People are scared in America, my uncle is Dante

Several beams of flashlight light shone in at once.

The carriage was empty except for a body, which was tightly bound to the driver's seat by the seatbelt, its neck broken.

"Damn it! There's only one corpse, no one else!"

Upon recognizing the corpse's face, the guard cried out in horror, "This is our man we sent to arrest him! He's already dead!"

"What?!"

"What the hell is going on?!"

A commotion suddenly broke out in the crowd, and all the guards raised their weapons, nervously scanning the surrounding darkness.

"Over there!"

Suddenly someone pointed to the factory rooftop and shouted.

Everyone suddenly looked up.

On the factory rooftop, several dark figures appeared out of nowhere.

Suren stood with his hands in his pockets, the night wind making his trench coat flutter. At his feet lay a corpse holding a sniper rifle.

He looked down with great interest at the crowd below who were on high alert, while Patty followed closely behind him.

Good evening, you trashy folks.

Suren's voice drifted over from above, echoing through the empty factory area.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed your work in this way, but it seems we'll have to shut down for an inspection tonight due to a power outage."

"Open fire! Turn him into a sieve!!"

The leader pointed to the rooftop and roared.

However, before they could pull the trigger, they were horrified to find that the entire abandoned factory was covered by a white fog.

Moreover, flashlights and searchlights could not illuminate the thick fog.

The soil and cement beneath their feet began to peel away in large areas, revealing the blood-red flesh and tissue underneath that was still throbbing slightly.

"What...what the hell is this?!"

"The ground...the ground is alive? It's breathing!"

"..."

Rusty iron wires, like venomous snakes, suddenly shot out from the white mist, tightly binding several outer guards.

"Ahhh!!"

Heart-wrenching screams rang out as barbed wire suspended them in the air in a spread-eagle position. More wire shot out, wrapping around the guards' bodies, tightening and tightening.

In the end, only a large amount of blood flowed out and was absorbed by the flesh and blood tissue below.

The Cleaners, who were so aggressive just a moment ago, are now completely terrified and broken down by these bizarre scenes.

Some of them collapsed to the ground, while others, like headless flies, dropped their weapons and rushed into the thick fog.

From within the fog, one after another, twisted and convulsing black figures emerged from the depths.

"Enjoy the final revelry to the fullest."

Suren nodded to the little girl floating beside her.

"Alessa, I'm leaving this place to you. Leave no one alive."

……

The basement level is the monitoring room.

The bodies of the security personnel were piled up in a corner.

Patty covered her mouth, her face ashen, her eyes fixed on the row of surveillance screens on the wall, her stomach churning.

The scene on the screen was a hundred times more gory than any R-rated horror movie she had ever seen.

Who would have thought that these usually impeccably dressed white-collar elites would now be wearing butcher leather jackets, wielding electric drills, handsaws, and all sorts of torture instruments they'd only ever seen in books, and wantonly committing atrocities against tourists tied to chairs?

They could be a lawyer spouting justice and fairness in court, a doctor providing you with compassionate care in a hospital, or even a friendly neighbor who greets you with a smile every morning when you bump into them in the elevator.

The tourists' severed limbs and the ecstatic faces of the perverts created a vivid picture of hell.

"How are you feeling?"

Suren stood quietly beside her, pressed the main switch to cut off all surveillance footage, and said softly,

"Sometimes, these guys in human skin are more like demons than the demons in hell."

"Sulen..."

Patty closed her eyes, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, her voice trembling, "Could we...kill them all?"

Suren looked at the girl's trembling body, and a layer of violent purplish-red magic power emanated from his entire body.

"Of course, that's why I came here."

……

Three underground floors, VIP-level torture chambers.

Ingrid, a top-tier wealthy woman, flew in overnight from the Netherlands.

She changed into a luxurious dark red evening gown and waited anxiously in a cozy and romantic room that had been meticulously decorated to her specifications.

She held a leather whip in her hand, pacing back and forth, already fantasizing about how she would humiliate the mixed-race youth.

The elevator indicator lights lit up one floor at a time.

"bite."

A pleasant notification sound rang out.

"Finally here, my little baby..."

Ingrid threw down her whip, her eyes filled with a morbid fervor and anticipation, and went to meet her.

The elevator doors slowly opened.

The expected man, bound hand and foot, did not appear; instead, a corpse was kicked out.

"Bang!"

Suren kicked aside the corpse blocking her way and entered the room.

Ingrid paid no attention to the corpse. Instead, when she saw what Suren looked like, her breathing suddenly became rapid.

His body was so upright, strong, and young, and he looked full of explosive power.

The pheromones emanating from his every move, coupled with a hint of blood on his body, made him far more alluring and dangerous than he appeared in photos.

Like a mad beast, Ingrid opened her arms and lunged forward to hug Suren and kiss her passionately.

But next second.

Her body flew back even faster than it had come, crashing onto the soft bed.

Ingrid clutched her stomach in pain; her usually pampered body ached all over from the impact.

The pain emanating from her body finally brought her reason, which had been overwhelmed by desire, back to its former heights, and she regained her senses.

Good evening, old woman.

Suren stood there, looking disgusted.

At your age, if you still want to date younger men, you should at least be twenty years younger.

He asked casually, "I heard you spent a lot of money to buy me?"

"Damn it, what the hell are those idiots outside doing?!"

Ingrid gasped in pain, scrambling out of bed, burning with rage.

She spent tens of millions to dominate her prey and enjoy the thrill of one-sided torture; she has no masochistic tendencies! This is not the way she wants to play!

She picked up the communicator from the bedside table and pressed the call button several times. After waiting a moment without a response, she banged on it a few more times.

"Don't waste your energy, they're all very busy right now, they're probably lining up in hell for a resurrection match."

Suren looked at her and said.

"Who...who are you?!"

Ingrid panicked. She looked at the man in front of her, then at the corpse beside her, and finally realized that something was wrong.

"Who I am is not important. I'm just curious, how much did you pay to buy me?"

Ingrid was overwhelmed by the terrifying pressure emanating from him and took a difficult breath:

"Thirty-five million US dollars..."

Upon hearing this, Suren clicked his tongue in amazement.

Good heavens, you risk your life to kill a demon, and the commission is barely a pittance.

As a result, once the photo was posted on the dark web, it sold for a staggering 35 million.

If I had known that these rich women's money was so easy to make, I would have just packaged myself up and sold myself a few more times. Why would I have taken on any commissions or become a demon hunter?

Of course, this is just something I'm saying to myself.

The thought of being touched by this old woman who reeks of stench makes Suren prefer to fight the succubus for three hundred rounds.

"You're really generous." He sneered. "Now, let's talk business."

"What kind of business?"

Ingrid shuddered; her instincts, honed by years of mingling in high society, made her immediately realize what was happening.

She clung to him like a drowning man grasping at a straw, shouting, "I have money! I have tons of money! Just name your price and let me go! I'll give you as much as you want!"

"clever."

Suren snapped his fingers and held up one finger.

"One million?"

Ingrid breathed a sigh of relief and asked.

A million dollars to save her life seemed like a great deal; she even felt her life was worth far more than that.

However, Suren shook her finger regretfully.

"Ten...ten million?!"

Ingrid asked, trembling.

She has already spent a fortune to buy Suren; ten million US dollars is an absolute financial drain on her.

"No, no."

Suren shook his head, his tone gentle: "I always set clear prices in my business dealings, and I treat everyone fairly, young and old."

He tossed a blood-stained cell phone onto the bed, and the words he spoke in his gentle tone sent a chill down Ingrid's spine:

"For every million you transfer to my account in the coming days, you will live one more minute or suffer one less torture device here."

He pointed to the dazzling array of torture instruments in the corner of the room and smiled:

"After all, little Alessa is very interested in these little toys."

……