21. The Demon Within
The crowd by the pool surged back into lively excitement, gathering in groups to chat, savoring beer, cake, and seafood, dancing to the pulsing music. The atmosphere was so heated, it was as if the earlier farce had never happened.
As for Rust, who had been forcibly removed, and the few obscure figures who quietly slipped away afterward—
No one cared.
Bob Lowe nodded to himself.
Who would be foolish enough to offend the heir to a billion-dollar fortune for the sake of a few worthless nobodies?
This was, after all, the true rule of Las Vegas.
Bob pushed open the glass door and entered the villa, now oddly silent. He climbed the stairs to the third-floor bathroom, stood before the mirror. He squeezed disinfectant, scooped up icy water, and scrubbed his cheeks so fiercely it seemed he meant to strip the skin from his face. The sinister countenance in the mirror grew red and hot.
Yet he could not wash away the shame and anger burning within.
His eyes narrowed to slits. Turning, he cast a deep glance at the plastic bucket beside the tub; a flickering spark seemed to ignite in his gaze.
After the party ended.
He recalled those days—when he’d stepped over a monstrous line. That wicked thrill—
It still intoxicated him.
He wanted to keep going.
“It’s time to pick the next target,” he murmured, head bowed.
...
“Pick what?!”
The air froze!
A voice sounded from just behind Bob, so close its chilling breath sent goosebumps racing across his neck.
“You—”
His cry was swallowed down his throat.
A powerful arm pressed his head down hard, smashing it into the mirror!
Bang!
The glass shattered into a web of cracks.
Razor-sharp shards sliced Bob’s forehead. Blood seeped out, staining his hair, cheeks, and the fractured reflection.
“Don’t fight, don’t scream. If my hand slips, you’ll meet Satan!”
One hand locked around his waist, with astonishing strength. The other pressed a gleaming kitchen knife against his carotid artery, so firmly the tip pierced the skin—a twitch would open a deadly gash.
Bob’s head spun, the cold blade at his throat keeping him utterly still.
“Easy now, pal.” In the mirror, beside Bob’s face, appeared the ugly visage of an Asian man, mask removed.
Dean—the mutt who’d first disgraced him in front of everyone.
The idiot who had crossed the line!
Bob’s pupils contracted; for a split second, his eyes burned with rage, and he was tempted to threaten and curse him with wild abandon.
But reason forced him to swallow it all, humiliatingly silent.
Anyone bold enough to sneak into the villa with a knife was surely mad—best not to provoke him.
“Whatever you want, name it. I’ll do my best to satisfy you,” Bob managed a fawning smile through a bloodied, battered face.
“The living me is worth far more than the dead!”
“Bob Lowe…” Dean’s gaze was unyielding, his voice icy as if speaking to a corpse. Then he asked the question that had long haunted him:
“Where did you take Mona?”
“Mona?”
Bob’s pupils flickered in confusion. “Why ask that? Do you have some misunderstanding about me?”
Slice!
The blade opened a shallow wound.
Blood trickled down, tracing a red path across Bob’s chest.
“Ah!” Bob howled.
“April 19th, you drove that newly blue Ferrari BOL-620502, appeared outside the Barcadisco in the southern district, secretly followed Mona—”
Inhale… exhale…
“You shamefully ambushed and kidnapped her! Took her posters into your private theater! You think I’m a fool, spinning tales for me?!”
Dean pressed harder, the knife tip moving slowly over Bob’s skin, as if deciding where to cut.
“Mona, yes, I remember—I saw her that night. She works at my home theater, I just greeted her, nothing more. I have no idea where she is!” Bob hurried to defend himself.
Dean stared intently at his profile.
“You don’t know Mona’s whereabouts? Then I have no reason to spare you—I’ll end you right now!”
“Don’t be rash, Dean, don’t let impulse ruin you. I truly don’t know.”
“You’ve said it many times before—I have no parents, nothing to tie me down. If I kill you, so be it, I’ll be a fugitive! Even if Mona’s disappearance has nothing to do with you, for the humiliation you gave me—”
Dean’s icy words lashed like the howls of hungry demons:
“I’ll kill you now for revenge! You deserve it!”
How could anyone be so unreasonable?
Bob’s battered face twisted beyond recognition, his throat emitting a hiss of utter humiliation.
For the second time, this bastard had trampled his dignity without restraint.
And he was powerless to resist.
Bob let out a defeated sigh.
“Fine, I admit it—I kidnapped Mona.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s not in this villa—how could I dare invite so many acquaintances here otherwise?” Bob’s tone turned firm. “I put her in an unattended suburban house. If no one checks on her in a few days, she’ll die of thirst!”
“Unless my safety is guaranteed, you’ll never learn where she is.”
Bang!
Dean yanked his short hair, smashing his head into the mirror again.
Once, twice, three times!
Shocking blood spilled like a waterfall, sliding from the shattered glass into the sink.
Dean grabbed Bob’s back and slammed him to the floor twice with wrestling techniques.
Bob was left dizzy and reeling.
Dean hauled him up by the neck and stabbed the kitchen knife deep into Bob’s thigh.
Bob’s face twisted in agony but his mouth was covered, unable to cry out.
Even if he shouted for help, the deafening party music would drown everything.
When Dean’s rage was spent—
Bob’s mind buzzed as if filled with bees.
His neck hung over the edge of the sink, like a condemned man awaiting the guillotine.
He was utterly broken.
“You win! Maniac—bandage my wound, stop the bleeding! Use the escape passage beside me to get downstairs; no one will see us. Then I’ll drive you to Mona in the suburbs.”
...
In the corridor, deafening music drifted in from the windows.
Dean pressed the knife to Bob’s neck, limping along behind him toward the stairs.
A makeshift bandage staunched the blood in Bob’s thigh.
“Why Mona? You had several ex-girlfriends more beautiful, better figures,” Dean snarled.
“She’s different,” Bob replied, head down, his face shadowed. “She has a unique aura. Her smile is sunny, infectious—she lifts everyone’s spirits.”
“Believe it or not, I kidnapped her just to find the secret to her happiness. For someone rich as me, money can’t buy contentment.”
“I guarantee she’s safe right now—fed, clothed, unharmed.”
“Pray, pray you’re telling the truth. Or I’ll show you what it means to wish you were dead!” Dean’s eyes flashed cold, his mind racing with visions of torture.
“Save your strength—what threat am I to you now?” Bob said pitifully.
...
A cold night wind swept through the narrow corridor as they passed the fire box.
Bang!
Outside, fireworks erupted.
Bang!
Streams of colored light shot skyward, dazzlingly tearing through the night.
Above the pool, intense light turned night into day.
Dean, near the window, blinked painfully, tears springing to his eyes.
Bob, pressed against the wall, seized the chance to reach behind the fire box.
When his left hand returned, it held a gleaming black pistol.
His left hand gripped the pistol, finger on the trigger, aiming at Dean—
Dean’s vision cleared just in time to see the barrel.
Click!
Slice!
A bullet fired, a blade struck flesh.
Both happened at once.
Two figures brushed lightly, then parted.
Bob was thrown sideways against the wall, right arm impaled by the bloody knife, slumping to the floor.
But he gripped the pistol tightly, firing again!
Bang!
His injuries made his hand tremble, the shot missed, hitting only air.
Dean rolled across the floor, leaving drops of blood, burst through the door, and fled into the nearest private screening room.
He pushed a single sofa to the TV, hiding behind it.
Breathing in fear.
His left arm burned with pain from the bullet graze.
He wiped it—his hand came away red.
“Damn it, he stashed a gun in the hallway!”
A gun.
In all his lives, Dean had never been wounded by firearms—fear welled up.
He was cornered.
What now?
Use the sofa as a shield and charge? Could it really protect him?
...
In a flash, the situation reversed.
Outside, Bob roared in frustration:
“Haha, scared now? Weren’t you bold a moment ago?”
“Filthy chink, I’ll tear you to pieces! Torture you ten, a hundred times over!”
His face—scarred by glass—twisted with venom and madness.
Wounded all over, his breathing was harsh, each breath a struggle.
But he didn’t call for help. He wanted to seize the chance to lawfully kill this trespassing maniac.
Once and for all, rid himself of Dean.
As long as this madman lived, he’d never sleep easy!
Bob extended his left arm, holding the gun with textbook precision, aiming at the darkness just beyond the door.
The private screening room had no windows to the outside.
Dean was trapped.
But inside, it was pitch-black, vast and wide. Bob, hampered by his injuries, wouldn’t risk charging in.
“So you lied? Where did you really take Mona?”
A cold, trembling voice echoed from within, tense as if awaiting a verdict.
Bob felt a surge of vengeful pleasure.
“Idiot, want to know where Mona went? I’ll mercifully tell you now!”
At the doorway, Bob taunted like a hunter savoring the chase.
He wanted to provoke the madman into charging out.
“Guess—what was the blue plastic bucket in the bathroom for? Hint one: chemistry class.”
A videocam was hurled from the darkness, landing nowhere.
Bob’s ears caught a beast-like roar of rage from inside; he laughed with satisfaction.
“Fool, still not getting it? Hint two… the tape labeled 001 in the right cabinet. You checked it sneakily, didn’t you? Remember the title?”
Dead silence fell over the room.
“Congratulations, you guessed it!” Bob cackled, blood spraying as he raved. “The answer is 'The Incredible Melting Man'!”
Plastic bucket? Melting man?
The air seemed to drain away.
In suffocating despair, Dean slumped in the darkness.
“But now I’ve realized—book knowledge isn’t always right. Only practice gives the real answer. It took me a week to finally turn that woman’s clothes, hat, skin, flesh, bones—and her disgusting, cheap smile—into sludge!”
“The whole process was… amusing.”
“And guess what?”
“I flushed that pile of pollution down the drain!”
“Haha, I fulfilled Mona’s destiny—the girl who lived in the sewers finally became one with the sewers, forever among cockroaches and rats!”
“Haha, am I not a great guy, Dean? I’ll melt you and flush you down too, let you reunite with your girlfriend—how’s that?”
“Aren’t you going to thank me—bow your head, as your kind’s custom goes?”
Bob’s deranged laughter echoed near and far.
Dean’s vision darkened, a bitter, metallic taste filled his mouth, his spirit torn, his organs twisted in agony—he nearly fainted.
Why such cruelty?
Why?!
Despair crashed over him like a breached dam.
All his efforts had been in vain.
Dazed, the system shuddered.
The progress bar leapt from eighty-five percent to full.
Scarlet words appeared—
You have learned Mona’s true fate—Bob Lowe dissolved her with chemicals, leaving no trace in the world. You will never find her.
Investigation progress: 100%.
Reward awaiting collection.
“Why is it that you paupers, mongrels, parentless strays, sewer freaks—are always so happy? Laughing in my face, laughing… it disgusts me!”
“Meanwhile, we—the true masters of Las Vegas—are misunderstood, our talents wasted, always depressed, suffering, in pain?”
Bob’s roar echoed amid the pounding music.
“Tell me why?”
“Speak, you waste! Come out, coward! After all this, you still hide, afraid to avenge your beloved girlfriend?!”
Click—
Bob fired into the darkness, hitting only empty air. He reloaded using a spare magazine from beneath the fire box.
Dean silently focused on the system rewards.
Claim reward.
You have gained 60 experience—Personal level lv0 (90/100)
You have received the gratitude of your predecessor, Dean Lu.
Superpower—Shadow of the Past lv0:
Now, do you feel it?
Mockery, humiliation!
Torment, pain!
Loss, fury!
A weak, mutated soul.
Lurking in your former body, wailing day and night after losing its beloved.
It wanders between void and reality, searching for answers in confusion and darkness, relentlessly tormenting your spirit and flesh as successor.
At last, you have dispelled its haze, revealed the cruel truth.
With the system as witness.
Henceforth, it will obey and serve you!
Now, release it—let the shadow of yesterday return, let it draw on your spirit and take vengeance!
...
That guy from the past—he’s always been with me?!
Then come forth, Dean!
Come forth!
Shadow of the Past!
Dean glared fiercely, expelling every breath from his chest toward the darkness and his enemy!
In answer—
A figure deep as night, black as ink, flew angrily from his body!
...
Bob Lowe, waiting outside, suddenly sensed a sinister wind rushing from the darkness.
As if hateful eyes in hell watched him, making his hair stand on end, his skin tear open!
His senses screamed.
Bob fired repeatedly.
Bang bang bang!
Bullets shot into empty darkness. Then, in the narrow corridor, something utterly unnatural occurred—
Ding, ding—two bullets dropped to the floor, spent, as if hitting nothing.
“Fxxk! Who’s there?!”
“What the hell?!”
“Who?!”
Bob’s face changed, he turned to flee.
Bang!
An invisible force struck his throat, pain like strangulation, flinging him backwards.
Bang!
He crashed into the wall, cracks spreading, dust flying, he slid down as if boneless.
Pain tormented every cell.
But the suffering had only begun.
Crunch, crunch, the sound of breaking bones—
Bob’s wrists and ankles twisted backward unnaturally, skin tearing to expose raw, pale, bloody bone!
In a blink, he was crippled.
Ahhhh!
“God!”
“Invisible demon!”
“Demon!”
“God, drive it away!”
Bob’s agonized screams and pleas were drowned by the disco outside.
The unseen force persisted.
It pulled the knife from his right arm.
The blade, unmanned, gleaming, spun once in midair.
Then—
Slice, slice...
It stabbed Bob again and again, the blade rising and falling like a bat’s wings.
The corridor’s chandelier swayed, the disabled shadow twitched as if in a fit, screams and howls vanished into the music, and blood splattered like ink stains.
...
Click, click, click—
Dean, left arm clutching a poster, emerged from the darkness.
Light fell on his pale, weary face—one side blazing, the other frozen.
He picked up the Colt from the floor.
The eerie force obeyed his command, releasing the nearly unrecognizable man from the pool of blood.
It became a gusting wind.
“Bob Lowe!”
Dean’s bloodshot eyes locked on the vulnerable, wretched, suffering monster before him. He squatted and battered Bob’s face with the gun.
His nose broke, eye burst—Bob Lowe howled like a butchered beast.
When his face was nearly mush, Dean pressed the bloody muzzle to his head—time to end it.
“Help… spare me…”
Bob’s swollen eyes squeezed out a plea, but only cold judgment answered:
“You are beyond redemption!”
“Go to hell!”
Bang!
The gun thundered, Bob’s head exploded like a watermelon.
A prompt flashed before Dean’s eyes.
You killed Bob Lowe with a Colt M1911A1.
Gained proficiency +10
Skill unlocked—Shooting lv0 (10/100)...
...
Dean took a deep breath, pulled back his wrist jarred by recoil.
He turned, and beside Bob’s unblinking corpse, crouched a pure black shadow.
Lines of electric arcs danced across its body, shifting like clouds on the horizon.
Dean looked into its face.
Four eyes met.
Cold moonlight through the corridor window revealed two faces with identical features—like twins.
One lively, one shrouded in black mist, expression blank, eyes hollow—a puppet without soul.
Yet Dean glimpsed a flash of relief and gratitude in those dark, empty eyes.
A hoarse, wooden voice echoed in Dean’s mind:
I am the shadow of yesterday.
From now on,
I will be your right hand,
Obeying your commands.
“It’s over,” Dean whispered, wiping tears from his eyes. At his order, the shadow swept up the visible shell casings and bullets, wiped fingerprints from the bloody kitchen knife, and placed it in Bob’s hand.
The "Shadow of the Past" used Bob’s blood to write two misleading, cryptic letters—NR—beside the corpse, and arranged the body in a bizarre, kneeling pose toward the letters.
Like a religious ritual.
If this could muddy the police’s investigation, Dean’s efforts would not be wasted.
“Let’s go, partner… let’s take Mona and go home.”
The "Shadow of the Past" returned to Dean’s body.
A surge of weakness swept over him. Dean, clutching the poster, strode into the darkness of the hallway.