In a dimly lit cellar, a men is sitting on a worn out leather chair, his figure slouched but composed. His tailored suit, once pristine is now stained with dark streaks of blood splattered across his chest and arms. His face remains emotionless, eyes cold and calculating, the dim light casting a shadow over his sharp features. He is eerily calm amidst the carnage surrounding him.

The door creaks open a group of men entered  the room cautiously. As they stepped inside their eyes widened in horror at the sight before them. Their boss, known as, the Viper-Devillian Giordano, sits drenched in blood that is not his own, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of those who clearly had not been so fortunate. The heavy stench of death fills the room. Devillian remains still as his expression is unreadable. The silence stretched, suffocating, and they realize they are not just afraid of the sight before then they are actually terrified of him. 

Finally his cold tone echoed through the whole room..

"I expected you sooner."

This simple sentence  hits them like a sledgehammer, the implied threat hanging in the air.

His cold steady gaze slowly shifted towards them and the air grows even heavier. They freeze exchanging nervous glances unsure of what to say. No one dares to speak first. The tension tightens and beads of sweat begin to form on their brows. One men visibly shaking, Steps forward to  offer an apology, but his words died in throat under weight of devillians chilling gaze. They can feel his fury simmering beneath his calm facade, a quite rage more terrifying then any outburst. 

The silence stretched, broken only by the faint sound of dripping blood. One of the men probably the most senior among them, mustered the courage to step forward. His voice tremble slightly but he forced it to remain steady.

"Boss, we-we ran in to some unexpected trouble on the way"He says , carefully choosing his words, his eyes lowered in deference..."There was"--

Devillian cuts him of with a slight raise of hand. His eyes narrowed, his gaze freezing the men in the place..

"Trouble? Is that what you call it?" He gesture vaguely to the scene around him, the bodied sprawled in  bloodied heaps..."I handled this. Alone."

 A shiver ran their spines. His voice , calm and low carried more weight then if he had shouted. 

"We didn't expect"--another men starts, but falters when devilliand gaze snaps at him.

"Did i asked for any explanation"

Devillian asked, his tone dangerously smooth, as if discussing a trivial matter. His hands remained relaxed at the arm rest of the chair, but his presence feels like a coiled spring, ready to snap at any moment.

"No".the senior men answered quickly stepping in to avoid any more disastrous missteps.

"we failed you boss. It won't happen again."

Devillian stand up brushing the blood of his suit as if violence had been  nothing more then an inconvenience. "Clean this up" he orders, turning towards the door "and make sure this never happens again".

Without another glance at them he  walks out, leaving his men standing frozen in fear, grateful to still be alive but terrified of what might comes next.

..................................................

In a typical college classroom, the professor stands at the front, passionately rambling on about something that only seems matters to him, gesturing wildly at the blackboard covered in some equations which only seems like some alien language. Meanwhile at the back of the room a girl was in deep concentration- but not on the lecture. 

Her notebook, meant for class notes turned in to a make shift art studio. She glanced up occasionally to make it look like to the professor that she is engaged. But in reality she is just thinking that how cool this dragon would look in sunglasses.

Siana glances over at her classmates notes and feels a tiny pang of guilt when she sees the pages filled with bullet points and diagrams. She considered taking a few notes just to feel productive.

The professor turn towards the class with a question, and there is brief moment of panic- What if she calls on me? She quickly scrabble a fake formula next to the dragon, just in case. She quickly glance at the clock. Five minutes left.

"Siana" the professor call out breaking the silence like a bolt of lighting. Siana's head snaps up, her eyes wide caught in the act like a deer in headlight.

"Uh, yes" She stammers, trying to act like she is totally been paying attention. The professor smiles- that smile, the one teachers give when they knew you are about to crash and burn. "Why don't you tell the class what we have been discussing since last forty five minutes"

Siana's mind goes blank. She desperately scans the whiteboard but it's a blur of formulas and words."Umm" she starts, stalling for time. Think, Think!

"Is it uhh, the aerodynamic properties of dragons?" She blurt out.

The class burst into laughter and the professor raises her eyebrow clearly not amused. "No siana, but thank you so much for your...creative guess. May be if you have paid a little more attention to todays lecture instead of your fantasy world you would have known that today's topic was fundamentals of supply."

Siana give a sheepish smile and flip her notebook closed. "right, no more dragons. Got it."

The professor shakes her head and leave the class. Siana slumps in her chair, mentally vowing to make her doodles less distracting. May  be just a few cute kittens next time.

............................................................

A dimly light basement was thick with the stench of damped concrete and blood. In a center a men sat slumped in a chair, His body broken and bruised blood tricking from fresh wounds. His shirt was torn soaked with sweat and crimson stains and his head hang low barely supported by his neck. His face was a mask of pain his lips cracked and his eyes hollow with defeat .He tried to betray the Viper- Devillian Giordano, but the attempt had been in vain.. Now his breath came in shallow ragged gasps each movement sending jolt of agony through his battered frame.

The door creaked open and the sound of leather shoes echoed across the cold floor. Devillian entered with  calm predatory grace. His suit was immaculate, a stark contrast to the chaos around him. His eyes were dark, calculating and devoid of mercy. He paused in front of the broken men, lighting a cigarette and taking a slow drag. The ember glowed briefly, illuminating his expressionless face. Without a word he crouched down to captives level staring in to his bloodshot eyes. The silence was suffocating a prelude to more suffering. Devillian exhaled a cloud of smoke letting it drift lazily between them before speaking in a low, controlled voice.

"You thought you outsmarted me." his tone carrying a terrifying edge of amusement. "See, where it leads you".

He stood up, snapping his fingers From the shadows another figure emerged carrying tools meant for more pain. The air in the basement seems to grow more colder, thick with the promise of violence yet to come. Devillian dressed in his sharp suit  stepped forward. He waved of his enforcer deciding this moment called for a more personal touch. There was a chill in the air as he rolled up his sleeves, his cold, emotionless eyes fixed on the broken men tied to the chair.  H is movement were deliberate almost methodical as he picked up a straight razor from the table- a tool that gleamed omniously in the dim light.

 H e knelt down , his face close to the captive's forcing the man to meet his gaze. The captives breath came in ragged gaspe, his chest heaving with fear. His voice was barely more then a whisper, pleading, begging, incoherent from the overwhelming pain.

"This" he murmures, slowly opening the blade, "isn't about pain, it's about respect, the power, the fear".

Without breaking the eye contact , he bought the razor to the men's cheek, pressing the blade just hard to cut enough though the skin. A thin line of blood appeared, and the men flinched whimpered his body to weak to struggle. Devillian moved with precision dragging the blade down his face carving a shallow but deliberate line. The pain was sharp and immediate but it was the psychological terror that broke the captive further. Each stroke was slow, cruel as if to remind the men that his suffering was entirely in the Viper's hand.

"You are going to feel every second of this" Devillian whispered, his voice calm and measured, in stark contrast to the horror unfolding. Devillian grab the captives jaw, forcing his head back exposing his throat. The razor hovered above his skin, teasing the jugular, just enough to make the man's eyes widened in primal fear.  But the cut did not came, instead with a cruel smile , devillian shifted to man's hand, forcing open his already shattered fingers. He took the razor  and began to slicing the skin between his fingers, delicate, paper thin cuts design to inflict the sharpest pain.

The men screamed again, his voice hoarse his body trembling. Blood dripped from his hands onto the floor, forming small crimson pools. Each cut seemed more agonizing then the last but devillian remain calm, almost bored, as if this was nothing but daily routine. His breathing was steady, his hand never shacking as he inflicted wounds after wounds. When he finally stood up , his hands are stained with man's blood, he tossed the razor aside, letting it clatter to the ground. But he wasn't finished. Grabbing a fistfull of the man's hair, he yanked his head back, forcing him to look up.

"I want you to remember this face" devillian growled, his voice now low and menacing. He slammed his fist on the men's already broken nose, sending a fresh burst of blood spraying across the room. The men let out a gurgled cry, barely conscious at this point, his body slumped against the ropes. Without realising his grip, devillian reached on his coat and pulled out a gun. He pressed the barrel to the men's temple, the cold steel making him shiver.

"Do you want this to end"? Devillian asked, his thumb resting on the trigger. The men's eyes filled with terror and desperation but he is too weak to respond. Devillian chuckle darkly and lowered the gun , holstering it.

"Not yet." H e said, Stepping back. "You haven't earned the mercy yet."

With a final kick to the man's ribcage, devillian turned and walked towards the door, his footsteps echoing through the concrete. Behind him, the men broken, bleeding, his screams now replaced by faint, agonizing whimpers.