Seth by Nero Seal

Heavy rain clearedstreets off summer dust, heat, and people. During nights like this, Gustavo could enjoy almost post-apocalyptic serenity, disturbed only by the buzzing of tasteless neon signs. No car, no human crossed his way as he ghosted through the sleeping city. If not for the personal security team tailing him, he could imagine he’d been the only man left alive in Vienna. Their glares burned his back. He knew they rarely shared his enthusiasm for night walks, but he didn’t care.

Those who followed him couldn’t understand the value of solitude and silence. Surrounded by people day and night, Gustavo enjoyed seclusion. Maybe way too much. Sometimes, he wondered if he’d burnt out, if he’d lost his interest in the business and people altogether. Dealing with heroin became boring. The bigger the S-Syndicate became, the less excitement it provided.

He didn’t drive trucks anymore, didn’t hold his breath or finger a trigger every time his car was pulled over. He didn’t bribe border guards or kill police officers to save his hide. His life had become well-fed, luxurious, mundane. Instead of swaying guns, now he exchanged polite phone calls and handshakes, leaving all the dirty work to his subordinates and their hitmen.

Not for the first time, he caught himself wistful for the old days when he and Yugo had built the Empire in Vienna brick by brick.

He remembered the day he left Sicily. How his blood boiled while establishing new routes and partnerships, and the adrenaline tremor that seized his fingertips when he smuggled for the first time. Those days drowned in the past and became a distant dream.

Back then, life had been simpler. He’d always known who stood by his side and who to trust. Now he had to question everything and everyone.

Also, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever been cut out to be a businessman. He hated sitting in the office all day and shaking sweaty palms. He didn’t find joy in developing new business plans and thinking through strategies for gaining more influence and territories. Checking accounting books and money laundering had always given him headaches.

He craved adrenaline and simple human relationships where he wouldn’t need to question every step his partner took, guessing in whose interests he’d acted.

Sucking in a deep breath, he embraced the calmness the big city provided. He looked at the dark swatches of clouds, wondering if it would rain again tonight, wanting the heavy drops to massage his face and wash out his exhaustion.

A lonely car passed by, breaking the moment. Screeching, it parked by a dark, old building. When the door swung open, loud hip-hop music filled the air ruining the remains of the glassy seclusion. Grimacing, Gustavo hastened into a gloomy alley, seeking the state of mind he’d lost a moment ago. Circling a blue waste container, he stepped over a puddle of water and slowed down as the alley narrowed. Spilled gasoline left an opalescent stain on the black asphalt, creating a mesmerizing effect. Watching it reflect the dead light of the moon, he didn’t notice that the alley ended with a tall fence, a black frame of the building-to-be looming behind.

Ever since he was a kid, he’d harbored a strong attraction for the imperfections of unfinished buildings and the air of danger. The rough, bare bones of unfinished carcasses had always entranced him, beckoned him. He used to run away from home in the middle of the night. Carrying only a flashlight, he always hunted for construction sites or old, abandoned buildings. Back then, his imagination created difficult but always interesting journeys full of danger and glory. Driven by a moment of nostalgia, he pressed his palm to the wooden fence; one of the planks slid aside.

“Gustavo?” Diego’s rollicking baritone called after him shattering the illusion of isolation. He’d already forgotten he wasn’t alone. “There’s nothing here. Let’s go back. It looks like it will rain again.”

Gustavo didn’t want to go back. It was silly; he understood that. What kind of danger could a construction site hold for a mature, armed man? It was more of an illusion, a mind game. Yet, somehow, it was the most exciting thing that had happened to him today, and he wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.

He threw a glance over his shoulder. “Wait in the car. I’ll be right back.”

Not waiting for the reply, he slipped through the gap.

The air shifted under a fitful gust of wind. The moon dimmed, hiding behind thick clouds. At first, Gustavo didn’t understand what strained his nerves. He glanced about, seeking something disturbing when it hit him.

No lights. All construction sites should have illumination at night, yet this one drowned in the gloom.

He squinted up, recognizing the sharp, powerful lines even though the building stood unfinished. Tall and narrow, like a blade, it stabbed the sky. He remembered seeing the project in papers; how it stole his attention, mesmerized him. The new business center SkyBlade not only resembled a knife but was also designed to look as if they were washed in blood twice a day as the special glass coating the tip changed color from silver to red during twilight.

Now, at the dead of night, the unfinished skeleton of the future masterpiece bathed in an eerie, spooky atmosphere. His gaze darted around, searching for the silhouettes of streetlights. The nearest one stood a few feet away, lifeless, the second one not far behind.

A power cut?

Clouds swelled, eclipsed the moon. The salty, coppery smell came with the dark—the smell that made his hand seek the reassurance of the gun. He sucked a breath in, tasting the air. The distinctive, unmistakable tang of blood danced on the tip of his tongue, gluing his soles to the ground.

The wind changed, washing his face with the smell of wet concrete.

Losing the metallic tang, Gustavo stole toward the building, wondering if he’d imagined it. Step by step, he neared the gaping entrance until his foot crossed the border between the soggy ground and the concrete floor.

He halted as the stench of blood recurred and intensified. Whoever bled here had lost enough blood to stink up the vast, airy space.

Keeping in shadows, he scanned his surroundings for possible holes in the floor or stray metal rods. His heart sped up, filling him with adrenaline as he stole toward the source of the smell. He wanted danger, craved it. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but he hoped it would be something more entertaining than a bunch of kids and a tortured to death dog.

Just as his eyes adapted, making out slight differences between the shades of night, the surroundings lightened. He threw his head up to check where the light came from. The full moon, shaking off the fetters of clouds, peeked through the round opening in the ceiling that went through all stories, perhaps, a massive elevator shaft.

Gustavo froze as something shifted under his foot, producing a subtle creak.

In the middle of the foyer, where the moon cast a circle of light over the concrete floor, something moved. He stilled; his heart halted too.

His vision sharpened as he gawked at the rounded human back. Naked, ripped shoulders flexed as the man rose from his knees. His back straightened as every prominent vertebra snapped in place, creating a perfect line of a well-defined spine. Despite the pale skin, the man’s stringy arms were black from the elbows down as if coated in something. The same dark smudges of what Gustavo assumed was dark paint marred his back, all horizontal strokes as if someone had hugged the man with dirty hands and left finger traces. And there was something else, paler in color. Definite lines, geometrically correct, stretched down the spine, some to the sides.

A tattoo?

The man turned, and Gustavo’s heart skipped a beat. Lean and tall, the stranger stood half-naked, covered in… Is itblood?

Gaze dropping to the sprawled plastic wrap beneath the man’s feet, Gustavo made out the form of another person. A man lay there, not moving, not trying to cover his nudity. Pale arms and legs spread, too still.

The chill of alertness raised tiny, sharp hairs at Gustavo’s nape as adrenaline rippled through his veins. The longer he looked at the second person, the more the splotch on his chest resembled a gaping wound.

A murder. And such a bloody one too.

Metal glinted in the man’s hand, dragging Gustavo’s attention away from the victim and up to the knife. Short and wide, the blade was designed for hunting, not combat.

Gustavo raised a brow. He stood a half-head taller, was broader in shoulders, and had around ten kilos of mass to his advantage. To attack someone like him with a knife like this, the murderer would either have a lot of confidence or be very desperate.

Not worried, Gustavo waited.

With a hunting-tight prowl, the murderer cut the distance to fifteen feet, raised his head. Splashes of blood and shadows still drowned half of his face in the darkness, but at that instant, Gustavo knew he would recognize this face anytime, anywhere.

Intelligent and sharp, the eyes of a hawk consumed Gustavo’s attention. It was impossible to distinguish their color, but in the shadows of the night, they looked black. Every separate part of the man’s face was acute, chiseled as if made of marble, still, all together, the pieces created a harmonic image. Even the slightly neurotic air didn’t spoil his attractiveness. Gustavo had already seen the same haunting expression on aristocratic offspring. Spoiled kids wore it like war scars left by their first contact with brutal reality.

The full lips cracked into a smile, turning the curious expression into a devilish grin. Muscles rippled under his skin, knots of cord. The man took another step, ready to attack. Powerful and deadly, he resembled a wild animal.

Goosebumps ran down Gustavo’s arms. A familiar feeling prickled his fingertips, reminding him of his old hobby of taming wild horses. Right now, he would have given anything to have a lasso in his hands.

Such a beautiful beast.He stared into the man’s eyes, seeing no fear, no panic. Being caught in the middle of a murder, the man didn’t lose his composure. His eyes gleamed with determination, not alarm.

The man halted.

What happened?Gustavo had done nothing to spook him, and there were still around ten feet between them.

The rustle behind him and the blazing gaze of the dark eyes thrown over his shoulder provided the answer. Gustavo winced with disappointment, realizing his people must have come looking for him. He didn’t want the moment to end. He didn’t want to be interrupted.

Only a few feet more, and he could peer into those haunting eyes, see their color.

Come on,he begged silently, fearing that if he moved, the man would disappear.

The murderer tilted his head; his eyes shimmered with mischief when he stretched out his other hand. Covered in blood, his fist unclenched, revealing a black knot.

Gustavo’s mouth dried up as he recognized a human heart bleeding in the murderer’s palm.

A touch of beauty in the grotesque, gory night.

A simple gesture that could have meant nothing to the beast meant everything to Gustavo. Like a lightning strike, it went down his core. Gustavo had never been cruel, and despite killing many people, human lives still mattered to him. Yet, that was the most horrifying yet fascinating thing he had ever seen. It made him wonder if the heart was still warm.

Unable to blink or swallow, he inched forward as if Death itself entranced him, offering its heart. Just a few steps and he would be able to touch the heart, the bloody fingers. The man slowly nodded his approval.

“Patrón¹?” The voice of his bodyguard, coming from behind, shattered the sacred moment. Gustavo cursed; rage bubbled in his throat, inflamed his blood. He spun on his heel wanting to shoot the intruder, but the moon hid behind the clouds again depriving him of vision.

He turned back to grab the man’s hand, but only the empty site sprawled in front of him.

“Fuck it!” He kicked a stone that lay by his foot. It rolled over the floor, creating a rollicking echo. “Didn’t I tell you to wait in the car? Don’t fucking move!”

Gaze darting over the countless dark openings, he couldn’t believe the beast was gone. “Where did he go?”

“Who, Patrón? I didn’t see anyone.” Perplexed, Rafael shrugged. A few more men, freezing stock still, loomed behind his back.

“Don’t move!” Gustavo repeated the order, seeing no point in getting mad. The moment was broken, and no anger in the world would return it. Pushing a breath out, he willed himself to calm down and fished the phone out of his pants pocket. He turned on the flashlight and gave his surroundings a new, evaluating look.

In such a huge, littered space, it was impossible to believe someone could melt into thin air without a sound. Small stones, sand, and metal scrap lay around. For a heartbeat, Gustavo doubted his sanity. Did I imagine him?

He took a few steps forward. The beam of light settled over the crimson splashes on the concrete floor before flicking to the crime scene.

The broken form of a naked man lay on a thick layer of white powder that covered a large piece of plastic wrap spread over the ground. The caramel hair stuck to the man’s high forehead, strands blood-scabbed. Everything in the man was delicate, soft, and smooth. Even his pubis had been shaved. Gustavo wondered if the beast shaved his prey before killing him or, perhaps, the victim had expected a fun night.

Where the body touched the ground, the white coat stuck to the deaden skin. The powder absorbed the blood and turned black beneath the corpse. Gustavo squatted. He took a pinch and brought the pure powder to his nose. It smelled like nothing.

Interesting…

Ignoring the slit throat and gaping chest, he turned the corpse’s face toward him.

So young... The boy was still in his early twenties. Plump, pale lips were slack and covered in blood, yet, even in death, he remained beautiful. With the sinuous lines of his body and a distant gaze, he reminded Gustavo of a sculpture “O Desterrado” by Antonio Soares dos Reis².

The hazel eyes fixed on him, pupils clear. Without thinking, he reached out and squeezed the boy’s eyeball. The pupil resisted the pressure, never changed form, meaning not even ten minutes had passed since death. Did he cut him open alive? Such a horrible death.

Gustavo’s palm ran over the still-warm face, lowered the eyelids, then closed the mouth.

Someone whistled. The voice belonging to Gustavo’s friend and lieutenant, Diego, reached him from behind. “We left you alone for five minutes, and you already murdered someone. You can’t be trusted.”

“Hilarious.” Gustavo straightened. He hated when beautiful things got broken. This one looked like a ruined masterpiece, like a victim of unforgivable vandalism.

Diego approached the dead boy, shamelessly ogled his body. A white lollipop stick stuck out of his mouth, cheek bulging. “He’s a cute one. I bet a hundred he’s gay, a bottom, and into BDSM. A slave.”

Curiosity scratched. “Why?”

“Just a hunch.”

“You’re on.” Gustavo extended his hand, and they shook on it.

Unceremoniously, Diego pulled out his phone, took a few snapshots. With his interest in the victim exhausted, he said, “I can’t believe that I’m saying this, but we better call the cops.”

“Cops?” Gustavo snorted. His imagination had already provided the upcoming headlines, ‘Gustavo DeSilva, a top dog of the S-Syndicate, is the only witness of a brutal murder.’

Diego is right. I can’t just leave the body here.

“Yeah, call the cops.” Gustavo turned to stroll to the nearby café where he intended to wait for the police when the white powder drew his attention again. Pure and smooth, it resembled the finest sand.

Why bother with such a complicated scene? It’s not easy to prepare and even harder to remove. All this sand and blood… Such time-consuming work, which adds to the risk of being caught. Did he know there would be a power cut and no security?

Carefully planted on the plastic wrap so it doesn’t get dirty, the powder must have served a specific purpose.

To absorb the blood for one,and for something else. Whatever this powder was, it looked expensive. Did he mean to collect it? Use it for something?

“Wait…” He raised his hand. “I changed my mind. Don’t call the cops.”

He turned around to meet Diego’s curious gaze.

The lollipop stick shifted from one corner of Diego’s mouth to the other. “You touched the body. It’s better if we call the cops, or I bet my yearly income you will be the main suspect.”

“No, I have a better idea.” Even in his head, his thoughts sounded insane. He didn’t expect Diego to understand him or share his enthusiasm, but the simple recollection of the wicked smile filled his blood with excitement.

“Care to enlighten me?”

“What do you see?”

Diego looked at the boy again. “I’d say a psycho’s work. The murder was planned, not spontaneous. I see no signs of a struggle. Either he was drugged and carried here, or they knew each other. I don’t think anyone would go with a stranger to a construction site, undress, and lay on the sand bed. Unless he was a rent boy, but I don’t think he was.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know…” Diego’s expression softened as he looked at the mutilated body. “He looks… pure.”

Gustavo nodded. “He slit his throat then cut his chest open to remove the heart, all on a living body. Do you think it’s his first victim?”

Diego cocked his head, eyes narrowing. “Why does it matter?”

“I saw him. He saw me. He wasn’t scared at all. I think he wanted to kill me. And fuck me if it wasn’t the most exciting moment I’ve had in years.”

“I’m happy for you?”

Watching a mixture of confusion and amusement swirl behind Diego’s eyes, Gustavo snorted. “I want to see him again, play with him, corner him.”

“Corner him?” Diego blinked as his thick brows drew together. “He is loco! Have you seen what he did to the boy?”

Gustavo’s mood improved. His blood ran quicker, absorbing the excitement of the dying night. He lifted his hand and fisted the air imagining how fun it would be to meet the beast again.

“If you had seen him, you would understand. He made me feel... alive. Collect the powder. I want it. Clean up the scene, and get the body to the lab. I want to know everything about this boy and his killer.” He turned toward the body. “Put this place under surveillance. When the body isn’t found, he’ll come checking, and when he does, I want you to track him down.”

After a minute of silence, Diego drawled, “I bet my Bentley he will kill you.”

Gustavo grinned. “You’re on.”

“And if you lose?”

“What do you want?”

“Change your will. If he kills you within a year from the moment you find him, I want your yacht. No cheating. Active play only. No hiding either.” He thought for a moment, then added. “Actually, I want your yacht even if you die naturally. Keep it in the will.”

“Who’s hiding, you fucker?” Gustavo shook his head in disbelief, but he still stretched out his hand.

His memory trailed back to the dark eyes and the wicked smile the man showed as he offered him the bleeding heart. Turning to the sprawled, motionless body, he whispered to no one in particular, “Loco you say? I will find you, Loco.”

* * *

Seth flopped ontothe plastic film enveloping the car seat, leaned against the backrest, and closed his eyes letting energy stream through his body.

Things had gone horribly wrong tonight, but he didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to dissolve in the blissful euphoria that flowed through him.

Mine... He squeezed the heart in his fist. Red drops, leaking out of the stumps of blood vessels, skated down his wrist, dripped on his knees. His fingertips drummed, remembering, recreating the powerful beating of life in his fist. His whole body vibrated with the hormonal overdrive as if he was woven of pure energy. Unable to contain it, he let it wash over him, dissolve him, rebuild him.

Only minutes later, when his shallow breathing slowed, he opened his eyes. His head whipped to the side; he stared at the nearly finished building looming in the dark.

What a mess.His mind raced, recreating the smallest details that could connect him to the crime. He wanted to return, to kill everyone who stood between him and Justin, but it was too late. Most likely, the man had called the cops already. And he wasn’t alone. Even if Seth tried, he wouldn’t be able to kill so many or clean up the mess afterward. Returning was pointless.

What was he even doing there? A man dressed in a smart suit, walking the construction site at night with a security team, suggested they came to do business. And there was only one business Seth could think of—something similar to his own.

If they came to get rid of a body, maybe they wouldn’t be too eager to call the cops. He craved to go back and collect the evidence. That would save him so much hassle. That would also reunite him with Justin.

Seth flinched, realizing he’d let himself hope.

Even four hundred years before Christ, Plato³ had already known that hope was a foolish counselor. Euripides⁴ called it a curse of humanity, and Sophocles⁵ thought of it as a human foible that only served to stretch out suffering. Seth agreed with every word, but he still couldn’t let Justin go.

Don’t be stupid. You made too many mistakes already.

Even if the man didn’t report him, the body would be found in the morning. The blood trail he’d left would lead to the parking lot, but there were no cameras around; he’d made sure of it. By the time the police connected the sand to him and found his car, he would have gotten rid of the plastic wrap covering the wheel, dashboard, seats, and floor.

Seth didn’t worry about the man. Only seeing his face once, under cover of the night, the chances that the intruder would recognize him in daylight were slim. But the sand would lead straight to him. Also, his fingertips, his DNA, were all over Justin, let alone his clothes left by the sand bed.

Seth tsked. Where did he even come from?

Blowing the air of irritation out of his lungs, he looked at the heart. He should put it in the icebox, but he didn’t want to part with it. Tonight couldn’t get any messier, so he had no reason to let go of his possession so soon. After all, this was the only thing left to him from Justin.

Without releasing the heart, he started his car.

* * *

Lost in the greenof wild grapes and maple trees, Seth’s villa presented a modern combination of glass, stone, and metal. Built on a hill, it meant much more than just home to him. Overlooking the whole of Vienna, it inspired him at night, when the drowsy cityscape flirted with him, winking with yellow lights. It protected him from prying eyes with mirrored glass made of polycarbonate capable of stopping bullets. But most importantly, it was built above a bunker left after the Second World War and had three emergency escape routes that weren’t on any map.

It took Seth four years and eleven changes of construction team to erect the five thousand square feet building filled with secret rooms and passages. When it was finally finished, this place became his small kingdom.

Seth undressed in the garage without turning on the lights. Leaving the heart resting in the icebox, he dipped his hands in the basin containing an oxygen detergent solution before scrubbing his hands and nails with a brush. Whatever he used tonight would be burned along with the plastic coating the inside of his car. Wiping his hands with a towel, he took a quick shower in the garage bathroom, thoughtfully checked his body in the mirror for any injuries, then dressed in a white linen t-shirt and pants.

It took twenty minutes to collect his bloody garment, remove the plastic coating from the car, and put everything on a metal tray of the furnace in the basement. When the first precautions were done, he relocated the icebox upstairs. The horizon had already lightened, rippling with pink and yellow. The first blade of the awakening sun stabbed the sky.

He watched the impenetrable darkness bleed, shrink, and retreat. The new morning came, but it didn’t bring any relief or calm. Instead, it awoke a distant rage that stormed through the desert of his soul. It wasn’t quite there yet, but he could hear its roaring at the corner of his consciousness. Why?

He’d gotten Justin’s heart. The heart was essential, the sand, blood, and flesh not so much. He could still proceed without them, or that’s what he thought. Then why did he feel robbed? Why was he mad? Why did he want to take a knife and stab the heart time after time until it lost its form? Why couldn’t he forgive Justin and forget about his betrayal?

Opening the icebox, he caressed the heart with his fingertips. Still and slick, it didn’t respond to his touch. Even in death, you chose someone else. Why? Why not me? I loved you more than anything.

His jaw tensed. He didn’t want to get mad. Justin’s death was supposed to extinguish his boiling agony, to stop the caustic betrayal from decomposing his soul. Yet, it didn’t. I won’t let you escape again. I’ll find him and kill him. You will be mine and mine only.Give up. You were always meant to be mine.

He picked up the icebox and went to the basement where, behind the fake wall in the refrigerator room full of chemicals, a glass jar filled with buffered formalin solution already waited for Justin’s heart.