Arrival

The crowd murmured in confusion as Viktor stepped through the collapsed gate, his figure imposing, wrapped in jet black clothing.

His mask—a demonic visage with blazing red flames flickering across it—made him look like a demon straight out of nightmares. He radiated silent, controlled rage, the mask reflecting the vengeance burning within him.

Lucas, near the back of the crowd, watched with widening eyes. 'Who is this guy?' he thought. 'And what's he doing here?'

The shelter had been noisy moments before, filled with panicked voices and aimless chatter. But now, Viktor's presence suffocated all sound. His voice was calm, yet it sliced through the silence like a knife.

"Everyone… get in line."

A ripple of unease went through the crowd. Some people took a hesitant step back. Others exchanged nervous glances, unsure of what to do. But three men stood apart from the rest, their expressions defiant. They had been loud earlier, demanding answers, and now they were the first to resist Viktor's command.

The first man, tall and muscular with a sneer etched on his face, stepped forward. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he barked, standing inches away from Viktor, trying to intimidate him with his size. "You think you can walk in here and boss us around?"

Viktor's head turned slightly, his gaze cold and emotionless behind the mask. He didn't reply. Instead, he moved.

In a blur of motion, too fast for anyone to react, Viktor's hand shot out, grabbing the man by the throat. The sneer disappeared from his face, replaced by pure shock as he was lifted off the ground with ease. His legs kicked helplessly in the air as Viktor's grip tightened.

"I gave an order," Viktor said in a low, deadly tone, his grip unyielding.

With a sharp twist, Viktor snapped the man's neck. The crowd gasped in horror as the body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

The second man, his face pale with fear but determined to show he wouldn't be cowed, pulled a knife from his belt. He lunged at Viktor, a desperate attempt to assert control over the situation. But Viktor was faster. He sidestepped the attack with minimal effort, grabbed the man's arm, and twisted. A sickening crack echoed through the shelter as the man's arm broke, the knife clattering to the ground.

Before the man could even scream, Viktor plunged his own knife into the man's heart, his movements swift and precise. Blood soaked the floor as the second body fell.

The third man, who had been standing behind the other two, froze. His earlier bravado evaporated as he stared at his fallen comrades. He opened his mouth to speak, but fear strangled his words.

Viktor turned to him slowly, the fiery mask glowing in the dim light. "Still think you're in charge?"

The third man stumbled backward, but Viktor was already on him. Without hesitation, he thrust his knife into the man's throat. Blood sprayed across the floor, and the man collapsed in a heap, gargling his last breath.

The shelter fell into a stunned silence. No one dared move. No one dared speak.