"Augghhhh…."
Max groaned, his voice thick with sleep. He squeezed his eyes shut and threw a heavy arm over his face, covering his mouth to muffle another loud groan. Beside his bed, a cheap digital alarm clock was blaring a harsh, rhythmic beeping sound.
For a brief, terrifying second, his mind played tricks on him. The beeping sounded like the marching drums of the Alliance army. The rough fabric of his blanket felt like a blood-soaked cape. But then the smell of stale apartment air and the soft hum of the refrigerator broke through the illusion.
He cracked one eye open, reached out a heavy hand, and slammed his palm down on the snooze button. The alarm clock clicked off, plunging the small room back into a peaceful, modern silence.
Max laid there for a long moment, staring up at the plain white ceiling. He let out a long, shaky breath. After the intense, emotional events of yesterday night—returning to his original world, burning the cursed game tape, and screaming his lungs out in the alleyway—he had finally collapsed into his own bed and slept like a rock. It was the first time in three hundred million lifetimes that he had slept without holding a weapon.
He slowly pushed himself up. His body felt light, completely devoid of the heavy dark magic that used to course through his veins. He stretched his arms high above his head, feeling the satisfying pop of his joints.
He kicked his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the soft, worn carpet beneath his bare feet. He stood up, walked over to the window, and forcefully pushed aside the cheap, plastic blinds. He unlatched the glass and slid the window open wide.
"Hmmm…."
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, filling his lungs to the brim.
"Ahhh…. how I've missed the air of the urban city," Max whispered to himself.
He stood there by the open window, repeatedly inhaling and exhaling the cool morning air of North Carolina. To anyone else, the air would just smell like car exhaust, damp pavement, and morning dew. But to Max, it smelled like freedom. It smelled like reality.
He opened his eyes and leaned against the windowsill, looking down at the street below. The city was already waking up. He could hear the low rumble of cars getting parked along the sidewalk. From a few blocks over, the sharp, brief sound of tires drifting around a tight corner echoed through the buildings. Down in the small courtyard of the apartment complex, he could hear the bright, innocent laughter of children as they played a game of tag before school.
There were no screams of dying soldiers. There was no smell of rotting flesh or burning magic. There was just the ordinary, beautiful chaos of a normal human city.
"I miss this life…." Max said, a soft, genuine smile forming on his lips.
He watched the street for a few more minutes, soaking in the mundane sights, before finally reaching out and closing the window to keep the morning chill out. He stretched his arms again, rolling his shoulders to get the stiffness out, and walked over to the tall mirror attached to his wardrobe.
He rubbed his chin. The stubble was rough and scratchy against his palm.
Max sighed and leaned closer to the glass. "I need to shave my beard. And I need to go shower immediately, because I smell like shit right now."
The sweat from his panic attack last night, mixed with the smell of smoke from the alleyway incinerator, clung to his skin. He desperately needed to wash the lingering dirt of his past life down the drain.
He turned away from the mirror and started walking toward the small bathroom near the kitchen. But as he passed the front door, he suddenly came to a halt.
A memory from last night flashed in his mind. The stairwell. The blonde woman in the gray jogging suit. He had bumped right into her, and she had practically bent over backward apologizing to him. And what had he done? He had completely ignored her, walking past her like she was a ghost.
"Sigh… right. I need to say sorry to her for ignoring her forgiveness," Max muttered, running a hand through his messy amber hair.
He stood in the hallway, analyzing his own behavior.
'Seriously, I don't even need to apologize since I always ignore people like her anyway,' Max thought to himself.
In this original world, before the transmigration, Max Theo Hoffman was a man deeply plagued by severe social anxiety. He hated talking to strangers. He hated small talk, eye contact, and crowded rooms. His natural instinct was always to put his head down, ignore everyone, and stay isolated in his own little bubble.
However, playing the role of Sylan Armada Von Noctis for countless lifetimes had violently beaten that anxiety out of him. You could not be a socially anxious Dark Lord. You could not be afraid of public speaking when you had to command armies of demons and taunt the heroes of the realm. While his social anxiety had paralyzed him during his first two or three regressions in that fantasy world, the sheer necessity of survival had forced him to adapt.
Luckily, now that he was back in his original body, he realized that the crippling fear of social interaction had disappeared completely. He felt calm. He felt confident. He just preferred to be left alone because he liked the quiet, not because he was scared of people.
Still, he wanted to live a peaceful life here. Making enemies with the neighbors on his very first day back was a bad start.
"Hmm, what gift should I give her to say sorry?" Max asked the empty room.
He walked over to his small kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. The cool air wafted out. He scanned the shelves. He didn't have much. Some leftover takeout, a carton of milk, and a few bottles of water. He opened the freezer compartment.
He sighed in relief. A wide smile spread across his face. He was incredibly glad to see that he still had two large bars of Toblerone chocolate sitting safely on the frosty shelf.
"All right, I gotta give this to her later," Max said, tapping his fingers against the freezer door.
"Though, I hope she accepts this. I don't have any other options or ideas for a gift to say sorry for ignoring her yesterday night. Even the flower stores are far away from this apartment. Like, you need to cross three busy streets just to reach the nearest one. And I am not doing that before I shower."
Max pushed the chocolate bars back deep into the freezer so they wouldn't melt while he was busy, and firmly closed the door.
"All right, let's go to the shower."
After twenty long minutes, Max finally stepped out of the bathroom. The room was thick with warm steam. The hot water had felt like heaven against his tired muscles. He had scrubbed his skin until it turned red, washing away the imaginary grime of the fantasy world.
He stepped into the main room, wearing only a white towel wrapped securely around his waist, covering his private parts. Water dripped from his wet amber hair onto his broad shoulders.
His body was not the massive, hulking frame of the Dark Lord anymore, but it was far from weak. He possessed a lean, highly defined physique, complete with a tight six-pack of abs. However, his torso was far from flawless. Several faded, jagged scars cut across his stomach, chest, and ribs, serving as silent, permanent evidence of his dark profession.
Max walked over to the full-length mirror and stopped. He looked at the reflection of his chest, his amber eyes tracing the familiar white lines of the scars.
"Haaah, I still have these, huh?" he whispered.
He slowly raised his hand and touched a particularly deep scar located just beneath his left ribcage.
Before transmigrating as Sylan and experiencing those three hundred million painful regressions, Max lived a very specific type of life. He was a professional, highly skilled assassin. He was a ghost in the criminal underworld, a man known for getting the job done quickly, quietly, and without leaving a single trace behind.
After leaving that lifestyle and that world, his desire was simply to live a loner, peaceful life. He wanted to leave the violence behind. But even though he was an assassin, he clearly remembered the profound loneliness of his past. He remembered the times when he always isolated himself from society, hiding in dark apartments because his social anxiety made normal life impossible. The killing was just a job; the isolation was his real life.
His fingers traced another scar on his shoulder. His expression turned serious as a dark memory surfaced.
He knew exactly why he had been transmigrated into the body of the Dark Lord. It wasn't random magic. It wasn't an accident.
In exactly one year from this current date, Max Theo Hoffman was going to be murdered.
He remembered the event with crystal clarity, even though he had lived millions of lives since then. He remembered walking down a dark street, the sudden crack of a suppressed gunshot, and the searing, final pain of a bullet piercing directly through the back of his head. He had died instantly on the cold pavement. That violent death was the trigger that sent his soul into the reverse harem game.
He dropped his hand from his chest and stared hard at his own eyes in the mirror. He still didn't know the identity of the person who pulled the trigger. The shooter had been completely hidden in the shadows. But he knew exactly why they did it. He theorized, with absolute certainty, that it was tied to his connections and past contracts as an active assassin. Someone he had crossed, or someone wrapping up loose ends, was going to come for him.
He had one year to figure it out. One year to find the person who was destined to put a bullet in his brain, and stop them before they could pull the trigger.
But for today, he pushed those dark thoughts away. He wanted to enjoy his first morning back.
He reached for a towel and wiped the condensation off the top half of the mirror. He looked at his face. He had taken the time to carefully shave off his rough beard and trim his mustache down to the skin. The smooth skin made him look much younger. He looked like he was in his absolute prime again, looking no older than twenty-two years old, even though his actual age was thirty-two.
A smirk crossed his face. He leaned closer, admiring his own reflection.
"Damn, this is why I love this face. The color of my short hair and my eyes... they're always beautiful," Max said out loud, shamelessly glazing his own looks. It was a stark contrast to the terrifying, scarred visage of the Dark Lord he was used to seeing. He liked looking normal. He liked looking handsome.
He turned away from the mirror, grabbed a fresh t-shirt and some comfortable sweatpants from his wardrobe, and quickly got dressed.
He stretched his arms one more time, feeling fresh and energized. He walked over to his small living area and grabbed the television remote from the coffee table. He pointed it at the screen and turned on the TV. The screen flickered to life, showing the bright graphics of the local morning news channel.
He walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, listening to the crisp voice of the news anchor.
"In other news this morning, a local woman tragically died in a severe car accident on Highway 47 late last night," the news anchor reported in a serious tone.
"While some people and family members strongly believe it's a case of foul play, the local police investigators have quickly debunked those claims. They officially state it was simply a tragic car crash caused by slippery road conditions. However, the family of the victim refuses to believe any of the official reports."
The screen cut from the news desk to a live feed of a reporter standing outside a police station.
"So, right now, we send our news reporter live to the scene to interview the grieving family of the victim."
The camera zoomed in on an older woman with tear-stained cheeks and a furious expression. She was waving a smartphone aggressively at the reporter's microphone.
"THAT'S BULLSHIT!" the Auntie of the victim screamed, her voice cracking with grief and anger. "I KNOW SOMEONE KILLED HER! I KNOW BECAUSE SOMEONE SENT A THREAT TO HER PHONE! LOOK AT THIS!"
She shoved the glowing screen of the phone directly toward the camera lens, trying to show the news reporter the threatening text messages her niece had received hours before the crash.
Max, standing in his kitchen with a glass of water halfway to his mouth, paused. He lowered the glass and let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Another dead?" he muttered to himself, frowning at the television screen. "This is the fourth time I've heard of someone dying like that in this city."
He set the glass down on the counter. He raised a hand, covering his mouth in deep thought, and began to tap his index finger against his cheek in a slow, rhythmic motion. His eyes narrowed as his assassin instincts automatically kicked in, analyzing the situation presented on the news.
"Hmm….."
He processed the details. A car crash. Police calling it an accident. The family claiming foul play because of prior threats. Four similar deaths in the recent past.
"….Assassination?" he whispered to the empty room.
He thought about the methods. Hacking a car's modern computer system to disable the brakes, or tampering with the steering column before the victim drove away. It was a classic, clean method to make a murder look like a tragic accident. It was something he himself had done in the past.
But then he shook his head, brushing off the growing paranoia.
"Hmm, impossible," he decided, trying to convince himself.
He turned his back on the television and leaned against the kitchen counter. He didn't want to get involved in the dark underworld of this city ever again. He had served his time in the shadows. He had served his time in the magical void. He was done playing games of death.
"Haah… let's just ignore it," Max said firmly, pushing off the counter. "As long as it doesn't target me or mess with my daily routine, then I'm all good."
He walked over to the refrigerator and opened the freezer compartment. He grabbed one of the cold Toblerone chocolate bars. The shiny packaging felt good in his hand.
"Let's go and say sorry to her," he said, looking at the door. "I hope the landlady knows which room she lives in."
Max slipped on his sneakers, locked his apartment door behind him, and headed toward the main stairwell. He lived on the fifth floor, so he had a bit of a walk down.
***
As he reached the ground floor lobby, the strong, clean smell of fresh laundry detergent filled his nose. He looked toward the communal laundry room and spotted the person he was looking for.
It was the landlady. She was holding a large, woven plastic basket overflowing with freshly washed shorts, t-shirts, and towels. She was a slightly plump, very kind-looking woman in her late 40s with jet-black hair tied up in a neat bun. Her most striking feature was her eyes. She had a rare condition called heterochromia. Her left eye was a warm, deep brown, while her right eye was a piercing, icy blue.
Max's memory supplied her name instantly.
'As I remember, her name is Irmela,' Max thought inwardly as he approached her.
Seeing her struggle slightly to balance the heavy basket against her hip, his newly acquired manners kicked in.
"Let me help you with that, ma'am," Max offered, reaching out his hands.
Irmela looked up, surprised, but a warm smile quickly spread across her face.
"Oh! Thanks, Max!" the landlady thanked him brightly. She gladly handed over the heavy basket, letting out a small sigh of relief.
Max easily carried the basket, barely feeling the weight. He followed Irmela's instructions, carrying it down the hall and placing it gently on a folding table near the manager's office.
Once the basket was secure, Max turned back and approached her.
"Hey, ma'am…." Max started, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Hmm?" The landlady Irmela paused, raising a dark eyebrow. She pulled a smartphone out of her pocket and began tapping on the screen.
"What is it, Max? Hurry up, I'm busy, y'know," Irmela said playfully, though she didn't look up from dialing a number on her phone.
Max sighed, shifting his weight. "Sorry for the disturbance, but... do you happen to know a blonde-haired woman with gray eyes who lives in this building? She wears jogging suits."
Irmela immediately stopped dialing. She looked up from her phone, her mismatched eyes locking onto Max. A knowing, teasing grin spread across her face. She nodded enthusiastically.
"Mhm! I certainly do. And she's my niece, actually. Her name is Bellatrix, or you can just call her Bell for short."
Irmela leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with gossip. "Though, why are you asking about her so early in the morning? Do you have a crush on her? Huh~?"
Max's eyes widened slightly, and he immediately waved both of his hands back and forth in a frantic motion to dispel the misunderstanding.
"Nahh, nah, nothing like that!" Max said quickly, letting out an exasperated sigh. "I just want to say sorry to her. I kind of ignored her yesterday night when she bumped into me on the stairs and apologized. I was distracted, and it was rude. I just want to make things right."
Irmela's teasing grin softened into an understanding smile. She slowly nodded her head.
"Ahh… I see. That's very sweet of you, Max."
She pointed a finger toward the ceiling. "Then you need to go up to the 3rd floor. Look for Room 35. You can find her there. That's her room."
Max nodded his head, committing the room number to memory. He pulled the Toblerone bar out of his pocket to show he was prepared.
"Thanks, ma'am," he said, turning to head back to the stairs.
"And—!" Irmela called out sharply, stopping him in his tracks.
Max turned back around, looking confused.
Irmela put her hands on her hips and gave him a stern, yet playful look. "It's Miss Irmela. Not ma'am. Do I look that old to you? Alright, Max?"
Max chuckled slightly, nodding his head in submission. He gave a small, polite bow.
"Got it. Sorry for my rudeness, Miss Irmela."
She smiled brightly at his respectful response. "Thank you. Now go apologize to my niece."
Max nodded once more and quickly turned around, heading toward the stairwell to climb up to the third floor.
***
As he finally reached the landing of the 3rd floor, he stepped into the long, carpeted hallway. The air up here smelled faintly of bleach and something sharp, like rubbing alcohol. He walked down the corridor, checking the brass numbers on the wooden doors.
"Room 32, 33, 34…" he muttered, counting them off.
He stopped in front of the next door.
"35! Finally found it."
He stood in front of the door for a moment, taking a breath to prepare himself. He took the cold Toblerone chocolate bar and hid it behind his back, wanting it to be a surprise peace offering. He reached out and pressed the glowing button beside the door frame.
—DING DONG!
He waited. A few seconds passed in silence. He shifted his weight, listening for footsteps. Nothing.
He reached out and pressed it again, a little longer this time.
—DING DONG!
Still, no one responded. The hallway remained dead quiet.
Max frowned, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "She's busy? Or maybe she's still asleep after that late-night jog? If she is, then I'll just go back upstairs and try again later."
He took a step back, preparing to turn around and leave.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of several heavy locks turning from the inside.
The door let out a loud creak and swung open rapidly.
"Seriously, who the fuck wakes me up this early in the morning?!" a female voice snapped aggressively.
Max blinked, slightly taken aback by the sheer hostility radiating from the doorway.
Standing before him was the woman from last night, Bellatrix. But she looked entirely different from the sweaty jogger he had bumped into.
She was glaring heavily at him. She was wearing a crisp white laboratory coat over her normal clothes. A pair of heavy protective goggles was pushed up into her blonde hair, holding it back like a headband. A neat green necktie peeked out from under the collar of the lab coat.
In her left hand, she was delicately holding a glass test tube filled with a bubbling blue liquid. In her right hand, she gripped a larger glass flask containing a clear, smoking substance. Her once-clean lab coat was dotted with chemical stains and small scorch marks, clear evidence that she had been awake all night conducting intense experiments.
Max stared at her attire, his mind processing the information.
'A lab coat? Test tubes? Is she a chemist or some kind of crazy scientist?' Max questioned inwardly, highly amused by the unexpected sight.
Bellatrix squinted, her gray eyes adjusting to the hallway light. She looked at his face, recognizing him immediately. Her expression shifted from general annoyance to specific irritation.
She raised her left eyebrow, the test tube in her hand sloshing dangerously.
"Ohh, it's you," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm and annoyance. "The man who was incredibly rude to ignore me on the stairs and just left me standing there in thin air like an idiot."
She carefully set the flask down on a small table near the entryway and crossed her right arm over her chest, tapping her foot on the floor.
"You know, what did I even expect from a man like you?" she continued, her voice rising in pitch as she began to vent. "Most men are exactly like that. You always leave girls like me hanging in thin air. You think you're too cool to apologize back. Just acting like a goddamn, arrogant womanizer who doesn't have the time of day for anyone else!"
Max stood there, blinking slowly as she continued to rapid-fire insults at him. He let out a long, internal sigh.
'Does she have a goddamn man-hater complex or some shit?!' he thought to himself. 'I literally just bumped into her once and didn't say anything. How did we get to 'arrogant womanizer' in five seconds?'
He knew if he let her keep going, she would talk herself into slamming the door in his face. He had dealt with angry princesses and furious swordswomen. He knew how to handle a rant.
Max firmly raised his right hand, palm facing forward, acting as a physical stop sign to cut off her words.
Bellatrix stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes narrowed further.
"What?!" Bellatrix snapped, clearly offended that he dared to interrupt her. She leaned forward aggressively. "Are you already tired of listening to my rant about you and your terrible gender, huh? Can't handle the truth?"
Max sighed out loud this time. She was being incredibly rude now. A dark, fleeting thought crossed his mind. The old assassin Max, or the Dark Lord Sylan, would have slapped her or put the cold barrel of a night-gun to her head to demand silence.
But he was trying to be peaceful. He firmly held his dark impulses back, forcing his face to remain neutral and calm.
"Enough," Max said smoothly, his voice low but carrying a commanding weight that made her blink in surprise. "I am not here to argue with you. I know it's my fault for last night, and…"
He slowly brought his left hand from behind his back and presented the gift, extending his arm toward her.
"Here. This is my formal apology for being rude and ignoring you in the stairwell."
Bellatrix's gray eyes widened dramatically as she saw the iconic, triangular yellow packaging of the large Toblerone chocolate bar. The angry scowl vanished from her face instantly, replaced by the pure, unadulterated hunger of a scientist running on zero sleep.
Before Max could even blink, she lunged forward.
"Ahh!" Max actually let out a small sound of shock as she snatched the chocolate bar directly out of his hand with the speed of a striking snake. He stared at his empty palm, amazed at how fast she moved.
Bellatrix clutched the chocolate to her chest like a prized treasure. She looked up at him, trying to quickly rebuild her tough exterior, though the corners of her lips were twitching upward.
"Hmph! Fine. I suppose I'll accept your apology this time," she said, lifting her chin haughtily. She then raised a single finger and pointed it at his chest. "Though, next time, do not ignore a woman when she is giving you her sincere apologies for bumping into you, alright? It's basic manners!"
Max couldn't help but smile at her rapid change in attitude. He nodded his head obediently.
"Yeah, I'll definitely take note of that for the future. You have my word."
Hearing his genuine response, Bellatrix's face completely shifted. The last traces of annoyance and anger melted away, replaced by a bright, beaming smile that reached her gray eyes.
"Thanks!" she chirped happily. She looked down at the chocolate, her fingers already eagerly fidgeting with the cardboard wrapper. She looked back up at him. "Also, is that all you needed? Or did you want something else?"
Max was about to turn around and head back upstairs. Mission accomplished. He had secured his peaceful neighbor relations. But as he turned his body, a sudden thought struck him.
He remembered the news report. He remembered his own upcoming murder. A wave of caution washed over him. He needed to ask a question to be safe.
He turned back to face her. "Hey…"
"Hmm?" Bellatrix paused her struggle with the chocolate wrapper and raised her eyebrow inquisitively.
Max lowered his voice slightly, adopting a more serious tone. "I wanted to ask you something since you were out late. Is there a specific van that you've noticed patrolling around this building at night?"
Bellatrix stopped fidgeting. She tilted her head, her scientific mind quickly sifting through her memories of the previous night's jog.
"Hmm… ahh, yeah! Actually, yes," she said, her tone matching his seriousness. "As far as I remember yesterday night, when I was finishing up my jogging route, I saw a large, plain black van parked illegally outside of the apartment complex. The engine was running, but the lights were off."
Max narrowed his eyes. "Did you see what the driver was doing?"
"Yeah. It seemed like the driver was looking very intently towards the upper floors of this building…."
She closed her eyes for a second, pointing a finger in the air as she visualized the scene.
"…What direction was it again? Ahh! Floor 5. Specifically, Room 53."
Max felt a cold chill run down his spine. Room 53. That was his apartment.
Bellatrix opened her eyes and continued, unaware of the internal alarm bells ringing in Max's head. "Yeah, I'm absolutely certain that's the room the driver was staring at. Though, I couldn't see exactly who it was inside the van. The windows were tinted, and it was dark. I can't even state what its gender was."
She leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a ghost story.
"The driver was wearing a thick black hoodie pulled way up, and a dark face mask covering their nose and mouth. But... I swear to you, the streetlamp caught their face for just a second. I saw piercing green eyes staring up at your window. And the moment the driver noticed that I was standing on the sidewalk looking at the van..."
She snapped her fingers to emphasize the speed.
"...It threw the van into drive and sped off down the street, hurrying away like it was terrified of being seen." Bellatrix finished her story, raising her hands to show she had nothing else to add.
Max stood perfectly still. He absorbed every single detail. Black van. Parked outside. Staring at his window. Black hoodie. Mask. Green eyes. Fled when spotted.
Someone was already watching him. The timeline for his murder was a year away, but the surveillance had clearly already begun.
He forced a tight, polite smile onto his face to hide his racing thoughts. He nodded his head slowly.
"Thanks for the information... it's probably nothing, but I appreciate it," Max lied smoothly.
He then realized they hadn't formally introduced themselves. He stood up straight and offered his right hand to her.
"Oh, I completely forgot to introduce myself properly. My name's Max Theo Hoffman. I'm a Half-German, Half-American."
Bellatrix tucked the Toblerone under her arm and smiled widely. She reached out and firmly shook his right hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong for a chemist.
"Nice to meet you, Max! My name's Bellatrix Laurentina Ahlgrymm. You can just call me Bell for short. And I'm also a German too, but I'm a full German!" she said proudly.
'Yeah, I already knew you were a German the moment you started yelling at me, since the way you speak English has a very heavy, distinct Germanic-like accent,' Max noted inwardly, though he kept the observation to himself.
He let go of her hand and took a step back into the hallway.
"Well, I'll go now and leave you to your experiments. And again, I am truly sorry I ignored you yesterday night." Max gave her one final, respectful bow.
Bellatrix waved her hand dismissively in the air, her bright smile still in place.
"It's alright, it's alright! I already forgive you completely! Also, thanks again for the chocolate, alright?! I really needed the sugar boost!"
Max nodded, giving her a friendly wave goodbye. Bellatrix waved back enthusiastically before slowly pushing her heavy wooden door shut. The locks clicked securely into place.
Max stood alone in the quiet hallway.
The moment the door closed, the polite, friendly smile instantly vanished from his face.
The warmth in his amber eyes died out, replaced by the cold, calculating stare of a man who had killed thousands of times. The posture of the relaxed neighbor shifted, his muscles coiling with a deadly, practiced tension. Max Theo Hoffman, the friendly guy next door, disappeared.
The professional assassin had returned.
He slowly turned and began walking back toward the stairwell, his footsteps making absolutely no sound against the carpet.
He clenched his right hand into a tight fist, his knuckles turning white as he thought about the green-eyed watcher in the black van.
'Whoever you are….' Max said inwardly, his mind racing through tactical plans, weapon stashes, and escape routes.
He reached the stairs and looked down into the shadows of the stairwell. His heart beat with a slow, terrifying rhythm.
'…And if I find out that you are the one who is supposed to shoot me in the head… if you are the root cause of me dying and transmigrating to that hellish world for three hundred million lifetimes….'
He clenched his fist again, tightening his grip so hard his fingernails bit deeply into his palm. A dark, murderous aura leaked from his body, chilling the air in the empty hallway.
'I swear to god… I am going to fucking kill you!'