Chapter 1: To Pass Judgment, I Don't Need Any Damn Evidence!
"Now, where was I... Oh, right! I was just talking about this ridiculous sphynx cat I ran into back in America. The moment it saw anyone, it would start hissing like a madman—like some poor schmuck who just found out his wife ran off with the pool boy." Jonas Jourdan set his glass down, his gaze fixed on the Egyptian beauty before him.
The young woman, whose name was Aya, wore dramatic black eyeliner and a shimmer of gold-and-blue shadow that made her eyes pop. Dressed in a flowing white gown and adorned with a brilliant green gemstone necklace, she was the very picture of local charm. Jonas had only just arrived in Egypt, and he was determined to experience all of its... customs.
She rested her arm on the table, a gentle smile gracing her lips as she watched him, her eyes filled with pure adoration. The man across from her was a vision: a golden pompadour slicked back, a stylish blue denim jacket, and a handsome face with gentle features set against flawless pale skin.
Though they had only been talking for less than two hours, everything about Jonas—from his looks to his status as a world traveler, to his impeccable, gentlemanly conduct—had her completely captivated.
"It's incredible," Aya cooed, her hand reflexively reaching for his across the table. "You're so young, yet you've already seen so much of the world."
Just as her fingers were about to touch his, Jonas moved first. He swiftly yet smoothly captured her delicate hand, pressing it against his own cheek.
"Speaking of which, I once had a cat that could do backflips," he said, his voice a low purr. "Why don't you come back to my place tonight, and I can tell you all about it?"
"Hahaha... Oh, Jonas, you're absolutely incorrigible," Aya giggled, covering her mouth as her shoulders shook with laughter.
"So, is that a yes?" Jonas asked, stroking her hand, his expression full of hopeful anticipation.
"A back-flipping cat sounds fascinating," she replied coyly, "but I'd much rather hear about your experiences writing your novels."
"But of course! As a best-selling author, I guarantee my stories are more bizarre and spectacular than you can possibly imagine," Jonas declared with an unshakable air of confidence.
As Jonas and Aya were lost in their own world, a haggard-looking man squeezed through the tavern's crowd. His shifty, rat-like eyes were glued to the travel bag resting by Jonas's feet.
Obviously, he was a thief. And he'd been casing his mark for a while.
This type is always the easiest, he thought. Pale skin, naive face, no situational awareness... a perfect lamb for the slaughter.
The timing was perfect. The fool was completely absorbed in charming the tavern owner's daughter. A quick, silent snatch, and he'd be set for drinking money for the next month.
His eyes darted around the room. A few of the local brutes were watching the scene with knowing smirks. Good. They were on his side. He also noticed a man with a striking magenta pompadour, observing with keen interest, a fancy-looking book open on the table before him.
The thief paid them no mind. He knew the locals wouldn't say a word. A round of drinks was all it took to buy their silence. As for the guy with the weird hair? His years of experience told him he was just another spectator, eager to watch the show.
He crept up behind Jonas, using the dim, yellow lighting of the tavern as cover, and stealthily reached for the bag.
Three feet... two feet... one foot... six inches...
Just as even the most seasoned bomb technician feels a tremor of anxiety, a thin sheen of sweat broke out on the thief's forehead. His fingers finally grazed the bag's shoulder strap—
—when a large hand shot out and clamped down on his wrist like a vise grip.
The grip was like iron, a searing pain shooting up from his wrist. A wave of cold sweat instantly drenched the thief's back. He looked up in a panic and met a pair of utterly unimpressed blue eyes.
Jonas spoke, his voice laced with a world-weary sigh. "My, the local hospitality in Egypt is truly something else. This is the third time this has happened since I left the airport today."
Aya shot up from her seat, not because she was shocked by the thief, but because she was astounded that someone would dare try to rob her guest, right under her father's nose.
The thief frantically tried to yank his arm free, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Still, he tried to play it off. "Hey, pal, I think you've got the wrong idea," he stammered. "I was just... bending down to tie my shoelace."
He even stuck a foot out to show Jonas the loose lace dangling by his shoe. To a casual observer, it might have looked convincing.
A faint, smug smile touched the thief's lips. "See, man? It's just a misunderstanding. You can let me go now."
Jonas's expression didn't change. He rose from his chair, his six-foot-five frame towering over the thief, who was barely five-foot-three. He was like a giant.
The thief's face twitched, and he swallowed hard. In the natural world, as in human society, size was a hell of an intimidation factor.
"You're not entirely wrong," Jonas said, his deep blue eyes boring into the man. "There are no security cameras here. I have no evidence to prove you're a thief."
Security cameras? Oh, right, those things rich foreigners use to spy on people, the thief thought, finally recalling the term.
Seeing Jonas seemingly relent, the thief pressed his luck. "You said it yourself, you've got no proof. So, misunderstanding's over. Let me go."
But Jonas's grip didn't loosen. It tightened.
"Hsssk—! What do you think you're doing?! Let go of me!" the thief hissed, a fresh jolt of pain making him gasp.
Jonas's gaze darkened. A flicker of an abyssal flame ignited in his pupils as his voice dropped to a low, menacing rumble. "I may not have any evidence... but I, Jonas Jourdan, am not one to suffer fools or provocations in silence. To me, 'evidence' is as worthless and insignificant as a frog's piss in the desert."
He leaned in, his shadow enveloping the smaller man.
"To pass judgment on trash like you, I DON'T NEED ANY EVIDENCE AT ALL!"
Before the thief could even process the words, a fist the size of a cinder block filled his vision. The next instant, it connected squarely with his face.
"BU-GOOOM!"
As the entire tavern watched in stunned silence, the thief was sent flying across the room, crashing directly into the man with the magenta pompadour who had been watching the show.
The man's eyes shot wide open as a bloom of pain erupted through his body. With a splintering crash, his table, his drink, and everything on it was sent flying. Glass shattered. His book tumbled to the floor, its pages snapping shut to reveal the title: Invisible Black Monster.
The thief's limp body lay sprawled on top of him.
You're picking a fight! What the hell does that have to do with me, the guy watching from the sidelines?! the man roared in his mind. He shoved the groaning thief off of him and rose to his feet. Brushing the filth from his clothes, his face a mask of cold fury, he locked his gaze onto the colossal figure of Jonas Jourdan.