Chapter 372: Meeting With The Boss Of The Black-Ash Syndicate

"RAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

The silence shattered as the entire stadium erupted into a feral deafening roar of pandemonium.

They cheered, they screamed, they cursed, throwing their arms in the air at the most violent spectacle the Underworld had seen in a decade.

Down in the blood-soaked dirt, Silas slowly lowered his right leg.

He casually brushed a speck of dirt off the sleeve of his dark trench coat, ignoring the screaming crowd above.

’His god explicitly ordered him to kill me?’ Silas thought, replaying the crazed priest’s final words in his mind. ’Did I somehow piss off an ancient blood deity just by crossing over into this world?’

The only one he knew he pissed off was Ititius and the guy was dead.

’I don’t want to think about it...’

Silas let out a tired sigh, stretching his broad shoulders.

Click! Clack! Click! Clack!

The distinct sound of high heels stepping through the wet mud approached from directly behind him.

Silas turned his silver Oni mask around.

Walking casually into the blood-soaked gore-drenched arena, entirely unfazed by the shattered cyborg chassis and the headless corpse, was the wicked black-haired receptionist.

Her tailored black corporate suit was pristine as she stopped just five feet away from him, crossing her arms beneath her chest as an amused predatory smile curled across her dark lips.

"Congratulations on surviving the meat grinder, Onii-chan," she purred smoothly, her dark eyes running slowly down his broad frame.

She turned on her heel, gesturing toward the open executive access hatch behind her.

"Follow me," the receptionist commanded. "My father is waiting in the penthouse suite to discuss your reward and your lovely Manager is already up there waiting for you."

Silas didn’t reply.

He stuffed his hands deep into his coat pockets and followed behind her, leaving the roaring colosseum and the reek of boiling blood behind.

The heavy steel hatch slammed shut behind them with a definitive, pressurized thud, instantly cutting off eighty percent of the crowd’s noise.

’Good riddance... having people cheer for me when they aren’t my girls is weird.’

Not to mention that most of them were cursing him for losing their bets, why did they even bet on the others when it was obvious Silas was going to win from the very beginning?

The corridor beyond was immaculate... lined with sound-dampening acoustic velvet panels, illuminated by soft golden strip lighting recessed into the polished marble floor.

At the end of the private corridor stood an ornate gilded elevator door.

DING!

The hydraulic doors hissed open, revealing a mirrored interior lit with warm amber luminescence.

The receptionist stepped inside with fluid grace, and Silas followed with his boots leaving small streaks of dried arena mud on the polished floor.

She tapped the top button on the executive console... a solid platinum dial marked with the emblem of the Black-Ash Syndicate which was a skull wreathed in smoldering embers.

HUMMMMMM.

The elevator engaged its magnetic dampeners and began ascending rapidly through the bedrock, climbing hundreds of feet up into the upper executive spires carved into the roof of the cavern.

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady hum of the elevator’s anti-gravity cables.

The receptionist leaned her shoulder against the mirrored wall, crossing her arms beneath her chest.

Her dark kohl-lined eyes lazily traced Silas’s broad frame from head to toe, lingering unapologetically on his lower back and hips.

"So," she began smoothly, tilting her head with an amused smile. "Since we’re going to be doing serious business together in about two minutes... my name is Talia. Just Talia."

Silas kept his eyes fixed forward on the digital floor counter ticking upward.

"Congratulations."

Talia’s eyebrow twitched slightly.

She scoffed, blowing a stray strand of jet-black hair from her face.

"I gave you my name, you muscle-bound freak. The polite thing to do is return the favor and don’t give me that ridiculous, juvenile ’Onii-chan’ crap. I want the actual name on your identification card."

Silas didn’t even turn his head. His voice rumbled through the Oni mask, lacking any sort of interest.

"Talia," Silas commented dryly, testing the syllables. "Sounds like an expensive brand of laundry detergent."

"Tch." Talia clicked her tongue, her jaw tightening in genuine irritation.

She pushed off the mirrored wall and stepped a fraction of an inch closer to him, her perfume... a sharp intoxicating blend of night-blooming jasmine and expensive synth-tobacco filling the enclosed space.

"You know," Talia muttered, narrowing her eyes as she looked up into the dark slits of his silver demon mask, "most men who step into this district would sell their left lung just to have me look at them for five consecutive seconds... You’re walking into a private meeting with the most dangerous mafia lord in the Underworld, yet you’re acting like you’re waiting in line at a grocery store."

"I want to focus on the meeting," Silas stated bluntly, keeping his hands buried in his pockets. "I’m here to collect a bounty, get paid, and leave this cesspool. Small talk burns daylight."

Talia stared at his stoic unmoving profile in utter disbelief before turning her back on him with an annoyed huff.

’Why the hell does this guy have such an absurdly nice ass when his personality is as dry as compressed cardboard?’ Talia complained bitterly in her thoughts, crossing her arms tightly. ’He could split a cyborg in half with his bare hands, but he can’t manage basic human conversation? What a complete waste of prime genetic material.’

DING!

The elevator slowed to a smooth frictionless halt on the absolute top floor.

The gilded doors slid open, revealing an enormous executive landing guarded by four massive augmented syndicate enforcers.

Each guard was clad in matte-black composite ballistic armor, holding heavy assault rifles strapped across their chests.

The targeting lasers built into their temples flashed across Silas’s mask for half a second before deactivating upon recognizing Talia.

"Mistress Talia," the lead guard acknowledged with a stiff formal bow.

"Move," Talia ordered coldly, stepping past them without breaking stride.

The guards formed a tight escort formation around Silas, escorting him down a wide vaulted hallway lined with high-end glass display cases containing antique bladed weapons, preserved demonic monster cores, and rare Sovereign Realm artifacts.

At the end of the grand hallway stood a set of towering double doors made from solid petrified ironwood, reinforced with dark steel filigree.

PSSH-T!

The heavy doors hissed open automatically, parting to reveal the expansive panoramic executive office of the Syndicate Boss.

The room was immense.

The entire far wall was made of reinforced, floor-to-ceiling polarized glass overlooking the glowing, neon-drenched expanse of Shogitown below.

A sprawling desk carved from a single slab of black obsidian dominated the center of the room, flanked by plush leather lounge chairs and crystal decanters of amber liquor.

Sitting behind the obsidian desk was the Boss of the Black-Ash Syndicate.

Silas’s eyes sharpened behind his mask, taking in the man’s physical features.

The Boss possessed striking shoulder-length silver-and-white hair, combed neatly back from a noble face lined with subtle trace-lines.

His eyes were a piercing cold slate gray, carrying the distinct sharpness of a seasoned predator.

His physical resemblance to Talia was unmistakable... the same sharp jawline and the same dangerous posture.

’So this is Jax’s father,’ Silas noted internally, analyzing the man’s facial structure. ’Which means that shut-in hacker is probably going to have the exact same silver hair and sharp face once we scrape the basement dirt off him.’

The moment Silas stepped fully across the threshold, the air in the room suddenly grew heavy.

HUMMM!

A subtle invisible pressure rippled through the space.

Silas felt a sharp, intrusive mental tendril... an ethereal probe attempting to bore directly through his skull to pry into his thoughts, read his surface intentions, and measure the depth of his internal energy.

’Prying into a Lord’s mind?’ Silas scoffed internally. ’Amateur.’

Silas didn’t even need to use an active counter-spell. He simply flexed the power of his Core.

SNAP!

A pulse of pure internal mana flared through his neural pathways as the invisible mental probe was shattered like a thin pane of glass struck by a warhammer.

Across the desk, the Boss’s slate-gray eyes widened by a fraction of a millimeter.

A sharp intake of breath hissed past his teeth as the feedback of the broken mental probe snapped back into his own mind.

He masked his shock instantly, smoothing his expression back into an immaculate professional smile.

"Welcome, Champion," the Boss spoke. "And welcome back, Talia."

PSSH-CHUNK!

The heavy ironwood doors slammed shut behind Silas, locking with a series of heavy deadbolts.

The four guards remained outside in the hallway, leaving only Silas, Talia, the Boss, and a single figure seated on the leather lounge chair to the side.

Silas glanced over.

Evelyn was sitting on the left side of the obsidian desk.

She was still wearing her hoodie and her painted porcelain Kitsune mask but something was visibly wrong.

Her exposed skin was deathly pale.

Her small, leather-gloved hands were clenched tightly into fists on her knees, and Silas could clearly see her slender frame trembling with subtle tremors.

’What happened to her?’ Silas thought, frowning behind his Oni mask. ’She was screaming about winning sixty million credits not too long ago. Why is she shivering like she just got pulled out of a frozen lake?’

The Boss leaned back in his high-backed leather chair, steepling his fingers over the black obsidian surface.

"First and foremost, allow me to extend my personal gratitude, Contestant," the Boss said smoothly, his eyes tracking Silas as the young man walked toward the seating area. "It was entirely because of your... aggressive efficiency in the cage that my syndicate managed to eliminate several problematic elements from our books."

Silas didn’t say a word as he just listened.

"Zarch was an unstable chemically-altered maniac skimming from our distribution channels," the Boss continued casually, as if discussing the weather. "The Blood-Saint was an uncontrollable religious lunatic who was beginning to attract unwanted heat from the higher sects and Goliath-9 was a corporate spy operating on behalf of the Iron-Core Cartel... You saved my enforcers weeks of messy cleanup work."

From that brief cold explanation, Silas could immediately deduce what this entire underground tournament had actually been designed for.

’The whole bloodbath was just a glorified corporate restructuring,’ Silas thought. ’The guy used a tournament bracket to lure all his internal rivals and problematic assets into a suppressed cage so they could kill each other off under the guise of public entertainment... I’m impressed.’

Though, Silas really didn’t see how any of those fighters could have ever posed a legitimate existential threat to an organized syndicate.

To Silas, they had all been laughably weak.

’Or maybe...’ Silas paused, correcting himself with a mild shrug. ’Maybe my Gold Core just makes everyone else look like tissue paper.’

Well that was the truth.

"Please, take a seat," the Boss offered, gesturing toward the empty leather chair directly beside Evelyn.

Silas walked over and dropped into the chair. His boots thumped against the floor, leaving a small cloud of arena dust in the pristine executive air.

Talia walked around the desk, taking her place standing directly beside her father’s right shoulder, crossing her arms and maintaining a sharp watchful gaze on the two masked Lords.

The Boss cleared his throat, leaning his forearms against the obsidian desk.

"You two are here to collect your official tournament reward, correct?" the Boss asked, his slate-gray eyes shifting between Silas and the trembling Evelyn. "Given how exceptionally stiff both of you appear, I am going to assume you expect me to renege on our agreement and make this process exceptionally difficult for you."

Silas tilted his masked head upward, watching the man’s micro-expressions.

"I am well aware," the Boss continued in a calm tone, "that you almost decapitated my eldest son during the preliminary qualifiers."

Silas didn’t flinch.

"However," the Boss smiled with a thin sharp grin that lacked any paternal warmth, "the Black-Ash Syndicate did not rise to rule Shogitown by breaking our contractual word... We pride ourselves on being honorable businessmen. The asset you requested... my disgraced runaway son will be formally handed over to your custody. His tracking chips have been surgically extracted, and the administrative master control of his Slave Rune will be transferred to you directly... After that, whatever you choose to do with him outside of Shogitown is entirely your concern."

Silas let out a quiet internal sigh of relief behind his metal mask.

’Good,’ Silas thought. ’But I’m still surprised...’

He didn’t have a good feeling about this, his life was full of drama... Did the Boss seriously not want to do anything?

"However," the Boss cleared his throat, tapping a holographic interface embedded directly into the obsidian desk, "before we discuss the transfer of assets, we must settle the financial matter of your betting earnings."

Silas glanced sideways at Evelyn.

She hadn’t moved an inch.

Her breathing was shallow, and her fingers were digging so violently into the leather of her gloves that her knuckles were popping.

’Seriously, what is her problem?’ Silas wondered. ’Evelyn is a Classic Lord so why is she completely frozen in front of an Underworld boss?’