After killing the monk with such overwhelming finality, Vogue slowly turned around to face Boss Osborn, who remained frozen on his golden throne. A pleasant smile spread across Vogue’s blood-spattered face—the kind of smile that made the expression sohow more terrifying than any snarl could have been.
The massive gang leader was absolutely terrified, his three-ter fra trembling despite his size. Sweat poured down his face in rivers. His hands gripped the armrests of his throne so tightly that the tal began to bend and creak under the pressure.
Monk Lin had been an incredibly powerful individual, a Half-Step Luminous Realm expert who had massacred entire groups of cultivators single-handedly in the past. Yet this young man had killed him almost casually, as though swatting an annoying insect. The ease with which Vogue had dismantled such overwhelming power made it abundantly clear that Boss Osborn himself stood absolutely no chance whatsoever.
"Please!" Osborn’s voice cracked with desperation, all his previous arrogance and authority completely evaporated. "Please, I have money! I have resources! I can give you everything!"
He frantically waved one massive hand, and two ornate treasure boxes materialized from his storage device, landing heavily on the cracked marble floor with tallic thuds. The boxes were clearly expensive, inlaid with gold and precious stones.
"I have rare cultivation herbs!" Osborn continued rapidly, words tumbling over each other. "Ancient technique manuals! Spatial rings! Artifacts! Spirit stones! Whatever you want, just na it! I can get you anything—anything at all! There’s no need for more killing!"
Vogue raised one eyebrow as he looked at the offered treasures, his expression unreadable. He took a few casual steps forward, his footsteps echoing through the destroyed hall.
"So you’re finally begging for your life now?" Vogue’s voice was conversational, almost friendly. "How interesting. Tell , when you sent those four assassins to kill in that vehicle, did you think twice about it? Did you consider for even a mont that your actions might have consequences?"
Osborn’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, but no words ca out.
Vogue’s smile widened slightly. "And when your people almost killed Gloria—a completely innocent woman who had nothing to do with your gang’s business—did you pause to think about whether she deserved to die? Did you care that she was just a nurse trying to help people?"
"I... I didn’t know she was important to you!" Osborn stamred desperately. "If I had known, I never would have—"
"Ah, I see." Vogue nodded thoughtfully, as though this was a reasonable explanation. "So you’re saying that if she hadn’t been important to specifically, her death would have been perfectly acceptable? Her life only matters because I care about her?"
"No! That’s not what I ant!" Osborn backpedaled frantically. "I just—"
"Let ask you sothing else," Vogue interrupted, his tone still unnervingly pleasant. "How many other people have you killed over the years? How many innocent civilians have died because they couldn’t afford your protection fees, or because they witnessed sothing you wanted kept secret, or simply because killing them was more convenient than letting them live?"
Osborn’s face went pale. His lips moved but no sound erged.
"Hundreds?" Vogue suggested. "Thousands, perhaps? Do you even keep count anymore, or did they all just blend together into aningless numbers?"
"They... they were just business!" Osborn tried desperately. "This is how the underworld operates! Everyone knows the risks when they—"
"Business." Vogue repeated the word slowly, as though tasting sothing bitter. "You murdered hundreds of people and destroyed countless families, and you call it ’business.’ How very pragmatic of you."
He took another step closer. "But here’s what I find truly fascinating about your current situation. When you held all the power, when you were the one giving orders and ending lives, you never once showed rcy or hesitation. You took whatever you wanted and killed whoever inconvenienced you. That was just business, just the natural order of things."
Vogue’s eyes turned cold despite his continued smile. "But now, in this mont when soone stronger than you holds your life in their hands, suddenly you want rcy. Suddenly you believe life has value and shouldn’t be carelessly thrown away. Suddenly you think negotiation and reason should prevail over violence."
"Please!" Osborn was openly crying now, tears streaming down his scarred face. "I’ll do anything! I’ll disband the gang! I’ll turn myself in to the authorities! I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison! Just please don’t kill !"
"The authorities?" Vogue laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "The sa authorities you’ve been bribing for years? The sa officials who look the other way while you traffic drugs and run protection rackets and sell people like rchandise? Those authorities?"
Osborn had no response to that.
"No," Vogue said softly, his smile finally fading. "I don’t think I’ll be accepting your money or your promises. You see, there’s a fundantal principle at work here that you seem to have forgotten during all your years of wielding power over others."
He leaned in slightly. "What you do to others will eventually be done to you. The rcy you show will be the rcy you receive. You built an empire on cruelty and death, so that’s exactly what you’ll get in return."
"No, please—" Osborn started to beg again, but his words were cut off by a scream.
In the blink of an eye, Vogue had appeared behind the massive gang leader, moving so fast that distance beca aningless. His hands struck like lightning at specific points on Osborn’s legs.
"Crack! Crack!"
Both of the gang leader’s kneecaps shattered completely. Osborn’s body shot forward off the throne, crashing face-first onto the floor.
"AHHHHHHH!" Osborn’s scream echoed through the entire mansion.
Vogue stood over the fallen gang leader and sneered down at him. "You spent so long sitting on that throne looking down on everyone else. Now, here did that lead you?"
Vogue imdiately started to work on him. As he tortured him.
The gang leader’s screams echoed throughout the entire mansion. Vogue made sure he wasn’t unconscious for the torture.
So of the remaining gang mbers, those who hadn’t fled when the fighting started, tried to help their boss.
Vogue killed them with single palm strikes, not even bothering to look at them. His hand would flash out almost casually, and another gang mber would drop dead with crushed organs or shattered skulls. Their bodies piled up around the hall like discarded dolls.
Vogue pulled out Osborn’s fingernails one by one with pliers, dropping each nail on the floor in front of the gang leader’s face so he could see them. Then he broke each finger, bending them backward until the bones snapped.
He then started to pluck Osborn’s eyes, leaving the empty, bleeding sockets. He cut out his tongue and the screams beca wet, gargling sounds that were sohow even more disturbing.
He proceeded to slice off both ears then stabbed the eardrum.
Through it all, Vogue’s expression remained calm, like an artist working on a sculpture. He felt no particular rage or hatred, just satisfaction at vengeance finally.
Eventually, after what must have felt like an eternity, the gang leader’s broken body stopped being able to produce screams. He had lost too much blood.
Vogue wasn’t able to feel any sense of satisfaction anymore and killed him.
"Boring." He flicked his tongue.
He ended it with a quick blade strike that severed Osborn’s head completely. The body twitched once and then went still.
Vogue began searching the mansion for valuables. He collected the two treasure boxes Osborn had offered earlier, plus dozens more he found hidden throughout the building. He also discovered that Osborn wore a spatial storage ring on one finger.
Then he proceeded through the rest of the mansion, hunting down and killing every remaining mber of the Shadow-Wing Gang he could find.
This included the won who were present in the compound—so of whom were gang mbers themselves, others who were captives or "property" held against their will.
Vogue didn’t particularly care about distinguishing between willing participants and victims.
Several of the won pleaded with him desperately, crying and begging, explaining that they’d been kidnapped or coerced, that they weren’t really part of the gang, that they had families waiting for them.
Vogue ignored all of it. What if the gang mbers disguised themselves?
And honestly, deep down in a part of himself he didn’t examine too closely, Vogue found that he enjoyed the killing. There was a satisfaction to it, a sense of power and control.
He smiled as he worked his way through the compound, and the smile was genuine.
By the ti he finished, the beautiful mansion was silent except for the sound of blood dripping from various surfaces.
Vogue found the master bedroom on the third floor and spent thirty minutes washing himself thoroughly in the attached bathroom. The water ran red down the drain as he cleaned off the accumulated blood and gore.
He dressed in fresh clothes he found in Osborn’s wardrobe—expensive garnts that were far too large for him but better than remaining in blood-soaked attire. He could adjust them later.
User Comments
0 comments from readers