Vincent pulled his coat tightly around himself and walked aimlessly through the falling snow. He maneuvered past a few pedestrians, including a woman holding an umbrella.
When his head accidentally bumped into her umbrella, she turned around with an annoyed glare. "Hey! Watch where you're going!"
He ignored her and kept walking. The farther he moved from the city center, where the Imperial Hotel stood, the quieter the streets became.
Unbeknownst to him, a car pulled up behind him. Several figures, wrapped in thick coats, hoods pulled over their heads, and faces partially covered, stepped out, approaching silently.
Before he could react or call out for help, they grabbed him and shoved him into the vehicle.
"Hey! Let me go!" he shouted as he struggled in the passenger seat. For a split second, he caught sight of the car, it was a luxury model. But before he could make out anything else, tape was slapped over his mouth, and a dark cloth was pulled over his head.
He thrashed against their grip, trying to break free from the strong arms pinning him down. But before he could fight back, the man sitting beside him struck him on the head with the handle of a pistol.
Darkness overtook him.
The car sped away through the snow-covered streets, heading toward the harbor.
***
Vincent felt pain all over his body, his head pounding fiercely, especially when he took a deep breath. His chest and stomach ached from the constant beating, and his wrists burned where the zip ties dug into his skin.
He smelled a strong scent of gasoline in the air and the smell made it even harder for him to breathe.
Then he heard footsteps. One unmistakably belonged to high heels.
He pushed himself up then resting on both knees, his head was still covered by the rough black cloth. The footsteps stopped right in front of him, and suddenly, the fabric was yanked away.
Vincent blinked several times, adjusting his eyes to the dim, flickering light. He knelt in a large, empty warehouse. There were no supplies, no equipment, just bare concrete walls.
Across from him, he saw two pairs of feet, one in the high heels he had seen at the party, the other in polished leather shoes, unmistakably male.
Slowly, he raised his gaze.
She stood before him, draped in an expensive fur coat. Beside her, Pearson casually toyed with a unlit cigarette between his fingers.
Both of them stared down at him as if he were nothing more than a disgusting insect.
Pearson took out a gold lighter, ignited his cigarette, then slipped the lighter back into his suit pocket. He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke before speaking.
"Pathetic."
Selena, still holding onto his arm, gave a smug smile. "I told you, Vincent. You were never going to win."
Vincent, breathing heavily, tried to reply but tasted blood in his mouth. He spat to the side and forced out the words, "You talk too much."
Pearson chuckled suddenly, then reached for the pistol handed to him by one of his men.
"And you still don't know when to shut up."
Everything happened too fast. Vincent barely had time to react before the gunshot rang out.
The bullet tore through his chest.
His body hit the floor. Warm blood spilled across his hands. His vision blurred.
Selena let out a sigh and turned her face away. Seeing her do so, Pearson smirked, then walked forward, wrapping an arm around her waist, followed by his men.
When he reached the warehouse door, he suddenly turned back and flicked his cigarette toward a damp spot on the ground. Flames erupted instantly, and it was spreading fast, as his men had already doused the area with gasoline beforehand.
Vincent barely felt the heat of the flames consuming most of the warehouse. All he could feel was the pain in his chest, and he slowly closed his eyes.
He would rather die than keep living like this, he thought. Everything had been taken from him, and there was no reason to go on.
But suddenly, a voice, mechanical, yet unmistakably female, echoed in his ears.
> Sovereign Syndicate Activated.
> Status: Critical. Restoring the Heir…
Vincent's eyes snapped open at the sound, and before he could even process what was happening, a sudden jolt ran through his body—a rush of energy.
The pain in his chest vanished. The blood that had been dripping from his wounds, even from his split lips, stopped instantly.
Even the flames beginning to lick at his skin no longer hurt.
Then, the voice spoke again:
> Status: The Heir has regained vital life functions.
'What was that?' he thought in confusion. But his panic grew as he saw the flames engulfing his body, licking at his clothes. Yet strangely, his hair and skin remained untouched, completely unharmed.
Then, the voice echoed once more:
> Bloodline Restoration: Passive Effect. Status: Abnormal Condition on The Heir's body has been nullified.
Before he could even grasp the meaning of those words, a loud crack suddenly rang out from above, the warehouse ceiling was starting to collapse.
Vincent stood up and sprinted toward the exit. The warehouse ceiling started collapsing, with debris falling dangerously close to him.
He dodged the falling wreckage and kept running, only stopping once he was a safe distance away, beside another warehouse.
Coughing several times, he bent forward, resting one hand against the cold warehouse wall for support.
As his coughing subsided, he straightened up, relieved, until he suddenly realized he was completely exposed. His clothes had been completely burned away by the fire.
He quickly looked around in panic, relieved that no one seemed to be nearby. Still, he scrambled to find something or anything, to cover himself in the middle of the warehouse district.
The voice he had heard earlier, the strange woman speaking inside his head, no longer mattered. Even the fact that he had survived both a gunshot and a fire felt insignificant right now.
What mattered most was finding something to wear. Anything.