Reymond Dyson downed another glass of whiskey and the men around his table sat in absolute silence. All of them were sporting various injuries, if you asked them which gang they fought they would all bow their heads in shame. And why wouldn’t they? Who would want to admit that tens of these inner city thugs were beaten by one single dude from the outskirts.

They were on the second floor of the burning night club, the lounge that only the rich could enter. The same floor Reymond had reserved for the night. Reymond knew he wouldn’t be able to spend much this month, his father would definitely reprimand him if he asked for more money. But he needed to unwind tonight or he would end up stabbing someone so no matter how much it hurt his wallet, he went ahead and rented the whole floor.

Slamming the empty glass on the table he yelled his words echoing in the empty lounge, “Phill it uhp.”

Without any word the grunt sitting beside him poured the whiskey in glass. He went to scoop up some ice to even out the drink but Reymond kicked him from his seat. After a long burp he yelled again, “No icesh! Phill her up!”

At the end of the day the man had been livid, these wannabe thugs that he thought were worth the money ended up folding faster than toilet paper. As soon as he got on the table he started downing one glass after the other. When he looked at his hired muscle all of them avoided his eyes.

“What happhend, huh?” He asked, looking from left to right. Wherever his gaze landed these hired thugs shrinked.

“Anshwer me!” He shouted. Crawling on the table he jumped to pull the collar of the thug that was sitting across the table, “WHAA THE FHUCK, HAPPEN’D!”

The lounge remained quiet apart from the shoutings of Reymond. Even the waiters there were trying to blend in the background. But then the sounds of footsteps came from the stairs. Soon a short young boy with furry ears ascended the stairs and behind him came a brickhouse of a man with long horns sticking out from either sides of his head.

“Ah, why is there no music? Rye, get some music going here, will you?”

At the young boy's command, Rye, the inhumanly tall man towered over one of the waiters before saying in a deep voice, “Music.”

“Y-yes, right away sir!” The waiter all but sprinted towards the jukebox, swiping his card, he started pressing buttons. The next moment an upbeat jazz music filled the lounge.

The young boy bobbed his head to the tune. He approached Reymond’s table like he had no care in the world. “Gentlemen, I’ll be needing the centre table. So you guys can you know, fuck off now.”

It might have been the slightly childish tone from the young boy or the content of the sentence but every one on Reymond’s table felt the same thing. The thug Reymond had kicked earlier stood up. Not wanting to lose the favour of his spoiled rich sponsor he rushed to grab at the young boy.

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Wearing a constant grin the young boy dodged the outstretched hand. The thug, unable to stop his charge, stumbled and fell hard onto the wooden floor.

“Woah. Easy there boys. No need to get handsy.” The young boy’s eyes fell on Reymond Dyson who was laid on the circular table.

“So what will it be? Young master Reymond.” The young boy shrugged.

Right when the thugs that were about to rebel, they stopped. Behind the young boy stood Rye, his imposing figure brought a whole new level of threat at the table. Not knowing what to do the thugs looked at Reymond for guidance yet what they saw made them gulp in fright.

Spread eagle on the table, Reymond kept shaking like a leaf. “H-Howl Family!”

When those words fell on thug’s ears they all stood up and left the table to bow down to the young boy. Reymond even after being shocked, he kowtowed towards the young boy.

The young boy took a seat at the table, and gesturing with his hand, the young boy invited Rye to take a seat at the table.

Reymond sobered up that instant he got off the table then bowed down along with his thugs, “My apologies young master Lowell. I didn’t recognise you.”

The young boy, Lowell, sinked into the comfortable couch.

“No issues, Reymond.” Lowell said as he eyed the people in front of him. Only after an uncomfortably long minute of no response did the young boy continue, “I heard you and your boys went to the outskirts.”

Reymond nodded, “Yes! We did go there.”

“And you guys started a fight within the city.” Lowell said, the smile fading from his face.

“We-we did.” Reymond replied, his eyes lowering towards the floor. He knew where this conversation was going.

“And all of you chumps got your asses handed to you by one guy.” Now all of Reymond’s entourage had their heads down.

The young boy burst into laughter while slapping his knee, “Ahahaha, twenty of you. By the gods what losers. I wish I could’ve seen it, ahahaaaa.”

Lowell wiped a tear from his eye and, shaking his head he dialled down the laughter. "Tell me more," he said. "Who was it? I need to hear all about it."

Reymond stood straight, his fists clenched behind him. Shooting a glare at the guys beside him he looked at Lowell. The young boy had a mocking grin on his face.

“I-It was a guy called Elias Thorn.” As Reymond spoke the name of his headache, he noticed Lowell's grin vanish, and the atmosphere in the room turned tense once more.

Lowell turned towards Rye, “The same guy that walked in our estate? The same bastard brother warned me to not bother? To not stain the family’s honour.”

Rye gave his young master a slow nod, “Yes.”

Lowell cupped his chin, “So Rye. Now that he has bothered me by beating my underlings. I can kill that son of bitch without staining our family’s reputation, yes?”

Rye tilted his head, he wouldn’t say it went that far but when he saw the intensity of the young master’s gaze he shrugged and said, “Yes.”

Hearing that Lowell started laughing his voice echoing even amidst loud music of the lounge.

Meanwhile in Leon street, Elias Thorn kept yelling, “Phoebe, calm the fuck down! We can talk this out. Just hear me out! Woman! Chill out!”

The woman in question ignored Elias and kept charging. Yet every time she lunged at Elias she was held back by the bloody lit runes.

Elias threw his hands up in defeat, “Fine, whatever. Keep doing that, see where it gets you.”

He watched the ghost woman relentlessly attack him in vain for a good few minutes after which to his surprise Phoebe stopped. Her eyes, long since swollen shut by decaying skin, made it impossible for her to glare at him, but he could sense her hatred nonetheless.

Elias squirmed a little under the ghost woman’s sight. Phoebe’s distorted face wasn’t easy to look at so he didn’t.

Not knowing where to look, Elias's gaze locked onto her chest, “Nice."

Phoebe's disfigured face followed Elias’s gaze towards her bosom. They both had their attention at the same thing.

Elias could have never guessed that a face distorted beyond recognition could still look so angry.

With her lower jaw hanging till her neck, a grating shriek followed.