Chapter 3: The Crimson Veil

The rain had stopped, but the air in Blackthorn remained heavy, thick with the scent of damp concrete and decay. The city's underbelly was waking up, its denizens emerging from the shadows like rats from a sinking ship. Neon lights buzzed and flickered, casting an eerie glow over the streets. Somewhere in the distance, a jazz trumpet wailed, its mournful notes blending with the hum of the city's restless energy.

Viktor Malenko moved through the streets like a ghost, his presence unnoticed by the throngs of people who passed him by. His coat was damp, his hair slicked back, but his expression was as unreadable as ever. The encounter in the alley had left him intrigued, though he would never admit it. The creature's words echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain: *"I am the Abyss."* But Viktor felt no fear—only a cold, calculating curiosity. Fear was a weakness he had long since eradicated from himself. It was a tool, a weapon to be wielded against others, never against him.

He needed answers, and he knew just where to find them.

The Crimson Veil was a nightclub nestled in the heart of Blackthorn's red-light district, a place where the city's elite rubbed shoulders with its most dangerous criminals. It was a den of sin and excess, its walls lined with velvet and its air thick with the scent of smoke and perfume. The club was owned by Madame Lysandra, a woman as enigmatic as she was dangerous. If anyone in Blackthorn knew about the Abyss, it was her.

Viktor stepped inside, the bass of the music vibrating through his chest. The club was packed, bodies moving in sync with the pulsing rhythm. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on the VIP section, where Madame Lysandra held court. She was impossible to miss, her crimson gown shimmering like liquid fire, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders in waves. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto his as soon as he entered.

The Nightmare made his way to her, his presence parting the crowd like a knife through water. The bouncers at the VIP section stepped aside without a word, their faces pale. They knew better than to interfere.

"Nightmare," Lysandra purred as he approached, her voice like velvet and smoke. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Viktor didn't bother with pleasantries. "The Abyss. What do you know about it?"

Lysandra's smile faltered for the briefest of moments, a flicker of unease crossing her features. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual mask of confidence. "The Abyss? That's a name I haven't heard in a long time. Why do you ask?"

"Don't play games with me," Viktor said, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm not in the mood."

Lysandra studied him for a moment, her gaze piercing. Then she gestured to the seat beside her. "Sit. Let's talk."

Viktor hesitated but ultimately took the seat, his eyes never leaving hers. Lysandra leaned back, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "The Abyss is… a legend. A myth. Some say it's a place, others say it's a force. But those who know the truth call it something else entirely."

"And what's the truth?" Viktor asked, his tone impatient.

Lysandra's smile returned, though it lacked its usual warmth. "The Abyss is a cult. An ancient, secretive order that has existed in the shadows of Blackthorn for centuries. They believe in the return of an ancient evil, a being they call the 'Eternal Dark.' They say it will rise again, and when it does, it will consume the world."

Viktor's jaw tightened. "And how do they plan to make that happen?"

"Through sacrifice," Lysandra replied, her voice dropping to a whisper. "They need a vessel, a pure soul to act as a conduit for the Eternal Dark. Once they have it, they'll perform a ritual to bring their god into this world."

Viktor's mind raced. The creature in the alley had mentioned the Abyss, and now Lysandra was confirming its existence. But there was still one piece missing. "Who's leading them?"

Lysandra hesitated, her fingers tightening around her glass. "That's the part you're not going to like. The leader of the Abyssal Covenant is someone you know. Someone you thought was dead."

Viktor's eyes narrowed. "Who?"

Before Lysandra could answer, the sound of shattering glass echoed through the club. The music stopped abruptly, replaced by screams as the crowd scattered. Viktor turned, his body tensing as he saw the source of the commotion.

Standing in the center of the club was a figure clad in black robes, their face obscured by a hood. In their hand, they held a curved dagger, its blade glinting in the dim light. Around them, more figures emerged from the shadows, their movements synchronized and deliberate.

The Abyssal Covenant had found him.

Viktor rose to his feet, his expression cold and unreadable. Lysandra grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his skin. "You need to leave. Now."

"I'm not running," Viktor said, his voice calm but firm.

"This isn't a fight you can win," Lysandra insisted, her eyes wide with fear. "They're not human."

Viktor didn't respond. He stepped forward, his movements fluid and deliberate. The robed figures turned to face him, their hooded faces revealing nothing but darkness. The leader stepped forward, their voice a low, guttural growl.

"The Nightmare," they said, their tone dripping with malice. "You have interfered for the last time."

Viktor's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Let's see if you can stop me."

Viktor's hands moved like uncoiling shadows,unveiling two massive handguns from the hidden holsters beneath his coat. The guns were custom-made, and he held with casual almost theatrical ease, their barrels elongated and engraved with intricate patterns resembling serpents coiled around their steel. They weren't mere weapons—they were conduits of his eminence and aether , tools of destruction designed to bring terror to his enemies. The sight of them alone was enough to make even the most hardened criminals hesitate.

But the robed figures showed no fear. They lunged at him, their blades tore through the air with unyielding and merciless rigor. Viktor moved like a phantom, his every motion calculated and precise. He fired the first shot, the deafening roar of the gun echoing through the club. The bullet tore through the chest of the nearest figure, sending them sprawling to the ground in a spray of black ichor.

The fight was chaos. Viktor's guns roared like thunder, each shot precise and devastating. He moved through the club with a predator's elegance, his movements a fliker of motion and violence. The robed figures came at him from all sides, but Viktor was untouchable. He used the environment to his advantage, flipping tables, shattering bottles, and turning the club into a battlefield.

The leader lunged at him, their dagger aimed at his heart. Viktor slipped past the amstrike, grabbing their wrist and twisting until the bone shuttered. The dagger fell to the ground, but the leader didn't cry out. Instead, they laughed, a sound that would have sent chills down the spine of any other man. But Viktor felt nothing—no fear, no hesitation. Only the cold, unyielding focus of a predator.

"You cannot kill us," they hissed. "We are the Abyss."

Viktor's eyes narrowed. He pressed the barrel of one of his guns against the leader's chest ,the muzzle grinding against flesh and bone and pulled the trigger. The shot ripping and tearing through them, but they only staggered back, their body already beginning to heal.

"You're persistent," Viktor said, his voice cold. "But so am I."

He fired again, this time aiming for the head. The leader's hood was blown back, revealing a face that was both familiar and horrifying. For a moment, Viktor's icy composure wavered. He recognized that face—it was someone he had thought long dead. But before he could process the revelation, the other figures closed in, their blades flashing in the dim light.

Just as it seemed he might be overwhelmed, a gunshot rang out, the sound deafening in the confined space. One of the robed figures collapsed, a bullet hole in their chest. Viktor turned to see Detective Hale standing in the doorway, his revolver smoking.

"Need a hand?" Hale asked, his tone grim.

Viktor didn't answer. He didn't need to. Together, they fought back the remaining figures, their movements synchronized despite their mutual distrust. The leader of the Covenant watched from the shadows, their expression unreadable. Then, with a final, hateful glare, they disappeared into the night.

The club was silent, the air thick with the scent of blood and smoke. Viktor stood amidst the wreckage, his breathing heavy but controlled. Hale approached him, his revolver still in hand.

"You're welcome," the detective said dryly.

Viktor ignored him, his mind already racing. The Abyssal Covenant was real, and they were closer than he had thought. But there was still one question burning in his mind: who was their leader?

As he left the club, the rain began to fall again, washing away the blood . The Nightmare's fate was far from over, and the Abyss was waiting. But Viktor Malenko felt no fear—only the cold, His guns hung heavy at his sides, dark and unyielding whatever hell awaited he would carve it through blood,bullet or blade.

BLOOD THE COST,BULLETS THE MEANS AND BLADE THE FINAL WORD