Although Simon seemed easy to deal with, if it had not been for his curiosity about the Night Stalker, everyone in that corridor would have put up a much harder fight.
John patted Matt's shoulder and said kindly, "How do you plan to get out, Daredevil?"
"Do not call me that," Matt replied, taking a deep breath. His sharp senses and intelligence were on high alert. He never imagined his identity would be exposed like this.
"You are not going to reveal who I am, are you?" Matt turned his head toward John, his face tense, but fortunately, he had already taken care of the others before speaking.
John grinned. "Of course not, my lawyer."
The more John spoke, the more uneasy Matt felt. For a moment, he even considered whether he should try to deal with John himself. But then he remembered how John had handled Simon—driving a pencil straight through someone's palm and pinning it to the table. Even if Matt tried, there was no guarantee he would succeed, and if he failed, the consequences would be endless.
In the end, Matt gave up on the idea. He turned and headed toward Simon's office. "Follow me."
John, curious to see how Matt would handle things, followed him back into the office.
Matt tapped his guide stick, listening to the echoes bouncing off the walls. A mental image formed in his mind. He approached the window, smashed the glass with his stick, picked up the ashtray from the table, and threw it down. The sound of the ashtray shattering and the scattering glass gave him a larger picture of the outside.
"Jump from here," he said.
Matt's guide stick had a hidden feature. With a quick motion, a hook shot out and latched onto the windowsill.
"Hurry, they are coming!" Matt urged as he heard the door open.
John glanced back at the people appearing in the corridor. Without hesitation, he flicked his wrist and sent a pencil flying. The first person through the door dropped instantly, a bloody hole in his head. The others behind him stopped in shock.
John grabbed Matt's guide stick and slid down quickly.
Matt was about to grab the rope when he heard bullets tearing through the air behind him. Without a moment's hesitation, he rolled behind the table for cover as bullets shattered the wall. The first person to rush in was the doorman, wielding a claw knife that whistled past Matt's cheek. Matt could tell, just by the scent of the blade, that this man had at least ten lives on his hands.
Reacting instantly, Matt grabbed the pen holder from the table and hurled it at the attacker. At the same time, he pushed off the wall with his foot, using the force to swing around the corner. After changing position, Matt lost his route to the window and could only force his way out into the corridor.
Now, there was a killer behind him and a dozen professional thugs in front. In the brief confrontation, Matt had already judged the killer was no ordinary opponent. He made a quick decision and chose to face the thugs.
The sound of footsteps and shouts in the corridor became his best weapon for counterattack. Matt constructed a mental map, kicked the thug in front of him in the abdomen, grabbed the swinging stick with his backhand, snatched it away, and struck the third man on the neck. Even though it was not his usual guide stick, with a weapon in hand, Matt's fighting ability soared. He moved with such speed that in just ten seconds, he fought his way from the end of the corridor to the entrance.
The killer, having confirmed his boss's death, came after Matt in a rage. Matt swung the stick with his backhand, but the killer dodged. The door opened, and Matt heard the distinct sound of a gun's chamber. Without hesitation, he dove to the side, rolled across the floor, and stomped hard with his heel. The vibrations gave him a sense of the entire second-floor structure.
"Damn, it is all closed," he cursed under his breath. The second floor was not open to customers, and Simon had made it completely enclosed. There was no exit except the window.
The killer's footsteps grew closer. Matt had to keep moving. He rushed toward the stairs he had come from, dodging gunfire as he went. No one could hit him; he was too fast and agile. As he reached the stairs, the mental image he had built began to vibrate. The pounding music was overwhelming, crowding into his ears and making it hard to focus.
With a pained expression, Matt stumbled down the stairs, rolling to absorb the impact. The killer watched as Matt, who had moved like an agile monkey just moments before, now collapsed on the ground like a sluggish sloth. The killer approached with a sneer, turning the claw knife in his hand. He took three steps forward, then two more, and lunged at Matt.
Matt managed to steady his senses within a two-meter radius, but every time the explosive music blared, his perception trembled. He became more and more disoriented, forced to dodge clumsily. The killer kicked Matt into the crowd. The guests, lost in their own high spirits, would not call the police. They only screamed and kept dancing, their bodies twisting in the manic energy of the place.
They smiled, just as the name of the bar suggested—hell and heaven. The joy of their fall made them lose themselves.
The killer showed no mercy, attacking Matt in every way he could. He played with Matt like a cat with a mouse. Matt collapsed in the center of the dance floor, where the music was loudest.
"Tell me, who asked you to kill him?" the killer demanded, his eyes red with emotion.
"You have no idea how great he was. He is the one who helped me reach my current position. He saved me from starving to death. It is all your fault—you killed him!"
The killer was deeply loyal to Simon, who had raised him from the slums. Despite his hard life, he never forgot who had helped him survive. Now, because of his own failure, his boss was dead.
With a guttural roar, the killer drove the claw knife savagely into Matt's abdomen, twisting the blade with merciless intent. "I'll rip you apart and drag your guts out with my bare hands!" he bellowed, eyes blazing with murderous rage.
The murder scene was wild and frenzied, making the blissful chaos of the bar even more insane. Some people stuck out their tongues, like vampires eager for blood.
Matt grabbed the killer's arm, stopping him from driving the knife in further. The manic noise made Matt more and more miserable. He never expected to end up like this. If only he could use his guide stick or move to another spot, he could have taken the killer apart. But here, all the advantages were gone. His ears and sense of smell were useless in this restless place, thick with alcohol and sweat.
The killer punched Matt hard in the face, again and again. Even though Matt was stronger than most people, he was nearly unconscious. Seeing no more resistance, the killer grabbed the claw knife and stabbed down with a roar.
Blood splattered, screams and manic music blending together, turning the dance floor into a scene from hell.
Matt thought he was dead, but the pain he expected never came. Instead, warm blood dripped onto his mouth and face. He reached out and touched it, feeling the sticky warmth and the sharp scent of blood.
The killer opened his mouth, making a gurgling sound as his heartbeat faded. He raised his hands and rolled his eyes in agony. A pencil was embedded in his neck, killing him.
Matt saw a figure with black hair approaching so quietly that even a killer could not sense him.
With his last strength, the killer uttered a name. "Baba Yaga."
At that moment, he finally understood what John had meant. The Night Stalker had come.
John pulled the pencil from the killer's neck, and blood spurted like a fountain. The killer fell silent, his blood fueling the madness in the bar.
John glanced at the gunmen and thugs converging on them. He handed Matt his guide stick and asked, "Can you still move?"
"Why did you come back?" Matt, surprised, gripped the guide stick.
John's pencil was still dripping blood as he twirled it between his fingers. He smiled. "I would never leave my lawyer behind."
He had circled around and come in through the main entrance. The gatekeeper was nowhere to be seen.
Matt was at a loss for words. After all, John had started all of this.
Standing up with the guide stick, Matt winced at the pounding music.
"How many people are here?" he asked.
John glanced around. "More than twenty. This place is not that big, but there are plenty of people."
Matt's expression grew grim. "We need to get out of here. This place is terrible for me."
"Wait," John said.
He walked over to the DJ booth, where the DJ was still spinning. With a smile, John kicked the DJ aside and pressed the stop button. Instantly, the music cut out.
Matt froze in surprise.
John said casually, "Isn't it better with the music off?"
The truth was, he wanted Matt to have a chance to escape. Even if Matt could dodge bullets, with so many guns, it was only a matter of time before he got hit. There was no cover here.
With the music gone, the wild crowd snapped out of their trance. They saw the bodies and then Matt, covered in blood. Screams of terror erupted as people stampeded for the exits, trampling each other in their panic.
Upstairs, in a room on the second floor, a few people emerged. They did not panic at Simon's death but instead looked down at the chaos below.
"Who are they?"
"A lawyer and… a high school student?"
An old woman was discussing the scene, her gaze landing on John.
John felt her eyes and looked up, meeting her stare with a casual glance.
While Matt was tense and exhausted, John seemed completely at ease. He twisted his neck and said, "I will take care of this. Can you handle the rest for me?"
"What do you mean?" Matt asked, still catching his breath.
"Of course, the police," John replied with a slight smile, his pupils narrowing. "I would rather not go to the police station."
With that, John leapt from the first floor to the second in a single bound, his athleticism worthy of an Olympic champion. On the second floor, he flicked his left hand, and his wand slipped into his grasp. He raised an eyebrow, then waved the wand, sending out a unique ripple of magic.
The weapons in the hands of the gunmen fell apart. John began his performance, shaking his right hand. The three gunmen nearest to him were forced together, their bones making a sickening, cracking sound.
He strode forward, and anyone who tried to stop him fell instantly.
The faces of the guests on the second floor turned pale with fear. Someone tried to run, but John's wand shot out a red light, freezing the person in place before they collapsed.
Only the old woman remained calm, even as everyone else fell.
John looked at her and asked, "You do not seem surprised."
The old woman replied respectfully, "Of course, honored wizard. I have no intention of being your enemy."
"That is not up to you," John said.
His wand flashed white. The old woman's eyes grew vacant, but a surge of energy rose from within her, trying to resist. John looked at her in surprise and cast the Memory Charm again. This time, her resistance faded.
John walked down from the second floor. He had taken care of everyone in Hell and Heaven.
Matt stood there, staring at John in silence. Finally, he asked, "Who are you, really?"
John reached out his hand. "Lend me your phone."
Matt handed over his phone, and John dialed a number.
"Hello, we need dinner service here."
"How many people?"
John looked around, thought for a moment, and asked, "Do you know about Hell and Heaven?"
"Send it to Hell and Heaven, in that specification. Thank you."