Creation Of All Things

Selene Blackveil's Wrath

"So, you're telling me… you lost the package?"

Selene's voice was cold—too cold. It wasn't loud, yet it carried the weight of something heavy, something dangerous.

Anya stood frozen, her head bowed, sweat dripping down her face like a broken faucet. "I'm sorry, Mistress. We were attacked out of nowhere… He was too strong. We— we were caught off guard."

Selene exhaled slowly. The air itself seemed to shudder.

"I didn't ask if you were ambushed." Her voice remained calm, but the room felt like it was shrinking. "I didn't ask if he was strong."

She leaned forward slightly, the dim lighting casting sharp shadows on her face. Her crimson eyes gleamed like molten rubies, framed by long black lashes. Her midnight hair, silky yet wild, cascaded down her back, blending into the deep, form-fitting black dress that hugged her frame. The golden embroidery along its edges shimmered eerily, as if alive.

"I asked," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, "did you lose the package?"

Anya's throat tightened. She knew there was no right answer, only consequences. But silence? That would be worse.

"I… I'm sorry, Mistress," she whispered, not daring to look up.

Selene sighed.

The shadows around her twitched—then snapped.

Dark tendrils lashed out like whips, wrapping around Anya in an instant. She was yanked off the ground, the inky restraints coiling around her like vipers, tightening.

"AHHHHHHH!" Anya screamed, her body convulsing in pain.

"When I ask a question, I expect a direct answer," Selene murmured. "So, I will ask again. Did you lose the package?"

"YESSSS!" Anya cried, her voice breaking.

The shadows loosened, then disappeared. She hit the floor, hard.

Selene leaned back in her chair, resting her chin on one hand, her expression unreadable.

"That's not what I wanted to hear," she mused, more to herself than to Anya. Then her gaze darkened.

"So, let me get this straight," she continued, voice laced with disappointment. "You're telling me that all of you—my people—got your asses handed to you by a kid… and couldn't even fight back?"

Anya clenched her fists, shame burning in her chest.

Selene watched her for a moment, then smirked slightly, resting her cheek against her knuckles.

"Pathetic."

Selene's smirk didn't reach her eyes. She exuded a chilling grace, her posture relaxed yet radiating absolute dominance.

Anya, still on the floor, felt the weight of her gaze pressing down on her like an unmovable force. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to get up, to show strength—but her limbs wouldn't cooperate. The pain from the shadows' grip still lingered, leaving a dull ache in her bones.

Selene let the silence stretch, tapping a perfectly manicured finger against the armrest of her chair. Each tap echoed in the vast, dimly lit room, like the ticking of a countdown.

Then, she spoke again.

"Tell me about him."

Anya swallowed hard. "I… I couldn't see his face clearly. He was young, probably no older than twenty. But his strength—" She hesitated, recalling the terrifying moment Adam crushed the gun with his bare hands like it was made of paper. "It wasn't normal. Even for an X-rank superhuman, he was… beyond anything I've ever seen."

Selene's crimson eyes narrowed. "Did he say anything?"

Anya nodded hesitantly. "He… he said he would be coming for the next deal. And the next. And the next—until he gets what he wants."

Selene chuckled softly. It was an amused sound, but there was an unmistakable sharpness beneath it, like a blade hidden beneath silk.

"Bold," she murmured.

Her fingers trailed along the golden embroidery of her dress, the dim candlelight reflecting off the delicate patterns as if they were alive. Then, she leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming like a predator who had just spotted its prey.

"And tell me, Anya," Selene purred. "Do you think he's bluffing?"

Anya's breath hitched. The memory of Adam's sheer power, his confidence—no, not confidence, certainty—flashed through her mind.

She shook her head. "No, Mistress. He meant every word."

Selene smiled. It was slow, deliberate—dangerous.

"Good."

She stood, and as she did, the shadows in the room responded to her movement, slithering along the floor like living creatures.

"Then let's give him a warm welcome."

Elsewhere

Joshua sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind still replaying everything that had happened tonight. It was unreal. The speed. The raw strength. The way that guy had crushed his gun like it was nothing.

But the thing that really messed with his head?

The gun.

When that guy walked past him, he barely even felt the touch—just a slight brush against his side. But when he snapped out of it, the stolen gun was somehow back in its holster, untouched. And yet, the destroyed one was still on the ground where it had fallen.

Two identical guns.

What the hell did that even mean?

He let out a shaky breath, feeling both relieved and terrified. Relieved because he could return the gun without getting caught. Terrified because… he might have just gotten noticed by someone he really, really shouldn't have.

"Oi, you good?"

Joshua blinked, snapped out of his thoughts.

His dorm mate stood by the door, arms crossed, staring at him like he'd grown a second head.

"I called you, like, three times. What's up?"

Joshua forced a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nothing. Just… a long night."

His dorm mate raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Well, whatever it is, don't let it fry your brain. You look like you've seen a ghost."

Joshua didn't respond.

Because honestly?

A ghost would've been easier to deal with.

"Oh, and before I forget—she's calling you." His dorm mate tossed the words over his shoulder before flopping onto his bed.

Joshua sighed. No need to ask who. He already knew.

Dragging himself up, he stepped into the dimly lit corridor. And there she was.

Alice Dhark.

She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, one leg casually propped up. The flickering hallway light cast shadows over her sharp features—high cheekbones, full lips, and piercing silver eyes that held a constant air of mischief. Her jet-black hair, cut just above her shoulders, had a slight wave to it, a few strands falling over her face, adding to her effortless, almost intimidating charm. She wasn't overly tall, but she carried herself with the kind of confidence that made her presence impossible to ignore.

Dressed in her usual dark attire—a fitted leather jacket over a simple black top and ripped jeans—she looked every bit as untouchable as her reputation suggested. A silver chain dangled from her belt loop, catching the dim light as she shifted slightly.

She glanced at him, her lips curling into a smirk.

"Took you long enough."