*Gulp!*
Vanya Egorov swallowed hard. He felt the temperature in the room instantly plummet by over twenty degrees, making him feel as though he had been dropped directly onto the Siberian permafrost.
How was this possible?
This was the Consulate General. How could someone just appear inside his private office? It defied all logic.
Or was the United States planning to declare war on Moscow? The grounds of a consulate were legally recognized as the territory of that nation. Infiltrating a consulate was an act virtually synonymous with a declaration of war.
Vanya strained his eyes, desperately trying to identify the figure hidden in the deep shadows of the corner.
"You..."
"Sit!"
*Gulp!*
Hearing the voice, which sounded as if it had been squeezed out from the depths of a glacier, Vanya couldn't help but shudder. His pupils contracted violently as he stared at the man stepping out of the darkness—a man who carried himself like an absolute emperor. He swallowed hard once more.
He belonged to Lubyanka, yes, but he was merely the deputy director of a regional bureau. While he held a leadership position, he wasn't a field operative; he was just a man with a dark mind and an anti-social personality.
But the entity standing before him?
The man possessed a deathly pale complexion, crimson eyes, and radiated an aura that was simultaneously elegant, bloodthirsty, dark, and gentlemanly.
With a soft *thud*, Vanya—who had just stood up to organize the assault and abduction of Locke Broughton—felt his knees buckle. He sank right back into his chair. Fearful that the guards outside might rush in and cost him his life, he stared at this emperor of the night and whispered,
"Who are you?"
"My name is..." Locke's tone was as biting as a freezing gale cutting through glacial peaks. "Cain. Or perhaps you prefer a different title?"
As he spoke, Locke's form shifted fluidly. The elegant emperor of the dark dissolved, replaced by the flawlessly handsome Locke Broughton.
"Or... the wretched offspring you just spoke of!"
Vanya Egorov's very soul trembled!
Locke felt incredibly frustrated. He could swear to God that his original intention was simply to find this Lubyanka bureau chief, have a proper chat, and lay everything out clearly.
Let what belongs to the past stay in the past. If they wanted to hunt down Lorraine Broughton, they could go right ahead, but why involve him?
From the moment his life began, he had started with absolutely nothing. He had relied entirely on his own hard work and diligence to avoid dying miserably on the streets or going down a dark path. It hadn't been easy. He was just an orphan, so why was the KGB targeting him?
Locke had genuinely come to convince them with reason, hoping to turn swords into plowshares. But... what had he overheard the moment he arrived?
Bitch? Was that directed at Lorraine Broughton? That didn't matter. He didn't care; he wasn't close to Lorraine Broughton anyway. They could call her whatever vile names they wanted, and Locke wouldn't feel a single flicker of emotion.
But wretched offspring? Who exactly was that insult targeting?
He had barely left the United States in his entire life, let alone visited Moscow. He hadn't provoked the KGB in the slightest. Why insult him out of nowhere?
Dammit, there were limits to how much you could bully someone, especially when targeting an orphan. What, just because an orphan lacked parents, they could be hurled insults at? Were they purposefully picking on vulnerable groups like orphans?
Locke was furious. Fortunately, in his previous life, his mother had taught him to be a cultured and polite person. Therefore, despite facing such vitriol, his anger didn't cause him to lose his composure and hurl insults back. Hurling insults was uncivilized.
Instead, after briefly revealing his baseline human form, Locke smoothly transitioned back into the elegant persona of the vampire progenitor, Cain. Looking at Vanya Egorov, who was now slumped in his seat and entirely immobilized, Locke massaged his brow with an elegant sigh. He calmly explained his original intent, speaking with refined grace.
"You see, upon realizing I was targeted by the KGB, I was profoundly alarmed. I am merely an orphan, utterly incapable of opposing an institution as formidable as the KGB. Consequently, I hoped to clarify the situation and reach an amicable understanding. Yet, you insulted me. Why would you say such vile things?"
Had he eaten the KGB's food to warrant such hostility? Locke found it utterly baffling, and his fangs throbbed with annoyance.
"Therefore..."
Just then.
*Knock, knock, knock!*
A sharp knock rattled Egorov's door, followed by a voice speaking with a heavy Russian accent. "Sir, the vehicles are prepared."
Good grief. Locke snapped back to reality and looked down at Egorov.
Wait a moment. If it hadn't been for that voice interrupting, Locke would have almost forgotten that Egorov hadn't just insulted him; the man was actually preparing to lead a tactical team to launch a full-scale assault on Gwen's apartment.
He intended to execute George right in front of him, butcher Helen, and not even spare young Philip and Arthur. He was going to murder Gwen without a shred of hesitation even if Locke knelt and begged, before abducting him.
This... was unacceptable!
A fierce crimson light flared within Locke's eyes. It appeared this matter could no longer be settled peacefully. He had wished to compromise, only to discover the other party wouldn't even grant him an opportunity to explain.
What was wrong with this world? Why did people constantly try to disrupt the life of an ordinary guy who just wanted to live a quiet life? Locke felt genuinely perplexed.
On the other side of the desk, before Locke could even issue a warning, Egorov called out to the guard outside,
"Understood. Delay the deployment by thirty minutes."
"Yes, sir!" The guard outside snapped to attention, barked a reply, and marched down the hallway, his boots clicking rhythmically against the floor.
Egorov let out a silent sigh of relief. He was far more of a politician than a field operative. An actual agent would have likely screamed for help, but politicians valued their own survival above all else.
He was a clever man; he didn't cancel the operation outright, but chose to delay it by half an hour instead. If he had canceled it entirely, he estimated an 80% probability that he would be silenced on the spot. By merely delaying it, he felt his chances of survival were at least 70%.
Locke, however, paid no heed to the exchange between Egorov and the guard. Even if Egorov had screamed at the top of his lungs, Locke wouldn't have cared.
In short: I offered my heart to the bright moon, but the bright moon chose to shine upon the drainage ditch!
Locke pulled his thoughts back, his gaze settling fully onto Egorov. His tone became hollow as his eyes drifted toward the full moon visible through the window.
"Under normal circumstances, when dealing with my enemies, I always kill them first before talking."
Egorov felt his entire body turn completely rigid.
"However..." Locke pulled his gaze back from the moon and locked it onto Egorov.
"You are not my enemy."
Egorov breathed a sigh of relief.
In the very next second, Locke's tone flipped instantly, turning ice-cold as his fangs bared completely.
"After all, my enemies usually just strike me as foolish. But you... you make me angry. Profoundly angry!"
He had zero history of animosity with the KGB, yet these people had not only thrown around insults but had actively plotted to slaughter his girlfriend's entire family. Any person with an ounce of backbone would be pushed into absolute fury by this.
Motherfucker! Was Lubyanka really that impressive? Were they more formidable than the Triskelion?
Locke's voice was deathly cold. With a sharp movement, his right hand shot forward, clamping firmly around Egorov's throat and hoisting him directly into the air. The slender, freezing grip made Egorov feel as though he was no longer just sitting on the Siberian permafrost—half his body felt buried beneath the ice sheet. "Pl..."
Locke's eyes were completely blood-red, and a sinister smirk curled upon his lips. "But if I kill you, I imagine it will generate a massive amount of tedious complications, won't it?"
The desire for survival flared intensely within Egorov's eyes. He tried desperately to speak, but he could manage nothing more than a strained, agonizing nod.
"Indeed, I share that perspective. However... you insulted me. And you planned to murder my girlfriend's family. How utterly excessive. Furthermore, even if you die, someone else will inevitably take over your station and continue to harass me incessantly. But since you insulted me, letting you walk away would leave an eternal thorn in my side! Therefore!"
Locke slowly raised Egorov higher, holding him up like a ragdoll. Tilting his head back, Locke stared up at Egorov, whose hands were clawing frantically at his arm as his complexion drained of color. Locke suddenly flashed a brilliant smile.
"I have conceived a flawless solution that satisfies both requirements. I will not kill you. In fact, I shall bestow a blessing upon you. Yes, in the name of Cain, I bless you. I am certain you will find this gift highly agreeable."
As he spoke, Locke's imperial fangs bared completely. The moonlight streamed through the window and caught the ivory, reflecting a chilling, noble, and ethereal glint.
In the next second, the shadow projected onto the wall—showing a figure gripping a helpless man—underwent a massive transformation. With a soft *whoosh*, a pair of massive wings erupted from the silhouette's back.
The shadow expanded rapidly, looming over the lifted figure. The man being held arched his back violently like a boiled shrimp, his head thrown back at an unnatural angle.
"Ugh..."
Egorov's head hung back limply, looking like a broken doll supported by a single hand. His eyes were vacant and lifeless as he stared blankly at the ceiling. He felt his blood draining away at an impossible rate, the speed accelerating with every passing second.
Soon, he felt his hearing rapidly deteriorate. His vision grew increasingly blurred. Eventually, he could no longer even perceive the rhythm of his own heartbeat.
He felt as though he was drifting into an abyss of absolute darkness, witnessing a massive, swirling black vortex. Beyond that vortex lay an entirely different world filled with endless sand and raging fire.
'Am I dying?' Egorov thought to himself.
Just then.
*Drip.*
***
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