An unimpressed look was painted on his face as he walked across the marble floor, several suited men stood on either side of him. It was rare for the boss of another syndicate to show up without his crew accompanying him. It was even rarer, thought the suited onlookers, to see the boss of Red Six. Some even wondered if there really was an individual at the head of the rival organization.

"Hello, Horace. My name is, Raphael. Welcome to K SYN."

Horace stood still, hands in his pockets, lifelessly staring at Raphael as if he was not even there.

Caught off guard, Raphael continued.

"I see none of your associates are with you. Shall we wait until their arrival?"

The titan of a man that stood before Horace had the deep-set ominous appearance that only years of participating in the world of darkness could accomplish. The areas on the bald-headed giant's body that weren't occupied by his tailor-fitted suit were filled in with the beginnings of intricate tattoos.

Horace pulled a cigarette from his suit jacket, "Nope, it's only me, fancy pants."

"Oh, but of course, sir." said Raphael, giving a halfhearted bow.

K SYN's top muscle exuded etiquette and grace that did not match his appearance in the slightest. At 6'8, he towered over Horace—the man was a frightening figure to behold.

"By the way, you can stop with the overly polite crap," said Horace, while breathing out a puff of smoke.

"My apologies, sir." Raphael gave another lackluster bow while clenching his fists.

Raphael's tolerance of such talk was thin at best. If anyone from any of the other syndicates talked to him like that, their face would be crushed into the wall—most people knew better to begin with.

"You're still doing it there, big guy." said Horace, already starting on his second cigarette.

"Again, my apologies, sir. Right this way, sir." Raphael refused to budge from his formal ways.

They were already in silent battle with one another. But there was something Raphael couldn't put his finger on. Upon first glance, this mysterious man called Horace posed no physical threat whatsoever. There were no weapons on his person. And he looked old and rundown for someone supposedly in his thirties. What was it that was making him feel so uneasy?

Horace schlepped behind Raphael. It was as if walking was even a nuisance to the Red Six leader.

They walked for several minutes down a long corridor. Eventually, there were no more guards around. When they reached the double doors that held K SYN's boss, Raphael gently turned around to address Horace.

"I'm sorry, sir. You'll have to put that out before you enter."

Horace shifted his weight to his left leg and took another puff. His visage was becoming more and more displeased with the lowly henchman.

Raphael took notice. His blood boiled within him. Despite his inability to size Horace up, the bodyguard was itching to teach the disrespectful upstart a lesson.

He rethought that prospect, however.

"We'll wait for you to finish, sir. It's not a problem."

None of this mattered. Even if Raphael was tempted to test Horace's gumption, he was still only a subordinate. Although he belonged to this criminal world, he still respected his boss's authority. And his boss would very much so disapprove of him strangling the guest before he had a chance to talk to him.

Horace finished his smoke and dropped it on the marble floor.

Raphael feigned a smile and turned to open the door behind him.

The room which held the leader of K SYN was as aesthetically theatrical as any movie. Elaborately designed columns, large abstract paintings, and a comically wide desk at the end of a red carpet comprised the cliché quarter.

Raphael closed the door but allowed himself to remain in the room with the two powerful men.

Horace walked down the red carpet indifferent to the grandeur before him. A man much younger looking than Horace sat behind the large table signing papers and passing them to the side.

Horace stood before his competitor. His eyes moved nonchalantly about, recognizing the three guards that were strategically placed. Interesting… only three? thought Horace, feeling slightly insulted. He quickly remembered Raphael's presence several feet behind him—so that made four.

The man opposite Horace finally lifted his head. "Horace," he said, standing up to circumvent his unnecessarily wide desk, "it is such a pleasure to finally to meet you."

Horace took his hand out of his pocket and extended it in a surprisingly affable manner, "So you're, Donovan, huh?"

Donovan, clearly being excessive in his good heartedness, grasped Horace's hand with both of his. "Yes, yes, you don't know how long I've waited to meet you."

"Is that, right?" Horace pulled out another cigarette from his pocket.

From a distance Raphael could see the blatant disregard for his boss's rules and started to step forward, but Donovan waved Raphael down.

"Let the man smoke if he wants!" laughed Donovan.

The jovial man began walking back to his desk.

"You seem pretty excited to meet me, Don." said Horace, dry as usual.

"Oh yes, I've been in this game for almost 10 years now. And you? You come up out of nowhere and in three months, you've got your hand as deep in the cookie jar as I do! I simply had to meet this magical man."

Donovan's unwarrantedly boisterous behavior and annoyingly thick, ambiguous accent aggravated Horace.

"How many fellas you got working for you over there in your setup?" asked Donovan.

"Six."

"So your name isn't just for kicks, huh? Look at this guy!" he said, chuckling and turning to his left and right where his men were standing. "All he needs is six!" He cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, "Hey, Raphael, how many men we got in our quaint little organization?"

Raphael calmly replied from across the room, "103, sir."

"103!" Donovan spun in his chair. "They got 6, we got 103. Now, tell me something, Horace the great," he said, sarcastically, "how in the hell you accomplish so much with only six people? How is that possible?"

Horace seemed uninterested in responding to the question.

Donovan continued. "See, my territory is on the opposite side of the city, so I ain't have to dance with you yet. So I don't even know how you're operating. All I know is you are encroaching on parts of my territory now."

Horace fully composed stood still for a moment. "It was inevitable, Don."

Donovan sat down and leaned forward in his chair. "Oh, is that so?"

"Donny boy, I came here as a courtesy. Being that I am a man few words, in a nutshell, I'm taking over your and everyone else's operations."

Donovan's face now became harsher in appearance. His affected smile could only last so long before he allowed his genuine self to surface. So demented an individual, he was well known by all the other syndicates as "Donovan the Demon." Surely, Red Six would be no different in knowing this information.

"Do you understand the severity of the situation, Horace?! I've invited you here to talk business. You come up in my home, by yourself, disrespecting me with that attitude of yours, and, now, you spit in my face with this?!"

Donovan the Demon's face contorted every which way with rage. The three men that surrounded him were becoming more and more uneasy. They knew how things usually ended up when the boss became enveloped in anger.

Horace noticed Raphael crept up at some point and was now available in his vision to the right. He could see the eager giant placing his hand on his pistol.

Donovan wasn't done with his tirade yet. He jumped out of his seat and, again, circled around to confront Horace face to face.

"I know your kind, you piece of crap. You think you're tough because you got yourself a nice little piece of territory. You probably got your little hands dirty every now and then. I don't how you've been doing this with only six people. You probably got yourself some loyal nitwits who killed some lightweights for you. You ain't seen nothin', my man. I've walked into the house of a guy who owed me 80 bucks. You know what I did? I broke every bone in his body."

Donovan took a second to wipe some of the saliva that escaped his mouth.

"You know what I did after that? I had the guy locked in a room and let him starve to death."

Donovan smiled when he ended the anecdote, certain that this would let his opponent know that he was not a joke.

"Ahh, is that why they call you 'The Demon,' Donny boy?" said Horace, tauntingly. For the first time since he entered the complex, a fantastic smile crossed his face.

"Don, you are one sick man. I tell you what, though. That story did do something for me. I was going to take over and let everyone live. I changed my mind. I'm going to kill you now."

Donovan stepped backwards with caution. "I don't know who you think you are. But you don't have a gun on you. And you're out of your mind if you think I was going to let you leave after saying that."

Horace started grinning menacingly while walking towards Donovan. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I want to stay. I'd like to see how my 'demon' compares to your 'Demon', Donny."

Donovan didn't know what to think. He yelled to his subordinates, "Kill him! Kill him now, you fools!"

The three bodyguards along with Rafael wasted no time. They simultaneously opened fire from where they stood several feet away.

Donovan's available space narrowed. He backed up all the way to his desk, now sitting on top of it, using his arms to continue to push himself backwards.

Cloth popped furiously from the suit of Horace as the bullets hit their target. The man with a death-wish jittered all about while being shot, but still failed to fall to the ground, leaving his attackers perplexed as they emptied their rounds into him.

After 15 seconds of steady gun flow, it had to be over.

"Whoa, whoa, that's enough, cease fire," yelled Raphael.

The smoke began to clear, but the scene before them was the most confusing thing they've ever laid eyes on.

There was barely anything left of Horace's suit. One could also say there was barely anything left of Horace—at least, the Horace that revealed himself earlier.

Donovan's mouth remained agape. He couldn't allow his eyes to blink. "What am I looking at right now?"

Raphael and the other men stood there paralyzed as well, trying to digest the scene before them.

"My god… what is that? Is it moving?" said Raphael

Horace picked up the cigarette he dropped before he was hit with a barrage of bullets.

The white skin that was left on his upper body was patched in arbitrary places.

He put the cigarette to his still-humanlike lips.

"It's always a hoot when you people get the opportunity to see my real skin." Horace's indifferent disposition still hadn't changed. "What you are seeing now is the skin I was born with. I am what you humans call a demon."

Donovan, still sitting on his desk, suddenly puked, barely missing the floor.

The three guards remained dumbfounded. Raphael dropped his pistol and fell to his knees.

Where the small portions of white skin did not cover, bright maroon colored skin took its place.

The observation Raphael made earlier was correct. His skin looked as if it were moving because it was. Hexagon shaped epidermis connected to other hexagons as they maneuvered around his torso.

The human skin on his face was still somewhat intact and demon skin was shown through on his cheekbones. The hair on his scalp was still there as well.

One of the stunned men began whispering a prayer.

"Oh, my friend, your god won't help you today." Horace was somewhat enjoying himself.

"Gentlemen, I came here with no intention to kill any of you. Well, one of you is going to die."

No one could summon up the strength to move.

"I was a little delayed by all the fireworks, Donny. It's time for you to die now."

Horace straightened his right hand out and put it on Donovan's chest.

"P..Pl..Please..D..Do..Don't." said Donovan, trembling.

Horace slowly moved his face to where it was only a few inches from Donovan's.

"Donny, I told you I wanted to see my demon be put against yours. And you disappointed me."

With no effort at all, Horace's arm entered Donovan and exited the despaired man's posterior.

Horace returned his arm from the dead man's body and took another cigarette out. He turned in the direction of the other three guards.

"Now, as for yo—"

Horace's cigarette flew from his mouth and he slammed to the ground. It wasn't a bullet that succeeded in finally knocking the demon down, however.

Raphael jumped in the air cocking his fist back while Horace lay sprawled out on the floor.

"Raphael, the rumors were true, I see. You're strong as an ox!" Horace casually made his gleeful observation while Raphael's huge shadow grew ever larger around his body.

Horace spread his arms in an invitation to Raphael's assault. The hulk landed on top of Horace disrupting the earth from underneath, his fist hitting Horace squarely in the center of his face.

Although it looked like he had Horace where he wanted him, the experienced henchman knew better. Instinctively, he jumped up from his position on top of the demon.

Unharmed, Horace went back to standing by effortlessly pushing himself up with his fingers.

Horace patted his grime-stained pants. "Raphael, you felt it didn't you. That's why you stopped." The initially bored man was very happy with the way things were going.

"You knew I was going to pierce your body with my left arm."

Raphael, breathing heavily, his fist in pain from hitting the concrete body of the leader of Red Six, still wasn't sure of what was going on.

The other three men on the sidelines shock now derived from the witnessing of the supernatural strength of their comrade. They've seen him pounce on enemies before, but nothing like this.

"I came here for mostly for you, my boy. You are a human, yes. But, you are special. Allow me to nurture you."

"Horace," said Raphael, genuinely discombobulated, "what is going on?"

"Ahh, in due time. First, let me redo my makeup. I can't walk around like this, now, can I?"

"Oh, and as for you three, you've seen me like this, so, I'm sorry, but you have to die as well."