Unwanted Millions

Edgar slammed the metal lid of the suitcase shut. He spun toward the front gate, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Who is it?" Edgar shouted.

A respectful voice called out from the other side of the heavy wooden door. "Mr. Vance, Brother Victor told us to bring some money over!"

Bring some money over?

Edgar exchanged a bewildered glance with Clara. He crept toward the door and peered through the narrow crack between the wooden boards. Recognizing the men from the street earlier, he cautiously slid the deadbolt back and pulled the door open.

Military Advisor No. 2 stood on the doorstep. He had taken over the position after the young man with glasses died, and his nerves were visibly frayed. He cast a quick, paranoid glance at the massive oak tree looming over the yard before pasting on a charming smile.

"Hello, Mr. Vance!" he greeted.

Edgar stared at the grey metal suitcase gripped tightly in the man's trembling hands. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, the money Brother Victor gave you was short of fifteen million, wasn't it? He just received another sum of cash, so he ordered me to bring it over to you right away." Military Advisor No. 2 explained.

Clara stood by the entrance, her eyes widening to the size of saucers. Short of fifteen million? She thought the stress of the day was making her hear things.

Edgar waved his hands in the air to refuse the gesture. "No, you do not owe me any money. I have to return this to you right now!"

Military Advisor No. 2 turned a sickly shade of green at the rejection. "Please do not say that, Mr. Vance. Brother Victor made it clear that this money is our compensation to you. If you refuse to take it, Brother Victor will feel guilty for the rest of his life!"

He dropped the heavy suitcase onto the dirt path with a dull thud. Before Edgar could protest another word, the man turned on his heel and sprinted down Oak Lane as if a pack of wild dogs were chasing him. If he failed to deliver this cash and brought it back to headquarters, Victor would skin him alive.

Edgar let out a long, exhausted sigh as he watched the man disappear around the corner.

Clara rushed forward and grabbed her husband's arm. "Honey, what is going on?"

Edgar bent over and hoisted the new suitcase off the ground. He scanned the empty street one last time before ushering his wife inside. "Let's go in and talk."

He locked the front door behind them and carried the heavy luggage into the cramped, dimly lit living room. The peeling wallpaper and worn-out rug offered a stark contrast to the sheer fortune sitting in his hands. Setting it on the scratched coffee table, he popped the latches. The metal lid swung open to reveal more stacks of pristine, newly minted banknotes wrapped in tight paper bands.

Edgar glanced at the stacks, relying on decades of business experience to estimate the volume. "One million, I guess."

Clara gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "One million?"

If they added this to the five million sitting outside in the courtyard, that made six million in cold, hard cash. And the nervous man at the door had specifically mentioned they were still short of fifteen million. Did that mean there was fourteen million more coming their way?

Her cheeks flushed bright red from the intoxicating thrill of sudden wealth, Clara demanded an answer. "Honey, what is happening? Can you hurry up and tell me?"

Edgar let out a dry, humorless laugh. "I am not sure about what is going on either!"

Edgar rubbed his temples, a deep frown creasing his forehead. "I was setting up my stall on the street like I do every single day. Out of nowhere, that ruthless gangster from the Lower District, Victor Carmine, marched over. He dropped to his knees right there on the pavement and begged me to accept his money, along with the deed to this piece of land at Oak Lane."

Clara stared at him in pure shock. "He knelt down and begged you to take his money and land? Has the man gone cuckoo?"

Edgar muttered under his breath. "Well, who knows? He claimed this was all to compensate us."

Clara bit her lip, a flicker of worry breaking through her excitement as she looked around their meager home. "Then are we going to demolish this house?"

"I do not think so." Edgar replied.

He took a short, shallow breath and stared at the grey suitcase on the table. His gaze shifted toward the window, out to the yard where the first five million sat waiting. He remembered the property documents he had signed earlier in the day. The sheer smoothness of these transactions made his stomach churn with dread. Why would a vicious, bloodthirsty gang boss hand over a fortune for no reason out of the blue?

Miles away, Kaelen walked down a deserted, garbage-strewn alley in Zenith's Lower Precinct. The air here was thick with the stench of decay and industrial runoff. He wore a crisp black trench coat that blended with the creeping shadows of the twilight. Silas strolled beside him, dressed in stark white that made him stick out against the filth, while four Phantom Rangers flanked them in matching dark combat gear.

Silas bounded over a foul-smelling puddle and pointed toward a crumbling structure down the street. "Boss, they are at the block next door."

A massive, rusted sign bearing the word 'Diagnosis' hung off its hinges above the entrance of the dilapidated building.

Kaelen stared at the rot-infested structure, his brow furrowing. "Are you sure they did not move anymore?"

Silas paused for a brief moment to assess the perimeter. "This should be their old lair."

Kaelen closed his eyes, tuning out the ambient noise of the slums. He listened to the faint vibrations in the air before opening his eyes again. He turned to his squad. "Two of you guard the back exits. If you see anyone running away, just kill them."

"Yes, my Lord." two of the Phantom Rangers replied in unison.

In a blinding flash of movement, they vanished into the narrow shadows of the alleyway to cut off any escape routes.

The remaining two Phantom Rangers stepped forward and bowed at the waist. "My Lord, let us lead the way!"

Kaelen nodded toward the rusted doors. "Go. Be careful. The atmosphere here feels off."

"Yes, my Lord!" the two men replied.

They drew their weapons, the cold steel gleaming in the dim light, and advanced toward the entrance.

Five agonizing minutes ticked by in total silence. Not a single bird chirped in the sky. Then, the crisp, jagged sound of shattering glass tore through the quiet street. Shards rained down upon the cracked pavement. Two bodies plummeted from the upper floor windows, crashing onto the ground with sickening thuds. The two Phantom Rangers lay motionless in the debris.

Silas felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. "Boss?"

Three menacing figures in crimson red dropped from the jagged window frames, landing on their feet with heavy, earth-shaking impacts.

Silas narrowed his eyes at the new arrivals. The three figures possessed monstrous physiques that defied human biology. Thick, pulsating veins bulged against their bright red skin, pumping something toxic through their bodies and looking as though they might burst at any moment.

A haunting, high-pitched flute melody drifted out from the dark recesses of the street.

The moment the notes hit the air, the three red figures trembled. Their eyes rolled back, flooding with a solid, glowing crimson hue, and they charged straight toward Kaelen and Silas like rabid beasts.

Kaelen cast a calm, sidelong glance at his subordinate. "Are you going to handle this, or should I?"

A sharp, predatory glint flashed across Silas's eyes. "I will do it!"

He launched himself forward, moving as fast as a hurricane. He closed the distance in a fraction of a second, his palms snapping out in a blur. He delivered a thunderous, open-handed slap to each of the three red figures.

The kinetic force of his strikes kicked up a massive cloud of dust, blinding the surrounding area. The heavy thud of fists meeting flesh echoed through the alley, accompanied by painful, guttural roars from the monsters. Beneath the chaos of the brawl, the eerie flute music continued to play.

A gust of wind cleared the dust away. Silas materialized right beside Kaelen, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.

Silas stared at the bruised but recovering figures in the distance, his usual arrogance replaced by grim solemnity. "Boss, these three guys are powerful. They are almost on the same level as Conrad!"

The haunting tune of the flute spiked in volume, twisting into a frantic rhythm.

Kaelen noted the twisted rhythm of the song. "Yes, their combat tactics are similar to Brix's style, but they are far more cruel."

He turned away from the brawl and gestured for Silas to hold the line. "You try to stop these three guys. I will go and find their ringleader."

Before Silas could even form a reply, Kaelen's trench coat billowed around him, and he ascended straight into the air, riding an invisible current toward the rooftops. The three red figures shifted their focus upward, preparing to leap after him.

Silas stomped his foot against the pavement, channeling his energy. "Where do you think you are going?"

He unleashed three sharp, condensed arrows of localized air pressure from his fingertips. The invisible projectiles tore through the space between them, slamming into the broad chests of the advancing red figures with the force of cannonballs. The monsters skidded backward, their thick boots carving deep, jagged trenches into the dirt as they grunted in raw pain.

Silas landed softly on the ground, rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles. He raised an arrogant eyebrow at the beasts. "You will have to get my permission if you want to leave this alley!"

The flute music shrieked, hitting a frantic, ear-piercing pitch.

The three figures in red threw their heads back and unleashed a deafening roar toward the sky. Their skin began to glow an even brighter shade of crimson, looking as if raw, boiling blood was flowing on the outside of their bodies.

One of the injured Phantom Rangers groaned, pulling himself up from the debris. "Mr. Crane, I can settle two of them at once."

Silas waved a hand through the air without looking back. "It is alright. This will just be a short fight. Both of you stay on standby."

The flute tempo accelerated into a chaotic frenzy. Responding to the musical commands, the three red figures bent their knees and launched themselves high into the air, aiming to crush Silas from above.

Silas vanished from his spot. A heartbeat later, he materialized in the air directly above the center monster.

Silas brought his palms together with a deafening clap that echoed off the surrounding brick walls. "Get down!"

He manipulated the swirling vortex of compressed air between his hands to halt the monsters' upward momentum. A massive concussive shockwave rippled through the narrow alley, shattering the remaining glass in the adjacent buildings. The airflow reversed course with crushing gravitational force, slamming the three heavy beasts back down to the unforgiving ground. Silas landed softly on his feet just moments after they crashed.

The sad, haunting melody of the flute dragged on for one final, mournful note before stopping abruptly.

Without the music to guide them, the three red figures froze in place, looking like gruesome statues carved from bloody stone.

A thick, swirling black cloud manifested in the sky above the street. Kaelen stepped out from the ominous fog, descending toward the pavement. He flicked his wrist with a casual motion. A wet, sickening thud echoed through the silence as a body hit the asphalt. Silas looked down to see the bruised, battered figure of the flutist lying motionless at his boss's feet.

Silas cheered, rushing over to inspect the captive. "Bravo, boss!"

Moments later, however, another black cloud drifted toward them, bearing an unknown figure standing upon it. Silas sighed, and stepped forward.