The air cracked with the force of each blow—BANG! BANG! BANG!—as Alonso and Nightowl clashed, their movements blurring in a furious exchange of strength and skill. They seemed evenly matched in raw power, but Alonso's calculated precision added a dangerous edge to the battle.

Nightowl's face twisted into a sinister, unsettling grin, his fangs gleaming in the dim light. With eerie speed, he lunged at Alonso, his hand shooting out to seize him by the neck. But Alonso, ever watchful, slipped past the strike, moving with the fluidity of a master martial artist. In a flash, Alonso seized Nightowl's outstretched arm and, in a swift, almost effortless motion, manipulated the vampire's elbow joint with brutal precision. Bang! Nightowl's own fist smashed into his face, a move orchestrated entirely by Alonso.

Nightowl staggered slightly, momentarily dazed, his eyes flickering with confusion. He wiped the blood from his lip, chuckling darkly, though the amusement didn't hide his uncertainty. Alonso's movements were too refined, too exact, far beyond ordinary brawling. "What the hell is this...?" Nightowl thought to himself. Alonso's style was something out of legend. He had the fluid grace and precision of a martial arts master, yet there was no hint of Ki manipulation, no aura of a cultivator. Could he be... a monk?

Nightowl growled low in his throat, pushing aside the thought as they charged each other once again. Alonso was a blur, driving a knee toward Nightowl's midsection, but Nightowl's palms met the attack with a sharp crack, halting the blow. Alonso didn't relent—without a moment's pause, he slammed his forehead into Nightowl's nose with a bone-jarring THUD.

Blood spurted from Nightowl's nose, his once-creepy smile faltering. Alonso didn't let up, his fists following in quick succession—a right hook, a left hook, and then a devastating uppercut. The final blow connected with a sickening CRUNCH, lifting Nightowl off his feet and sending him airborne.

Nightowl tumbled through the air, but despite the force, he landed smoothly on his feet, his agility that of a predator. He wiped the blood from his face, his pale skin now marked with bruises, his golden eyes narrowing dangerously at Alonso. Though Alonso's strikes were punishing, Nightowl still stood, slightly disoriented but far from broken.

Nightowl clapped his hands slowly, a twisted grin stretching across his bloodied face. "Ah, splendid! What a delightful skill you possess! It seems I've met my match in hand-to-hand combat. How could I possibly hope to outfight you? Ha ha ha! Truly amusing!"

Alonso stood tall, wiping the blood from his knuckles with an air of calm superiority. "I am not your match. You should know, I outclass you in every way, " he stated calmly.

Nightowl's laugh grew more unhinged."Ha ha ha! I can see you're quite the confident one. But before you rush into a fight to the death, allow me to make a proposition: join me."

Alonso raised an eyebrow, surprised by the offer. The last thing he expected was an invitation from a man like Nightowl. In his mind, Nightowl was nothing more than a piece of filth, a ruthless businessman who would sell anyone for a quick profit. But curiosity sparked in Alonso. "Join you? Why would I ever consider aligning myself with someone like you?"

Nightowl's golden eyes gleamed with amusement as he circled slowly, giving himself time to regain composure. "Tell me your name, warrior."

"Alonso," he replied simply, keeping his guard up.

"Well, Mr. Alonso," Nightowl said with a sly grin, "I can see you're a man of ambition. Do you know why I ventured into the slave trade?"

Alonso knew he was in the middle of a fight, and pausing to chat could be dangerous. For all he knew, Nightowl could be setting up a trap, preparing a deadly attack while stalling for time. Yet, there was something unsettlingly genuine in Nightowl's tone, and a part of Alonso, driven by ancient wisdom and a deep understanding of human nature, decided to hear him out.

"Enlighten me," Alonso said, his voice cold but intrigued.

Nightowl's grin widened, showing his sharp fangs. "It's because I despise hypocrites. That's right-hypocrites. I absolutely hate them." "The world is teeming with them, you know. Not just humans-everyone. We lie, steal, cheat, kill, and betray our own when no one's watching. Yet, the moment we find ourselves in the spotlight, we preach about virtue, kindness, and generosity. We donate to the poor and speak of justice. It's all a façade. This world is rotten to its core. The only difference between me and the rest? I don't disguise who I am."

Alonso's sharp gaze never left Nightowl's face. He understood Nightowl's perspective all too well. After living for thousands of years, Alonso had seen the depths of human corruption. There was truth in Nightowl's words, and that truth resonated, even if it was twisted by madness.

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Nightowl's voice grew even more frenzied. "Do you know who my top customers. are? HA HA HA HA HA! The so-called righteous! Those very people who preach against men like me! Kings, nobles, priests-they line up to purchase my slaves while condemning me in public. They pay for their sins with gold, and I reap the rewards. Ha ha ha!"

His face lit up with ecstasy, as if he were basking in his own depravity, the thrill of revealing his secret sin almost too much for him to contain.

Alonso nodded slowly, contemplating Nightowl's words. "You're not entirely mistaken; hypocrisy runs deep in all living beings. However, you overlook a vital truth." His voice took on an edge of wisdom. "Even hypocrites possess the capacity for change. If we cannot transform their hearts, then let us strive to change the very world that cultivates such hypocrisy."

Nightowl's grin faltered slightly. Alonso pressed on, his tone unwavering. "What you're doing-selling slaves and contributing to the suffering of others is the easy path. You possess the ability to create something far greater, yet you've chosen to exacerbate the problem instead of seeking a solution. That is not strength, Nightowl; that is weakness.".

Nightowl's expression twisted, his voice dripping with mockery. "Are you truly that naive? You believe what I'm doing is a problem? I'm merely feeding the desires of the masses. This is how the world functions! There is no absolute good or evil-only order and chaos. And without chaos, there can be no order."

He leaned forward, his red eyes burning with conviction. "That's precisely what I am-chaos. All those bastards living their comfortable lives? They owe it to the blood, sweat, and tears of the slaves I provide. It's the natural order of every being that exists."

Alonso's eyes narrowed, but his voice remained calm, controlled. "You are mistaken. The woman you kidnapped, Maria, was innocent. She embodied kindness, devoid of chaos. If this is indeed the natural order, then I must ask: why does goodness still endure in this world?"

Nightowl's grin wavered for a moment, before his expression hardened. "Enough!" he snapped, his tone laced with frustration. "It seems we hold different ideals. What a shame-I was starting to like you. I can see you possess considerable potential, but you're far too soft to be my follower."

Alonso's laugh reverberated through the clearing, sharp and infused with an underlying menace. "Me? Soft?" He shook his head, a glimmer of disdain in his eyes. "No, I am far from soft. I have witnessed planets crumble and entire civilizations fall. You are still too young to comprehend the true nature of all living beings." His voice grew colder, more resolute. "You are but a brat who has gained a measure of power and allowed it to intoxicate you."

Nightowl's smile disappeared. His eyes darkened with confusion and anger. "What do you mean?"

"It's a pity," Alonso said, his tone deceptively casual but laced with a chilling intensity. "I might have found it in my heart to forgive you had you ceased with merely severing Maria's arms. However, the moment you took the lives of those innocent children, you sealed your own fate."

Nightowl clenched his fists, the playful glint in his eyes now replaced with a deadly seriousness. Alonso's voice was low, yet thunderous with conviction. "When I'm finished with you, I will create a world where all can live in peace and harmony. It's truly unfortunate-you will not be a part of it."

For a brief moment, there was a glimpse of Alonso's true persona, his ancient wisdom seeping through. Even Nightowl, as deranged as he was, could sense that the man standing before him held a depth far beyond his years. But Nightowl scoffed, refusing to believe in Alonso's so-called idealism. To him, it was nothing more than childish fantasy.

Yet, deep down, Alonso's words stirred something—a memory. Nightowl recalled a childhood friend who once spoke in the same idealistic tone, promising to change the world. That memory filled Nightowl with a wave of bitterness, which he quickly channeled into raw, burning rage.

His laughter erupted like a storm, wild and manic. He pointed at Alonso, his voice dripping with venom. "You fool! Do you truly grasp what it means to change the world? Do you have any inkling of the powers that govern this realm? The Demon Kings, the Archangels, the Demi-Gods, the Vampire Lords, the Human Priests, and even the Devils themselves!"

Nightowl's voice rose to a fever pitch. "To them, you are nothing more than a speck of dust! How dare you spout such idealism in my presence! Show me what kind of world you intend to create when you are dead."

Nightowl raised his arms high above his head, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic hunger. From the distance, the blood of his fallen subordinates began to stir, rising from their mutilated corpses scattered throughout the district. Rivers of crimson fluid snaked through the air, converging toward Nightowl's outstretched hands, forming a pulsating, grotesque circle of blood.

With a grin that chilled the air around them, Nightowl opened his mouth wide. The blood swirled, then flew into him with a violent rush, pouring down his throat like a torrent. As he drank, his pale, ghostly complexion began to shift, morphing into a deep, sinister red, as if the essence of death itself had fused with his very being. His body convulsed, growing more monstrous as leathery, black bat wings burst from his back, spreading wide and casting an ominous shadow.

The surge of power was palpable. The air crackled with magic as Nightowl's aura expanded, his strength multiplying tenfold. The ground beneath him trembled, unable to bear the weight of his newfound might. Laughing maniacally, Nightowl ripped off his blazer and shirt in a savage display, standing bare-chested, his body radiating malevolent energy.

He looked at Alonso, his blood-red skin glistening in the dim light, eyes alight with madness. "Now," Nightowl hissed, his voice filled with unbridled power, "we can truly begin this battle. Please, try to keep up."