fell.

  Only the thunder of hooves and the creak of metal filled the cavern.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  That should keep them quiet.

  Anthony’s gaze lingered on the half-dead man. What did this bastard even do to deserve that?

  He’d been there before Anthony arrived—the second prisoner taken. His story had been nonsense, but even so…

  “Why are they doing this to us?” a young woman whispered.

  Anthony frowned. Why is she still talking?

  “I’ve watched people come and go for ten days now,” he said aloud. “You’d be better off praying than screaming.”

  Shock rippled through the group.

  “Ten days?” an old man repeated faintly.

  Anthony nodded. “Seems none of you understand what’s happening.”

  They stared at him, waiting.

  “You probably think this ends with slavery,” he continued, glancing at the women, “or worse. But trust me—that would’ve been mercy.”

  “W-what could be worse?” the young woman stammered. “Organ harvesters?”

  Anthony met her gaze. “Ever heard of the Scavengers?”

  A few gasped. Most looked confused.

  Anthony shook his head with a quiet chuckle. “Unlucky doesn’t begin to cover it.”

  “How do you know?” the old man asked.

  “One of the prisoners yesterday was a low-ranking member,” Anthony replied. “He kept screaming about not wanting to be used as material. Said he could still be useful.”

  “Material?” someone whispered. “For what?”

  Anthony shrugged. “No idea. Someone asked him once. He laughed—said why bother explaining things to materials meant for elixirs.”

  The young woman collapsed to her knees. “Merciful Emfer… have mercy on my soul.”

  Anthony watched her without comment. Your god won’t save you.

  Despair settled over the cage like a suffocating fog.

  Then the lights dimmed.

  Screams erupted—not from pain, but terror.

  The carriage slowed.

  So this is it, Anthony thought grimly.

  With a heavy clatter, unseen locks disengaged.

  The cage door creaked open, light flooding in.

  A deep, guttural voice thundered from outside.

  “Get down. Now.”

  The command left no room for defiance.

  Their bodies obeyed before their minds could.

  Anthony lingered last, staring at the half-dead man sprawled on the cage floor. Darkness swallowed everything beyond, save for a flickering neon glow that illuminated the grim scene in intermittent bursts. Yet, none of the prisoners moved.

  Anthony couldn’t see the figure behind the gruff voice.

  “Pick up the bastard in there. Hurry!” it barked, harsher this time.

  He exchanged a glance with another man, and together they hoisted the unconscious prisoner by his shoulders.

  I don’t know if this guy is lucky or cursed, Anthony thought grimly.

  A small candle flickered to life before the group.

  “Follow me,” a voice beckoned from the shadows. “Stray if you wish—your death will be slow, painful, and bitter.”

  Footsteps echoed. The man led the way.

  Anthony urged the young man carrying the other side of the unconscious prisoner forward. Each step pressed against a coarse mixture of steel and stone; something sticky clung to his bare feet.

  Where the hell are we?

  He stole a glance at the unconscious man. Is he even still alive?

  He resisted checking. One step at a time, they followed the crimson flame. The air grew colder, but no one dared halt in the abyssal darkness.

  “Halt!” the hidden voice cut through the silence.

  Anthony stopped. The young man with the other end of the prisoner stopped too late, wincing as his toe jammed into something unseen.

  I’m about to lose it, Anthony thought, drawing deep breaths. Where are we even going?

  The grinding sound of gears broke the silence. A block of pure white light erupted from the darkness. For the first time, Anthony saw the figure holding the candle. Dressed in pitch-black robes, every contour of the body was obscured.

  “Step through the door,” the figure commanded. “Someone will receive you on the other side. Move!”

  No one stirred. The light burned too bright, obscuring what lay beyond.

  A second, deeper voice boomed. “I’ll count to ten. Anyone still here when I finish is dead.”

  A second flame flickered into existence, hovering above another cloaked man’s fingertip.

  Two of them? Anthony panicked. There must be more hidden in the shadows.

  The weight of the unconscious man doubled suddenly. His partner bolted toward the light.

  Motherfucker… Anthony thought. He wanted to dump the body and run but a voice from behind stopped him cold.

  “Don’t you dare drop him. Take him along.”

  Anthony swallowed hard, stumbling forward toward the light. Damn it… should’ve paid more attention back then.

  Naturally, he was the last to arrive. The man counting down stopped just as he and the unconscious man reached the threshold. Inches separated them from the blinding white.

  Here goes nothing…

  Anthony stepped through alongside his partner.

  Beyond the light sprawled a massive factory, hundreds—if not thousands—of machines filling the cavern. The air roared with hissing, clanging, and grinding metal.

  The stench hit him immediately: foul, putrid, beyond anything he had ever smelled. Even corpses from his grave-robbing days couldn’t compare. He raised a hand to his nose.

  His eyes fell on the young woman who had entered first. She trembled on the floor, sobbing. What the hell is wrong with her?

  A shrill whistle pierced the air, louder than the clamor of machinery. Anthony dropped the unconscious man and clutched his ears, knees buckling. Pain pulsed through his skull, a violent rhythm that threatened to tear him apart.

  The whistle ceased as suddenly as it had appeared.

  The others lay scattered on the floor, some unconscious, all equally tormented.

  Then the floor trembled. A mesh of tiles parted, and a massive glass chamber—over a hundred feet in length—erupted from the ground.

  Anthony’s mouth fell open. Dozens of people were trapped inside, barely conscious. Those who seemed lucid did not react, as if his group were invisible to them.

  What the hell is this place?

  The whistle sounded again. Metallic pipes latched onto openings at both ends of the chamber. Silence fell.

  Anthony watched, horrified, as the prisoners fell one by one, clawing at the glass. Faces contorted in panic as they struggled to breathe. Within seconds, none remained standing.

  Five seconds later, nothing resembling a human corpse remained. Bones, flesh, blood, and other fluids had silently merged into a viscous mass.

  The whistle shrieked a third time. The goo coalesced into a thick slurry, swallowed by a massive underground suction pump. The chamber retracted.

  Then came the sound of vomiting. The prisoners expelled the contents of their stomachs in terror.

  I have to get out… Anthony thought. I can’t die here.

  He scrambled forward on all fours, desperate to escape before the figure collecting them arrived.

  Resistance hit him abruptly. His arm slammed into something unyielding. He looked up, and his mouth went dry.

  A towering figure loomed—over seven feet, clad in a loose robe that barely contained a massive gut. Oily skin gleamed under the lights, bald head reflecting the factory’s glow.

  Anthony met the man’s beady eyes. The smile that followed was anything but friendly.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the figure asked. “Didn’t you just arrive?”

  Anthony couldn’t respond. Words failed him. Nothing in his thirty-two years had prepared him for this.

  I’m dead…

  His gaze flicked to the corpse draped casually over the man’s shoulder. Its lower half was stripped to the bone.

  The giant laughed, hoisting Anthony by the chains and flinging him toward the others.

  “Who’s in charge of this batch?” the obese man bellowed. “How could you let our materials—”

  A fist slammed into his flat nose before he could finish.

  The head jerked back, staggering, but he recovered quickly.

  Then came a relentless barrage of knee strikes, each landing squarely. Anthony’s mouth fell open.

  The old man delivering the blows moved like a monkey, grace and power defying his wrinkled frame.

  The massive man collapsed under the assault.

  “What are you waiting for?” the old man roared. “Now—escape! Bring reinforcements before—”

  A massive icicle erupted from his chest, blood freezing against the snow-white projectile.

  The old man staggered back, disbelief etched across his face.

  “Curse you, Cartman Brothers!”

  The words barely left his lips before a hail of icicles tore him apart.

  Anthony watched the entire scene unfold, his eyes locked on two figures as massive as the fat man. In fact, they were perfectly identical, right down to their clothing.

  “Morton, how could you let that fool hit you that much?” Eric, the eldest Cartman, barked. “Even if you’re the slowest among us, you should have handled that.”

  Morton spat a mouthful of blood, propping himself upright. “I was just playing around,” he said, a laugh in his voice. “It was obvious there was an assassin among them. I only lowered my guard to find out who it was… but I appreciate the assist. Those agile cockroaches give me a headache.”

  He gently rubbed his broken nose back into place, grinning as if it were nothing.

  “Now is especially the time to be careful,” Sedo, the second eldest, added, standing close to Morton. He grabbed Morton’s jaw, realigning it with practiced ease.

  “I hear you,” Morton replied, opening and closing his mouth, testing the fit.

  Sedo’s gaze drifted to the shredded corpse of the old man. “Such a shame,” he murmured. “He would’ve made fine material.”

  “Thankfully, there’s an even better one nearby,” Eric said, his words slicing through the tension.

  Anthony’s heart skipped. The towering men’s eyes shifted toward him. Every instinct screamed to run, but fear rooted him in place. His throat felt dry, his legs frozen.

  Then came the sound of chains rattling behind him. The clatter of breaking metal followed.

  The man stepped forward casually, head tilting as he scanned the room. Recognition struck Anthony like a blow—he was the same person he had been forced to carry into that depraved factory.

  Anthony’s breath caught. Him too?

  “Boy,” Morton said, a wicked smile curling across his face, “I hope you’re ready to squeal.”

  The man laughed, a deep, unsettling cackle. “Says the fatso,” he said, stopping a few meters from the brothers. He pointed at them with a crooked finger. “So… which one of you is the brains of the operation? Or is that a rotating position?”

  Anthony swallowed hard. Every hair on his neck stood on end. He had no idea how he’d survive what was coming next.