Heist (3/?)

-Somewhere in Spain-

(3rd POV)

In a dense forest near the outskirts of Barcelona, old trees stand tall, their gnarled branches weaving a canopy that barely allows sunlight to penetrate. The air is thick with the earthy scent of moss and decaying leaves, creating an atmosphere of both serenity and mystery.

A clearing in the heart of the forest is illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the treetops. In the center of this clearing, an old clock, intricately designed with ornate carvings and a weathered finish, sits on a stone pedestal. The clock, a grand relic of a bygone era, stands tall, its face frozen at the stroke of midnight.

Around the clock, a group of cloaked figures moves with purpose, their chants echoing softly through the still night air. The figures, hidden beneath dark hoods, circle the clock, their hands raised in unison as they call upon forces unseen.

Candles flicker at the perimeter of the clearing, their flames casting eerie shadows that dance across the trees. Symbols and sigils, drawn with meticulous care, mark the ground around the clock, creating a complex pattern that seems to pulse with otherworldly energy.

As the chanting grows louder, the atmosphere in the clearing changes. A chill runs through the air, and the forest, usually alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures, falls silent. The clock begins to tick, its hands moving for the first time in centuries. The figures continue their incantations, their voices rising to a crescendo.

Suddenly, a gust of wind sweeps through the clearing, extinguishing the candles and plunging the area into darkness. The clock's chimes ring out, each note reverberating with a sense of foreboding. The ground trembles, and, with a flourish, confetti bursts into the air as if from nowhere, showering the area with a dazzling array of colors.

From the midst of the swirling confetti, a figure appears as if caught off-guard, dressed in a tuxedo. The figure, looking slightly bewildered, seems to be in the middle of a bathing routine, with a towel draped over his arm. He pauses, lets out an exaggerated scream of surprise, and with a wave of his hand, a curtain suddenly appears, shielding him from view.

A moment later, the curtain drops, and he appears standing among the cloaked figures. The cultists stare in astonishment at the figure.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here~," he says as a cup of coffee appears in his hand. With an exaggerated flourish, he takes a sip, the liquid hitting his clock face and dripping onto his suit. He then dramatically wipes the mess, his every gesture large and exaggerated.

In an instant, the scene shifts. The cloaked figures and the clock are gone, replaced by the towering walls of a dark, ominous arena. The ground is rough and uneven, scattered with the remnants of past battles. The air is thick with tension and the smell of sweat and blood. High above, multiple cameras are mounted, their lenses focusing on the combatants below.

"IF YOU WANT YOUR WISH GRANTED, YOU MUST FIGHT TO THE DEATH!" the figure shouts, his voice booming through the arena as he strikes a dramatic pose, one arm extended theatrically.

The cultists, now stripped of their cloaks and armed with various weapons, look around in shock and determination. The fight begins with a clash of steel and the roar of battle cries. The cameras whir to life, capturing every gruesome detail. One cultist, wielding a massive axe, swings wildly, his eyes filled with desperation. Another, more agile, dances around his opponent, landing precise and deadly strikes with a pair of daggers.

Blood splatters across the arena floor as combatants fall, one by one. The ground shakes with the impact of bodies hitting the dirt. Each fight is more brutal than the last, the survivors growing more savage and desperate with each passing moment. The arena walls, adorned with the names of previous victors, stand as silent witnesses to the carnage.

As the battle rages on, the cameras continue to capture every moment, broadcasting the spectacle to an unseen audience. The figure watches with a satisfied grin, he then places the coffee cup against his face, causing the liquid to spill down his suit.

"Bull whick..."

-??-

(3rd POV)

The city lights blurred past as the muscle car tore through the streets, its massive engine engine roaring in defiance. The demons inside were a flurry of motion, claws gripping the wheel and dashboard as they swerved and dodged, trying to outmaneuver their pursuers.

With a sudden, aggressive swerve, the muscle car slammed into one of the chasing vehicles. The impact was violent, with metal crumpling and glass shattering as the targeted car spun out of control. Sparks flew as it skidded across the asphalt, finally smashing into a lamppost.

For a few heart-pounding seconds, time seemed to slow. Then, the smashed car erupted in a fiery explosion, the force of the blast sending a shockwave through the air. Flames licked the sky as debris scattered across the street, the burning wreckage a testament to the chaos unfolding.

Inside the muscle car, the demons didn't even flinch. Their eyes were fixed on the road ahead, determination etched into their features. The cityscape flashed by in a dizzying array of neon lights and dark alleyways, the sounds of sirens and screams barely registering over the roar of the engine.

"Boss, more incoming!" one of the demons shouted, glancing in the rearview mirror.

Sure enough, through the rear window, more cars were visible, their headlights piercing the night. They moved with coordinated precision, closing in from all sides. The muscle car's driver gritted his teeth and floored the accelerator, the engine howling in response as the vehicle surged forward.

As they sped through the city, the terrain shifted around them. They passed through a commercial district, the sleek glass buildings reflecting the chaos below. Next came the industrial sector, with its towering factories and billowing smokestacks casting long shadows across the streets.

And suddenly static, as the chasing cars multiply this time with Demonthemin iolding weapons.

As the rocket missile struck the ground next to the muscle car, the explosion erupted with a deafening roar. The force of the blast lifted the muscle car off the ground, sending it spiraling through the air in a dizzying whirl.

Inside the car, the demons were thrown about like rag dolls, their claws desperately grasping for purchase as they were tossed around by the sheer force of the explosion. Metal groaned and screeched as the car somersaulted through the air, flames licking at its twisted frame.

For a heart-stopping moment, the world outside seemed to blur into a chaotic frenzy of smoke and fire. Then, with a bone-jarring crash, the muscle car slammed back down onto the pavement after the explosion, and the demons inside struggled to regain their bearings amidst the chaos.

But their respite was short-lived, as another burst of static filled the air, heralding the sudden appearance of the chasing cars directly in front of them, now armed with menacing miniguns.

With a deafening roar, the miniguns unleashed a torrent of bullets, tearing through the air with deadly precision. The muscle car was engulfed in a storm of metal as the bullets ripped through its frame, shredding metal and glass like paper.

Inside the car, the demons were thrown about by the force of the impact, their bodies pelted by shrapnel and debris. The sound of gunfire filled the air, drowning out all other noise as the relentless barrage continued unabated.

The windshield shattered into a spiderweb of cracks as bullets punched through the car's exterior, sending showers of sparks and fragments flying in every direction. Smoke billowed from the engine, mixing with the acrid scent of burning rubber as the car struggled to maintain its forward momentum.

But just as it seemed like all hope was lost, another burst of static filled the air, and suddenly, the demons found themselves in an unfamiliar area, disoriented and confused. Without hesitation, they abandoned the battered remains of their car and fled into the darkness, their instincts urging them to escape the danger lurking behind them.

"Heist coming to cinema. Directed by Mr, Puzzle."

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