"Fuck, I am so damn exhausted," Alas whined, carefully tapping antiseptic over a shallow knife graze on Kenzii's stomach.
Kenzii had just come back home from their high-rise condo, freshly returned from executing his fifth high-value target among the syndicate lords listed in Garza's seized ledger.
"I swear my body feels forty years older," Alas continued without breaking his pase, tossing the bloodied cotton ball into a trash bin before shooting a miserable glance at Sota, who simply raised a one eyebrow back at him. "My joints are stiff, my back aches constantly, and my eyesight is rapidly deteriorating from staring at encrypted terminal feeds for eighteen hours a day."
Alas pouted dramatically, resting a hand over his chest as if mourning his lost youth. "I actually want to get married and have a family when all of this blood-money madness settles down. How am I supposed to find a wife when I look like a hollowed-out corpse?"
"Stop being so dramatic," Sota replied smoothly, rolling his shoulders to stretch his tight posture before looking up from his tablet. "You know as well as I do that in this day and age, looks are secondary. As long as your bank accounts are overflowing with wealth, you'll have no trouble finding someone."
Kenzii leaned his head back against the leather cushion, a dark, faint smirk playing on his lips as he glanced sideways at Alas. "Just make sure you wait until I'm done with all my slaughter missions before you start bringing children into this world. Unless, of course, you want to kill your own son."
Alas froze mid-motion. He slowly looked down at his forearm as goosebumps rapidly erupted across his skin, a visceral chill running down his spine.
"Fuck you, Kenzii! Seriously, fuck you!" Alas barked out, throwing a middle finger in the air before slumping heavily against the backrest of the sofa. While Kenzii just chuckled.
Once again, the three of them were anchored in the quiet sanctuary of their living room, each buried deep in their own chaotic world of corporate maneuvering, intelligence gathering, and lethal missions planning.
Kenzii closed his eyes, letting out a long, silent breath that carried the immense weight dragging at his core. Like his cousins, he was physically spent—but the true exhaustion was the creeping, psychological numbness settling deep within his bones.
In the dark silence of his mind, an unsettling question echoed repeatedly: Where did the guilt go?
In the early years of his violent binding to the System, every life he extinguished left a lingering weight in his chest. His stomach used to turn; the suffocating pressure of taking human lives would haunt his sleepless nights. But lately? Nothing. The heavy pangs of remorse had completely evaporated, leaving behind a cold, desolate emptiness. He was transforming into a hollow shell—devoid of regret, devoid of horror, devoid of any emotional resonance whatsoever regarding the slaughter he carried out.
He opened his eyes slightly, observing Sota and Alas. He couldn't help but reflect on the irony of their reality.
For as long as he could remember, his cousins had utterly despised their extended family. They had condemned their elders as ruthless, bloodthirsty monsters who cut down anyone standing in the way of their power. They had reserved a special kind of hatred for their own parents, whose hands were drenched in political and criminal blood.
And yet... look at us now, Kenzii thought bitterly. How are we any different from the monsters we swore to hate?
Alas and Sota had willingly become his accomplices, diving headfirst into an illicit bloodbath. These targets were not demonic entities spawned by the Slaughter System, nor were these executions ordered by the elders or the family pack. They were orchestrating this trail of bodies entirely out of their own free will—driven by internal ambition, survival, and a calculated hunger for power.
They were spilling blood to secure control over an empire constructed on dark, unholy wealth—the very wealth bestowed by the demonic entity binding Kenzii. And that very same wealth was dragging them deeper into the abyss, binding their souls to the darkness. All because of their own greed.
Deep down, Kenzii understood the horrific truth: this was precisely what the demonic force controlling his existence desired. It wanted to consume his entire bloodline, poisoning them with absolute greed until they willingly tore each other apart for total control of the throne.
Yet, even with that grim realization staring him in the face, Kenzii knew there was no turning back. They had crossed the point of no return long ago. Redemption was a fairy tale meant for weaker men.
If we have to dance to the tune of the devil controlling this family, Kenzii resolved silently, his eyes hardening, then I'll make damn sure my cousins and I are the ones standing over the ashes at the end of the game.
A sudden, sharp flickering ignited behind Kenzii's eyelids, snapping him out of his internal dark monologue. He blinked, watching as vivid, glowing crimson text materialized in the air before his eyes, burning through his retinas with absolute clarity.
[Target Profile:
Name: Drakin Dreiyan
Age: 36 years old
Occupation: Global Pop Icon / Multi-Industry Businessman
Ethnicity: American
Status: Married, 1 Child
Transgressions: International Sex Trafficking, Racketeering Conspiracy, Inter-State Prostitution Transport…
System Difficulty Level: 87%]
Kenzii's eyes narrowed as his gaze locked onto the target's name. A beat of heavy silence passed before a low, genuine laugh escaped his throat.
Sota and Alas both snapped their heads toward him, exchanging bewildered looks.
"What the hell are you laughing at?" Alas asked, tossing Kenzii a deeply suspicious look. "Have you finally lost your mind?"
Kenzii clicked his tongue, clicking his jaw back and forth as another amused chuckle echoed from his chest.
"Ken?" Sota interjected, his tone turning cautious as he leaned forward. "What is it?"
Kenzii shifted his posture, resting his chin in his hand as a mischievous smirk spread across his face, his eyes locking onto Alas. "Hey... isn't that ultra-famous global pop star, Drakin, your absolute favorite artist?"
Alas scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Tss. Yeah, he is. What about it? Don't tell me a cold-blooded assassin like you suddenly became a fan of pop music? The guy's headlining a massive set at Coachella this coming Tuesday! It's absolute bullshit that I couldn't score tickets because we were drowning in all this corporate intelligence work." Alas slapped his own thigh in frustration, groaning aloud.
Then, mid-groan, Alas stopped cold. His eyes slowly widened into massive, panicked circles as he stared directly at Kenzii's smirk.
"Wait... don't fucking tell me?!" Alas gasped.
"Yeah, he's the—"
"Don't tell me you managed to pull strings and get me a VIP ticket to his concert?!" Alas bolted upright, rushing over to grab Kenzii's shoulders, shaking his cousin violently with intense, childlike excitement. "Did you?! Did you really?!"
"I didn't," Kenzii deadpanned instantly.
The excitement vanished from Alas's face in a fraction of a second. His features twisted into an annoyed, sour pout. He shoved Kenzii's shoulders back aggressively before dropping back down onto his sofa cushion with a loud grunt.
"Unbelievable. What a waste of excitement. You're a terrible person."
"...But I do think we should secure three passes," Kenzii added smoothly, his smirk widening as he recaptured Alas's attention.
Alas sat up slightly, though his expression remained deeply skeptical. "Keep dreaming, man. Those tickets sold out 2 weeks ago within four seconds of dropping. It's completely impossible."
"Then we make our own way in," Kenzii stated simply.
Sota's brow furrowed tightly as he picked up on the underlying edge in Kenzii's tone. "What are you talking about, Kenzii? Do we even have the time to waste on a music festival right now?"
"We do," Kenzii replied, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register. He lifted his left hand, staring at his pale palm as his fingers flexed subtly. "Because it's mandatory."
Despite himself, an involuntary surge of electric adrenaline rushed through Kenzii's veins. His heart hammered violently against his ribs as his dark blood heated up, sensing the impending thrill of the hunt. The System's sinister call was echoing once more.
"Explain yourself," Sota demanded, his dark eyes fixed on Kenzii.
Kenzii slowly lowered his hand and turned his head to look directly at Sota, the lethal smile still painted across his face.
"Drakin Dreiyan is my next System Mission," Kenzii purred softly. "And he is going to breathe his very last breath right under these hands."
Alas froze entirely. The color instantly drained from his face, leaving his lips stark white. His jaw hung open in absolute shock as his brain completely short-circuited under the weight of the revelation.
A second later, Alas's eyes rolled back, and his head slumped sideways onto the sofa armrest in a complete, dead faint.
Sota immediately stood up, looking at their unconscious cousin with an exasperated groan. "Great. Look what you did to the idiot."
.
Inside the quiet, ultra-luxurious cabin of their private corporate jet, Kenzii occasionally glanced across the aisle at Alas.
Alas was sitting completely motionless, staring blankly out the window as if the soul had been forcefully ripped from his body. They were currently cruising across the Pacific Ocean, heading straight toward California. Drakin's high-profile performance at the festival was scheduled for the following night, and Sota had already managed to gather, decrypt, and structure every shred of local security intelligence they needed.
During their deep-dive investigation the previous afternoon, Alas had been forced to watch in horrifying real-time as Sota breached the pop star's private cloud servers and hidden encrypted drives. The data they uncovered was sickening—indisputable proof of Drakin's deeply entrenched role in international trafficking networks, high-level bribery, and human exploitation.
Alas had idolized the man since he was a teenager. He had bought every album, memorized every lyric, and attended multiple stadium tours over the years. To discover that the icon he looked up to was an absolute monster had made Alas physically sick to his stomach. He had spent an hour dry-heaving in the bathroom after viewing the primary evidence files.
Yet, beneath the profound disgust and rage, a small, pathetic part of his nostalgic youth was mourning the fact that this would be the final time he would ever hear that iconic voice live.
"You know... we could always turn your music taste to Bruno Martin instead," Kenzii offered dryly, breaking the long silence inside the cabin.
Alas snapped his head toward Kenzii, shooting him a deep, murderous scowl before turning back to the window.
"Shut the hell up," Alas grumbled bitterly, raising his arm to flip Kenzii a sharp middle finger. "Keep your unsolicited music recommendations to yourself before I lose my mind."
Both Kenzii and Sota let out low, genuine chuckles at Alas's reaction.
"Fuck both of you," Alas barked, glaring sharply at the two of them. "Just wait. I'm going to personally run deep-background intelligence checks on both of your favorite musical artists. I swear to G-d, I'll dig up whatever dark dirt they're hiding just to ruin your childhoods too!"
"Go right ahead," Sota teased smoothly, taking a slow sip of his apple juice. "At least our favorite artists will still be breathing by next week."
Alas let out a loud groan of frustration, kicking the base of Sota's seat as a classic, petty argument broke out between the two brothers. Kenzii simply leaned back against his leather headrest, a quiet, rare smile resting on his face as he watched them bicker.
Their operational plan was already finalized. They would enter the massive festival grounds under a forged ticket, blend into the overwhelming crowds during the artist's headlining set, and the moment the target stepped off the main stage into the restricted VIP backstage compound, Kenzii would strike.
In truth, that hadn't been Kenzii's original operational layout. Left to his own devices, Kenzii would have simply breached Drakin's heavily guarded private estate in Bel-Air forty-eight hours prior, slaughtering the pop star in his sleep before the festival even began.
It was Sota who had explicitly requested a tactical delay.
Sota knew how deeply Alas had cherished Drakin's music growing up. He wanted to give their brother one final, fleeting opportunity to stand in the crowd and watch his childhood icon perform under the stadium lights—one last time before the illusion was shattered forever by blood.
Because of that single request, he broke his own rule of flying solo for a mission. He chose companionship this time, bringing the two of them along. For his cousin's final crowd moment.
Poor Alas, Kenzii thought, watching his cousin glare out the window as the plane began its long descent toward the California coastline. He's about to watch his idol put on the show of a lifetime... right before I take his life.