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The guard at the back door was hunched deep into the shadows.
The rain was coming down like a madman's tantrum, hammering on the tin roof above his head, rattling so loudly it felt like it was drilling into his brain. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off tonight.
A cold wind crept along the wall like a sneaky thief and sliced across his skin like a paper cut. He rubbed his frozen hands, the knuckles white and stiff. He flipped up his coat collar and tucked himself deeper into the corner, fishing out a cigarette to shake off the drowsiness.
Just as his lighter clicked—
BOOM!
A huge noise tore through the night, shaking the ground under his boots.
Chaos broke out in the front yard.
He jerked his head out to look, but in the rain and mist, all he could see were blurred shadows.
Suddenly, a cold breeze brushed his face—thin and sharp as a cat's claws. His skin stung.
By the time he realised the danger—it was far too late.
SPLAT!
A black shadow zipped along the ground, fast enough to seem like a bad trick of the eye.
He barely caught a glimpse of two cold, glinting eyes—and a set of claws slashing through the air like razors.
Skin tore open. Blood spurted.
He tried to gasp, but all he could hear was the roaring sound of waves crashing inside his head, like he was trapped underwater.
The world faded to grey. His limbs turned slow and heavy.
As he crumpled to the ground, he faintly heard someone shouting in the distance—but the rain drowned it all out.
The creature's grip was inhumanly strong, fingers like iron clamps locked around his throat, claws digging deep into his windpipe.
That face—so close now—was ghostly pale, dead-eyed and utterly cold.
He struggled to breathe, managing only a broken rasp:"Hkk—hkk—"
In the final second before darkness took him, he felt himself being drained of life—as if he were nothing more than a sponge squeezed dry.
He collapsed in a heap.
Not far off, another guard was already getting twitchy, as nervous as a cat in a rocking chair store.
He thought he heard something strange, but the rain muddied every sound.
Then he caught a glimpse of a figure dropping to the ground.
Instantly, he yanked his pistol from his belt and fired!
BANG!
The bullet whipped past the shadow's side—but missed.
Before he could even swear, the black figure was on him, moving faster than a hiccup.
A freezing hand grabbed his wrist—
CRACK!
The sound of his bones snapping was sharp and clear.
The guard's face went sheet-white, and the pain made the world spin.
The pistol dropped uselessly to the floor, his wrist now twisted at an impossible angle.
He tried to scream—but it felt like his throat had filled with water.
And then—
Warm blood gushed from his neck, spraying over his face.
He couldn't see anymore, only feel the wet, sticky mess. It was his own blood, misting into the rain, even splattering the black figure's face—but the creature didn't even flinch.
Three seconds.
From the first guard falling, to the second one's death—it all took three seconds.
The air was thick with the stench of blood, and the darkness seemed to grin like a wolf ready to feast.
The dying guard's mind held only one clear thought:
This thing isn't human. It's a beast.
At that moment, the villa's lights snapped off—
and the world was swallowed by black.
Panic exploded inside the house.
In a hidden room, Mr Park was barking into his radio:
"Looks like we're not dealing with just one intruder! They've even started playing tricks!
Pfft, these old games! How quaint."
He ordered his men:
"Open the cabinet—I stocked it earlier. Night-combat helmets inside."
Without hesitation, he slammed his hand down on the villa's alarm system.
The shrill sirens wailed into the night.
Park knew the system well: this level of alarm only triggered in real emergencies.
By now, a squad of hired mercenaries would be speeding towards the house—only ten minutes away.
The bodyguards strapped on their helmets with night vision, moving sharp and quick like they were on a training exercise.
But as soon as they stormed down to the ground floor—
They saw it.
A puddle of blood by the back door.
Their faces changed.
Whoever had come in—they weren't amateurs.
In a side room, Young Master, disguised as Mr Park, froze the moment he saw Shen Lu's face.
Shen Lu was deathly pale, clearly hanging onto life by a thread.
But when their eyes met, Shen Lu jolted—because despite the old man's disguise, there was something strangely familiar about those eyes.
The Young Master blinked, a hidden smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth.
But Shen Lu beat him to speaking, rushing his words:
"Mr Park, I have a secret! I must report it to you privately!"
The two guards sneered and roughly threw Shen Lu onto the muddy grass.
Splashes of filthy water soaked him from head to toe.
One of the guards snorted and lifted his boot—
THUMP!
He kicked Shen Lu hard in the face, swelling his cheek up like a loaf of over-proofed bread.
"Enough," the Young Master said lazily, waving the guard away.
"But Boss," one of the guards muttered,"he's clearly lying. We should teach him a lesson first."
The Young Master couldn't be bothered to explain.
He simply said:
"Drag him inside."
Though reluctant, the guards obeyed.
They hauled Shen Lu into a small side room of the villa and slammed the door shut, leaving the two men alone.
The room instantly grew heavy with tension.
The Young Master leaned against the wall, drawling:
"Alright, little Shen—speak."
Shen Lu gasped for air, trying to sit upright, face bruised and dripping.
He gritted his teeth:
"Untie me first! Second Young Master—"
Outside, faint gunfire echoed, like a heart breaking somewhere in the night.
The lights in the villa flickered again.
The air was heavy and suffocating.
The Young Master narrowed his eyes, tapping the wall lightly with his fingers, an amused smile playing on his lips.
"What tricks are you playing at, little Shen?"
Shen Lu's face twisted in frustration.
He whispered urgently:
"Second Young Master, thank heavens it's you! I'm a victim here too!"
The Young Master raised an eyebrow, finally waving a hand:
"Let him loose. He's one of us."
The moment he was free, Shen Lu scrambled up, grabbing a cold wet towel and hurriedly pressing it to his swollen face.
Water dripped onto the pristine white carpet, soaking it with muddy blotches.
The Young Master, cigarette dangling from his mouth, watched him with lazy amusement—like a cat watching a mouse with nowhere left to run.
After a clumsy clean-up, Shen Lu hurried back to the Young Master's side, his face grim.
He lowered his voice:
"Second Young Master, you've been tricked! Their real target isn't you—it's Mr Park!"
The Young Master slouched on the sofa, exhaling a smoke ring with all the carelessness of someone choosing socks.
"I know. That old fox thinks he can use me as a shield.
But honestly—" he grinned,"—I'm finding this rather fun."
Shen Lu nearly choked on his own rage:
"Fun?! It's the Skinner leading the charge! His nickname is'The Heart-Ripper'! He doesn't just peel off your skin—he rips out your soul!"
The Young Master arched a brow, the very picture of dry humour:
"So what? Has he got six arms and a laser cannon?"
Shen Lu gritted his teeth, voice low and fierce:
"The guards downstairs won't last thirty seconds! If you don't wipe off that disguise now—you'll be dead before you can say'oops'!"
The Young Master chuckled, utterly relaxed.
He wandered over to the mirror, picked up a fresh towel, and began wiping off his old-man makeup as casually as if preparing for a night out.
Water trickled down his sharp, real face—
younger, colder, and far more dangerous than the disguise had suggested.
Shen Lu watched him carefully and asked, in a low voice:
"Second Young Master, you know Park's a snake. You still trust him?"
The Young Master tilted his head, smirking:
"If I don't play along, my own father will skin me alive later. What choice do I have?"
Shen Lu's expression darkened.
After a moment's silence, he bared his teeth in a nasty grin:
"Fine. Since you're willing—let's use this Skinner lot to get rid of Mr Park. Clean, quick, no mess."
The Young Master flicked water from his fingers, his eyes sharp as blades:
"Deal. If it works, our arrangement continues."
They exchanged a long look—an unspoken pact sealed with a whiff of blood in the air.
The bodyguards outside whipped out a blueprint of the villa, pointing to a marked spot.
Shen Lu nodded grimly.
In the darkness, the guards moved fast, night vision gear glowing green.
Now, they were the hunters—and the Skinner was the prey.
Gunfire poured like rain wherever the Skinner moved, forcing him back step by step.
Then—
BOOM!
A flashbang exploded.
Total chaos broke loose downstairs.
Blinded, deafened, bodyguards staggered and crashed into each other.
The whole ground floor turned into a spinning, roaring mess of gunshots, screams, and smoke.
Through it all, he appeared.
The Skinner Leader stepped from the blackness as if he were born of it, each step landing like a drumbeat inside everyone's ribs.
He was huge, eerily smooth in his movements, gliding like a shadow through the chaos.
His face twisted into a smile—but there was nothing human about it, only a mad, bloodthirsty glee.
"Good. Come in, why don't you," muttered Mr Park from inside his hidden chamber, watching the monitors with terror.
Without another thought, he scrambled into the secret escape elevator, jamming the button.
As the lift sank, the hidden wine cabinet slid back into place.
Outside the door, the sounds of slaughter grew louder.
Death was breathing down his neck.