Chapter 85 - 84: Mass Murder or Mass Revenge?

Chapter 85: Chapter 84: Mass Murder or Mass Revenge?

"So as I was saying-"

*Clink*

*Clink*

*Clink*

The chatter slowly died down, replaced by the steady clinking of armor as Ricky rounded the corner.

All eyes turned towards his unexpected arrival silenced the mobsters, their conversation cut short as all eyes turned to him.

"I hope I'm not intruding on your little get-together." Ricky called out with a laugh, spreading his arms in a mockingly welcoming gesture.

In contrast, the mobsters' faces slowly twisted into glares, the mood turning tense as they stared him down.

"I'm the-oh, are these hors d'oeuvres?" Ricky's attention instantly shifted, his eyes locking onto a platter of deviled eggs off to the side.

He casually strolled over, momentarily forgetting the tense atmosphere as he reached for one with zero hesitation.

The hall fell into a heavy silence, the tension thickening as every gaze shifted from Ricky to the three bosses seated at the head of the room.

Though Ricky's carefree demeanor clashed with the grim mood, it wasn't hard for the gathered men to deduce who he was; his reputation as the Black Knight, intertwined with the church, preceded him.

The mobsters waited for the bosses' response, knowing this unexpected visitor was no ordinary intruder.

"You all don't mind, do you? I'm actually famished after f*cking this chick literally five minutes ago." Ricky admitted casually, grabbing a deviled egg from the table and popping it into his mouth.

The room fell into stunned silence as he then reached for a nearby wine glass, snatching it from one of the mob boss's hands without hesitation, and downed it in one smooth motion.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Ricky smirked at the mobsters, their shock palpable in the air as they exchanged tense glances.

The audacity of his words hung over them like a storm cloud, their glares simmering under the weight of his brazen behavior.

"Is that red, the good stuff?" Ricky chuckled, placing the now-empty glass back into the hands of Roberto, who clenched his jaw, a large vein throbbing visibly on his forehead as he struggled to contain his frustration.

Roberto's fingers tightened around the stem of the glass, his knuckles whitening as he fought the urge to react.

"What can I do for the Holy Black Knight of our beloved church?" Roberto asked, his voice calm, though the annoyance simmered beneath his formal tone.

Roberto forced a strained smile, knowing full well he had to relent, given Ricky's ties to the Vatican and his position as one of its most dangerous swords.

*Snap*

*Snap*

"Really quick, what are your names? I forgot on the way over here," Ricky snapped rudely in their faces, his voice cutting through the tense air as he flashed a grin, fully aware of the irritation bubbling up in the room.

The mobsters around him exchanged hard glances, their hands slowly inching toward the inside of their suits.

Ricky's blatant disrespect made their blood boil, but the bosses remained eerily calm, controlling the rising tension only for Roberto to raise his hand.

"I am Roberto Greco, this is Paolo Bruno, and he is Marco Inzerillo." Roberto stated, his voice steady as he introduced the others.

"Small world! I know a kid named Marco, crazy good chef, he's gonna go far." Ricky's eyes widened in surprise as he pointed a finger at Marco and with a mischievous grin, he licked his finger and walked over to the trio.

The bosses were staring daggers at Ricky, their eyes filled with bloodthirst as they seethed at his blatant disrespect.

Undeterred, Ricky pulled out a nearby chair and plopped down casually, that easy grin spreading even further across his face.

Completely unfazed by the palpable tension in the air, as if he were merely at a dinner party instead of in the den of the Sicilian underworld.

*BAM*

Slamming the chair onto the ground, Ricky settled himself at the table, now accommodating four figures as he leaned over.

"Now, you're probably wondering why I'm here, right?" Ricky gestured toward the bosses, who exchanged glances before nodding in acknowledgment.

"Well, before I dive into the story, I'd like everyone to take a seat." Ricky's request was unreasonable, and the mobsters hesitated, eyeing each other for confirmation.

"Holy Black Knight-"

"I SAID SIT DOWN!" Ricky's voice boomed, a flash of red energy flickering in his eyes.

The ebony blade at his side vibrated in delight, responding to the surge of rage radiating from him.

Ricky quickly flinched, feeling the weight of his own fury, and instinctively placed a hand over his chest.

"Whoa, I didn't think I had that in me." Ricky admitted, glancing around at the mobsters, who were already drawing their guns as he then turned his gaze back to the mob bosses, assessing their reactions.

"Humor me, will you?" Ricky said with a sly smile at the bosses, his tone deceptively casual as he reached for a nearby bottle of wine and began pouring himself a generous glass.

"Everyone sit down, do it." Roberto commanded, his voice steady and authoritative as Paolo and Marco exchanged glances before promptly following his lead and ordering their men.

The rest of the mobsters, sensing the shift in dynamics, took their seats, while those without chairs settled on the floor.

All the mobsters sat in bewilderment, exchanging confused glances at how this situation had unfolded.

The infamous Black Knight's presence at their secret meeting was baffling enough, but being ordered to sit down without a clear reason only heightened their unease.

Yet, amidst the confusion, the bosses Roberto, Paolo, and Marco remained stoic, their gazes locked on Ricky with unwavering seriousness.

They weren't just focused on his words; they were studying him, trying to discern his true intentions behind this bold intrusion.

"Alright, so the story starts some odd years ago when you three waged war against your mafia counterparts and all the rival families that didn't want to yield to Mussolini." Ricky took a casual sip from his glass, though the weight of his words immediately set the room on edge.

The mention of their violent past, a topic rarely spoken about in such casual terms, caused a ripple of unease among the mobsters.

Eyes darted toward the bosses, waiting for their reaction, but the trio remained stone-faced.

"Oh come on, I didn't come here because I have any problems with how Mafia Families operate." Ricky said with a lazy grin, swirling the wine in his glass as if it were the most interesting thing in the room.

"I mean, I couldn't care less for how you go about vying for power." Ricky eyes flicked up from the swirling liquid to meet the hardened gazes of the bosses.

"The problem I do have, however, is a man that was killed during that war." Ricky's tone shifted, growing colder as he locked eyes with each of the mafia bosses in turn.

"I don't know if you know him, but his name was Antonio Luciano." Ricky said, his voice steady but laced with a simmering intensity.

At the mention of the name, Roberto's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the faintest sign of recognition.

His expression had shifted slightly, revealing just a hint of what Ricky was looking for as the knowing look that crossed Roberto's face spoke volumes, he remembered.

"But he obviously didn't win, did he?" Ricky gestured towards the three mob bosses.

"Because if he had, you wouldn't all be sitting here today." Ricky let the words sink in, watching as their eyes darkened.

"He lost, and like all men in this game, he couldn't just walk away. No, you all did what you had to do to wipe out the Luciano name, or at least tried to." Ricky's fingers drummed against the table rhythmically, his gaze sharp, but there was no malice, just understanding of the brutal game they played.

"But don't worry, the story doesn't end there." Ricky chuckled slightly, leaning in further with a toothy grin.

"You see, Antonio had a son, Lucky. Who escaped to America, looking to build his own 'American Dream.'" Ricky spread his hands wide, emphasizing the weight of the revelation, his wine glass tipping slightly as some of the liquid splashed onto the table.

Roberto opened his eyes again, this time with a deeper intensity, the name clearly resonating with him.

"Most people in that situation, watching everything they ever had ripped away, would give up, tuck themselves in some dark corner and just throw it all away. Hell, if I was in the same position with no one in my corner, I might've done just that." Ricky mused, leaning back in his chair as he glanced up at the ceiling.

"But not Lucky; he had drive, ambition, the kind that doesn't just vanish after one defeat." Ricky leaned closer, his eyes glimmering with immense respect for Lucky as he addressed the three bosses.

"Now, Lucky evidently took after his father, growing a family of his own, and along the way, he adopted a trashy orphan." Ricky declared, removing his helmet and placing it on the table as he locked eyes with the three bosses.

"And this orphan was just an irredeemable piece of f*cking trash and still is to some extent, but what that orphan never would have expected was that Lucky genuinely cared about him." Ricky said with a warm smile, channeling his powers to create a psychic box that trapped everyone seated inside without their knowledge.

"Yeah, well, if it were this easy to kill you all, I wouldn't be wasting my time worrying about the consequences." Ricky suddenly laughed, his laughter slowly rising and overpowering the others, silencing them as his gaze fixed on the mob bosses as he unsheathed his sword and stood up.

"Any last words?" Ricky asked, choosing to indulge his curiosity one last time and the mob bosses exchanged glances, nodding as if they had reached a silent understanding.

"Go f*ck yourself-"

Ricky swung his ebony blade in a horizontal arc, severing all their heads in a single, fluid motion.

The heads rolled onto the table, their expressions frozen in shock as the lifeless bodies slumped forward.

*BLERGH*

Once everything was said and done, the red energy in Ricky's eyes faded away, leaving him momentarily disoriented.

Suddenly, he doubled over and threw up, the deviled eggs he had eaten earlier splattering messily across the table.

"I thought I could handle it but-"

*BLERGH*

Despite having held his composure throughout the encounter, the moment he dispatched the last three bosses, his stomach churned violently, betraying the calm facade he had carefully maintained.

He had grown accustomed to killing, yet the sight of mass carnage and the gruesome displays it left behind still turned his stomach.

His progress had been steady, but everything came to a grinding halt the moment he crushed a dozen men between two earth walls, the visceral reality of their demise shattering his composure.

Despite everything, Ricky wasn't a psychopath; he felt a profound disgust for himself when gazing at the aftermath, grappling with the disturbing realization of how far he had gone.

It wasn't until he noticed that his hand had never left the hilt of his sword that the full weight of his actions hit him.

Though Ricky had come to confront the families that had wiped out the Luciano name in Sicily, the Ebony Blade had unknowingly intensified his hatred and rage for what they had done to Lucky.

"F*ck."

Meanwhile outside,

"You don't think he did-" Chores began, striding toward the doors with Alexander slung over his shoulders.

He had already incapacitated the guards and was pulling open the double doors to the hall, his expression a mix of determination and urgency.

*BLERGH*

Chores stepped into the hall but immediately doubled over, retching as he vomited onto the floor.

He shook his head in disbelief before heaving again, another wave of nausea forcing him to expel more of his stomach's contents onto the already stained marble.

"WHAT THE F*CK, SLICK!" Chores yelled, actually cursing at him, watching as Ricky struggled to regain his composure, only to start gagging again.

The sight before them was a horrific tableau, a grotesque reminder of the brutality that had just unfolded.

Corpses littered the floor, their lifeless forms twisted and mangled in grotesque positions.

Flesh was shredded and torn, scattered like discarded rags, while blood pooled in dark, congealing puddles, staining the pristine marble.

Organs clung to the walls, splattered in gruesome arcs, creating a macabre mosaic of death.

Bodies piled upon one another, limbs intermingled in a nightmarish heap, some heads severed cleanly, rolling lifelessly in the crimson tide.

The stench of iron and decay filled the air, heavy and suffocating, a cruel reminder of the violence that had erupted just moments before.

*BLERGH*

Chores threw up once more, his body convulsing as he heaved out another helping of vomit, the contents of his stomach splattering against the floor.

"C-Chores stop-" Ricky covered his mouth, shaking his head only to gag to the side.

*BLERGH*

"Oh god~" Ricky said, the words barely escaping his lips before he doubled over, throwing up violently as he clutched his stomach.

"This is nothing; if anything, it's just an average sight on a battlefield," Alexander remarked, his voice steady as he surveyed the gruesome scene around him.

It felt eerily familiar, like walking through the aftermath of one of his own battles.

"That's it, I need a break from this sword," Ricky muttered under his breath, his grip tightening around the ebony blade.

He took a moment to gather himself, then reached for his storage key, unlocking it with a flick of his wrist.

"This whole mindf*ck thing, I tried, but you're in timeout until my mind doesn't feel like I'm in a haze." Ricky sighed slightly, his voice laced with frustration as he hurled the confused blade into his isolated storage space.

However, strangely enough, his knight uniform didn't vanish like the blade did, and Ricky didn't bother to ponder why.

Instead, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the taste of bile still lingering, and walked past the aggrieved Chores, who was still leaning against the doorframe, visibly shaken.

Alexander, unfazed by the carnage, hopped onto his shoulder, actually showing a reminiscent expression amidst the horrid array of bodies.

"Alright come on, we got a bunch of stuff to steal."

30 minutes of walking later,

"This-.....this obviously isn't a trap, right?" Ricky asked, glancing at Alexander perched on his shoulder.

They both stared at the ominous double doors ahead, their heavy wooden frames looming like sentinels, a sense of dread hanging in the air.

The coordinates Verdelet had provided led them to the outskirts of old Sicily, a place where the remnants of ancient structures were gradually giving way to modern renovations.

As they approached, Ricky felt a sense of confusion wash over him; what had been promised as a meeting point now resembled an ancient graveyard.

The ground was littered with weathered stones, and crumbling statues stood as silent witnesses to time's passage but Alexander, however, was filled with a palpable wariness.

"This is-....impossible." Alexander stared at the familiar style, the intricate architecture surrounding them, and felt a wave of disbelief wash over him.

Memories flooded back, intertwining with the present in a way that left him breathless at his own realization.

"Young Ricky, th-this is the work of Daedalus, you must be wary." Alexander stammered, his voice tinged with an urgency that made Ricky's skin prickle.

The familiar unease coursed through Alexander as he shifted anxiously, his tiny claws gripping Ricky's shoulder tighter.

*COUGH*

*COUGH*

Chores was off to the side, hacking and coughing, still reeling from the horrifying realization of just how disturbingly squishy a human body truly is.

The vivid imagery of flesh being torn and bones snapping replayed in his mind like a grotesque film he couldn't turn away from.

"Daedalus?" Ricky asked, finally noticing how anxious Alexander truly was in this place.

"Yes, he was and is still considered one of the most influential architects in Greek history." Alexander shook his head, genuinely shocked as the realization settled over him like a heavy shroud.

"However, his jealousy over his disciple and nephew's brilliance led to his imprisonment, where he forged a pair of wings for himself and his son, Icarus." Alexander explained, his voice low and tense and Ricky's eyes widened in recognition as the story clicked into place.

"The guy who flew too close to the sun?" Ricky actually asked, recalling the tale of ambition and tragedy while Alexander nodded slowly, the weight of the myth settling heavily between them.

"Yes, but instead of being punished for his escape, the gods took pity on him and banished him from Greece," Alexander continued, his voice laced with urgency. He hopped off Ricky's shoulder and scurried over to the temple doors, his paw tracing over the rune carvings.

"It was said that he wandered the lands as a nomad before arriving in Sicily, but I merely thought of it as legend." Alexander added, backing up a few steps as the ancient structure loomed before him, an undeniable relic of the past.

"Young Ricky, I am certain of one thing after seeing these doors," Alexander said, his tone grave as Ricky gestured for him to continue, sensing the weight of his words.

"And that is?" Ricky prompted, leaning in, the tension palpable as Alexander allowed the moment to simmer, his gaze fixed on Ricky's green eyes.

"The bank vault of those mafia families is the tomb of Daedalus."