Suarez looked up at the grinning giant towering above him.
His mouth opened, a whimper escaping.
"Gideon Krieg…"
Gideon's hand clamped over his face—not a strike. A seal.
His other hand rose, slow, deliberate.
"Shhh."
Suarez's body locked. Muscles frozen.
Still alive—but something inside had stopped breathing.
A voice cracked the silence from beyond the cage.
"Gideon! I swear on the Blessed Mother—if you hurt that boy, we'll end you!"
Gideon's head snapped toward the voice.
Gray eyes met the coach's—not human.
Ancient. Cold. A gaze that silenced wolves.
The crowd fell still.
Rick and his crew froze mid-step.
Even the Sicarios held their breath.
Yellow pinpricks pulsed in the rafters, unblinking.
Gideon spoke.
"I hate it when sheep wear wolveskin."
He dragged Suarez like a broken toy, hand over his mouth, blood trailing like ink.
"You thought this boy was a champion."
He stopped. Tilted his head. Smiled.
"But your champions are mortal. Just like you."
His grip shifted.
Crack.
Wet. Subtle. Surgical.
Blood spilled faster. Suarez's eyes bulged, whites wide with terror.
Gideon lifted him to eye level, bone creaking under his palm.
"I return to you… your broken fangs, pup."
He opened his hand.
Two sharp teeth sat in his palm—slick with blood, small as failure.
Suarez whimpered.
Gideon's voice softened, almost gentle.
"Is this how they sounded?"
"The ones you broke?"
"Did they beg?"
"Did you listen?"
He pulled him close.
"I won't, either."
Rick's scream tore from the cage's edge:
"DON'T DO IT, GIDEON! YOU'LL KILL US ALL!"
Gideon didn't hear.
His hand closed.
CRUNCH.
Suarez's face folded in—bone, flesh, history.
Gone.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
No screams. No shouts.
Just dripping—thick, slow.
Rick turned to his crew.
"RUN."
They ran.
Gideon stood, holding ruin. Looked at it—not in horror, not in triumph.
Disinterest.
He let it drop.
THUMP.
The body hit the mat like dead meat on stone.
Gideon knelt.
Placed the two teeth on Suarez's chest.
Stood. Turned. Walked to the gate.
CLUNK.
It opened.
No bullets. No blades. No resistance.
The cartel muscle didn't move.
The Sicarios didn't speak.
No one challenged the thing that bled a man to memory.
The coach crawled to the corpse.
Took its hand.
Wept like a man who understood war too late.
Gideon didn't look back.
The moon loomed—full, indifferent.
Gideon walked the city like mass given silence.
Hood up. Gloves over his shoulder.
Boots hit pavement like war drums.
He checked his phone.
Tried Rick. No answer.
Texted. "User cannot be reached."
He stared at the screen a beat too long.
"…Smart."
Sounds came—not from the street, but deeper.
A child's laugh. A woman's lullaby.
A scream that didn't end where it started.
He clenched his jaw. Kept walking.
Bass trembled through the concrete.
The city lived—but gave Gideon nothing.
Crowds spilled onto the sidewalk, heat and noise.
Three women stood at the edge, framed by neon haze.
The black-haired one noticed him first—pale skin, violet-tinted sunglasses catching the light.
She nudged her friend.
"That guy… he doesn't look around."
"Like he knows where he's going."
He didn't stop.
The redhead tracked him, steady, sharp.
"You alright?"
No answer.
"You've got blood on your knuckles."
"And it doesn't look new."
Gideon kept walking.
The brunette moved without asking.
Walked beside him, silent at first.
Then, quieter:
"You look like you've been somewhere bad."
"And you're not all the way out."
He stopped.
Turned—slightly. Enough to see them. Enough for them to feel it.
"What do you want?"
The redhead raised a brow.
"To know why people go quiet near you."
The black-haired one murmured:
"He's carrying something."
Gideon looked at them—not with interest. With distance.
"You walk?"
The brunette nodded.
"With you?"
"No," he said.
"Behind."
Stairs creaked under his weight.
The hallway smelled like steel and silence.
He opened the door. Walked in.
Minimal lighting. Heavy furniture.
A place built to endure, not impress.
He dropped the gloves.
Poured water. Didn't offer any.
Left the pitcher on the table.
Then turned to them.
"You can leave whenever you want."
Pause.
"But if you stay…"
He looked them over.
"…don't ask what's wrong with me."
"I don't want to lie."
They didn't move.
The door stayed shut.
From some corner of the outside hall a creature walked up the stairs looking at the door…
It's yellow eyes looked and it finally talked in a sicking mimicry of human speech.
"Finally...…..I found you".
He didn't let it in.It found him anyway.Next: the descent begins.