Chapter 14

The leader collapsed right in front of me.

Bang.

Bang.

Two more shots.

The shooter acted quickly and precisely. The terrorists barely had time to understand what was happening before they fell dead. It seemed my death was delayed once again—well, I couldn’t complain. I glanced toward the direction of the gunfire and saw a lone stranger. He was about a hundred meters away, walking towards me at a leisurely pace.

A man of Arab appearance, dressed in tattered, dirty clothes as if he had just crawled out from the ground, with sunglasses perched on his nose—this was my rescuer. With calm steps, he approached the only wounded terrorist, who had been shot in the stomach. The man groaned in pain, writhing on the ground. The shooter stood silently over him for a moment, as if savoring his suffering, then pointed his gun and coldly finished him off.

“You’ve gotten yourself into quite a mess, Leo,” he said, turning to me.

“Do I know you?” I asked, surprised.

The Arab smiled and took off his sunglasses.

I did know him.

Those bright blue glowing eyes are hard to forget, as is the one they belong to. The assumption that Rion was involved in my troubles today was now completely baseless. Otherwise, he must have been following a highly twisted logic to save me now.

We "borrowed" the terrorists' vehicle—they didn’t mind. Rion took the wheel, and I sat beside him. He sped through the desert at a mad pace, explaining our location.

"We’re in Iraq, in a region controlled by a terrorist group. The desert here is vast, but I know the way. We’ll slip into Saudi Arabia, then catch a plane."

While he gave me a geography lesson, I was guzzling water. After draining the one-liter bottle I found in the car, my thirst subsided, and I turned to Rion.

"Where did you dig up that body?" I asked. "You look like you crawled out of a grave."

"That’s because I did. It was the nearest fresh corpse to you. His colleague killed him in a drunken rage and buried him. I dug myself out, avenged the guy, and took his weapon."

"Are you allowed to kill people?"

"It’s hard to call them people. They lost their souls long ago with their deeds. The world’s better off without them. Besides, a guardian has the right to protect their charge at any cost."

"Really? And where were you for so long? I’ve said goodbye to life twice today."

"You may have said it for good reason. I came to you as soon as I learned about your situation. And you, my friend, are in the worst possible position. You’re the unluckiest person of the last 5,000 years. Congratulations."

"What are you talking about now?"

"Your name is no longer in the ‘White Archive.’"

A lump formed in my throat.

"How... how is that?"

"Because you did absolutely nothing for six years!" Rion snapped. "And they replaced you."

"But you told me I’d keep reincarnating until I fulfilled my mission!" I protested. "That it could take forever! That you people know how to wait!"

"In theory, that’s how it should be. Not forever, but they do know how to wait. The thing is, if another suitable candidate emerges during your lifetime and you’ve done nothing in the meantime, you get replaced. And guess what? Someone showed up."

"There was no candidate in my last life, and now suddenly there is?"

"If you had died a year later in your last life, you would’ve been sent straight to hell. No reincarnations. But because you didn’t cross that century mark, you kept your second chance. And you wasted it. At 30, you still had no alternatives, get it? But now, there is one. They have no reason to wait for you to get your act together if someone else can handle your job. As of yesterday, he’s taken your place. You’ve become the second person in history to be kicked out of the archive! The first was Noah’s predecessor. He refused to build the Ark for six lives. But at least he got six—you burned out on your second. Record holder, congrats."

"Damned to hell," I slumped back in my seat.

"If I hadn’t shown up in time, you would’ve been there long ago."

"You mean that red-eyed guy? He’s from the underworld, then?"

"That red-eyed one is named Ari. He’s one of the best soul collectors. The fact that you survived an encounter with him is unreal luck. Few manage that. But he won’t give up on you so easily. He likes to work alone for a while, and if he can’t get the job done, he’ll call for help. No one’s ever escaped death with him."

"Well, that’s comforting. Why the hell does he care so much about me?"

"You were originally meant for him, until you ended up in the ‘White Archive.’ He waited for you through three lives and was furious to lose you."

"Three lives? What do you mean?"

"Every soul lives three lives, reincarnating from body to body. Your soul is 141 years old. Live three good lives—you go up. Live three bad ones—you go down. If you live one or two bad lives, you go to trial. There, they decide if your good deeds outweigh the bad across all three lives. In your case, you lived one good life—died in World War II, saving your friends. You failed the other two. The court ruled you for the underworld but missed your name in the archive. They couldn’t break the law, so you reincarnated as expected. Now, with your name out of the archive, your soul belongs to the underworld again. Ari hoped to claim you after your baptism, and from his point of view, you’ve lived an extra 30 years. He doesn’t want to wait for you to die naturally—he wants his prize now."

I sighed heavily. How did I manage to get myself into this mess? My carefree life was over. In fact, my life itself might soon be over. And all because of my arrogance and selfishness. Was I really going to spend the rest of my days fighting for survival? What about my wife, my daughter? I couldn't be with them anymore; otherwise, I would always be putting them in danger. And all for what? Just to end up in hell anyway?

A thousand thoughts swirled in my mind, along with countless questions, which I tried to organize by their importance to me. One question stood out above the rest.

"So, officially, you’re no longer my guardian?"

"Exactly."

"Then why did you save me?"

"I saw what you’ve become. Yes, you didn’t listen, and you really irritated me at first. But you’ve changed. I saw who you were meant to become, and now you're starting to turn into that person. A devoted family man, an excellent father and husband. A philanthropist—though now not for the sake of meeting flirty girls. You're a good person, Leo, and you don’t deserve to suffer in hell. Besides, I’ve had a score to settle with Ari for a long time."

I started to ponder his words, but his last sentence put everything into perspective. It was all about a personal vendetta—that was the real reason for helping me. Not that it mattered to me, as long as it gave him strength to protect me.

"So what now?" I asked. "Do I always have to fear people in dark glasses? Could any of them be Ari? And how do I kill him?"

"Demons, like me, are bound by earthly laws. We don’t need food, but we do need air, and we can even feel pain. Our spirit completely merges with the body. Wound the body, and you wound the spirit. But the spirit doesn’t stay securely inside, so to knock Ari out of a vessel, kill him like you would any normal person. Preferably a shot to the head or heart. Once the body’s dead, he can’t possess it again. He’ll have to find another one."

"And I’ll have to fight him off for the rest of my life?"

"Do you want to give up?"

"I suppose I could surround myself with an army and live on a private island until I grow old. But what’s the end game? Hell? Is there really no way to get back into the 'White Archive'?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Why? You said yourself that when a better candidate shows up during someone’s life, the old one is replaced. What if I infiltrate the organization and push him out? Take his place and fulfill my mission. Then everything in the archive will revert! Both of us win. I’ll get a ticket upstairs, and you’ll get to settle the score with Ari. You’ll cause him to fail."

Rion pondered my idea. In theory, it seemed quite doable.

"And how will you do that?" Rion asked.

"I’ll figure it out," I said confidently. "I’ll break my brain over it, but I’ll figure it out."

I grasped at the straw of salvation with my fingertips. It was better than nothing. How I, a stranger, would join an organization and take it over in no time—I had no idea. Whether I would ever even have a clue how to do it, I didn’t know either. But I was certain of one thing—I wouldn’t give up until the very end.

***

The sky, clouds, mountains, oceans, and at night—millions of bright lights—this was my view from the window almost at any time of day over the past month. My private jet had become my home, and Rion, along with three bodyguards, had become my new family.

No matter how much I insisted on barricading myself in my "fortress" on my private island, Rion convinced me to go with his option.

“There are hundreds of staff on the island,” Rion argued after lengthy discussions. “Every day they come and go. Sooner or later, Ari will slip past security or, even worse, send his minions. I’ll sense him in time, but I might not notice the others, and then you're done for. Flying constantly in the plane is the safest way to avoid his attack. He can’t get to you in the air.”

And so, we had been flying around the Earth for a month. Twice a day, every time in a new country, we landed for refueling, a thorough check of the aircraft, and then took off again. During the short stops, the bodyguards guarded the plane, rifles at the ready—just in case Ari managed to track me, find a body, grab a weapon, and charge into battle. But that never happened.

Rion had already switched to a European body—he was tired of seeing a terrorist’s reflection in the mirror. I, on the other hand, hadn’t even poked my nose out of the plane the whole time, fearing a sniper’s bullet, something my guardian was seriously concerned about.

I hadn’t seen my family in a month either. Rion explained that Ari couldn’t determine Ella’s location, so she wasn’t in any danger as long as she kept her distance from me. Just to be safe, I sent her and the child to Switzerland, where she rented a cottage. She was to stay there until this whole ordeal was over, and I could come for her.

As we circled the globe, Rion and I often joked about how furious Ari must be, unable to claim his prize. He clearly hadn’t faced such a difficult victim before. I dreamed of seeing his face when I succeeded in getting my name back into the “archive.” Rion dreamed of it just as much. But whenever I pressed him about his "old grudge" with Ari, he dodged the question.

The chances of fulfilling our shared dream began to rise almost from the first week of flying. From morning till night, I spent a lot of time thinking, researching the company online, and devising a plan on how I could take it over. At first, it seemed impossible, but gradually my confidence in success grew stronger.

Four weeks later, I announced to Rion that I had finalized my plan and estimated the success of the mission at a solid 50/50! In this particular case, that was the highest rating I could give—anything more would have been lying to myself. Too much depended not only on me but also on people I didn’t know yet.

One evening, Rion and I sat around a small table in the plane's cabin, and I began to summarize the preparation process.

“So, let's sum it up,” I started. “I’ve spent the entire month buying up shares of my future company, and as of today, I hold 7% of non-preferred stock. By the way, care to explain how a shareholder organization can evolve into something akin to the UN?”

“You’ll worry about that when you’re running the organization,” Rion replied.

“Okay. 7% of the shares—that’s enough to claim a spot on the company's board of directors. There are currently five members, and they’re looking to add two more. One of them should be me.”

“I remember that. Get to the problem-solving part. How do you plan to achieve it?”

“In any other company, this idea would be akin to playing the lottery. But this one has a unique set of rules. Only shareholders with the largest percentage of shares, or their representatives, can serve on the board. That’s a plus for me. The downside is that there are three other candidates, each holding between 5 and 7% of the shares. So, four people will be competing for two spots. Voting is done cumulatively, but not by all the thousands of shareholders, as is common in most companies—only the current board members vote. For each percentage of their shares, they get one vote. For example, the chairman has 26% of the shares, which gives him 26 votes. He can give them all to one candidate or distribute them among the four as he sees fit. Together, they hold 58% of the shares. The two candidates who receive the most votes get the spots on the board."

“Don’t tell me you plan to get rid of two extra competitors before the vote.”

“What do you take me for? No, I’m not going to get rid of anyone. And it’s unlikely that I’ll be able to convince them to give up their bid for a seat on the board. But, I can influence the decision of the current members! All I have to do is charm them, make them like me, and prove that I’m the best candidate compared to the others.”

“Got it,” Rion said, rubbing his temple thoughtfully. “What’s plan B?”

“Plan B?” I raised my hands, surprised by Rion’s reaction. “There isn’t one. This is the only plan.”

Rion laughed bitterly. “You’re betting on your charm? Seriously?”

“Why not? I can handle it! My people have been monitoring each member of the board for nearly a month. I’ve gathered data on their interests and even some personal characteristics. I’ll approach each one of them and find the right angle for contact. For example, there’s a woman on the board, which means her five votes are practically in my pocket.”

“All right, let’s say so,” Rion sighed. “Let’s assume by some miracle you make it onto the board. But your goal isn’t just to sit on the board; you want to run the company from the executive director’s chair. And right now, that seat is occupied by the one who replaced you in the ‘White Archive.’”

“His name is Rob Foster,” I said, pointing to the dossier lying on the table. “I’ll take care of him later. One step at a time. First, I’ll secure my place on the board, gain everyone’s trust, and then I’ll take his spot. I’ve got a few sneaky ideas for how to push him out of the company. Nothing personal—it just has to be done.”

Rion considered my plan, glanced over Rob’s dossier, and skimmed through my notes on the board members.

“Well, let’s get to it,” he said, resigned to my ideas. “Where will you start?”

“The annual board meeting is in a week, and that’s when the vote will take place. I need to befriend each of them by then. Right now, they’re all scattered across different parts of the world, but my people are keeping tabs on them. The closest one is Vincent Hayes. He’s 63 years old, owns 8% of the shares, and is currently in London. We’ll start with him.”

***

Stepping onto the asphalt from the last step of the plane's ladder, I felt as though I had entered a new world. Everything around me seemed magical, unusual, and... vast. I had gotten so used to being inside the airplane that stepping out felt like something extraordinary.

A car I had ordered while still in the air was waiting for us. I, Rion, and the three bodyguards quickly got in and set off towards our destination. It was already dark outside, and we landed late, around 10 PM. One might wonder what could be achieved at such an hour. The old man might even be preparing for bed by now. But my informant told me that Vincent had just gone to the "Cigar" club. It seemed like the perfect place to introduce myself.

“Ari is probably climbing out of the morgue with a new body as we speak,” I said to Rion, who was driving. “We need to be extra alert on the way back.”

“I doubt he’ll try to attack us on the road,” Rion replied. “He knows I’m with you, and I’ll sense him approaching. So he’ll try to be subtle. If he does decide to show up, your men will surprise him. He can’t detect them.”

Rion touched his ear, adjusting a concealed wireless earpiece.

“Is the communication working?” he turned to the bodyguards.

Each of them confirmed the connection was working fine.

“There are two entrances to the club,” Rion continued. “One of you will stay in the car on the next street, one at the front entrance, and one by the back door. Keep an eye out for anyone in dark sunglasses. Only a lunatic would be out in sunglasses at this hour. He might also come without them, in which case his eyes will glow red, like two embers in the dark. If you see him, shoot without hesitation. If you don’t kill him, he’ll kill you. No doubt about that.”

I noticed how my men exchanged knowing glances. They probably didn’t fully understand how a person’s eyes could glow in the dark like a cat’s. But I didn’t need them to understand. Their job was to follow orders.

“How much time do you need?” Rion asked me.

“Two hours should be enough. I need to make sure he remembers me. The club’s probably a cigar lounge. I’ve never been to one before. What do old men do there? Play dominoes?”

“Or cards, sipping whiskey and puffing on cigars,” Rion suggested.

“I’m a master at all three. I’ll find common ground with him. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Who even calls a not cigar club "Cigar"?

As we approached it, doubts began to gnaw at me. But when Rion and I stepped inside, I was completely taken aback.

Loud music was playing, and a crowd of people was dancing in the hall. Not only was the club a nightclub, but practically everyone felt it was important to dance in dark glasses. For Ari, this atmosphere would be the perfect cover.

"Try not to take too long," Rion shouted in my ear, trying to drown out the music.

Vincent was unlikely to be dancing on the dance floor with the others. Most likely, he was comfortably relaxing in some lounge on the second floor. To get there, I had to cross the dance floor, on the other side of which I could see the staircase leading up.

I ventured into the crowd, struggling to squeeze between people until I finally made it to the stairs. On the second floor, there were about a dozen lounges, and almost every one of them was occupied by a group of revelers. I peered closely at their faces, shrouded in the haze from the smoke machine. But even in poor visibility, none of them resembled a 63-year-old man.

The last place Vincent could be was a guarded room at the far end of the floor. Otherwise, my informant risked getting hit on the head by me. At the entrance stood a huge bouncer who held up his palm in front of my face, sizing me up.

"This is a VIP area, only for guests with a club card."

"I just forgot it at home today, but I brought this," I said, pulling a thick roll of cash from my jacket pocket. I had prepared it just in case.

The bouncer stared at the money for a long five seconds, then glanced around and took it.

"Enjoy your evening," he said, stepping aside and moving the screen.

I entered a spacious room with panoramic windows, offering a beautiful view of the entire dance floor. The music barely reached this place, and only muted bass could be heard. Expensive leather sofas lined the walls, there was a fairly wide bar on one side, and a couple of pool tables in the center. There were few people: some were lounging on the sofas, while two others were playing billiards. And what luck—I recognized Vincent among the players.

The presence of the bar near his table played to my advantage. I had already devised several scenarios in the airplane that would help me make contact with the old man.

My spy provided a lot of information about him. Among other things, I learned that Vincent is true to his habits in just about everything, especially when it comes to drinking. This card was what I planned to play.

“Do you have Macallan 39?” I approached the bar and loudly asked the bartender so that Vincent would definitely hear.

“Yes, of course,” the bartender replied.

“Pour me a double neat.”

The bartender began to fulfill the order.

“I must warn you, the price will be $2,000,” he said.

“Seriously?” I feigned surprise. The bartender froze, probably afraid that I wouldn’t be able to pay. But the next second, a stack of cash fell from my pocket onto the counter. “Then you can refresh it when I’m done.”

He placed a glass of whiskey in front of me. I took a small sip and grimaced. Fortunately, no one saw it. Definitely not my drink.

“I see you’re a true connoisseur of fine whiskey,” a voice reached me from behind.

I thought I would have to initiate the conversation myself, but Vincent preempted me. Turning around, I broke into a friendly smile.

“I have a special relationship with this whiskey. My grandfather was five years old when he personally witnessed it being bottled in barrels. He died in ’79, just a week after the whiskey was bottled. Every sip of this drink is symbolic for me. After all, my grandfather watched with his own eyes the whiskey I’m drinking now, and that I will drink in the future.”

“That’s one of the best stories I’ve ever heard,” Vincent said, absorbing every word. Ah, I can compose even more intricate tales than this. “Macallan 39 is truly a perfect drink.”

He raised his glass, indicating that he had the same whiskey, and drained it in one go. I had to do the same. Only my will to live prevented me from grimacing again at the specific taste. I struggled to convey enjoyment.

“Do you play?” Vincent asked, pointing his gaze at the billiard table.

“And I even win sometimes,” I replied, setting my glass down on the counter, and the bartender immediately filled it again with a fresh pour of neat whiskey. The old man nodded to the second player, who immediately handed me his cue and moved to the couches. As I understood, he was Vincent’s bodyguard.

“Vincent Hayes,” my new friend introduced himself.

“Leo Rutis,” I replied.

The introduction went smoothly. I just needed to cement our acquaintance, and at least I had one supporter in the voting.

“You have an unusual name,” Vincent said, gathering the balls into a pyramid.

“At some point, I decided that the name I was born with didn’t sound the best, so I shortened it by half. I added a touch of exoticism, so to speak.”

The old man bent down, preparing to strike the ball, but suddenly gave me a strange look. As if something in my answer didn’t sit well with him, but he quickly tried to hide it and broke the pyramid.

“What do you do for a living, Leo?”

Two balls sank into the pockets at once. Vincent began to walk around the table for his next shot. I didn’t even know how to interpret the fact that he suddenly switched to using “you,” but I decided not to dwell on it.

“I’m into investments,” I answered. “In film, real estate, new technologies. In short, anything where I can score a profit. What about you?”

“Mostly, I play golf,” he smiled, sinking another ball. “Starting next year, I plan to fully dive into politics. It’s a disgustingly dirty business, but you have to try everything in life. I’ve never been president of the United States.”

Vincent smirked with self-satisfaction. Apparently, he had no doubt about his chances of succeeding in the presidential race.

“At the very least, you can count on my vote,” I flattered him. “These days, it’s hard to find a worthy politician. Just a bunch of jerks who lie and steal. There are, of course, exceptions. Like Denny Johnson. A decent guy, he tries for the people. Probably the only one I like among politicians…”

“Denny Johnson?” the old man interrupted, making a surprised face. “He’s a damn queer!”

“That doesn’t stop him from doing the right things, wouldn’t you agree?”

It seemed my new friend was old-fashioned and didn’t particularly like anyone with Denny Johnson’s orientation.

“I wouldn’t even shake that little bastard’s hand,” Vincent said fiercely. “If it were up to me, I’d isolate all people like him in a special institution and let them do whatever they want. They don’t belong in politics—or in society!”

He clearly harbored a strong dislike. He hated them. I needed to change the subject as quickly as possible. He looked at me with a contemptuous gaze and made a fierce shot. Two balls flew into different pockets.

“You’re just a master of the balls!” I exclaimed.

And I immediately regretted it. Vincent’s eyes widened as if I had just called him the last faggot. It’s better not to mention balls at all. I needed to fix this situation urgently!

“You play excellently,” I said, trying to appear relaxed. “If I had your accuracy, I would have already participated in a tournament.”

“The tournament was where I started,” Vincent softened a little.

“Really?” I feigned genuine surprise.

“I made my first fortune there, and then realized I could earn a lot more—through other means.” The old man struck the cue again, and yet another ball was “out” of the game.

I was waiting for my turn, but it stubbornly refused to come. Maybe it was for the best. Let the man, partially responsible for my soul, take the upper hand.

“What did you start your journey with?” Vincent asked.

“Betting on football matches,” I replied quickly, without making anything up.

“Crazy,” the old man exclaimed. “I’m a die-hard fan myself and often place bets. The Premier League—what could be better? Other leagues don’t even come close. Who do you support?”

From my spy intel, I knew he had attended the Manchester City vs. Manchester United match last month. If he were a die-hard fan of one of those teams, he must have harbored a fierce hatred for the other. Not wanting to take a risk, I decided to play it safe.

“Manchester.”

“Which one?” Vincent looked at me seriously.

Damn. Guessing here was 50/50. Not the best odds in my situation. Fans of those two teams deeply despised each other. If I got it wrong, and Vincent truly was a “die-hard,” I risked becoming his enemy. Why didn’t I name some obscure, unknown team?

“For both together,” I improvised. “My father supports City, and my brother supports United.” My imagination kicked in. “To keep the family from falling apart, I took a neutral stance. When they play against each other, I root for a draw.”

“I’ve never heard that before,” the old man raised his eyebrows, mulling over my story, then bent down and sent another ball into the pocket.

To be honest, my former investment business partner seriously claimed that he supported both Real Madrid and Barcelona—two irreconcilable rivals. It suddenly struck me that it would be a good idea to use him as another example.

“I’ve had that experience. My former partner also supported both Real and Barca. He always hoped for equal points in the table. By the way, we met over a game of billiards as well. And he was pretty good too…”

“You son of a bitch!” Vincent suddenly growled, changing his mind about making the shot and straightening up. His face twisted in a grimace of disgust, clearly aimed at me.

“What?” I was taken aback. “What’s the matter?”

“So you saw that vile article with those disgusting photos and thought you could hit on me?” Vincent fumed. “It’s all lies, you idiot! Those damn journalists twisted everything! I’m not interested in men, you fool! That was my illegitimate son, you understand?”

So, our brief friendship quickly went down the drain. I was momentarily stunned by his unexpected tirade. On one hand, I understood why he saw hidden implications of homosexuality in everything. Journalists, as often happens, misunderstood everything and portrayed him in a bad light. On the other hand, how did he take my words to mean that I wanted to hit on him?

What was I talking about? That I met my former partner over a game of… oh, come on! A business partner! Business!!!

“This is a misunderstanding,” I tried to fix the situation. “I wasn’t trying to hit on you, and I know nothing about any article…”

By the way, it was my spy’s fault for not keeping me informed, and now he would definitely hear about it.

“Came to find a partner?” Vincent didn’t calm down. “Well, I’ll take this cue and shove it up your ass! Would that partner work for you?”

“What the hell are you saying, damn it? I’m not gay!”

“Throw this idiot out of here!” the old man shouted to his bodyguard. The guy immediately sprang to his feet and headed toward me.

Vincent’s mania overwhelmed his reason. It was impossible to prove anything to him now. As much as I wanted to break the cue over the approaching bodyguard’s head, I deemed it wise to exit the room peacefully.

“And tell your morons that the next one who comes to see me will lose his dick!”

I left the room as the old man threatened to shove the severed part into the victim's mouth. Rage was slowly but surely boiling inside me. It was so foolish to lose eight votes! Over some ridiculousness. I wondered if I had ever had such failures during introductions before. No, never. Not even once. It was hard to believe that the first time it happened would be when the acquaintance was absolutely vital.

I headed toward the exit, pulled out the micro-earpiece from my pocket, activated it, and shoved it in my ear.

“Rion, I’m done. Where are you?”

“I’m here,” the reply came both in the earpiece and from a meter away.

As I approached the stairs, I spotted him just coming up to the second floor.

“You're quick,” Rion remarked, glancing at his watch. “Not even twenty minutes have passed. Did you knock him out with your charm?”

“Let’s just say that,” I replied. “Let’s get out of here.”

We started descending the stairs together.

“We’re coming out, ‘First’. Is it quiet there?” Rion pressed his finger to his ear.

Our earpieces were connected to a common channel. Everything he heard, I heard too. At that moment, we both heard silence in response.

“‘First’?” Rion repeated. “Can you hear me?”

We reached the bottom when Rion suddenly raised his hand in front of me. But it wasn’t necessary; I had no intention of moving forward. I was just as anxious as my partner.

“‘Second,’ respond,” Rion said.

“I hear you,” came the voice of the bodyguard through the earpiece.

“Where are you?”

“Near the back entrance, where I’m supposed to be.”

“Look around the corner, check on ‘First’’s position.”

“On it.”

Rion and I exchanged worried glances.

“‘Third’?” Rion addressed the connection again.

“I’m here,” the driver’s voice came through.

“Prepare to execute plan ‘B’. On my command.”

“Got it.”

Plan ‘B’ entailed bringing the van close to the club’s entrance. We were to jump into it almost on the run. A sort of escape plan in case things went south.

Fifteen seconds later, the voice of ‘Second’ returned.

“‘First’ is nowhere to be seen. He’s not in position.”

Rion’s face suddenly turned tense, as if he saw or sensed something. The look sent chills down my spine. He glanced at me, and in that one look, I read what came out of his mouth a second later.

“Ari is here.”

I looked around at the crowd of dancers we’d have to navigate through to reach the exit and sighed heavily. The day was getting worse by the minute.

“I killed one!” ‘Second’ suddenly yelled.

Could it be that he killed Ari, and we’d get lucky? My joy was short-lived.

“He had glowing eyes,” ‘Second’ continued. “He was coming toward me, and I…”

Instead of finishing, there was a strained growl, followed by choking, and then a dull thud.

“‘Second’?” Rion asked.

Silence.

“‘Second,’ what happened?”

Suddenly, the earpiece crackled, as if ‘Second’s’ microphone was being scratched with claws. A moment later, we heard an unfamiliar voice, but we instantly recognized who it belonged to.

“Hello, Rion, Leo,” Ari said in a calm tone. “I’m glad to know that you finally decided to descend from the heavens to the ground. Honestly, you’ve been a pain. I even had to bring a couple of acquaintances with me. We’re waiting for you outside. See you soon.”

“You son of a bitch,” Rion hissed.

Two out of the three bodyguards were dead. The main plan relied on them as a secret force to counter Ari’s appearance. It was believed he wouldn’t be able to detect them, which meant we still had the upper hand. How did he manage to sniff them out?

I actively contemplated our next steps. Staying on the second floor was not an option. Over time, Ari’s acquaintances would only increase. The back exit was blocked, as was the front, but we still had the ace in the hole: the armored van. The key was to get through the dancing crowd and then act in sync with our transport.

Rion pulled out his phone and disconnected the deceased bodyguards from the main channel so Ari couldn’t listen in on our communications with each other and with the driver.

“Let’s go,” I nudged him in the shoulder, heading toward the exit, but he abruptly stopped me.

“Wait.”

“There’s no point in staying inside,” I began to explain quickly. “We’ll execute plan ‘B’ immediately; he won’t even have time to react.”

“He said they’re waiting outside,” Rion insisted. “That means he wants us to think no one’s inside.”

“If they were here, wouldn’t you be able to sniff them out?”

“I told you—I can only sense Ari and those similar to him. Soul collectors have a powerful aura that’s easy to track. His lackeys are worthless little things, so insubstantial that I can’t smell them from a distance.”

Well, what can I say? The situation was only getting worse.

“And how far can you smell them?” I asked.

“One meter. At most two.”

Wonderful. Perfect. Just freaking amazing - damn demons! Is there no one else for them to hunt!? Will it hurt them if I live an extra 60 years? Monsters! Die! DIE!

Alright, now that I’ve mentally cursed them out, it was time to get a grip. There was still a chance they hadn’t made it inside. And even if they had, it was without weapons. The bouncers at the entrance check everyone. We’ll get through this damn crowd, jump into the van, and get the hell out of here. It will work! We will break through!

— I’ll go first, — Rion turned to me. — You right behind me. Keep your eyes open.

Rion stepped off the last step and slowly made his way toward the mass of partying people. I followed closely. We began to squeeze through the crowd. People were bouncing, swaying, and waving their arms in time with the music. I stared intently into the eyes of those around me, hoping not to see two glowing red dots in their pupils.

A thought crossed my mind: would they start dancing to blend in with the crowd? Are they that artistic? Maybe I should pay attention to those standing against the wall?

I looked around, but the density of the partygoers blocked my view completely. We had made it halfway, just a little bit more to go. Wasn’t it time to tell the driver to hit the gas and come for us?

But before I could say a word, Rion suddenly turned around and shouted loudly:

— LEO! — he pointed behind my back.

At that same moment, someone emerged from the crowd and hit him hard in the side. A fist or a weapon, there was no time to see. I quickly turned around and did so just in time to see someone swinging at me. Reflexively intercepting his hand with the knife, I threw the attacker over my shoulder. Then I pinned him to the ground, sharply bent his arm, and stabbed him in the eye with his own knife. For good measure, I slammed down hard, driving the blade deeper.

To my surprise, this maneuver took me no more than 2 seconds. People, assessing the situation, began to flee in horror, and some girls screamed loudly. I looked around, expecting new attacks, but no one was running toward me; they were all running away. My gaze fell on Rion just as he sliced the throat of his attacker and then drove a knife into his skull up to the handle. The dying man's glowing red eyes slowly "dimmed," and he collapsed to the floor beside Rion's first victim.

Most people rushed toward the exit, eager to leave the club as quickly as possible. This was our chance to slip through with the crowd. It would make it harder for Ari to spot us.

I ran up to Rion and only then noticed that a knife was sticking out of his side. That first missed blow had indeed been a knife, not a fist. Rion painfully pulled it out, grimacing from the pain.

— I'm fine, let's go — he said through gritted teeth.

I supported him under the arm, and we took off after the crowd.

— Ned! — I shouted into the mic, addressing the driver. — Now! Come! Immediately!

We ran across the dance floor, then the hall, and finally burst outside. Peeking out from behind the fleeing people, I searched for Ari's glowing eyes or his henchmen, but there was no one. A van appeared in sight, racing toward us at full speed. The driver was honking frequently to clear the crowd from the road.

Just a little more, just a bit, and we’d be inside. When suddenly, a series of gunshots erupted behind us. I instinctively ducked, looked over my shoulder, and saw a girl collapse onto the asphalt. She "caught" a bullet that had been meant for me. A certain police officer with fiery eyes was unloading a magazine, trying to kill us.

We were almost at the van; just a second of running! The driver slowed down a bit for us to jump in through the side door.

Gunshot, gunshot...

Rion let out a terrible moan and fell to the ground. He was only half a step behind me and ended up in the line of fire between me and Ari.

Another gunshot...

A bullet whizzed past my ear, and I jumped, literally diving into the moving van. A series of shots rained down on the armored body of the vehicle, trying to hit me, but it was in vain.

"GO!" I pounded on the wall, signaling the driver.

He slammed on the gas, picked up speed, and disappeared around the corner. The gunfire stopped. I could hardly believe that my body had avoided any new holes. We made it…

Some might think I abandoned Rion, scared to go back for him, that I betrayed him. But that’s not true. I acted according to his own instructions—left the dead body without wasting time mourning. In fact, seeing the knife in his side, I should have done as Rion asked and finished him off on the spot. If he had fallen into Ari's hands in that condition, Ari would have had the chance to get rid of Rion for a long time.

He wouldn't have killed him but would have tied him up and taken away his ability to break free from the human body. That would have turned Rion into a helpless prisoner. Of course, over time, someone up top would have noticed he was missing. In a month or a year. But I don't have that kind of time. And I can't manage without his help.

At least I won't have problems with that. Rion was knocked out of his body, and now, according to plan, I should pick him up in Bulgaria, at Burgas Airport. There, he will don a new vessel, and we will continue with our plan. There are still four members of the board of directors ahead; I need to prepare for the meeting with them. As upsetting as it is that I've already lost eight of Vincent's votes, if everything goes well, they will become unnecessary.

I lay on the floor of the van, caught my breath, and pulled out my phone. By the time I arrived, the plane should be ready for takeoff; there’s no reason to linger in this city. I can’t wait to be in the air, far away from this demon-infested land.

***

A bunch of stupid, retarded, disgusting creatures! There were a whole eight of them! Three of them even managed to get into the club with knives! What stopped the three from slitting the throats of the two who didn’t even have weapons? Why couldn’t the other five stop the fugitives when they got outside? Why was Ari forced to watch as Leo disappeared into the van around the corner, leaving him once again with nothing? How much longer can this be tolerated?

Yes, Ari didn’t have much time to prepare. In fact, he was incredibly lucky—he got the body of a policeman with a gun in hand. The poor guy was shot by some junkie just a couple of minutes before Ari needed a vessel. This happened just a couple of blocks from the club, and he was able to get here quickly. While his minions were escaping from the morgue and rushing to him, he surveyed the area and spotted Leo’s people. It was easy to get rid of them with his henchmen.

Leo shouldn’t have walked out of the club alive. And even if he did, Ari was right at the entrance, gun ready. Who would have thought that so many people would rush out of the building at once? Damn them all.

Suddenly, behind Ari, he heard a woman’s scream—someone was calling for help. He turned around and saw the very woman who had caught Leo's bullet. She wasn’t dead. That was even better for Ari—his reputation had already suffered greatly in the last month. Killing Leo had turned out to be the hardest task he had faced. But it was okay. Sooner or later, he would stumble, and Ari would get what he wanted. He always does. And then the bastard would pay for all his suffering.

Ari was about to leave but hesitated. He looked at the sprawled body on the road. Rion hadn’t left him; he was still there; he hadn’t been knocked out. Of course, he could feel his presence, but negative thoughts consumed those feelings. What luck! It turns out this day isn’t so bad after all!

Rion wasn’t moving, but Ari guessed that he was trying to reach for the knife that lay a couple of meters away from him. He wanted to finish himself off to leave the vessel. Helpless, weakened by his wound, Rion could now be written off for a long time, hidden somewhere, deprived of the chance of suicide. Leo wouldn’t last an hour without him.

Ari approached his arch-nemesis, pushed the knife away, and then kicked the wounded man onto his back. The brightly glowing blue eyes met the red ones.

“Long time no see, Rion,” Ari said coolly. “You don’t look so good.”

Ari pressed down hard with his foot on Rion’s chest. Rion grimaced in pain, grabbing Ari's foot with both hands, trying to relieve the pressure. Ari raised his hand high and snapped his fingers. His henchmen were supposed to come running at that gesture.

“You're not doing this for him, are you?” Ari leaned in closer. “You're doing it to spite me, aren’t you? Can’t forget, can you?”

Rion looked at him with the deepest disgust but didn’t respond. Several of Ari’s assistants ran up, waiting for orders.

“Get him out of here immediately and make sure he doesn’t take his own life…” he said.

Rion found himself in an incredibly disadvantageous position. If he didn’t leave this body soon, he would have to suffer from pain for many months, if not years, locked away in some basement until someone noticed he was missing. At that point, Leo would lose his last chance to save his soul. If he even lived to see Rion's return.

But how could he kill himself without a weapon, without strength, in the hands of brainless scum? Ari continued to press down on his chest with his foot. Rion tried to wrap his leg around Ari's, when suddenly he felt something under his pant leg.

A holster!

“...you’ll ruin this mission too, and for the next hundred years, I’ll be melting you with molten iron...” Ari continued to lay out the task.

He wasn’t looking down at his victim. This moment might not come again. Rion quickly lifted his pant leg, unbuckled the clasp, and pulled out the gun. He did it so fast that by the time Ari looked down, he was already pressing the muzzle against his own chin.

“I’ll see you,” said Rion, and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, the bullet pierced his skull, and exited through the top of his head. Rion’s bright blue eyes extinguished in an instant.

Ari sighed irritably. He hadn’t even known there was another gun on his leg. He felt a slight constriction around his ankle but didn’t pay such a triviality any mind. Who wears such things anymore? They were relics of the past!

The day had turned out to be a failure nonetheless. He wanted to shoot all his so-called “assistants” and then, down below, subject their souls to tortures they had never known.

What now? Wait again for Leo to get reckless and then clumsily try to deal with him in a rush? Charge at him with bare hands, as there simply wasn’t enough time to acquire proper weapons?

That’s it, enough!

It was time to finish this assignment. He didn’t care about his reputation or all the random victims! The worst thing for his reputation was to completely fail the mission. Ari would not wait for Leo to make his next move. Besides, he was sure that now the little bastard would surround himself with much better security, making it harder to approach him.

No, it was time to act differently. More unexpectedly. Leo felt completely safe in the air. He thought that while he was up there, Ari wouldn’t be able to reach him.

Well, it was time to prove him wrong.