The amber hues of the setting sun melted into the horizon,
casting long shadows that stretched like claws across the city. The street lights flickered on one by one, their glow unable to chase away the growing chill of the night.
Kristina and Steven stood beside her car, the engine softly purring as if impatient for her to leave. Steven leaned against the car door, his arms crossed, the weight of the day visible in the slump of his shoulders.
"Jim should've been back by now," Steven said, his voice low, almost drowned by the distant hum of traffic.
"He'll be fine," Kristina reassured, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "It's just Chicago. Probably stuck in traffic, or knowing Jim, distracted by something ridiculous."
Steven smirked. "Knowing him, probably arguing with someone about the best burger joint in town."
They shared a laugh, the moment lightening the tension that clung to the air. But as the laughter faded, silence settled between them, thick and heavy. Kristina stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I should go," she said, her tone reluctant.
Steven nodded but didn't move. "Yeah… you should."
She tilted her head, giving him a sly smile. "What, you're not gonna stop me? Beg me to stay?"
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Not my style."
Kristina leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a soft, lingering kiss. "Take care of yourself, Steven," she whispered, her voice almost a plea.
Steven watched as she climbed into the car, the door shutting with a gentle thud. The engine roared as she pulled away, the red taillights disappearing into the darkness. Before she was completely out of sight, her window rolled down, and her voice rang out, teasing and playful:
"By the way, Steven, you could've at least put on some clothes before coming out earlier. Didn't know you were such an exhibitionist."
Steven's face turned crimson as her laughter echoed down the road. He shook his head, muttering to himself. "She's never gonna let me live that down."
As Kristina's car sped down the highway, the camera followed her briefly before panning toward an open field by the roadside. The world seemed to hold its breath as the warm glow of streetlights gave way to an eerie darkness. The faint patter of rain began, but the droplets that fell weren't water—they sizzled like molten metal as they hit the ground, steam rising in ghostly wisps.
From the shadows, a figure emerged. Tall, menacing, and cloaked in an aura of malevolence, the dark figure strode forward. His eyes burned like embers, and his presence seemed to drain the very light from the air.
Blackout had arrived.
Standing amidst the lava-hot rain, he tilted his head back, the droplets evaporating as they touched his ashen skin. His voice, low and guttural, growled into the night.
"San Venganza," he muttered, his tone dripping with both disdain and determination. "Mother, I'm coming."
The screen lingered on his imposing silhouette as lightning split the sky, illuminating his grotesque form. Then, darkness reclaimed the scene, leaving only the sound of his heavy footsteps echoing into the night.
***
The neon lights of the strip club flickers erratically, their lurid grows casting a hazy pink and blue hue over the seedy establishment. Inside, the thumping bass of music reverberated through the smoky air as scantily clad dancers spun gracefully on poles, their movements mesmerizing the crowd of leering patrons. Laughter, whistles, and the clink of glasses filled the space, creating an atmosphere of reckless indulgence.
Outside, the club's keeper sat astride a gleaming bike, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. The acrid smoke curled around his face as he watched the steady stream of customers entering the club. He adjusted his leather jacket, smirking to himself.
"Easy money," he muttered, exhaling a puff of smoke.
But his smug expression faltered when the world around him seemed to shift. The neon lights dimmed unnaturally, their flicker slowing to an ominous pulse. The steady hum of the street faded into an eerie silence.
"What the hell?" the keeper whispered, squinting into the sudden darkness.
The air grew cold, and a faint, shimmering glow appeared in the distance—a sickly, blinding light that seemed to distort the very fabric of reality. He stumbled off his bike, clutching his head as a piercing screech filled his ears.
"I can't see! I can't—" His voice was cut short by a guttural scream as the light engulfed him. His body twisted and contorted, his skin blackening and cracking like charred wood. His screams faded into a chilling silence as his body crumbled to dust, leaving only his bike behind, its engine eerily humming.
Inside the club, the music abruptly cut off, replaced by a deafening silence. The patrons looked around in confusion, their laughter and drunken chatter fading. The dancers paused mid-move, their faces reflecting unease.
Then, the doors swung open with a thunderous crash, slamming against the walls with a force that made the entire room tremble.
Blackout entered, his towering frame cloaked in darkness. The dim glow of the club lights illuminated his grotesque, burned face, his glowing eyes radiating an unnatural energy. The air around him seemed to ripple with malevolence, and an icy chill spread through the room.
The crowd froze, their breaths hitching as they took in the terrifying figure.
"What the hell is that?" someone whispered, their voice trembling.
Blackout didn't answer. He stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing ominously against the floor. With each step, the lights flickered violently, the bulbs shattering one by one until the room was plunged into near darkness, save for the eerie glow emanating from him.
As he reached the center of the room, he raised his hand. The faint hum of his psionic powers grew louder, a high-pitched whine that made everyone clutch their ears.
"Your revelry ends here," he growled, his voice deep and guttural, reverberating like a thousand whispers in the dark.
The patrons screamed as their bodies began to writhe and decay, their flesh peeling away as though burned by an invisible fire. The dancers collapsed mid-step, their once-graceful forms reduced to ash. Within moments, the entire club was silent, filled only with the stench of death and rot.
Blackout stood amidst the carnage, his presence dominating the now-empty space. He glanced at the shattered remnants of the neon sign above the bar, its letters flickering weakly before going out entirely.
"San Vanganza," he muttered, his lips curling into a wicked grin. "Soon."
With a final glance around the desolation he'd created, Blackout turned and walked out into the night, the air around him crackling with unholy energy. The club, once alive with music and sin, now stood as a graveyard of ash and ruin.