From the very beginning, **Melissa** orchestrated everything—their meeting, the confrontation, even the demon's path leading **Dylan** toward the abyss. It was all part of her plan. She had watched his first battle with the demon and recognized him—not by his fighting style, but by his **face**.
Dylan didn't remember his own childhood face, the memories buried under layers of trauma. But Melissa did. She had seen that face before—**in a photograph from her past life**. She could never mistake it, not even in another lifetime. The sight of him sent painful flashbacks surging through her, fueling her hatred.
Her plan was flawless. She lured him to the edge of the abyss, where she waited below with her dragon, ready to prepare for the next phase of plan. But she had chosen the **wrong man** to destroy.
Because Dylan was **no ordinary human**.
Throwing him into hell was like unleashing a demon back into its **homeland**.
It started all back from that one incident!
The air on the night of Alessia's wedding was electric with joy. Laughter echoed in the halls. Children played. Adults danced. It was supposed to be a new beginning.
But in one hour, the walls were red.
The floor was soaked with blood.
And Alessia—Dylan's bride—was dead in his arms, her white dress stained crimson.
He had seen it happen. The betrayal. The bullet. The mask on the killer's face. And the moment her eyes closed, something inside Dylan snapped beyond repair.
The man he was died with her.
In the days that followed, Dylan disappeared.
And in his place rose a force the world was not prepared for.
He started small—just whispers in the alleys, backdoor meetings with low-tier traffickers. But Dylan wasn't like the others. He didn't want money. He wanted control. Obedience. Fear.
He built his syndicate on the backs of the innocent.
He recruited children—orphans, runaways, trafficked souls—trained them, manipulated them, and used their small hands to carry death in the form of narcotics across cities and borders. The police turned away. Why? Because the people funding the drugs were in Parliament themselves.
Ministers. Judges. Celebrities.
Everyone ate from the same bloody plate.
At 23, Dylan controlled more territory than cartels three times older. He owned safehouses across Tokyo, Osaka, and Seoul. Even Interpol agents disappeared trying to get close to him.
But Dylan never showed himself.
He was a phantom, a whisper, a story used to scare thugs into behaving.
Until one day… he wanted to be seen.
Because for Dylan, fear wasn't enough anymore.
June 13th, 2017 — Tokyo Metropolitan Crime Division Headquarters.
A luxury car pulled up before the station as the rising sun glinted off its black chassis. From inside stepped Director General Alice Harrison, just 24 years old, but already a name whispered in fear throughout criminal circles.
She wasn't what most expected.
Her raven-black hair shimmered in the morning light, her features soft yet commanding. With a single look, she could disarm or destroy. Her aura radiated control, but her eyes—those confident, cold eyes—held a storm that never slept.
Tokyo wasn't ready for her.
And she wasn't ready for Dylan Daniels.
"Your target," the commissioner had told her, "is a devil in a man's skin. Dylan Daniels. Twenty-three. Controls a drug empire like a phantom. Cartels bow to him. Ministers feed from his hand. He is a ghost you can't touch."
She smirked.
"Then I'll burn the house down and let the ghost suffocate."
In just three days, Alice had already launched covert raids, interrogations, and brutal sweep-ups in the slums and alleyways. She realized quickly:
To catch a demon like Dylan, you had to become worse.
The drug runners were children. Eight-year-olds with glassy eyes, ten-year-olds with broken arms but silent mouths. She saw no innocence—only tools. Brainwashed mules carrying poison for a king who watched from shadows.
One night, during a brutal interrogation, a rookie officer broke down.
"Ma'am… we can't keep doing this. They're just kids."
Alice didn't even turn to him at first. She lit a cigarette, slowly inhaling.
"Kids?" she finally said. "You saw kids. I saw cockroaches wearing skin. And guess what? Cockroaches carry diseases."
She walked toward him, her boots clicking.
"You saw us beat them?"
"Y-Yes…"
"You saw nothing. You'll say thugs loyal to Dylan did it. You'll cry on camera. You'll call it gang retaliation."
"But ma'am, if this leaks—Dylan is—he'll kill us."
She grabbed his badge, ripped it off, and threw it to the floor.
"Get the fuck out of my sight, coward. Anyone here loyal to that man is free to leave."
No one moved. But their eyes screamed.
They found a hideout—an abandoned subway station turned into a drug warehouse. Inside were seventeen children, each holding a package, scared, some already half-dead.
Alice ordered the doors shut.
The beatings began. Blood painted the walls. And when the screams faded, there was silence.
One officer sobbed as he held the body of a boy who reminded him of his own son.
Alice stared down at him.
"Cry later. If we kill ten, a hundred will think twice before carrying Dylan's shit. Tell the world his gang snapped. Let their parents riot. Let the news catch fire. That'll drag the corrupt judges and ministers into the open. And then…"
She paused, blowing smoke.
"We'll watch them burn, too."
Within two weeks, Dylan's empire began to crumble. His warehouses raided. Millions lost. A billion-yen deal with foreign investors crushed. Even his most loyal lieutenants were dragged into court for "child murder"—false charges fabricated by Alice's team.
Then, the unthinkable happened:
They arrested Dylan Daniels.
He let them.
Didn't resist.
Didn't speak.
Only smiled.
The room was dim. Dylan sat across from Alice, hands cuffed, legs chained. But his gaze? Unfazed. Cold. Like he'd already won.
Alice folded her arms.
"Why are you so calm? Did you finally realize this is the end?"
He chuckled softly.
"No… I'm just enjoying the performance. You're a better actress than most."
She slammed the table.
"Don't get cocky. You lost. Your empire's in flames. Your allies betrayed you. You'll rot in a cage."
He leaned forward.
"You think this is a cage? This is my cocoon. And when I come out…"
"You're not coming out."
"You'll pray I don't."
She gritted her teeth.
"You know what your problem is? You've watched too much anime. What are you? Some Lookism reject? A manhwa villain with delusions of grandeur?"
Dylan laughed louder now. Not with joy, but like a man laughing at a funeral—his own.
"You still don't get it... I wanted you to find me. The second you touched those kids, you gave me something I didn't have before…"
He raised his eyes.
"A reason to go nuclear."
She yelled, grabbing his collar.
"You're finished!"
He whispered in her ear.
"You should've killed me, Alice. Because the moment I step outside... your countdown begins."
She pulled back, shaking with fury.
"Get this demon out of my eyes."
As they dragged him away, Dylan didn't resist. He just stared at her—eyes like a graveyard of stars.
He had a plan.
And hell was just beginning to open.
TO BE CONTINUED…