CHAPTER 237: DRAMATIC ENTRANCES ARE SO 15 MINUTES AGO

Gereon stepped over a pile of still-warm bodies, brushing stone dust from his shoulder. The assassin’s den was quieter now, though the air still carried the faint scent of booze and burnt leather.

He was about to make his way deeper when the temperature dropped.

Gereon felt like he was playing a roguelike, even though he didn’t know what that meant.

A low scraping sound drifted through the cathedral’s broken arches. Not the shuffle of a survivor — this was slower, deliberate, like someone wanted their footsteps to be heard.

From the far end of the ruined hall, a figure emerged through a grand doorway too dark on the inside. Gereon was convinced that these guys knew how to set up a perfect scene. They should have tried cinematics instead of acrobatics and killing.

Long brown coat, frayed at the edges. A navy triangular hat that somehow looked ridiculous and menacing at the same time. His boots crunched over shattered stone like he had all the time in the world.

Gereon sighed. Oh good. A dramatic entrance. Haven’t had one of those in at least... four minutes.

"Gereon Drakonis," the man said, voice low and sharp. "I’ve heard you’re hard to kill."

"Depends on who’s asking," Gereon replied, scanning him lazily. "And whether they’re worth my time."

The man’s lips twitched into a faint grin. "Victor. And I want to take my leave quickly."

He took a small piece of wood and threw it to the roof, warping it to create a small hole.

Rot. That explained the faint, sour smell in the air and the way the flagstones seemed to wilt under his boots.

Gereon rolled his shoulders. "Charming. You planning to talk me to death, or are we skipping to the part where you try something clever?"

Victor’s grin widened just a fraction. "Why rush?"

"Didn’t you just... ?" Gereon was at a loss for words, it was rare to hear someone with a humor like his. He was starting to like the guy.

The ground at Gereon’s feet darkened. Cracks spread like veins, and a foul heat pulsed upward. The stone began to crumble — not with force, but with age, like centuries were passing in seconds.

He stepped aside before it reached his boots, watching the rot spread in a slow, deliberate circle.

"Impressive," Gereon said flatly. "You’ve weaponized mildew."

Victor’s eyes narrowed. "I can unmake anything you touch."

"Neat trick," Gereon said, walking forward anyway. "But here’s the problem, I can touch a lot more than you can rot."

Victor’s hands flexed, and the rot leapt forward like a living thing, tendrils reaching for Gereon’s legs. This time, Gereon didn’t move. The tendrils hit his boots and stopped. Steam hissed where they met, and the rot recoiled like it had touched fire.

Victor’s brows pulled together. "You... "

"Ta-Da... Magic boots," Gereon said, smiling. "Bought them at a premium price."

Victor’s smirk faded, replaced with something sharper. He swept his arm wide, and the entire left wall of the cathedral blackened and collapsed inward, stone turning to dust mid-fall. Rotten air surged forward, curling toward Gereon like a tide.

Gereon inhaled. Then exhaled.

The tide stopped. Hanging in the air. Then slowly reversed, flowing back toward Victor like a river retreating from the shore.

Victor’s eyes flicked around, calculating. Still thinking he’s got a chance, Gereon noted. Good. Let’s make him believe it.

"You’re slowing down," Victor taunted, stepping forward. "You’re not as fast as they say."

Gereon tilted his head. "No, no. Keep going. You’re almost convincing."

Victor’s coat flared as he moved. The rot exploded outward in a sphere, touching every surface — floor, walls, ceiling, all of it crumbling into ancient ruin. Dust filled the air, swallowing the light.

Through the haze, Gereon’s silhouette didn’t move.

"You can’t stand still forever," Victor called. "Everything ends in decay, old timer. Even you."

"Oh, I’m counting on it," Gereon said.

The haze cleared. He was gone.

Victor spun, too late. A hand gripped the back of his coat, and the world tilted. He hit the ground hard, the stone beneath him not rotting because Gereon wouldn’t let it. A small, humiliating detail.

"See," Gereon said conversationally, "most people try to kill me fast. You, though... you’re putting on a show. For who? Me? Yourself?"

Victor twisted, rot surging up his arm toward Gereon’s grip. But Gereon was already gone, standing ten feet away, brushing invisible dust from his hand.

"You’re stalling," Gereon said. "And not very well."

Victor’s jaw tightened. "I’m testing limits."

"Mm," Gereon said, stepping forward. "And? Found any yet?"

Victor’s eyes narrowed. His next attack was bigger. Faster. The rot burst upward from the ground in jagged spears, trying to impale Gereon from below. For a moment, it looked like one struck true — the spear punched clean through his chest.

Victor exhaled.

Then Gereon looked down at the spear protruding from him. "Ah," he said mildly, "so that’s what that feels like. Not bad."

He reached up, gripped the spear, and crushed it into harmless dust with one hand. The wound vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Victor’s pulse spiked. He’s not human.

"Getting tired yet?" Gereon asked, his tone almost kind. "Vampire?"

Victor paused for a second, but he didn’t answer.

He threw everything he had into one last assault. The cathedral buckled under the force, beams groaning, floorboards splitting, entire sections collapsing into black decay. The air thickened until it was hard to breathe.

For the first time, Gereon staggered a step.

Victor’s grin returned. "Ah. There it is. The crack."

"Yes," Gereon said softly. "There it is."

And then the world... shifted. The decay stopped. The air cleared. The cathedral rebuilt itself, stone reforming as if time itself had been rewound, but not by Victor.

Gereon was standing behind him.

"You had a good run," Gereon said. "But this is where I decide the fight’s over."

Victor didn’t even think. He threw his last card, a rotting pulse so dense it tore the floor apart in every direction. Gereon let it pass, the blast flaying the walls into skeletal frames.

And in that brief window, Victor moved.

His coat flared, hat tipping low, and with a burst of rotting ether that blew the roof apart, he launched himself into the air, vanishing into the sky in a streak of decaying wind.

Gereon watched him go, hands in his pockets.

"Ah... so that’s why he played all those meretricious tricks," he murmured. "Flashy exit, shame he still lost."

He stepped over the ruin and out into the half-destroyed doorway. Somewhere in the distance, Victor was probably telling himself he’d "survived Gereon Drakonis."

Gereon smiled faintly. Let him believe that for now.

"Man, I could really go for a cigar."