All In

The last staircase—a staff route meant for hauling food and supplies—offered us a straight, unbroken path. No twists, no detours. Just a brutal, claustrophobic climb that spat us out onto the twenty-ninth floor like it couldn’t get rid of us fast enough. Small blessing.

The grimy stairwell and its peeling paint gave way to a temple of opulence. Polished marble gleamed underfoot like a mirror daring you to slip, while velvet carpets devoured every sound beneath their plush weight. Above, sapphire chandeliers glittered like smug overseers, casting their light over a room drowning in gold trim—wealth flaunting itself with the kind of arrogance that didn’t need to apologize.

The air here wasn’t just scented; it was weaponized. Perfumed ambition, old money, and the faint metallic tang of a room too pristine to feel empty clung to every breath. Blood and smoke, still stubbornly tagging along with us, stood out against the untouched decadence like cigarette ash on a wedding gown. Slot machines, silent and cold, reflected the gold from the chandeliers in eerie, lifeless halos. Behind the sprawling bar, rows of crystal-clear liquor bottles sat untouched, like trophies of a party that never happened.

I checked my gun—three bullets left. That and my sword would have to be enough.

“Too quiet,” Al muttered, raising his last revolver—a long-barreled six-shot that gleamed under the faint light. By my count, he had five rounds left. His knuckles were white against the grip, his tension palpable, a coiled spring ready to snap.

His words lingered in the air, sharp and heavy, as if the silence itself was afraid to swallow them completely.

We moved slowly, each step deliberate. The carpet swallowed every sound, amplifying the quiet until it felt suffocating. Frank stirred against me, a faint hum of tension vibrating through the air. Whether it was his nerves or the subtle edge of hunger, I couldn’t tell. I hadn’t eaten or even needed a vial since devouring the demon. But now, for the first time, I felt it—the pull, gentle at first, like a whisper at the back of my thoughts, growing louder with every breath.

I stretched my senses, but something was blocking them, blurring them.

Do you feel that, Jack?

Yeah, feels like too much cheap wine, I replied.

We are getting close.

The unease in my gut mirrored his. The room was too quiet; it practically screamed trap.

A thunderclap came without warning.

The first shot—armor-piercing, by the looks of it—slammed into Al’s chest, the impact throwing him back like a ragdoll into the aisle. He hit the ground hard, the sound echoing louder than the gunfire.

Blood blossomed across his shirt, dark and wet, spreading too fast for comfort. He didn’t move. Didn’t groan. He lay there, still and silent.

“Al!” I shouted, diving behind a slot machine as gunfire chewed through the air. I peeked over the edge, my breath catching as figures emerged into the aisle between tables, their silhouettes sharp against the faint glow of the chandeliers.

But my attention shifted before the name could fully leave my lips.

She stood in the center of the room, frozen like prey caught in a spotlight. Her auburn hair clung to her face, damp with sweat. She had his eyes.

Her crimson corset snug against her frame, the black trim now dulled by smears of blood. She must’ve worked here as one of the Cigarette Hostesses. Her short skirt swayed as she shifted slightly, her knees buckling, but the cold steel of the gun against her temple froze her in place. Her fingers twitched by her sides, curling and uncurling like she was desperate to grab something—anything—but couldn’t. A faint tremor rippled through her, and her wide eyes flicked to me for the briefest moment, pleading, before darting back to the man holding her.

The man holding her looked like he owned the place—tall, with dark, slicked-back hair that gleamed under the chandelier’s cold light. His face was sharp, chiseled by privilege, his tailored suit fitting like it had been made by someone whose paycheck could cover a year’s rent. The gun in his hand was steady, an extension of his control, and his eyes scanned the room with the kind of confidence that radiated absolute authority. This wasn’t a grunt. This was a man used to power, the kind who never asked twice.

Then, more figures emerged from the edges of the room. Four, no, five men stepped into view, weapons drawn. They moved slowly, deliberately, fanning out like predators closing in on cornered prey. Each of them was dressed to kill—literally—dark clothes, armored vests, and weapons that glinted with cruel precision. Must be Cat’s private detail.

The room seemed to shrink as they advanced, their footfalls muffled by the thick carpet.

I stole another glance, barely long enough for Ashley’s eyes to lock onto mine. In that fleeting moment, her terror spoke louder than words—a silent plea buried deep beneath the panic.

A burst of gunfire sent bullets ricocheting off the slot machine, the metallic whine sharp enough to make me flinch. I dropped back down, fingers tightening around the grip of my gun. I positioned my sword carefully, keeping it within easy reach.

“Well, well,” the taller one drawled, his voice smooth as silk. “Jack Callaghan. The infamous dead man walking. Yeah, we know all about your condition.” I could practically hear his cocky smirk, sharp as the gun pressed to Ashley’s temple.

Beside him, another man—stockier, built like a battering ram with a scar slicing his cheek into a permanent sneer—watched the room with cold amusement. A shotgun rested on his shoulder like it weighed nothing, his posture lazy, like this was just another Tuesday.

“Gotta say, you’ve got some real guts showing up here,” the tall one said. “Now, gun on the ground, or she dies.”

I checked my watch—nearly midnight. Time was running out. With a reluctant sigh, I tossed the gun into the aisle, the metallic clatter echoing louder than it should. Slowly, I raised my hands, palms out, keeping my movements deliberate.

“See? No gun.”

“Now, come out.”

“Promise you won’t shoot?”

There was a moment, long enough for him to share a look with his comrades. “Yeah, sure. Double pinky promise.”

“A double pinky promise? Well, those are unbreakable,” I said, stepping out with my arms wide. “You’re making this hard to resist.”

I took another step to the side, blocking their view of the aisle, keeping my movements slow, deliberate.

“That’s two for two. See? I’m nothing if not agreeable. I only want to talk to your boss. No reason to hurt the girl.”

The man’s grin widened, his teeth flashing like a predator’s. “Oh, there’s never a reason to hurt someone.” His finger tightened on the trigger, the barrel tilting slightly against Ashley’s head. “Just pleasure.” Something about this guy screamed Jac and Jean—pampered, entitled, weak.

“Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,” I said under my breath, but loud enough to carry.

“What was that?” the taller one snapped, his voice losing its silk and cracking enough to show he wasn’t used to being mocked.

I smiled—a slow, deliberate thing that I could see crawling under his skin. “Just giving you nicknames. It’s easier than calling you ‘pampered, overgrown brat’ and ‘stumpy little weasel with a discount haircut.’”

The taller one—Tweedle Dee—took a step forward, his jaw tightening. “Cute. Real cute. But you don’t get to call the shots here, tough guy.”

The shorter man—Tweedle Dum, obviously—snorted, his grin sharper and nastier than it had any right to be. “Didn’t you notice,” he sneered, his voice grating and nasal, “we’ve got all the guns? Pretty stupid for a guy about to kiss the carpet.”

“Stupid’s kind of my thing,” I shot back.

“Stall all you want; gives us more time for reinforcements to show up,” Tweedle Dee sneered, his grip on the gun unflinching. “Now stop moving, or she dies.”

I froze, my hands raised, keeping my breathing steady.

“What are we doing, Chad?” Tweedle Dum whined, his voice grating. “Just waste the girl and shoot him already. He’s unarmed, for hell’s sake.”

Of course his name was Chad. It fit too perfectly. But he was staying Tweedle Dum in my head.

“Shut up,” Tweedle Dee snapped, his gaze never leaving me. “This guy’s mowed through a lot better men than you, dumbass.” Then his expression twisted, a mix of anger and something more personal. “At Murphy’s. The guy you... bit into? He was a friend of mine.”

I vaguely remembered it, the details hazy, like trying to piece together the aftermath of a night drowned in too much whiskey. Not exactly my proudest moment, but I hadn’t figured everything out yet back then. I was just a baby undead, stumbling through the mess of this new existence.

“Yeah,” I said, low and steady. “Well, your friend interrupted my lunch.”

Tweedle Dee’s jaw tightened. His finger twitched on the trigger. I stayed still, keeping my sword in the corner of my vision, just close enough.

“Now, I’m going to give you one chance. Let her go and walk away,” I growled.

Tweedle Dum shifted his grin into something sharp, the scar pulling his face into a twisted smirk. “Look at this guy,” he said, voice full of mockery. “Hands in the air, trying to play hero.”

Tweedle Dee waved his hand dismissively. “Here’s the deal, Jack. You’re gonna lie on the ground, nice and slow, and my men are going to bind you. And, if you’re a real good boy, we’ll take a little walk upstairs to see Mr. Catigan. Unless you’d rather your girl here ends up as an unfortunate result of your bad manners.”

“And if I don’t?” My eyes flicked to Ashley. She stood frozen, every muscle tight with fear.

His smile stretched thin. “Then your little friend finds out how sharp bad luck can be.”

The growl in my chest barely stayed in check.

“Fine,” I said, my hands still raised. “If you insist... I guess that means you all have to die. But hey, don’t say I didn’t try to do this the nice way.”

Tweedle Dum barked a laugh. “Oh yeah? Who’s gonna stop us? The Invisible Man?”

I tilted my head, letting a slow smile creep across my face. “Nah. Just Al.”

Their confusion lasted a beat too long. I ducked to the side as the crack of a revolver split the air, and Tweedle Dee’s head snapped back, a perfect red bloom blossoming between his eyes. His body hit the ground like a dropped sack of potatoes. Ashley stumbled free, almost tripping as she escaped his grasp.

Al grunted as he rolled toward cover. His smoking gun looked satisfied with its work.

I didn’t wait. Grabbing Ashley, I yanked her behind another row of slot machines. Coins clattered to the floor.

“Stay down!” I ordered, pressing her flat. I softened my voice as much as I could manage in the moment. “You’re safe now. I’ve got this.”

Ashley’s wide, terrified eyes locked on mine, but she nodded, biting back a sob.

The room burst into a whirlwind of sound and motion.

Tweedle Dum roared, his shotgun blasting holes through anything unlucky enough to be in his line of sight. Lights flickered. Coins rained like confetti. Somewhere, a slot machine jangled out a cheery tune, oblivious to the blood painting the carpet.

And me? I was already moving, my hand closing around the hilt of my sword as I snatched it from the floor.

Backup flooded the room from side entrances, their guns raised, their movements sharp and coordinated. The muzzle flashes lit the chaos, and bullets whined past me like angry hornets.

I vaulted over the slot machines, landing hard in the thick of it. My blade moved faster than thought, slicing through the first gunman before he could even aim. Another fired wildly, but I ducked low, sweeping his legs out and finishing him with a clean thrust.

A third raised his weapon, but I was already inside his reach, the blade cutting through his wrist with a precision that left his gun clattering uselessly to the floor. Blood sprayed, and he staggered back, choking on a scream.

Their guns made noise, but my sword brought the silence that followed. One by one, they dropped, their bodies piling in the wreckage of what they thought would be an easy kill.

Al, despite his injury, was a force of nature. He leaned out from cover, his revolver booming.

A goon rushed me with a baton crackling with riftsurge. I sidestepped, grabbed his arm, and twisted, the bone snapping under my grip. I spun him around, using his body as a shield as his comrades opened fire.

The roulette table splintered under the onslaught, chips and cards scattering. I kicked a fallen gun to Al.

I wrenched the corpse into the line of fire again, letting it soak the barrage before casting it aside and surging forward, swift and relentless. My short sword gleamed in the casino’s flickering lights, the vorpal edge slicing clean through armor and flesh alike.

Tweedle Dum charged, his shotgun raised, but I ducked under his swing, driving the hilt of my sword into his gut. He staggered, and I slashed upward, the blade cutting across his chest.

He fell back, clutching the wound, his face twisted in rage.

Guards kept coming, but so did I. A slot machine exploded behind me, sparks flying as bullets tore through the delicate mechanisms. I scavenged a gun from the fallen and fired back, each shot landing true.

Al covered me with brutal precision, mowing down anyone stupid enough to get too close.

Finally, the chaos ebbed, leaving only the sharp tang of blood and gunpowder in the air. The last guard collapsed in a heap, his weapon clattering uselessly beside him.

I turned to Tweedle Dum, who was still alive—barely. His breaths came in shallow gasps, his blood pooling beneath him in a dark, spreading stain. He looked up at me with wide, fearful eyes, as if realizing too late that this was a fight he never should’ve started.

I crouched down, wiping blood from my face, and smiled. “Now, where’s Cat?”

Tweedle Dum coughed, blood spilling from his lips, and laughed. “You think you’ve won?”

I leaned in, my words a slow, razor-edged promise. “You tell me.”

His laughter faltered, his eyes glazing over.

“Stupid bastard,” I muttered, patting his cheek lightly. His eyes fluttered, but he didn’t have enough left in him to respond.

I cast my gaze downward, a flicker of something almost like pity sparking deep in my chest. A part of me tried to feel sorry for them—for their families, for the wreckage we’d left behind, for all the death and destruction that seemed to follow wherever I went.

But I shoved that part down hard, burying it where it couldn’t slow me. No time for that now.

I stood, sheathing my sword.

Al limped over, his shotgun resting against his shoulder. “You good?”

“Better than him,” I said, nodding toward the mess behind us.

Ashley peeked out from behind the slot machines, her face pale but determined.

“You okay?”

She nodded, stepping forward cautiously.

“You’re going to want to hide,” I said, restocking a few guns from the fallen. “It’s not over yet.”

Al grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

We turned toward the stairs leading to the penthouse.