CHAPTER 170: THE DEVIL WEARS A SMILE
The man looked at the remaining circle of men and released a slow, chilling smile. He nodded lightly, like a performer about to begin a monologue, then gently continued.
"You see," he said, lifting a sleek, black envelope into the air, "someone sent me an invitation. A very compelling one."
The gold lettering on the envelope caught the light, gleaming like something cursed.
James's jaw tightened. Jared, standing beside him, could feel the shift, like a storm gathering under skin.
"And James," the man drawled, his gaze locking with his, "I must tell you... I couldn't resist. I had to come—even if just to see the both of you."
He paused, then turned slowly, scanning the circle.
"So... let's see the people left to face me." He pointed at each man with deliberate precision, calling out their names like indictments.
"Harry Stevens. The doctor."
Harry raised a brow but said nothing, his stance steady. Still, the vein in his neck gave him away.
"Jerry Bridgestone," the man went on with a smirk, "the police guy."
He chuckled at his own words, fully aware that Jerry was more than "just" a police guy.
Jerry's fists clenched. His eyes burned. "It seems you're deranged."
The man chuckled lightly. "Oh, Jerry... you have no idea."
The atmosphere thickened, dense with restrained anger.
"And please," he said, raising a finger and wagging it slowly, "try not to interrupt me again."
He turned back to his invisible list. "Where was I? Ah, yes, Victor Faraday, the scientist."
Victor narrowed his eyes, saying nothing, but his jaw flexed slightly.
"And then…" he paused dramatically, stopping before Henry, pretending to search his memory. He tilted his head, tapping his fingers together thoughtfully.
Then, with a snap, "Aha! I got it. Henry Lockwood. The B-list actor."
Which was a blatant lie.
Everyone in that room knew Henry was ranked number three on the global actor power index, with enough wealth and influence to shake a nation.
But Henry didn't flinch. He kept calm, not a muscle moving except for the ones in his fists, which tightened silently by his side.
"And then," the man sneered, eyes twinkling maliciously, "there's the lackey."
He turned to Jared.
"Jared. Fucking. Alfred. The man who un-named himself and has nothing else to his legacy but the shadow of his brother. The one who crawled into a name that was never his. Bravo."
The room felt colder.
Jared's chest rose, slow and dangerous, but he didn't move yet.
"And now," the man said, finally turning back to James with a mock flourish. "We come to the one the world revolves around."
He smiled.
A smile that wasn't kind. That held venom in its silence.
James stood, still as granite. Unbothered on the surface.
But something behind his eyes shifted like a storm waiting to be unleashed.
"You know, James," the man began, casually strolling forward, "I've been hearing all kinds of stories about you. Thought you'd be… bigger. You know, huge." He demonstrated with his hands, then sighed with exaggerated disappointment.
James cocked his head slightly, eyes calm. "I only get big when I'm really mad. And trust me, it's not a pretty sight."
His voice dropped, sharp as steel. "Now cut the theatrics and fucking tell us who you are. It's obvious you know more about us than you should. So why drag this out? You're starting to sound boring."
The man chuckled, low and amused. "Oh, James, James, James… I'm just getting to the interesting part."
Then his eyes shifted.
Dark. Chilly. Like a blizzard gathering behind them.
The room changed.
The temperature dropped so fast, the air itself seemed to hiss.
James narrowed his eyes. His skin prickled as goosebumps trailed across his arms. The others shifted uncomfortably.
Jared shivered.
Victor rubbed his arms.
Then… it got worse.
Much worse.
Frost suddenly laced the corners of the hall.
James could see the man's face paling, as if the cold was rising from him. And yet… he was smiling. He looked like a man possessed. Determined. Dangerous. Ready to die if it meant taking them down with him.
Then Jared fell.
Hard.
Harry dropped next, then Victor, then Henry.
Jerry groaned as he collapsed to his knees, his breath visible in the air like smoke. His teeth chattered violently as he tried desperately to hold himself. "What the fuck is this…" he managed, but his voice broke.
Only James remained standing.
Barely.
His body trembled, but he forced stillness on himself. He clenched his jaw. He couldn't let this bastard win, not like this.
He turned, heart twisting, as he saw his brothers down—shivering, gasping, weakening.
He snapped his gaze back to the man.
The power was draining the man too. James could see it in the way his hands trembled, how sweat mixed with the icy sheen on his brow but he didn't stop.
And James knew.
He wouldn't stop.
Not until they were all dead.
And right now… James didn't have time to power up. Not when he hadn't mastered full control of his powers yet.
He had no choice.
He clenched his fists and swallowed his pride.
"Enough!" James's voice boomed, rattling the walls.
"What the fuck do you want?!" he shouted again, his voice slicing through the tension like a blade.
Everything halted.
The man blinked.
The cold lifted, slowly, like a phantom retreating.
He inhaled deeply, regaining his breath. "Whew… James… any longer and something drastic might have happened." He chuckled darkly. "You really are as strong as they say. Impressive."
Then, clapping his hands together like a deranged host at a game show, he grinned.
"Well, well, well," he said, stretching his arms. "Time to officially introduce myself, don't you think?"
He stepped forward, arms open like he was greeting old friends.
"Meet me then… Daryl Harold Hutchkins," he announced dramatically, bowing low.
"The beginning of your worst fucking nightmare."