"You. Who are you?" the butcher asked, eyes narrowing as he stared at Aaron with mounting hostility. The sharp confidence in Aaron’s words had clearly unsettled him.
"Nobody in particular," Aaron replied, his tone flat and unimpressed. "Just your end. I would have asked you about Stone, but the stench reeking from this place already tells me exactly where he is."
He pinched his nose in disgust.
"Bastard!" the butcher roared, flipping the table in front of him toward Aaron and charging forward with his butcher knife gleaming in hand.
The heavy table struck Aaron squarely in the face—but he didn’t even flinch.
"Urgh!" Aaron grunted as he grabbed the bulky man by the neck and effortlessly lifted him off his feet.
"You’re irredeemable," he said coldly. "The blood on your hands reeks. It makes me want to puke. Do you know what the blood of your victims whispers to me? They scream for your death."
The man’s neck snapped, and his body went limp.
It was the first time Aaron had ever killed a human directly, but oddly, his emotions didn’t spiral. His bloodline kept him eerily composed, as if such an act were nothing more than swatting a fly.
"It’s going to be a long night," Aaron sighed. Flameborn soared toward him and perched calmly on his shoulder.
"Don’t worry," he said, stroking the dragon-eagle hybrid softly. "You’ll get your fun too."
With silent fury still simmering in his chest, Aaron walked calmly past the butcher’s corpse and into the inner chambers of the building.
He stopped at a specific spot.
Without warning, he drove his foot into the floor.
The floor shattered beneath him, revealing a hidden passageway that descended into the earth.
He stepped down without hesitation.
"Intruder!!" a guard shouted from below, sprinting toward Aaron with a dagger gripped tightly in his hand.
Aaron didn’t even pause. He casually slapped the man’s face with inhuman strength.
The guard’s body flew back like a ragdoll, smashing into the wall. He crumpled to the ground, unmoving. Dead.
Aaron didn’t blink. There would be no mercy tonight.
These men had taken lives.
They weren’t just thugs like Barnes. They were murderers. Unforgivable.
"Shoot him! Shoot him!" other lackeys screamed in panic, watching several of their comrades already lying dead around them.
Like on Earth, Blue Star had firearms—and they could be lethal against normal humans or weak hunters. But against someone like Aaron?
"Lightning Dragon," Aaron muttered, his tone dry, almost bored.
He turned to Flameborn. "Go wild. I’ll deal with the boss. Once you’re done, head through the other tunnel. There should be a prisoner with a damaged left shoulder. Take him to the Sanctuary. I have a use for him."
The moment he finished speaking, a brilliant bolt of energy surged beside him.
A long, winding creature emerged—a dragon of pure lightning, elegant and fierce, its serpentine body crackling with raw power.
A god-rank skill: Lightning Dragon.
It slithered through the narrow underground passage like a predator, weaving gracefully through the air.
It simply passed the enemies by.
But that alone was enough.
As the lightning dragon brushed past them, the lackeys convulsed violently, their bodies charred and smoking in an instant.
ROAR! Flameborn screeched in frustration, flapping his wings aggressively. He rushed ahead, unwilling to let the lightning dragon claim all the kills.
With a mighty breath, he unleashed a torrent of fire, engulfing the thugs ahead in blazing flames.
The underground echoed with agonized screams.
Satisfied with his fiery display, Flameborn snorted smoke in contentment.
Then, following Aaron’s instructions, he turned toward the secondary tunnel, the lightning dragon trailing behind like a loyal sentinel.
Aaron entered a massive, luxurious room that contrasted sharply with the bloody slaughterhouse above.
Elegant furnishings, soft lighting, and an ambient hum of music created a surreal, almost relaxing atmosphere.
"You must be Stone. Sitting there so arrogantly, it wasn’t hard to guess," Aaron remarked, stepping into the room with deliberate calm.
Stone took a long drag from his cigar and exhaled a thick plume of smoke. His scowl deepened.
"And who the fuck are you?" he growled.
He was a large man—muscular, bald, with a thick scar slicing across his right cheek. He wore a beach shirt, shorts, and dark shades as if mocking the seriousness of the situation.
"Your end," Aaron replied flatly. He folded his arms. "But before that, I want to know—who’s backing you?"
Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down on one of the plush cushions like he owned the place.
Stone scoffed. "You don’t need to know. You’ll be dead soon anyway."
From the shadows, two figures leaped out.
They were clad entirely in black, their swords gleaming as they lunged at Aaron.
Awakened hunters, fiercely loyal to him. Silent executioners with an unbroken kill record since their recruitment.
Aaron moved first. In a blur, he grabbed both by the throat, lifting them off the ground effortlessly.
His eyes didn’t leave Stone. They remained locked, cold and unblinking.
"Thought so," Aaron said, his voice low. "There’s no way a scumbag like you got your hands on two elite B-rank hunters without serious backing."
The twins’ bodies liquefied, slipping from his grasp and reforming on the floor.
"Water-type," Aaron muttered.
The moment they reformed, they charged again.
But Aaron didn’t budge.
His eyes glowed faintly.
The twins froze mid-strike, caught in his psychic grip.
He stared into their eyes, voice laced with command. "Who are you working for?"
They opened their mouths.
Forced by Aaron’s compulsion, they struggled to respond—but their mutilated bodies refused.
Their heads exploded violently, brain matter spraying across the room.
Aaron slowly turned his gaze to Stone.
Stone grinned, unbothered.
"Hah. I’m sorry about that. That’s what happens when you ask them difficult questions."
He took another puff of his cigar and exhaled.
"Shame their brains didn’t get all over you. I was looking forward to seeing your smug face dripping with gore."
But the air around him began to crackle.