Bucharest, the capital of Romania, was also the nation's economic and cultural center, often hailed as 'Little Paris'...
Nestled along the Dâmbovița River, a tributary of the Danube, its northern outskirts boasted the fad Băneasa Forest. Historically, this garden-like city had been a fiercely contested strategic stronghold among European powers like the Ottoman Empire and Tsarist Russia.
At Henri Coandă International Airport...
Sean, dressed in a leather jacket and sunglasses, erged from the bustling terminal, holding a tourist map like any ordinary sightseer. Behind him followed the burly Mordo, with his face stern and unsmiling, resembling a dutiful bodyguard.
"So, where do we go now?" Mordo asked in a hushed tone, eyeing the young man with the map, "I know Carrigan lives in a manor on the outskirts of Bucharest. There's an underground casino there. We could head straight for it."
Sean gave the impatient sorcerer a strange look before turning away with a faint smile and replied, "Then I won't stand in your way. I've booked a premium suite at the Hilton Garden Inn in the city center. I plan to rest, enjoy a French gourt al, and maybe tour the Palace of the Parliant. I Heard it's the second-largest administrative building in the world after the Pentagon. It's definitely worth a visit."
Mordo's eyes widened before anger surged within him. He hadn't co all the way from the London Sanctum to Romania for a vacation.
The atrocities detailed in those files made his blood boil. As a sorcerer molded by Kamar-Taj, he yearned to storm Carrigan's manor and deliver divine judgnt.
Sean sighed softly, "Why do sorcerers always think with their muscles?"
He then explained, "The London Sanctum sent plenty of sorcerers and monster hunters before. Why did they all fail, so even ending up as food for vampires and werewolves? This is Carrigan's territory, a black zone beyond the Sanctum's reach. Even if you are Rambo, charging in blindly would get you turned into Swiss cheese."
Mordo frowned, and pondered the words...
Eastern Europe was a den of supernatural creatures... vampires, werewolves, even angels and demons walking in human guise.
They treated this lawless land as their last paradise, evading the Sanctum's watch. Beneath its beautiful facade churned a whirlpool of sin, the perfect breeding ground for darkness.
"Then what's your plan?" The sorcerer's sole virtue was perhaps his willingness to listen.
"Exactly as I said... enjoy the city's finest services. Play the tourist." Sean folded the map as a black Bentley pulled up outside, the hotel's courtesy car for VIP guests.
After a brief hesitation, Mordo followed...
He had witnessed Sean's extraordinary talents at Kamar-Taj. The Ancient One seed to share so unspoken understanding with him. In this deceptively calm city, going alone against ruthless thugs and the lurking shadows of vampires and werewolves was a death wish.
"I get it!" Mordo suddenly brightened upon entering the car, "You're waiting for nightfall to infiltrate Carrigan's manor and capture that demon-dealing bastard!"
Sean nearly facepald. Shouldn't sorcerers prioritize wisdom? Why was this Kamar-Taj-trained and orthodox mage all brute force, like so berserker? No wonder the Ancient One eventually chose Strange as successor.
"Carrigan will co to ," he said flatly, "As this city's kingpin, he'll know instantly when a young tycoon from New York arrives, itching to splurge. I doubt the rcenary-turned-warlord would miss the chance to offer his... hospitality."
Seeing the speechless sorcerer, Sean patted his shoulder with a smile, "Money makes you a god in any city..."
….
~Bucharest Outskirts – An Ancient Manor~
The sprawling estate, once belonging to an Ottoman noble, had been purchased and fortified by Carrigan after Romania's liberation...
Even in broad daylight, ard gangsters patrolled openly, unafraid of exposure. Bucharest, dubbed "The City of Joy", was practically their fiefdom. Mayors from all six districts frequented this place, and even national police dared not intrude.
But their backers ran deeper...
Carrigan's true patrons were beings beyond ordinary imagination... long-lived creatures lurking in the shadows.
In truth, all of Eastern Europe was a playground for vampires and werewolves. They had infiltrated governnts, seized power, and could trigger chaos at will.
As Sean had guessed, no re rcenary-turned-warlord or ard gangs could sustain such an empire. The real puppeteers were the supernatural beings of lore, confined to this lawless land, toeing the Sanctum's red lines while secretly expanding their influence.
"Have you found that bitch yet?" Carrigan, the local kingpin, was in a rage.
Sweeping everything off his desk, he grabbed a subordinate by the collar, snarling, "Well?!"
"N-not yet..." The trembling reply oddly cald him.
Releasing the man, Carrigan adjusted his collar, his sinister face twisting into a smile that only terrified the underling further.
"Throw him to tonight's club. Those dignitaries are tired of slaughtering commoners. Ti for sothing fresh." The rciless ex-rcenary waved, and two brutes dragged the failed subordinate away.
Screams and pleas echoed across the manor, a living hell even demons would admire. Cris and bloodshed had piled into mountains of wealth...
"Keep searching. I want that whore and Danny by dawn. Our esteed client has placed an order. If I suffer, you'll suffer worse." Carrigan's nose twitched, his pale face and sinister aura cowing his n.
They'd all witnessed his cruelty... like the ti he threw a fleeing Ukrainian girl from the third floor into a werewolf's cage. Such savagery was routine.
Dismissing his n, Carrigan collapsed onto a sofa, his hollow eyes burning with craving. Like an addict, he shakily pulled out an ornate tin, extracting a syringe filled with crimson liquid, and plunged it into his arm.
His body convulsed as color flooded his gaunt face. Feeling the surging power, he grinned in ecstasy.
"Damn, this vampire shit's good." The ex-rcenary tossed the syringe, ambition blazing in his eyes, "Better than any drug. Mass-producing this could take us further than ever!"
"But first, find that slut Nadya and her bastard child." His curses dripped with venom.
The re thought of that old man calling himself phisto chilled his bones.
Dealing with demons had one universal downside: fail your end of the bargain, and the consequences were... creative.
Carrigan owed his rise to that mysterious old man. Without him, vampires and werewolves would've never glanced his way. As the devil's spokesman, he'd amassed unimaginable wealth, but also beco a puppet.
"Fucking demons," he spat inwardly...
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