Nyx Brighton

Chapter 5

The obsidian gates of the Brighton mansion groaned open, revealing a sprawling courtyard bathed in the eerie glow of a full moon. Nyx, his face a mask of simmering fury, strode through the archway, his footsteps echoing in the silence. Behind him, Lilith, her eyes narrowed, trailed like a wraith, her presence a silent storm. The air thrummed with an unspoken tension, a palpable sense of dread that hung heavy in the air.

The courtyard, usually a scene of manicured gardens and serene fountains, was now a tableau of chaos. The once pristine marble was stained crimson, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. The bodies of Nyx's men lay scattered, their lifeless forms a stark testament to the ferocity of the attack. The Red Hand, his rival in the underworld, had struck with brutal efficiency, leaving a trail of carnage in their wake.

Nyx's gaze swept over the scene, his heart a cold knot of rage. His men, loyal to a fault, had been slaughtered like cattle. The Red Hand, a ruthless and ambitious kingpin, had dared to cross him, to challenge his authority. This was a personal affront, a violation of the unspoken rules of the underworld.

“They’re gone, Nyx,” Lilith whispered, her voice a low, mournful hum. She knelt beside a fallen soldier, her hand hovering over the still, cold flesh. A flicker of pain crossed her face, a rare vulnerability that belied her usual stoic demeanor.

Nyx knelt beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder. “I know,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “But they won’t get away with this.”

He stood, his eyes blazing with a cold, calculating fire. “Find them. Find Senti and Silas Marquez!” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “Bring them to me, alive.”

His men, shaken but loyal, scurried into action, their movements swift and silent. Lilith, her face, a mask of icy determination, remained by Nyx’s side.

“They’ll pay for this,” she said, her voice laced with a chilling promise.

The mansion, a silent sentinel against the backdrop of the moonlit city, became a hive of activity. The air crackled with tension, the scent of blood and fear permeating every corner. Nyx, his mind, a whirlwind of rage and strategy, commanded his men with a steely resolve. He had to find the Red Hand to bring him to justice to avenge the deaths of his men.

The interrogation room, a stark and sterile chamber, was bathed in the cold, harsh light of a single bare bulb. Two Red Hand men, their faces bruised and bloodied, sat on the metal chairs, their eyes wide with fear. Nyx, his face impassive, stood before them, his presence a palpable threat.

“Tell me,” Nyx said, his voice a silken whisper that held an undercurrent of menace. “Who ordered this attack? Is it Senti or Silas?”

The men, their bodies trembling, remained silent. Nyx’s patience, already thin, snapped. He raised his hand, a glint of steel flashing in the dim light.

“I’ll ask you again,” Nyx said, his voice a low, menacing growl. “Who ordered this attack?”

Nyx, gradually losing his patience, kicks one of them, as he doesn't want to waste time, especially with his sister's safety at stake. He seized their collar and knocked them out cold, Nyx's thoughts were fading. The other Red Hand members are unfazed by what he observes.

He doesn’t wish to speak, yet he’s growing frightened that he could be next. The man being assaulted by Nyx is now drenched in blood, hardly visible through his injuries. He is becoming frightened.

One of the men, his face contorted in fear, stammered, “It was… it was Senti Marquez, Not Silas”

Nyx’s eyes narrowed. “Senti..The younger brother?” he repeated, his voice a cold, sharp blade. “Why would he attack me?”