This is the life....
This was the only thought on Simke's mind as the voluptuous bartender slid another exotic drink his way, its vibrant colors shimmering under the bar's dim lights. He raised the glass to his lips, savoring the taste and the sensation of power that came with it. Around him, women laughed and leaned in close, drawn to his aura of danger and confidence.
The dimly lit bar was a haven of hedonism, where the city's elite came to indulge in their most decadent desires. With a grin that reached the corners of his mouth, he leaned back, savoring the ambiance. He was a picture of indulgence: his suit was tailored to perfection, and a dazzling array of rings adorned his fingers. An exotic drink—neon blue and served in a glass with a faint luminescence—sat on the table before him.
The occasional clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversations created a symphony of nightlife that enveloped him. He basked in the attention, his eyes scanning the room with a predator's keen gaze. Each woman who approached added to his ego, their flirtatious glances and playful touches feeding the fire of his charisma.
Tonight, he was king.
"Another round for everyone!" Simke shouted, his voice carrying across the room, prompting a cheer from the patrons. He tossed a handful of bills onto the table, not caring about the cost. Wealth, power, and indulgence were all his to command.
"Master Simke," one of the women purred, her fingers trailing lightly over his arm, "I've heard stories about your prowess in bed. Care to tell me if they're true?" she whispered, her voice a blend of curiosity and challenge.
He smiled, a slow, confident curve of his lips. "Depends on what you've heard. But I promise, the truth is always more exciting."
The woman laughed, a sultry sound that blended with the murmur of the bar. "I like a man with confidence," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Simke leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.
She shivered, a delighted thrill running down her spine as he began to grope her. His fingers continued to rove over the woman's body, his touch possessive and confident. She leaned into his caress, a soft moan escaping her lips. He chuckled, his gaze darting to the group of women around him. They were all pouting playfully, their hands trailing over his shoulders and chest, their eyes filled with playful envy.
"Ladies, ladies," Simke said, his voice mock-chiding, "There's plenty of me to go around. No need to fight over my attention," he added, his arrogance and self-assurance on full display.
Before the women could respond, the bar's doors swung open with a sudden force, and the mood shifted. Five figures stepped inside, their presence instantly commanding attention. They scanned the room and locked eyes onto him. Then, with the practiced grace of predators, they began to move towards him.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, setting his glass down. "Looks like the entertainment has just graced us with its presence," he remarked, sitting up slightly in his seat.
A small grin found its way to his face, not out of pleasure but anticipation. He could sense the change in the atmosphere, the underlying tension. The bartender's hand trembled as she poured another drink, and the patrons began to murmur, their eyes flicking nervously toward the newcomers.
They were professionals. Simke could tell by the way they moved with a practiced ease that showed their experience.
'Oh well, I haven't had a good fight since I broke through to the late-stage of the 1st-tier. Might as well test out my strength on these fools,' he muttered to himself, standing up and facing the approaching threat.
"What can I do for you gentlemen?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.
The leader of the group, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward. "Blue Devil Simke," he growled, "Old man Lu sends his regards."
Simke chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "And here I thought you were here to buy me a drink."
Their eyes were cold and calculating, not at all impressed by his joke. On the other hand, the grin on his face widened, a spark of excitement lighting in his eyes.
"But if it's a fight you want," he continued, "Who am I to disappoint?"
Both sides seemed to be ready. The women seated around Simke sensed the shift in the atmosphere and scattered as the five men spread out, flanking him from all sides.
Without another word, the contract killers attacked. The bar erupted into chaos as patrons scrambled to get out of the way.
One of the men struck, his fist a blur as it hurtled towards Simke's face. Simke sidestepped the punch, his reflexes honed from countless battles. But the second man was ready, delivering a swift kick to his midsection that sent him staggering back.
He winced but quickly recovered, blocking a punch from the third one and countering with a powerful uppercut. The fourth man took advantage of the momentary distraction, landing a well aimed shot to Simke's ribs. He grunted in pain, the force of the hit making him momentarily see stars.
The men were skilled, their coordinated attacks leaving him on the defensive. He dodged a shot, only to be caught by a punch to the jaw. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he only grinned wider, the thrill of the fight igniting something primal within him.
In a flash, another attacker charged forward, his weapon firing controlled bursts. Unwilling to be hit by the barrage of bullets, Simke activated a origin technique, massively increasing his speed for a short period. He darted backwards, moving harphazardly to reduce the chances of him getting hit.
While retreating, he turned swiftly and flicked his wrist, sending a hidden blade shooting from the sleeve of his tailored suit. The blade flew towards the nearest man, who barely had time to react before it embedded itself in his shoulder. The man cried out, his weapon clattering to the floor.
Simke on the other hand had hid behind a metal table, using it as cover against the barrage. The bullets ricocheted off the table, sending sparks flying. He stayed low, his mind racing as he assessed his next move.
"Is that all you've got?" he taunted over the din of gunfire, wiping the blood on his mouth away with the back of his hand. The men didn't respond with words but with renewed ferocity. They pressed their attack, forcing him to retreat step by step.
The table had endured enough and it shattered to pieces, forcing him to retreat behind another table. This continued for a short while until his back hit the edge of the bar, and for a moment, it seemed he was cornered.
As expected, it is still too much to fight using only techniques. However, if this is the limit of their ability, this fight is finished...
One of the men lunged, his blade aimed for Simke's heart. In that instant, Simke's eyes flashed with a dangerous light. He smirked, his body beginning to glow with an ethereal blue light.
"Blue Devil Transformation!"
Simke's transformation for which he gained his moniker was a sight to behold. His already imposing figure expanded, his skin turning a deep shade of blue that seemed to shimmer in the dim light of the bar. Muscles bulged beneath his suit, tearing through the fabric as he grew taller and broader. He grew in size, towering over the men as he transformed into a small blue giant.
This was his adept ability, a transformation type ability that granted him enhanced healing and superhuman strength, though at the cost of a reduction in speed and rational thinking. However, his strength more than made up for the reduction in speed.
The men hesitated, confusion and fear flickering in their eyes as they watched him transform. Simke's eyes however blazed with a primal intensity, glowing with an otherworldly blue light.
Like all origin abilities, the Blue Devil Transformation was reliant on the amount of origin energy he had left, but since recently had a breakthrough to the Late-stage of the 1st-tier, his energy reserves had increased significantly. He felt the power coursing through his veins, as the transformation process ended, the thrill of battle pumping in his mind.
As he advanced towards the men, their confident facades faltered. They continued firing their guns, backing away to the entrance but the bullets seemed to bounce harmlessly off his hardened skin. His enhanced healing abilities swiftly closed any wounds inflicted, making him nearly impervious to their attacks.
With a roar that shook the bar, he activated another origin technique and lunged forward, grabbing one of the men by the waist and hurling him across the room. The force of the impact shattered tables and sent debris flying. Another man tried to flank him, but the blue devil swatted him away with a backhanded swipe, sending him crashing into the bar counter, bottles shattering and liquid spilling everywhere.
"If it were the me of before, you might have had a chance," Simke boasted, his voice now a deep, resonant growl. "But now, at the Late-stage, you're all nothing but insects to me."
The fight raged on, but it was clear he was toying with them. Simke, now fully transformed into his Blue Devil state, moved with a calculated ferocity that belied his earlier suave demeanor.
His movements were fluid, precise, each strike landing with devastating effect. He was a whirlwind of destruction, breaking apart the bar in the process and the men were quickly outmatched.
Simke lunged at another attacker, his massive fists slamming into the man's chest with bone-crushing force. The mercenary crumpled to the ground, gasping for air as Simke turned to face the next threat. His eyes glinted with a primal satisfaction, fueled by the thrill of combat and the rush of his newfound power.
The burly man stood up as he threw another of the men across the room. He aimed his gun at the blue giant's head and fired, the bullet piercing through the air with deadly precision. Simke moved slightly, allowing the bullet to graze his ear instead of hitting him squarely. The pain was negligible; he thrived on it.
With a guttural roar, he lunged forward in response to the affront, his massive blue hand closing around the leader's throat. Lifting him effortlessly, he brought the man's face close to his own. The man struggled, his hands scrabbling at the blue giant's iron grip, but it was futile.
"Did you guys really think you could take me down?" Simke growled, his hot breath blowing away the snow that had settled on the man's face. "Look! Look at the consequences of going against me!"
The burly guy was forced to look around. The bar was in shambles, debris scattered everywhere, and the patrons had fled in terror.
"You underestimated me, and now you'll pay the price. And that old fart Lu, he—"
He was prepared to smash the man like the bug he was when he heard a sudden, sharp whizzing sound tearing through the air. Before he could react, something struck him, the force of the impact driving him to his knees. He felt a searing pain as he dropped the man in his hand, looking down in shock at the blood blossoming from the wound in his chest.
Impossible! How did a single bullet break through my transformed skin?
«Whizz!»
His mind was still swirling with confusion when he heard the whizzing sound again.
This time, he briefly saw the cause of the sound: a spindle shaped bullet with a blue glow trailing behind it, spinning with deadly precision. The bullet went through his brain, causing all sorts of red and white fluid to spill to the ground.
He tried to speak, to yell in indignation at the abrupt turn of events, but no words came out. The world around him blurred, and his vision began to fade. As he collapsed to the floor, his last thought was of the sniper hidden somewhere in the shadows.
And then, darkness.