The storm was relentless, a cacophony of thunder and rain that drowned out the dying cries of the city. Lucius moved through the labyrinthine streets with a singular purpose, his drenched cloak clinging to his battered frame. Each step felt heavier, not from exhaustion, but from the growing weight of his own sins. He had become the harbinger of judgment, yet the line between vengeance and madness had blurred to an unrecognizable haze.

This time, his destination was no mere lair of a criminal. It was the manor of one of the city's most influential figures—Ezekiel Faelthorne, a man who wore wealth like armor and corruption like a second skin. Ezekiel was a dealer in human lives, a puppeteer pulling strings in the shadows while pretending to be a noble benefactor.

The manor loomed ahead, a fortress of decadence. Tall iron gates stood before Lucius, their intricate designs twisting into grotesque patterns under the dim glow of gas lamps. He didn't bother with subtlety. With a powerful kick, the gates groaned and buckled, swinging open with a deafening crash.

Inside, the gardens were an overgrown mockery of elegance. Thorny vines crawled over broken statues, their shadows dancing like sinister specters in the flickering light. The air was heavy with the sickly-sweet scent of decay. Lucius stalked forward, his senses sharpened, his every nerve attuned to the pulsating rhythm of sin that radiated from the manor.

Ezekiel had been expecting him.

The grand doors of the manor opened slowly, revealing the opulence within. Chandeliers hung from ceilings painted with celestial murals, their crystal droplets reflecting the golden glow of hundreds of candles. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting heroic scenes, though the irony was not lost on Lucius. The grandeur was a façade, masking the rot that festered beneath.

Ezekiel stood at the top of a grand staircase, a smug smile on his face. He was a tall man, his silver hair neatly combed, his tailored suit immaculate. Yet his eyes betrayed him—cold and calculating, devoid of empathy.

"Lucius Darnell," Ezekiel said, his voice smooth and dripping with condescension. "You've been making quite a mess of my city."

Lucius didn't reply. He stepped inside, the sound of his boots echoing ominously. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, the Mark of Sin on his chest burning with an intensity that made his breath catch.

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Ezekiel gestured to the lavish room around them. "Do you like it? Everything you see here was built on the foundations of power and vision. But you wouldn't understand that, would you? You're just a savage, a blunt instrument wielded by fate."

The words struck a chord, but not the one Ezekiel had intended. Lucius smirked, a dark and humorless expression. "Power? Vision? You mean the blood and bones of the innocent. You're not a visionary, Ezekiel. You're a parasite."

The nobleman's smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "And you're the executioner, I presume? Come to deliver divine judgment? Don't be naive, boy. Do you think you're any better than me? You kill with the same ruthlessness, the same lack of mercy."

Lucius drew his blade, the metal singing as it left the sheath. "The difference is, I don't hide behind lies and wealth. I'm honest about what I am."

Ezekiel's expression darkened. He clapped his hands, and from the shadows emerged a group of armed guards. They were clad in black armor, their faces obscured by helmets, their weapons gleaming wickedly in the dim light.

"Do you think I'd face you unprepared?" Ezekiel sneered. "Kill him."

The guards charged, their movements precise and coordinated. Lucius met them head-on, his blade a blur of steel. The first guard fell with a gurgling cry, his throat slashed open. The second swung a mace, but Lucius dodged effortlessly, driving his blade into the man's chest with brutal efficiency.

Blood sprayed across the pristine marble floors, painting the room in a macabre tableau. Lucius moved like a predator, his strikes calculated and merciless. Bones snapped, screams echoed, and the guards fell one by one, their lives extinguished in moments.

Ezekiel watched in horror, his confidence crumbling with each death. When the last guard fell, Lucius turned to him, his blade dripping with blood, his eyes burning with fury.

"It's just you and me now," Lucius said, his voice low and menacing.

Ezekiel backed away, his hands trembling. "Wait! We can talk about this. You don't have to do this!"

Lucius advanced slowly, each step deliberate. "You've had your chance to talk. Now, you'll face the consequences of your sins."

Ezekiel stumbled, falling to his knees. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small vial filled with a glowing green liquid. "You don't know what you're dealing with!" he shouted, his voice tinged with desperation.

Lucius paused, his eyes narrowing. "What is that?"

Ezekiel smirked, a glimmer of defiance returning to his face. "The future."

He smashed the vial against the ground, and the liquid erupted into a cloud of noxious green gas. Lucius stepped back, covering his mouth as the gas filled the room. Ezekiel used the distraction to flee, disappearing into a hidden passage behind the staircase.

Lucius cursed under his breath, his eyes watering from the gas. He sheathed his blade and moved toward the passage, his determination unshaken.

The hunt wasn't over. If anything, it had only just begun.