After being abandoned by her father, Delicious Franks turned to the streets for protection. Selling her body and doing drugs brought her temporary comfort and warmth. Delicious found herself being pimped out and selling her body off to men. Without...
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Delicious's heart pounded as she stared at the lifeless bodies scattered across the ground. Bones, organs, muscles, and tendons lay strewn across the uneven earth. The sharp metallic smell of blood mixed with poison assaulted her nose, causing her chest to tighten and her ribs to strain under the weight of her rapid breaths. Her lungs burned, yet she couldn't move—rooted to the spot as the stars above flickered like distant eyes, silently watching her. The oppressive darkness of the night loomed over the trio like a judgmental entity, its silence suffocating.
The assassins were unlike anything she'd ever seen. Their movements had been swift, precise, and eerily inhuman, sending a chill through her bones. Their tools and calculated strikes seemed far removed from the crude violence she had grown accustomed to in the underground. Delicious's back pressed against the rough bark of a tree. The dry scrape against her skin didn't register. Growing up in the hood and working in the underground had exposed her to all manners of violence: shootings, assaults, robberies. But this? This felt orchestrated, otherworldly—like something out of a twisted movie. How ironic that she and Amir had come on vacation, only for chaos to descend when Brutus and his guards showed up. Whether a blessing or a curse, Delicious knew one thing: trust no one, not even the men in front of her.
De'mon and Harrie stood a few feet away, their imposing presence both unnerving and surreal. The tension between the two men crackled like electricity. They stood about forty feet apart, separated by more than just distance. Harrie's gaze flicked toward his brother, a flash of sadness briefly softening his expression before anger hardened it once more. Blood stained both their robes and hands, the metallic stench clinging to them like an unshakable shadow. Harrie's face bore visible splashes of blood, while De'mon remained eerily pristine, as if untouched by the carnage.
De'mon noticed the flicker of emotion in his brother's eyes and smirked, his expression dripping with mockery. Then his gaze shifted to Delicious, studying her intently. Despite her frightened demeanor, something in her stance intrigued him. She was pressed against the tree like a cornered kitten, yet there was a sharpness in her eyes, a barely contained ferocity. She carried herself like a blade, ready to cut anyone who dared approach.
The two men—De'mon, towering at eight feet, and Harrie, not far behind at seven—were giants compared to her. Delicious felt their eyes on her, scrutinizing her every move, as if dissecting her very soul. The sheer intensity of their attention made her stomach churn.
Her mind began to drift, disassociating from the moment. Delicious threw her head back, the bark of the tree tangling in her hair as her breathing grew shallow. Her lips parted as she stared into the void of darkness. Images of Khris, Mama D, Gio, and Amir swirled in her mind—a chaotic montage of tears, cries, ecstasy, pleasure, pain, and anger. Khris's wretched smile lingered longest, pulling a frown from her lips as her eyes emptied of emotion. The symphony of the woods—chirping insects, distant screams, and the occasional crack of gunfire—boomed through the night. Yet Delicious remained silent, her body against the tree, as if waiting for something.
Her eyes darted to the ground, spotting a white gun near one of the fallen assassins. In a flash, she lunged for it, grabbing the weapon and aiming it squarely at De'mon. He didn't flinch, his expression unreadable as he watched her with a mix of curiosity and amusement.
Delicious's voice shook but carried authority as she barked, "Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck do you want from me? Answer me NOW!"
De'mon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You serious right now?"
"Dead ass fucking serious," she snapped, cocking the gun. "Who are you? Are you trying to kidnap me? Why are you on this island?"
De'mon scoffed, his tone low and taunting. "Kidnap you? I just saved your ungrateful ass, and this is the thanks I get?"
"I don't care, and I don't give a fuck!" Delicious spat, cocking the gun again and stepping closer. "So because you saved my life, I'm supposed to say thank you? You're out of your rabbit-ass mind. Answer the damn question! Who the fuck are you?"
"My name is De'mon," he replied sharply. "I'm the rightful tribal leader of the Red Hair Clan." He emphasized "rightful," casting a pointed glance at Harrie, who rolled his eyes.
"Tribal leader? Red Hair Clan?" Delicious frowned. "That doesn't exist."
De'mon's expression darkened. "Are you stupid? I just told you where the fuck I'm from."
Delicious turned the gun toward Harrie. "Is he telling the truth?"
Harrie's eyes shifted from the bodies on the ground to Delicious. Despite the tension, there was a flicker of amusement in his gaze. The wind picked up, rustling his long black hair, which flowed around him like a halo. His blue robes danced dramatically in the gust, making him look almost ethereal. Delicious glanced at him, her thoughts dripping with sarcasm. This nigga gay, she thought, watching the theatrical scene unfold.
Harrie's voice cut through the moment. "Yes," he replied, his tone calm and resolute.
Delicious turned back to De'mon, her grip on the gun unwavering. "So, like a king?"
"In a way, yes," De'mon replied. "But I don't like that word. Call me a tribal leader."
"And you?" Delicious asked, glancing at Harrie.
"My name is Harrie," he said, his voice even but tinged with exhaustion. "I'm also a tribal leader of the Red Hair Clan."
Delicious's brow furrowed. "Two leaders? How does that even work?"
"It doesn't," Harrie replied grimly.
The tension between the brothers was palpable, but Delicious wasn't in the mood to mediate. Instead, she motioned dismissively toward De'mon. "Well, aren't you going to introduce your father or your other brother or whatever he is?"
Harrie snorted. "He can introduce himself. He's a grown man."
De'mon's smirk widened. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, little brother."
Before the argument could escalate, Delicious fired a shot into the trees, silencing them both. "Enough! Who sent you?" she demanded.
De'mon's smirk faltered. "Unless you've been living under a rock, the moon is missing. We're here representing the Red Hair Clan to investigate."
The mention of the missing moon made Delicious's stomach churn. Something about it gnawed at her, an unsettling familiarity she couldn't place. Lowering the gun, she sighed and muttered, "Thanks."
She turned and walked away, leaving the brothers to exchange bewildered looks.
De'mon's expression darkened, but before he could speak, Harrie's attention shifted to a tattoo on one of the fallen assassins: four skulls arranged in a square, a star at the center, and lion heads at each point. Harrie crouched down, snapping a picture with his phone.
"What is it?" De'mon asked.
Harrie peeled the tattooed skin from the assassin's torso with a small knife. "The Phyrarchis Continent," he murmured.
De'mon's face darkened further. "What the fuck are they doing here?"
For the first time in years, the silent brothers found themselves forced to communicate. The journey to Ukuthula was shaping up to be anything but easy.
