In one of the Bronx's narrowest, darkest alleys, a man lies motionless on the ground. A distant streetlamp barely lights the scene.
His pristine white clothes and black fedora are drenched in fresh blood. Six bullets have ripped through his chest, but somehow, he's still breathing. His name is Vincenzo Carbone—Vinny to most, one of Little Italy's most notorious bosses.
He's a middle-aged man, short and broad-shouldered, bald, with long, curly mustaches.
Three men stand around Vinny's body. Two wear sharp, dark gray suits.
The third is different.
He's much more muscular and hides under a long black cloak that touches the ground.
His hood covers his face completely, leaving only darkness.
The man in the black cloak makes a silent hand gesture.
No words are needed.
The other two understand immediately.
They walk to the entrance of the dark, narrow alley and stand guard, making sure no one sees or disturbs their boss and Vinny.
«B-Bastard... who the hell are you?» Vinny asks, his voice gurgling as blood fills his mouth.
The masked man stays silent.
«Are you with the Santoro family...? COUGH... COUGH...» Vinny wheezes. His words break into violent coughing and a spray of red vomit. «...Or maybe the Moretti? How much did they offer you? COUGH... COUGH... I'll pay you double—just let me live! I'm the most powerful boss in all of New York!»
«That's exactly why you have to die,» the hooded man replies.
It's the first time Vinny hears his voice. It strikes a strange chord in his memory. Familiar, yet impossible to place.
«Your voice... it's warm, deep... not something someone forgets easily. And yet, even though I know I've heard it before... I just can't place it...»
Vinny's words grow heavier with each breath. Blood rises in his throat, choking every syllable.
«Don't worry, Vinny. I won't let you die wondering.»
The man pulls back his hood, revealing his face.
A strikingly handsome man in his forties. He has slicked-back black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a clean-shaven jawline.
Vincenzo recognizes that face instantly.
«I-I can't believe it...» Vinny murmurs, stunned. «John Hawkley... One of the men I trusted more than anyone else... Knowing I'm dying by your hand... it hurts more than the damn bullets in my chest.»
John lets out a quiet, wicked laugh.
«That pain? It's nothing compared to what you're about to feel.»
He crouches in front of Vinny, grabs his face with both hands, and lifts it until their eyes are just inches apart.
In that instant, John's blue eyes vanish. A glowing, sinister yellow light replaces them. He opens his mouth far wider than any human should, revealing a row of razor-sharp fangs.
From Vinny's mouth, along with the blood, a faint blue mist begins to rise. It drifts straight into John's open jaws.
The pain Vinny feels is beyond description. Yet not a single scream escapes his lips.
Once every trace of that strange, ethereal blue energy is drawn from Vinny—now just a corpse—John sets him ablaze.
But the fire isn't ordinary. Emerald-green flames burst from his palm, ignited by magic as he touches the lifeless body. The flames release no smoke and never spread. They simply devour the corpse completely, leaving not even ashes behind.
Finally, John returns to his human form. His eyes fade back to blue, and his monstrous fangs shrink into normal teeth. He walks to the mouth of the alley, where his two companions—known among humans as Frank Callhan and Oliver Segel—are waiting.
Frank looks like a bald, middle-aged brute. A walking mountain of muscle with a not-so-bright expression. Oliver, on the other hand, looks like a young man in his late twenties. Short, scrawny, with an almost angelic face.
«We could've handled him too. No need for you to get involved with small fry like that, Marquis Velshekar,» Frank mutters in a low voice.
«I've already told you—I don't want to be called that anymore!» he says, visibly annoyed. «The Marquis Velshekar is gone. I'm John Hawkley now. Burn that into your brain... unless you want to end up like Vinny.»
«Y-Yes, boss! I-I'm sorry...»
«Anyway... still no report about that thing, huh?» John asks.
«No, boss. None of our agents across the globe have reported finding the two hybrids,» Frank replies quickly. «With all due respect, boss... it's been fourteen years. Fourteen years of searching without a single clue. Even if this world is smaller than N'raeth, it's still massive. They could be anywhere. Wouldn't it make more sense to call off the hunt and return to our homeland?»
«Don't you ever tell me what I should or shouldn't do again!»
That single line is enough to freeze Frank's blood and kill any thought of arguing further.
«Can I ask you something, John...?» Oliver cuts in. «With the kind of power you have, you could erase New York with a snap of your fingers. So why go through all this trouble—pretending to be just another gang of human thugs?»
«Because ordinary human gangsters don't get hunted by HESPARC. And in this world, money and influence beat even the strongest demonic spell.» His tone darkens.
«Now find those two mocciose. I don't care how—bribe a HESPARC officer if you have to. But I want them by the end of the month.»
«If you fail... you'd better start hiding too.»
«At your command, boss!» the two henchmen answer in unison.