Chapter 1: The Masquerade of Blood

The gala was a spectacle of excess, a glittering facade draped over the rotting heart of Blackthorn. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light over the ballroom, their glow reflecting off the polished marble floors and the gilded masks of the city's elite. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, champagne, and the faint metallic tang of blood—though only Viktor Malenko seemed to notice the latter.

He stood near the edge of the room, a glass of untouched bourbon in his hand, his mask a simple black half-face piece that did little to obscure his sharp features. His tailored suit was immaculate, the fabric so dark it seemed to drink in the light around him. To the untrained eye, he was just another wealthy socialite, another predator in a room full of them. But beneath the mask, his icy grey eyes scanned the crowd with a predator's precision, calculating, analyzing, waiting.

The whispers around him were a cacophony of greed and deceit. Politicians traded favors, corporate moguls plotted mergers, and crime lords brokered deals under the guise of civility. Viktor's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. They were all so predictable, so transparent in their corruption. They thought they were untouchable, shielded by their wealth and power. They were wrong.

His attention shifted to the man at the center of the room—Councilman Gregory Hargrove, a bloated vulture of a man with a smile as sharp as a knife. Hargrove was the reason Viktor was here tonight. The councilman had been selling city contracts to the highest bidder, lining his pockets while Blackthorn's infrastructure crumbled. But Viktor wasn't here for justice. He was here for vengeance.

Hargrove had been involved in the death of Viktor's parents years ago, a fact Viktor had uncovered only recently. The memory of their faces—broken, lifeless—hopelss-flashed in his mind, igniting the familiar fire of rage in his chest. He clenched his glass tighter, the crystal threatening to shatter under his grip. Hargrove would pay. They would all pay.

"Enjoying the party, Mr. Malenko?" a sultry voice purred beside him.

Viktor turned, his mask of charm sliding effortlessly into place. Standing before him was Evelyn Drake, her crimson gown clinging to her like a second skin. Her mask was a delicate lacework of gold and black, framing her piercing green eyes. She was beautiful, but Viktor saw the danger lurking beneath her smile. She was a predator too, though of a different kind.

"It's hard not to," Viktor replied, his voice smooth and low. "Though I find the company far more intriguing than the champagne."

Evelyn laughed, a sound like velvet and steel. "Careful, Mr. Malenko. Flattery will get you everywhere."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Their banter was a dance, each probing for weaknesses, each hiding their true intentions. Viktor knew Evelyn was more than she appeared, but he couldn't afford to be distracted. Not tonight.

As the clock struck midnight, Viktor excused himself with a polite nod and melted into the crowd. He moved like a shadow, slipping through the throng of guests unnoticed. His destination was the councilman's private study, a room tucked away on the second floor. The door was locked, but Viktor had come prepared. A few deft movements with a set of lockpicks, and he was inside.

The study was a testament to Hargrove's greed, filled with expensive art, rare books, and a desk carved from black walnut. Viktor's eyes scanned the room, slowly left ,then slowly right, as his grey sharp piercing eyes landed on a safe hidden behind a painting. He didn't need the contents—he already knew what they contained. This was about sending a message.

He removed a small device from his pocket and placed it on the desk. It was a symbol, a calling card: a jagged piece of obsidian carved with the image of a serpent coiled around a dagger. The mark of The Nightmare.

As he turned to leave, the door creaked open. Viktor seized, his body tensing like a coiled spring. Standing in the doorway was Hargrove, his face flushed with anger and fear.

"Who,the hell, are you?" the councilman demanded, his voice trembling.

Viktor didn't answer. Instead, he stepped into the shadows, his movements fluid and deliberate. The lights flickered till dark. The room was small but seemed to grow wider and colder, the air heavier. Hargrove's bravado faltered as he stumbled back, his eyes wide with terror.

It was to late before he realized.

BANG!!! His body slammed the wall viktor's right hand closed around Hargrove's throat - tighter and tighter like his neck was placed between hydraulic press. The two look eye to eye but the more Hargrove stared into Viktor's grey cold eyes is the more he felt the shivering sense of the abyss

(As it's said Gaze long enough into the abyss and it stares back )

"who are you," Hargrove faintly said as he gasped for oxygen.Then Viktor leaned closer "The Nightmare you created " Viktor intimidatingly whispered into his ear ,his voice deep and cold.

"You took something from me, Hargrove. Now, I'm here to collect." Viktor whispered again this time his voice low and menacing.

"Do you feel it?" Viktor hissed, his face inches from Hargrove's. "The fear? The helplessness? That's what you gave them. That's what you took from me."

Hargrove's eyes bulged, his hands clawing at Viktor's grip. But there was no escape. Viktor leaned in closer, his voice a venomous whisper. "This is just the beginning."

With a final, brutal twist, like a boot stepped on a twig ,Viktor ended the councilman's life. He let the body slump to the floor, his expression cold and unreadable. The rage inside him burned brighter than ever, but it was a controlled fire, one he would use to burn the city to the ground.

As he left the study, the sound of the gala's music drifted up from below, a macabre soundtrack to his descent into darkness. Viktor disappeared into the night, his mask of charisma replaced by the true face of The Nightmare. The city of Blackthorn would soon learn to fear him, just as he had feared the darkness that birthed him.

And this was only the beginning.