The streets of Houston were alive with distant car horns and faint murmurs, but the air around the hotel felt unnervingly still as Hutton, Bob, and Boma approached its grand entrance. The building lood above them, its glass doors reflecting the faint glow of streetlights.
"This is it," Boma muttered, his eyes narrowing as he stopped a few paces from the door. "The presence I’ve been sensing—it’s coming from inside."
Hutton glanced at Bob, whose usual composed deanor seed a touch tenser than usual. Bob gave him a slight nod, silently signaling readiness, and the trio stepped through the glass doors.
The lobby was lavishly decorated with golden chandeliers, marble floors, and intricate patterns etched into the walls. The atmosphere, however, was anything but welcoming. The mont they crossed the threshold, a wave of palpable hostility washed over them, sending a chill down their spines.
"Do you feel that?" Bob whispered, his eyes darting around the room.
Hutton nodded grimly. "Killing intent. A lot of it."
The receptionist hall was deceptively quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. The staff behind the polished front desk appeared normal at first glance, but Hutton quickly noticed subtle signs: stiff postures, overly rehearsed smiles, and eyes that betrayed an unnatural sharpness.
"They’re not civilians," Boma muttered, his voice low but firm.
The trio instinctively moved closer together, their senses heightened as they scanned the room. The chandelier above cast flickering shadows, and the mirrored walls seed to amplify the tension.
A soft click echoed through the room—a sound so faint it could have been mistaken for a pen tapping. But Hutton’s sharp eyes darted toward the source. Near the entrance to the elevators, a man in a suit shifted slightly, his hand casually resting on what appeared to be the hilt of a concealed blade.
"They’re everywhere," Bob said, his voice barely audible. His eyes locked onto another figure leaning against a column, seemingly casual but with the air of a predator waiting to strike.
Boma smirked faintly, though his tone was anything but amused. "They know we’re here. Looks like they’ve been expecting us."
Hutton’s hands clenched into fists, his gaze steady as he took a step forward. "Good. Saves us the trouble of introducing ourselves."
As if responding to his words, the lights in the hall flickered once, then stabilized. The tension in the room thickened, the killing intent pressing against them like a tangible force.
Suddenly, a figure erged from a side door, dressed impeccably in a dark suit and carrying an air of authority while his face is masked. His sharp eyes scanned the trio before stopping on Hutton, his lips curling into a thin smile.
"Welco," the man said, his voice dripping with mock hospitality. "You’ve co far, but I’m afraid your journey ends here."
Hutton’s eyes narrowed. "We’ll see about that."
The man’s smile widened as he snapped his fingers. At that mont, several figures stepped out of the shadows, weapons gleaming faintly under the chandelier’s light, their expressions cold and resolute.
Bob shifted slightly, readying himself, while Boma’s expression remained calm, though his eyes glead with an unspoken warning. Hutton stood at the forefront, his aura steady but filled with a growing intensity.
The room seed to hold its breath, the calm before the storm. The killing intent in the air solidified, and the battle was monts from igniting.
And in an instant, a dozen figures lunged toward Hutton, Bob and Boma with lethal precision, weapons gleaming under the dim light. The trio reacted as if they had rehearsed this a thousand tis, their movents fluid and seamless.
Hutton leapt forward, deflecting a blade aid at his neck with his reinforced gauntlet. He countered with a swift strike to the attacker’s midsection, sending the man sprawling to the floor. Nearby, Bob moved like a shadow, his hands a blur as he disard two attackers simultaneously, their weapons clattering to the ground.
Boma, standing at the center of the chaos, unleashed a wave of spiritual energy that sent a group of enemies flying backward, slamming them into the walls. His calm yet focused expression radiated confidence as he tore through their ranks with unrelenting precision.
The battle raged on, each second feeling like an eternity. The air was thick with the sound of clashing weapons, heavy breathing, and the occasional grunt of pain. The elegant décor of the hall was reduced to rubble, shards of glass and splinters of wood littering the floor.
Despite the overwhelming numbers, Hutton, Bob, and Boma held their ground. Their synergy was impeccable–Hutton’s explosive strength, Bob’s agility, and Boma’s devastating techniques combined into a storm that their enemies couldn’t withstand.
One by one, the attacker’s fell. Blood stained the once-pristine marble floor, and the oppressive killing intent that had filled the room began to dissipate.
Finally, the last opponent crumbled to the ground, leaving only the man in the suit standing. He was breathing heavily, his once-pristine attire now tattered and stained with blood.
Hutton, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths, strode toward the man and grabbed him by the collar. He slamd him against the wall, his eyes blazing with fury. "You’ve got one chance. Where is your boss?"
The man smirked weakly, his lips curling despite the pain etched across his face. "You’ll never make it to him," he spat.
Bam!!
Hutton’s fist connected with the man’s jaw, sending a shockwave of pain through his body. "Wrong answer," Hutton growled, his tone ice-cold before he continued.
Bam! Bam!! Bam!!!
Finally, the man groaned in pain, his defiance crumbling under the weight of Hutton’s relentless interrogation. "Alright, alright!" He gasped, his voice laced with desperation. "He’s... he’s at the top floor. The penthouse. That’s where he’s waiting!"
Right after that, Hutton released him, letting the man slump to the ground. Without a word, he turned to Bob and Boma, who were already preparing to move.
"Let’s finish this," Hutton said grimly, his voice steady despite the chaos they had just endured.
The trio then stepped over the unconscious bodies littering the floor and made their way toward the elevator. Behind them, the man on the ground groaned softly, clutching his injuries as the lobby descended into an eerie silence onec more.
The elevator doors closed with a faint chi, and the trio braced themselves as the car began it’s ascent. Their target was within reach, and the air was thick with tension. They knew the battle ahead would be even more dangerous, but they also knew there was no turning back.
Soon after the trio left the hall, the man with the broken jaw slumped against the wall, his breaths shallow and ragged as he tried to collect himself. The searing pain from his dislocated jaw was unbearable, but survival instinct kept him alert. Just as he reached for his communicator, a presence washed over the hall like a suffocating wave of darkness.
His eyes snapped toward the entrance, and there, standing in the remnants of the chaotic battlefield, was a figure cloaked entirely in black. The man’s appearance was unnatural, his body shrouded in an aura that seed to twist the very air around him.
The injured man coughed, struggling to push himself up. "Who... who are you? What... do you want?" he rasped through the agony, his words barely comprehensible.
The figure in the dark cloak said nothing, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. The eerie silence that followed was more unsettling than any response could have been.
The man with the broken jaw tried again, his voice trembling. "I asked you a question! You have no business here—"
But before he could finish, the figure suddenly stopped and turned its hooded face toward him. A faint red glow flickered where its eyes should have been, locking onto the man.
For a split second, nothing happened. And then, the man’s body stiffened as a cold, invisible force gripped him. His eyes widened in sheer terror as he felt sothing unnatural pulling at his very essence. His life force began to drain rapidly, flowing toward the cloaked figure like a river of light.
"No... no!" he gasped, his voice barely audible as his strength left him. His skin paled, his body convulsed, and within monts, he crumpled to the ground—lifeless, his once-vibrant energy now coursing through the figure in the dark cloak.
The cloaked man tilted his head slightly, as if assessing the elevator in the distance. Without hesitation, he moved with unnerving speed, his footsteps silent as death itself.
As he reached the elevator doors, he raised a hand, and the panel glowed faintly as if responding to his touch. The elevator, already on its way up, suddenly shuddered to a halt, its lights flickering ominously.
The cloaked figure stepped into the second elevator beside it, his dark aura seeping into the tal walls as the doors closed. The hum of the machinery resud, and the car ascended toward the penthouse, following the path of Hutton, Bob, and Boma.
The hall fell silent once more, save for the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. The lifeless body of the man with the broken jaw lay crumpled near the wall, his face frozen in a mixture of fear and agony. Sothing far more sinister than anyone could have anticipated was now in pursuit.
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