𝘍𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘓𝘪𝘯𝘦 | ʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ ʜᴏᴛᴇʟ

Prologue | 0. 1

In the sprawling depths of hell, where power and influence shaped destinies, the Lùhng Mafia stood as an imposing force under the unyielding leadership of the Zhào family. Renowned as one of the most powerful organizations in the pride ring and expanding beyond, the Lùhng Mafia's dominion extended across the underworld like a shadowy empire.

At the helm of this formidable syndicate, the Zhào family orchestrated the intricate dance of power with a calculated finesse. The head of the family, a patriarch whose reputation struck fear into the hearts of both rivals and subordinates, navigated the turbulent underworld with an iron grip.

The Zhào family's stronghold, adorned with symbols of ancient authority, echoed with the whispers of loyalty and the chilling murmurs of whispered commands. In the dimly lit chambers, adorned with crimson tapestries, the family held clandestine meetings, forging alliances and settling disputes with a ruthlessness that matched the infernal landscape.

From illegal enterprises to strategic alliances with other overlords, the Lùhng Mafia's influence permeated almost every corner of hell.

The Lùhng Mafia's dominion was characterized by an intricate web of alliances and rivalries, each move orchestrated with meticulous precision. The family's control over hell's economy and underworldly politics made them a force to be reckoned with, an indomitable presence that cast its influence over the very fabric of hell.

In the ceaseless dance between power and damnation, the Zhào family's name resounded as an echo of authority, and the Lùhng Mafia's reign as one of the most potent organizations in hell remained unchallenged-a testament to the Zhào family's relentless pursuit of dominance in the infernal realms....

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In the dimly lit hallway, a striking figure emerged-a man with an presence that contrast with the red asthetic of the hallway. His skin, an ethereal shade of light blue, seemed to radiate a subtle luminescence that caught the shadows in its captivating glow.

Puppet-like ball joints adorned his limbs, a surreal integration of mechanical and organic elements that lent an uncanny grace to his movements. With each step, there was a delicate fluidity, as if strings guided his path, orchestrating a dance between the tangible and the spectral.

Medium-length white hair cascaded around his angular face, and a curtain of bangs, elegantly disheveled, concealed one eye-a feature that added an enigmatic allure to his appearance. A glimpse of the hidden eye hinted at depths of mystery and untold stories concealed beneath the snowy strands.

Atop his head, two sleek black horns pointed upward, a testament to his infernal nature that seamlessly blended with the peculiar elegance of his overall visage. They added a touch of regality to his silhouette, a juxtaposition of ethereal and demonic.

His eye, a piercing yellow with black sclera, held an intensity that seemed to penetrate the very fabric of the shadows surrounding him. As he navigated the corridor, a sense of authority emanated from those gaze, a silent proclamation of a presence that commanded both respect and curiosity.

Cloaked in sophistication, he wore a tailored black suit jacket that accentuated his puppet-like physique. A pristine white dress shirt peeked from beneath, providing a stark contrast to the darkness of his surroundings. A blue tie, carefully knotted, added a subtle pop of color that harmonized with the gentle hue of his skin.

As he strode down the corridor, the rhythmic click of his ball joints echoed in tandem with the muted steps of his polished dress shoes. The dim lighting cast elongated shadows, creating an atmosphere of suspense as he approached a set of imposing heavy doors at the end of the hallway.

Coming to a halt, the man took a moment to collect himself. He drew in a deep breath, the air filling his lungs with a mix of anticipation and determination. His gaze lingered on the ornate handles of the large doors, before exhaling slowly, the man steeled himself, his hand reaching out to grasp the cold, substantial handles.

The heavy door swung open, shattering the subdued silence that enveloped the luxurious office. A man entered, his body stiff and expression emotionless. The man behind the desk, a formidable figure with an air of authority, was his father.

"Father," the man uttered bowing in respect, his voice a controlled monotone that echoed through the room.

The man acknowledged him with a curt nod, gesturing for him to approach. "You've completed what I asked?"

"Yes," the son replied, presenting the evidence of his success with a cold efficiency.

The man, however, maintained an icy distance. "Efficiency is expected, not celebrated. In our world, success is the baseline, not an achievement."

The son, undeterred, kept his expression impassive. The air in the room hung with unspoken tension as the father scrutinized the son. The emotional chasm between them seemed to widen with each passing moment.

"Remember, sentimentality is a luxury we cannot afford," the leader remarked, his voice devoid of warmth. "Our relationships are transactional, built on power and necessity."

The son nodded, accepting the unspoken rules that governed their interactions. As he turned to leave, the man's final words lingered in the air like a chilling breeze. "In this world, kinship may be a surname, but it doesn't grant immunity from the cold currents of our reality."

With that, the son exited the office, leaving behind the stark silence that seemed to characterize their father-son dynamic. In the intricate web of the mafia, where power and detachment were revered, their relationship remained entangled in the complex threads of familial duty and the unforgiving laws of hell.

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A/N : Hope you enjoyed my little experiment. See ya'll in the chapter, hopefully hehe