The Black Council!

"What…?"

The word barely escaped Samuel's lips, his voice trembling, choked with disbelief. It wasn't just the shock; it was as if the very fabric of reality had shifted, leaving him disoriented and vulnerable. The world spun for a split second, then, before he could fully comprehend, an invisible force struck him in the chest like a freight train. He hadn't seen the kick coming, one moment he was standing, and the next, he was airborne, lifted clean off his feet as pain exploded through his ribs.

He hurtled backward, his body slamming into the stone wall of a nearby building with bone-rattling force. The impact echoed through the quiet street, a deep, thunderous boom that left the walls shuddering and sent dust and bits of rubble cascading around him. He gasped, trying to breathe, each ragged inhale scraping against broken ribs. For a moment, he could see nothing, only the blurred haze of pain and dust filling his vision.

As the world started to sharpen again, a figure emerged from the shadows, calm, composed, and radiating a deadly confidence. Harry stepped forward, his expression almost indifferent, as if he'd just swatted a bothersome insect rather than sent a grown man flying through the air. His gaze was cold, his voice even colder, laced with a cruel amusement that made Samuel's skin crawl.

"I didn't expect to find someone like you here," Harry murmured, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "It's… unfortunate. For you."

Samuel's chest heaved as he struggled to push himself up, fragments of debris falling from his shoulders. Despite the pain, he forced himself to stand, his voice gritty and defiant as he spat out, "What… what do you mean… pity?"

Harry's eyes glinted, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "A pity that you thought you could stand in my way," he replied. There was no anger, no malice in his tone, just a quiet, unsettling certainty.

Before Samuel could register the words, Harry moved, his figure blurring with inhuman speed. A sharp, crushing pain bloomed in Samuel's stomach as Harry's fist drove into him, the force so intense it sent a shockwave rippling through the air. Samuel doubled over, stumbling back as he fought to stay on his feet, his vision swimming as he coughed, crimson droplets spattering onto the cracked stone beneath him.

Everything hurt. Every nerve in his body screamed in agony, yet his mind refused to process the sheer power this man possessed. He'd fought many battles, had always relied on his size, his brute strength, to overpower his enemies. But now, his own body felt like a burden, sluggish and clumsy in the face of Harry's terrifying speed. Each attempt to counter was met with a swift, brutal retaliation; Harry moved like a shadow, slipping around him effortlessly, each blow precise and devastating.

A final, bone-jarring strike sent Samuel sprawling to the ground, his body slamming down with a sickening thud. From the shadows at the edge of the street, Jenna watched in horror, her hands clasped tightly over her mouth, her eyes wide as she witnessed the brutal scene unfolding before her.

Harry approached, his steps measured, unhurried. He reached down, grabbing Samuel by the collar with a single hand and hoisting him up as if he were no heavier than a ragdoll. Samuel, normally a towering figure, hung limply from Harry's grip, his once-menacing frame reduced to a battered, broken shell. Harry's gaze shifted momentarily, locking onto Jenna, his expression unreadable as he dragged Samuel toward a dark alley, away from the prying eyes of the empty street.

As he moved, Harry's thoughts drifted, a sense of satisfaction gleaming faintly in his eyes. "So… this is what I've become," he mused to himself, the words like a mantra of self-realization. Over the past year, he had pushed himself beyond limits he once thought unreachable, honing every skill, strengthening every muscle with relentless discipline. He was no longer the man he'd been; he was sharper, stronger, lethal in a way he hadn't been before.

If he'd met Samuel a year ago, perhaps this would've been a different fight. But now? Now, it was no contest at all.

He reached a secluded spot, far from any wandering eyes, and released Samuel, who crumpled to the ground in a bruised, broken heap. Samuel's gaze darted up, terror etched deep into his blood-streaked face. He managed a strangled whisper, desperation clawing at his voice. "No… please… don't kill me. I—I'm with the Black Council! They'll come for you!"

Harry tilted his head, an eyebrow raising ever so slightly. "The Black Council?" he repeated, his tone flat, unimpressed. A faint smile played at his lips, mocking. "Never heard of them."

Without another word, he turned and, with a casual flick of his wrist, punched a nearby tree. The force of his strike sent shockwaves through the trunk, splintering it into shards that cascaded to the ground in a broken mess of wood and leaves. The sheer power left Samuel staring in silent horror, any lingering thoughts of resistance dissolving in an instant.

Harry crouched down, his gaze locking onto Samuel's, his voice a low, deadly murmur. "Now, I have a few questions for you," he said, his words sharp as a blade. "And you're going to answer them. Understand?"

Samuel nodded, his head jerking frantically, any remnants of defiance extinguished, replaced by the pure, primal instinct to survive. He knew that in this moment, his fate rested entirely in Harry's hands and that the wrong answer could be his last.

Harry's voice sliced through the heavy silence like the edge of a blade. "If you refuse to cooperate, this will be the end of you."

Samuel's eyes widened, his bravado crumbling into sheer terror. The defiance that had once lit his gaze vanished, replaced by a desperate eagerness to comply. He nodded furiously, his once-mighty presence diminished to a trembling shadow of itself. The proud warrior now looked pitiful, reduced to a pleading man willing to do anything to save his own skin.

Harry raised an eyebrow, the faintest glimmer of amusement flashing in his eyes. This was almost… disappointing. 'Is that all it takes?' he thought, a touch of contempt coloring his thoughts. 'I was prepared for more of a struggle.' But a victory handed over easily was still a victory, and Harry was not one to complain if things went his way.

"Let's start simple," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "The Sean family; did they hire you to kill me?"

Samuel blinked, a hint of confusion flitting across his battered face, but he nodded slowly. "Yes… but… I don't know much about them," he stammered, his voice a mix of pain and desperation. He pressed a trembling hand to his temple, as if struggling to force his thoughts through the fog of pain clouding his mind. "All they told me was to… to hunt down anyone connected to that woman… Wendy."

Harry's brows knitted together, his curiosity sharpening. "Wendy? Why her? Who are these people, and what do they want with her?"

"I don't know," Samuel replied, a trace of bitterness creeping into his expression, the face of a man who regretted every decision that led him to this point. "I took the job for the gold. They paid well, and it seemed simple; an easy target, or so I thought." He let out a weak, humorless laugh, then winced, clutching his ribs as he coughed, blood staining his lips. "If I'd known… if I'd known it would end like this, I'd have never agreed. No amount of money is worth… this."

Harry's cold gaze bore into him, weighing the truth of his words. For now, he believed him. "And the Black Council," he pressed, his tone unyielding. "What do you know about them?"

Samuel's face went blank, a mask of stubborn resistance locking his features. His gaze fixed on the ground, refusing to acknowledge the question, as if even hearing it would condemn him. Silence stretched between them, tense and deliberate, defiance simmering beneath his bruised exterior. It was clear he'd reached his limit on what he was willing to reveal.

Harry's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation sparking in his eyes. He was ready to push, to force the truth out by any means necessary, when a voice cut through the tension, startling him.

"The Black Council is a terrorist organization from foreign lands," Jenna spoke, stepping out of the shadows. Her expression was set, eyes hardened with a grim determination. "They're powerful, at least, that's the rumor. They thrive on blood rituals, sacrifices to strange gods, claiming strength from their dark ceremonies."

Harry turned to her, his gaze sharpening. "Blood rituals? Sacrifices to gods?" he repeated, as if tasting the words and finding them sour. "But why here? This place has been quiet for years. Why show up now, and why go after Wendy?"

Jenna shook her head, her face shadowed with unease. "I don't know their motives, but they're known to operate from the shadows. If they're here, something's changed. And don't expect much more from him." She gestured toward Samuel, who was still silent, his eyes dull and vacant. "The Black Council binds their agents with powerful contracts, spells that can enforce silence. Even if he wanted to, he might not be able to speak."

Harry's gaze lingered on her, curiosity and caution mingling in his expression. "Contracts… rituals… blood sacrifices," he murmured, almost to himself. "Are you saying there might be something… real behind these rituals?"

Jenna shrugged, but there was a flicker of discomfort in her eyes. "I don't know if it's real or just superstition twisted into loyalty. But the Black Council is unlike anything we've faced. They pull power from… dark sources."

Before Harry could probe further, a sudden movement caught his eye. Samuel, with a burst of energy born of pure desperation, leaped to his feet, his massive form moving with surprising agility. He bolted down the street, lumbering but determined, his every step a frantic plea for escape.

Jenna's hand shot to her weapon, her expression stunned. "Are you just going to let him go?" she demanded, incredulous.

Harry watched calmly, a slight smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. "No need." His gaze followed Samuel, a quiet confidence radiating from him as he waited, almost amused. Within moments, Samuel's desperate flight faltered. His legs seemed to give way beneath him, and he crumpled to the ground, clawing at the dirt, his face twisted in a mask of bewildered terror.

"H-How… how is this happening?" he rasped, panic coloring his voice as he stared down at his useless legs. "When did… my legs…"

Harry approached with a slow, steady stride, his expression a mask of cold satisfaction. "Just now," he said, his voice a low murmur of deadly amusement. He stopped, standing over Samuel, his gaze hard as iron. "Did you really think I'd let you escape?"

Samuel's face twisted in terror, and he scrambled back, but his body was failing him, trapped in a prison of his own broken limbs. Harry drew his sword, the blade gleaming ominously in the pale light. Samuel's eyes widened, his voice cracking as he pleaded, "No… please… don't…"

But there was no mercy in Harry's eyes. His expression remained calm, resolute, as he raised the sword. With one swift, fluid motion, he brought it down, a clean, lethal strike.

Samuel's eyes froze wide in silent horror, his final plea hanging in the air, unfulfilled. His head rolled free from his shoulders, his once-mighty frame reduced to a lifeless shell.

Harry stepped back, exhaling steadily, his gaze cold and unwavering. He looked down at the severed head, once so fearsome, now a hollow warning to those who might dare to follow in his footsteps.