Lucian Thorn

"Wooohooo!!"

The tires screamed against the asphalt as Lucian threw the wheel to his left, jamming into the pesky car following him with bone-crushing force.

"Boom baby!"

CRASH

There was a tremendous explosion as the car smashed into the dividers, ramming into them at a speed that would make even trains ashamed.

Rat-tat-tat-tat

A burst of gunfire erupted from the cars following him. The bullets hammered against his vehicle but were only able to leave superficial scratches on its reinforced surface.

"Idiots. Wasting their damn bullets on my armored beauty," Lucian sneered. He'd made a complete mess of the city—wreckage of cars, the aftermath of his ruthless hunt, lay scattered everywhere like broken toys.

With a deafening roar, the Porsche burst into a drift, smoke swirling around its rear wheels like a vortex, a raging storm. Thorn brought the car to a precise stop in front of what appeared to be a weapons museum, the tires leaving thick black marks on the pavement.

He quickly extracted his briefcase from the car and rushed into the building, breaking open the lock of the place with practiced brutality.

"Let's make things interesting, khahahaha."

The museum was a labyrinth of darkness, its shadows broken only by the sinister shimmer of metal tools. The glint of sharp and lethal pieces of steel winked at him from every direction—weapons that could rip the heads off human beings with just a single, decisive swing.

Step Step Step Step

"You all finally reached."

Glass shattered violently

Lucian broke open the glass cabinet surrounding the various axes and pulled out a deadly poleaxe and a massive battleaxe, donning them in each of his two hands, their weight familiar and comforting.

BANG

The door broke open with explosive force.

And so was Lucian's bloodthirsty personality unleashed.

The Raven was thirsty for carnage.

The Raven was thrilled by the hunt.

The men rushed into the building expecting a simple fourteen-against-one gunfight, but what met them instead was Lucian's ruthless steel.

Whoosh Thud Thud

The sickening sound of tearing flesh. Two distinct thuds followed—one from the man's body, the other from his separated head.

They were forever divided.

With his other hand, he thrust the pointed spear of his poleaxe deep into another man's abdomen and yanked it out with savage force.

Crack

A man pointed his gun towards Lucian and fired. Lucian read the bullet's trajectory perfectly, shifted slightly to the right, and the bullet whistled past him to strike the man behind.

Lucian precisely hacked at another man's neck, transforming him into a headless corpse in an instant.

A desperate attacker reached out to a nearby cabinet and grabbed a ceremonial knife.

He rushed towards Lucian, attempting to thrust the blade straight into Lucian's exposed back.

Lucian ducked with inhuman grace, and the man tumbled forward, meeting the sharp tip of Lucian's pointed axe which pulverized his brain.

Lucian hurled his battleaxe through the air with deadly precision.

The flying weapon embedded itself in the middle of a person's head, splitting it cleanly into two grotesque halves.

He snatched up the fallen knife, drove it deep into the left side of a man's chest, then immediately volleyed it with lethal accuracy into another man's right eye.

After that, it descended into pure, unrestrained massacre.

Lucian with his axe moved like a demon god straight from hell in the terrified men's eyes.

And this demon was advancing towards them with fresh blood dripping from his gore-stained axe.

The demon god was approaching, and with him came their inevitable deaths.

No one survived the slaughter—every single one of them met their end.

Most weren't even granted the dignity of a complete corpse.

Step Step Step

"More of them?"

Lucian flicked his wrist to check his watch: 21:15.

"Last of them," a deadly and ferocious smile spread across Lucian's blood-spattered face.

Lucian positioned himself strategically beside the glass cabinets full of cold weapons and systematically destroyed every single one.

Crack Crack Crack Crack

Dark figures materialized at the already broken door.

Whoosh Thud Whoosh Thud

What greeted them was instantaneous death. Two flying axes found their mark, pinned deep in their skulls.

Shroooom Shriiiiim Tssssssss Shhhhhhhh

Various weapons rained down like deadly hail, and armed men dropped like flies in winter.

The intelligent ones positioned themselves beside the door, not daring to peek inside, while the overconfident ones had long since joined the dead.

After what felt like an eternity, the weapon barrage finally ceased.

Minutes crawled by in tense silence before one man gathered enough courage to peek through the door.

Schink

His head, once proudly attached to his body, now lay among the dozens of corpses on the floor.

His head had been sliced clean off with a sword, as easily as cutting paper with a razor-sharp knife.

Lucian, now armed with a gun in one hand and a gleaming western sword in the other, made his way purposefully through the door.

Bang Blam

Two precise shots, another body crumpled. He slashed at another person desperately trying to pull their trigger, granting them an instant death.

The massacre continued unabated until the clock struck 22:00.

Tick Tick Tick

Lucian was just about to slash through another man's neck, but he stopped mid-swing.

The man, scared beyond rational thought, collapsed in a trembling heap on the floor.

"It's ten already. Hey, your luck is really good—you should try for the lottery."

"M-Mr. Th-Thorn, spare me," the man bent low on his knees, bursting into hysterical tears.

"Not like I can do anything to you now though," Lucian said casually, walking away to his waiting Porsche.

The surviving man stared at Lucian Thorn's retreating back, transfixed with terror.

He didn't see Thorn but a devil who had run rampant in the human realm, massacring without mercy or hesitation. A being that granted death in the cruelest ways imaginable.

---

The Holy Sanctuary

The saint looked thoughtfully at the document in his hand, a mysterious smile playing across his lips.

"As expected of the Raven."

His statement was accompanied by gentle, knowing laughter.

"Viktor made a grave mistake."

He carefully placed down the document and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the sacred halls.

---

Inside a Flight Towards Somewhere Unknown

An old man dressed in vintage clothes studied his tablet intently, a gentle smile gracing his weathered features.

"The Raven's next destination: New York."

He glanced contemplatively at the ceiling, as if seeing beyond it into the future.

---

Moscow, Russia

"Voron, well done. It wouldn't be entertaining if your wings were clipped on the very first day."

Volkov stroked his pristine white cat while gazing through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall at the vast expanse of Moscow sprawling before his eyes.

One of the seven days of the Ordeal was over.

The Raven flew into full flight.

He killed till nothing remained in sight.

He slaughtered men like mites.

Still his shirt remained the same white.