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Ezra found himself cloaked in darkness, his boogeyman persona fully embraced. The city was quiet as he moved through the shadows, his destination clear in his mind. The office of the proxy which Malachi ruled the Red Orphan through.

The building stood ahead. A structure that housed the operations of one of the city\'s most notorious gangs. Ezra knew the layout well, having studied it meticulously. He slipped inside through a back entrance, his movements silent.

He reached the office door and paused, listening. Voices murmured on the other side, the low tones of men discussing business. Ezra adjusted his mask and pushed the door open, stepping into the room with a quiet authority that demanded attention.

The conversation ceased instantly, and all eyes turned to the dark figure standing in the doorway. The proxy, a burly man named Garth, sat behind a large desk, his expression shifting from surprise to suspicion.

"Who the hell are you?" Garth demanded, his hand moving subtly towards the drawer where Ezra knew he kept a gun.

"Why do you ask?" Ezra\'s voice was low and cold, the tone he reserved for his alter ego. "You know who I am."

A ripple of unease passed through the room. The boogeyman was a name whispered in fear among the Southside underworld, a figure of terror. Garth\'s hand stilled, and he leaned back in his chair, trying to mask his discomfort.

"What do you want?" Garth asked, his voice forced into a semblance of calm but Ezra could hear his heart beating like a hyperactive drummer.

Ezra glanced at the occupants of the room. "Get out." He commanded and in a second, it was just him and Garth.

"Those bastards." Garth cursed under his breath, a tremor running through his hand.

Ezra stepped closer, the dim light casting long shadows across his masked face. "I\'m here to offer you a deal."

Garth raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. "A deal? What kind of deal?"

"The Red Orphans are dying." Ezra began, his eyes never leaving Garth\'s. "It\'s only a matter of time till Malachi abandons you. I can see it in your eyes that you know it just as much as I do. I\'m offering you a chance to hand the gang over to me and save it from its death."

Garth\'s eyes narrowed, suspicion deepening. "And why would I do that?"

Ezra took another step forward, his presence imposing. "Because if you don\'t, I will dismantle the Red Orphans piece by piece. You know my reputation. You know what I\'m capable of."

Garth swallowed hard, the weight of Ezra\'s words sinking in. "And what do I get in return?"

"You get to live." Ezra replied bluntly. "And you get to either stay in power or walk away from this mess with your life intact. Refuse, and I promise you won\'t survive what\'s coming."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and real. Garth glanced around the room, seeking support from his men, but they were already long gone. As it sank in that he was alone, his face paled. He\'d heard the stories just like everyone else. Stories that Olivia had helped spread.

Garth\'s bravado faltered, and he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "What guarantee do I have that you\'ll keep your word?"

Ezra\'s eyes bore into him, unflinching. "You have my word. And you know what happens to those who cross me." Ezra dropped a card containing just a number. He was certain that the man would fold. "Contact me with your answer. You have twenty four hours."

He turned and walked out of the office, his steps measured and deliberate. The room behind him remained silent, Garth too scared to speak. As he moved through the building, Ezra felt a grim satisfaction. One more piece had fallen into place.

Outside, the night was still, the city\'s lights casting a dim glow over the streets. Ezra pulled his coat tighter around him, the chill in the air matching the cold resolve in his heart.

He vanished into the shadows, the Boogeyman once more a phantom in the night.

*********

Malachi knelt before Count Solomon, his head bowed in deference. The room was grand, filled with luxurious furnishings that spoke of power and wealth. Golden chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a warm glow that illuminated the vast space. At the center of it all sat Count Solomon on a grand throne, his golden mane of hair cascading over his shoulders like a lion\'s mane.

Count Solomon exuded an aura of authority and command. His sharp features were set in a perpetual expression of stern focus, and his piercing red eyes had a golden cross set within it that seemed to see through everything.

Despite his regal appearance, there was an Aura of danger that emanated from him, a reminder that beneath the elegant exterior lay a powerful and ruthless vampire.

Malachi, short in stature but with a deep voice that carried authority, waited patiently for his master to speak. He was respectful to only those with higher authority, and Count Solomon was the highest authority he would ever acknowledge.

"Malachi," Solomon began, his voice smooth yet commanding. "You have served me well, but it appears our current situation requires immediate and decisive action."

"Yes, my lord," Malachi responded, his deep voice resonating through the room. "What would you have me do?"

Solomon leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "All our allies against Ezra are either lost or dead. The reports indicate that Ezra has ascended to the second ring and has merged with the relic. This makes him a significant threat to us. We cannot retrieve the relic anymore. There is no longer any reason to keep him alive."

Malachi nodded, understanding the gravity of the command. "What do you wish for me to do, my lord?"

"Kill Ezra," Solomon stated, his voice cold and final. "Bring me his body. Ensure that there are no mistakes."

Malachi\'s head dipped lower in acknowledgment. "As you command, my lord. I will not fail you."

Solomon\'s gaze softened slightly, though his demeanor remained one of firm authority. "I trust you, Malachi. Do not disappoint me."

With a final nod, Malachi rose to his feet. "I will carry out your orders, my lord. Ezra will be dead before the week is out."