Chapter 2: The Serpent's Whisper

The rain fell in sheets, a relentless downpour that turned Blackthorn's streets into rivers of ink. Neon signs flickered weakly through the storm, their light reflecting off the slick pavement in fractured colors. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, its cry swallowed by the night. The city was alive, but its pulse was weak, thrumming with the faint heartbeat of despair.

Viktor Malenko stood on the rooftop of an abandoned tenement building, his black coat billowing in the wind like the wings of a carrion bird. The rain soaked through his clothes, but he didn't feel the cold. He rarely felt anything anymore. Below him, the city sprawled like a wounded beast, its streets teeming with the desperate and the damned. He watched it all with a detached gaze, his mind already calculating his next move.

The councilman's death had sent ripples through Blackthorn's underworld. The news outlets called it a tragedy, a senseless act of violence. But those who knew better—those who had something to hide—were whispering a different name. The Nightmare. Viktor had made sure of that. The obsidian serpent left on Hargrove's desk had been a message, one that would not go unanswered.

A faint sound caught his attention, the scrape of a boot against gravel. Viktor didn't turn. He already knew who it was.

"You're getting sloppy," a voice said, sharp and accusatory.

The nightmare's lips curled into a faint smirk. "And you're getting predictable, Detective."

Detective Marcus Hale stepped out of the shadows, his trench coat soaked and his face etched with lines of exhaustion. He was a man who had seen too much, a relic of a system that had long since failed. His hand rested on the grip of his revolver, though he made no move to draw it. He knew better than to think it would do him any good.

"Hargrove's dead," Hale said, his voice tight with anger. "You killed him."

"And?" Viktor replied, his tone indifferent.

Hale's jaw tightened. "You think you're making a difference? You think you're cleaning up this city? All you're doing is adding to the body count."

Viktor finally turned to face him, his eyes glinting like shards of ice. "I'm not here to clean up your mess, Detective. I'm here to burn it all down."

Hale took a step closer, his voice dropping to a growl. "You're a vigilante, Nightmare. A murderer. And sooner or later, you're going to slip up. When you do, I'll be there to put you down."

Viktor's smirk widened, though there was no humor in it. "You're welcome to try."

The tension between them was palpable, a silent battle of wills. But before Hale could respond, a scream pierced the night, sharp and desperate. Both men turned toward the sound, their momentary standoff forgotten.

Viktor was the first to move, leaping from the rooftop with the grace of a predator. He landed in a crouch on the fire escape below, then descended into the alley with practiced ease. Hale followed, though he was slower, his age and the weight of his badge holding him back.

The alley was narrow and choked with garbage, the stench of decay mingling with the metallic tang of blood. A woman lay on the ground, her face pale and her eyes wide with terror. Standing over her was a man—or something that had once been a man. His skin was pale and cracked, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light. In his hand, he held a jagged knife, its blade slick with blood.

Viktor stepped into the light, his presence immediately drawing the creature's attention. It turned to face him, its movements jerky and unnatural. The woman scrambled away, her sobs echoing off the alley walls.

"Another one of Blackthorn's stray beasts" Viktor said, his words as sharp as a blade dragged across stone. "Tell me, does that muzzle of yours spit out a name?"

The creature hissed, its voice a guttural rasp. "You… you are the one they fear. The Nightmare."

Viktor tilted his head, his expression one of mild curiosity. "And yet, you don't seem afraid. A mistake, I assure you."

The creature lunged, its knife slicing through the air with deadly precision. Viktor sidestepped the attack with ease, his movements almost too fast to follow. He grabbed the creature's wrist and twisted, the sound of bone snapping loud in the confined space. The knife clattered to the ground, but the creature didn't cry out. It only laughed, but The Nightmare wasn't shaken.

"You cannot kill me," it rasped. "I am eternal. I am the Abyss."

Viktor's eyes narrowed. The Abyss. The word stirred something in him, a memory buried deep beneath layers of rage and hatred. But he didn't have time to dwell on it. The creature twisted free, its broken wrist already healing. It came at him again, its claws tore through the rain soaked air.

The fight was brutal and fast, a blur of motion and violence. Viktor's movements were precise, each strike calculated to inflict maximum damage. But the creature was relentless, its unnatural strength and speed pushing him to his limits. For the first time in years, Viktor felt a flicker of something other than rage—irritation

But fear was a weapon, and Viktor knew how to wield it. He let the creature drive him back, luring it into a false sense of security. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, he disarmed it again, this time driving the knife into its chest the sickening crush of bone giving way to the rusty knife piercing its heart With a savage, almost inhuman speed, he twisted the blade, carving through flesh and sinew, before yanking it free and ramming it downward into its lungs. The air escaped in a wet, gurgling gasp, but The Nightmare didn't stop—he couldn't stop. The knife tore through its stomach, spilling hot, glistening entrails, and then I thrust it upward into the liver, the blade grinding against ribs as it pierced the organ. Each strike was a blur of violence, the sound of tearing flesh and splattering blood filling the air, the body convulsing helplessly as he carved it apart with relentless, horrifying precision.

The creature staggered, its glowing eyes dimming as it collapsed to the ground.

Viktor stood over it, his breathing heavy but controlled. The creature looked up at him, its lips curling into a grotesque smile. "This… is only the beginning," it whispered before its body dissolved into a pool of black ichor.

Hale arrived moments later, his revolver drawn and his eyes wide with shock. "What the hell was that?"

Viktor didn't answer. He was already walking away, his mind racing. The Abyss. The word echoed in his thoughts, a dark promise of things to come. Blackthorn's evil ran deeper than he had imagined, and Viktor knew that his mission was far from over.

As he disappeared into the shadows, the rain continued to fall, washing away the blood but not the darkness. The Nightmare had only just begun.