Page 9 of Problematic

That was the part that scared people. Anyone could kill with preparation. I did it on the fly with a smile.

I opened the cabinet hidden beneath the rear seat. My mask waited beside the weapons. Matte black, rigid, and expressionless, with a smooth forehead and narrow slits cut where the eyes should be. A hard ridge sharpened the nose while black-on-black detailing curled along the temples and cheeks, subtle enough to disappear unless the light caught it. The lower edges cut inward around my mouth before dropping along either side of my jaw in two long points like fangs. Lips exposed. Everything else that mattered was hidden. I’d designed it that way on purpose. A man didn’t need a painted snarl when he had his own.

I pulled it on, and my hands steadied.

The twin pistols went into their shoulder rigs. The long knife rode against my spine. Extra clips loaded with hollow points and etched with sigils filled the pockets of my tactical jacket along with a few quiet toys for when bullets weren’t the right language.

“Change of plans,” I said. “I’m taking them all out tonight.”

“All of them?” Vale asked.

“Every name on the list.” I shrugged into my jacket, letting the weight settle around my body. Scarred leather and reinforced panels covered me, though nothing too flashy. “Hollowside wanted my attention. They have it.”

“I want the first one messy,” I continued. “I’ll do it in public and make sure the right ears hear the screaming. The rest can disappear quietly.”

“Of course.”

Vale liked order, control, systems. He also liked breathing, and maintaining my reputation helped him continue doing so.

“And Vale?”

“Yes?”

“Move soldiers to the northern and southern borders. No southern convoy crosses another border tonight.”

“That will be interpreted as a declaration of war.”

“Scarn declared war when his people moved into Angelfall.”

I cut the comm.

The shadows around my boots rose, eager. I let them climb my legs and torso before feathering over the mask. They thickened and layered themselves across the leather until I became more absence than shape.

They had gutted the building and turned it into a demon nightclub. The stained glass had been ripped out and replaced with blacked-out panes and pulsing ward screens. Neon wrapped around the old bell tower, “Broken Halo” flickering in a bloodred script. Every weekend, half the district came here to drink, grind, and forget their lives.

A place of fun, leisure, and sin suited them.

The spire cut into the sky above the district. Sigils covered the stone, glowing each time the bass struck a certain note. Music thumped through the street while people packed themselves against the front entrance.

I went around back.

Two guards stood near the staff door, smoking and pretending to pay attention. Their leather jackets carried the club’s logo, a stylized halo cracked in half. One had a half-shifted jaw with bone peeking beneath the skin. The other had black eyes and was trying too hard to seem frightening. The first guard’s cigarette fell from his mouth.

“Shit,” he breathed.

“Boss said you were a story,” the other said. His voice shook. “He said you weren’t real.”

I faced him. “The boss was wrong.”

They reached for their guns.

The first died with my knife in his throat. Blood sprayed hot across the staff door, splattering the club’s logo. The second managed three steps and half a shout before my hand closed around his jaw. Shadows flooded his mouth, nose, and eyes.

He spasmed, fingers clawing at my wrist before his weight sagged against me. The bass continued pounding through the walls. No one inside had heard anything.

By the time I reached the main floor, their numbers were thinned. I used a gun whenever I needed distance, a knife when I didn’t, and my hands whenever I needed to feel something break.

The old nave had become the dance floor. The pews were gone, replaced by sunken pits filled with bodies grinding beneath flickering lights. A DJ booth stood where the altar had once been, cables hanging around the horned demon working the decks.