Aftermath

"Dylan Morningstar?" Andre muttered, his hands slowly reaching for his gun.

The club owner flashed Andre a questioning glance.

"Hold on... Did you say, Morningstar?" The club owner's ear twitched at the ring of the name.

His curious gaze found its way to Dylan's staggering figure, a look of realization dawning on him. This was the damned attorney who put them in this situation.

"Ain't karma a bitch!" He laughed hysterically as he watched Dylan clutching his head in pain. "Shoot him."

The club owner was a simple-minded man with simple-minded solutions. His son's rap career needed a push, and he gave him a simple solution.

Kill Roman and use his death to boost Jamal's career.

Stories of gangster rappers blowing up after losing someone close to them weren't new to people like Johnson. Now, one of the causes of his problem was right in front of him; he came up with a simple solution.

Kill him.

He saw no reason to beat him up or torture him before death. Shooting Dylan was the simplest and most effective way to put an end to this meeting.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Of everyone here, Andre wanted to kill Dylan the most. Before the rest could reach for their guns, he had already fired three shots.

Andre's eyes widened in disbelief. A hiss echoed as the bullets flared up in dark crimson flames as soon as they left the gun, reducing them to ashes before they could reach Dylan.

At this point, Dylan was no longer moving. He stood like a statue with his head lowered and drool dripping off his lips.

"Am I tripping?" Johnson exchanged glances with his guards but they all shrugged, confused by what they just witnessed.

Without hesitation, Johnson snatched the gun from Andre and pulled the trigger thrice.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

It happened again, the bullets were reduced to ashes by dark crimson flames.

"Hesitation kills... Once the arrow is knotted and drawn, it must be released..." Dylan's voice overlapped with a hoarse, amused voice, lagging a second with every word he spoke.

Johnson ran his fingers across his face, wiping off a thick layer of sweat. Just like him, everyone was soaked with sweat, and they threw their scorching guns to the ground.

"What the hell?" Andre mumbled, his voice barely a whisper.

His expression was a mixture of confusion, fear, and denial. Andre's brain couldn't process how the cold night turned steamy or why flicks of dark crimson fire flashed around Dylan.

Andre's brain couldn't process the vague outline of a fox looming over Dylan. Neither could he understand the chilling cries coming from the dark crimson flames that filled his vision.

---

Dylan's eyelids, his body mechanically, sat up with his hands clutching his head. Barely audible whispers still rang in his ears, but this was bearable when compared to the screams and cries that nearly drove him crazy.

"Aah…" Dylan groaned; his body felt unnaturally heavy, and his joints were sore.

"What the hell happened?" He mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he struggled to get off the bed.

Dylan walked around his bed, stopping at the wall mirror. His eyes dilated in shock upon realizing how pale he looked.

"What the hell happened last night?" Dylan mumbled while caressing his forehead.

It felt like he was missing a very important detail, but his brain was too hazy to piece any information together.

Dylan pushed his thoughts aside and left the room. Reaching the staircase, he could hear the popular Chicago new anchor.

"Good evening, Chicago. Tonight's top stories are as shocking as they are mysterious, with two major incidents dominating headlines across the city."

Dylan listened attentively while walking down the staircase. He only stopped when the TV came into view.

On the screen was footage of a suburban house surrounded by flashing red and blue lights. Police officers were seen escorting a handcuffed Jamal Carter into a patrol car as journalists clamored for a statement.

"First, the arrest of rising rap artist Jamal Carter in connection with the murder of his cousin, Roman Carter. Late last night, police raided Jamal's residence after obtaining a warrant based on new evidence provided by Dylan Morningstar. Inside the home, officers discovered a firearm believed to be the murder weapon. Forensic testing has since confirmed it as the weapon used in Roman Carter's tragic death."

A grainy photo of the firearm, lying on a table alongside plastic evidence bags filled with papers and a phone, appeared on the screen.

"Additionally, text messages retrieved from Jamal's phone reveal troubling conversations between him and his father, Johnson Carter, owner of the Velvet Viper Club. The texts suggest that Roman's murder was not a spur-of-the-moment act but a premeditated crime, allegedly orchestrated to further Jamal's rap career. The once-promising artist is now facing charges of first-degree murder and conspiracy."

The anchor paused, letting the weight of the revelation sink in before continuing.

"But that's not all, Chicago. Our city witnessed something far stranger last night, something that has left both law enforcement and the public in shock."

The screen switched to aerial footage of the abandoned steelworks, now reduced to a smoldering heap of twisted metal and ash. A haunting red glow lingered in the smoke as firefighters stood by, visibly baffled.

"Around 10 PM, authorities tracked a vehicle registered to Johnson Carter to an abandoned steelworks on the South Side. What they found upon arrival defies explanation. The building and surrounding vehicles were engulfed in what witnesses describe as crimson flames. Witnesses claim this flame emitted an unnatural heat and a foul, almost stench. The stench of death..."

Clips of firefighters spraying water onto the inferno play on-screen, their efforts futile as the crimson flames continue to burn unaffected.

"Despite the fire's intensity, it did not spread beyond the steelworks, remaining confined to the site. Witnesses reported that the flames eventually extinguished themselves, leaving nothing but ash and twisted remains behind. Tragically, several individuals were caught in the blaze, including Johnson Carter. Authorities have confirmed that no survivors were found."

The anchor leaned forward slightly, his tone growing more serious.

"While the flames have left investigators puzzled, the Church has taken a keen interest in this incident, calling it a possible manifestation of spiritual significance. In a rare move, the Vatican has authorized the deployment of Father Linus, a renowned exorcist and theologian, to assist the Chicago Police Department in investigating the phenomenon. Father Linus is expected to arrive later today."

A still image of a stern-faced man in priestly attire flashes on the screen; his piercing golden eyes complemented his golden hair.

"This unprecedented collaboration between the Church and law enforcement has raised many questions. Could these flames be more than just a physical anomaly? And what role, if any, did the events at the steelworks play in the larger criminal web surrounding the Carter family?"

The anchor sat back, his expression somber.

"As always, we will keep you updated as more information becomes available. Until then, stay safe, Chicago. This is Mark Dillard, signing off."

The broadcast cuts to a commercial, leaving Dylan's eyes tightly knitted.