My Girlfriends Are Hardcore Yanderes - Chapter 62

Chapter 62: A Very Cold Night Part 3
He quickly turned the bodies into pills, pushing the nagging thoughts from his mind.

The faster they became pills, the easier it was to push the guilt away

He knew it was petty, this twisted reasoning, but in a situation like this, where morality couldn’t be afforded, he had to grasp onto whatever he could to keep his mind from breaking, even if it was just a small piece of his sanity.

Next, he focused on the power room. He didn’t forget to gather the clothes and tools scattered around, just in case someone walked in.

With a quick glance around, he pushed open the door, the creak of the hinges barely audible.

Stepping inside, his eyes adjusted to the dim light. In the far corner, the large power breaker was mounted on the wall, just as he’d hoped.

Places like this required heavy-duty equipment to handle the massive amount of power being used. A standard breaker wouldn’t hold up under that kind of pressure.

He studied the breaker carefully, weighing his options. Cutting the wires directly would just get him electrocuted, and that wasn’t a good idea.

The best approach was to kill the main power first, then cut the lines one by one.

This strategy would also ensure that even if the backup generator kicked in, no power would be able to flow through.

How did he know? Simple—common sense.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that cutting the main power first would stop anything from getting through, backup generators included.

‘Let see…’ His fingers hovered over the switches.

He double-checked the labels on the breaker panel.

Everything seemed in order. He flipped the main switch, cutting off the power to the entire warehouse.

The low hum of the machinery died instantly.

Now that the room was dark and powerless, he moved quickly, pulling out the tools and beginning to cut the wires one by one.

No electricity meant no risk of a sudden shock.

Once all the wires were severed, he stepped back and checked his work.

‘Perfect,’ he muttered to himself, feeling a brief sense of satisfaction.

While Asher quietly celebrated his success, the people inside the warehouse were frustrated.

Some of them fumbled for flashlights, others switched on their phone lights, and a few sections of the warehouse were fortunate enough to have emergency lights built into the walls.

“What the hell is happening?” one of the gangsters muttered, his voice filled with frustration.

“Power’s out. Damn it!” another snapped, his steps quick as he fumbled for a flashlight. “Call the technicians!”

Another person grabbed a walkie-talkie, trying to reach the people handling the utilities.

But when he pressed the button, all he heard was static. No response.

The gangster slammed the walkie-talkie against his palm in frustration, then tossed it aside. “Checked the other places,”

After a while, a few returned.

“Everyone else has power, except for us,” one of them said, frustration clear in their voice. “I think there’s a problem with our breaker,”

It wasn’t hard to figure out. The warehouse was right in the middle of the port, and the grid was connected. If the lights were out here, it meant it was an internal issue,

“Check the breaker then !” someone shouted, but there was no real urgency in the voice. It was more of an instinctive reaction.

Five gangsters exchanged glances, nodding in agreement. Weapons drawn and flashlights in hand, they grouped together, and headed out.

They carried guns, just in case this turned out to be a raid. After all, they had shipments of contraband in the warehouse at that moment.

The beams of their flashlights cut through the pitch-black warehouse, sweeping slowly over crates and equipment.

“How far is that place?” one of them muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

“Just keep moving,” another hissed.

After what felt like 10 minutes of creeping forward, they finally reached a narrow hallway leading toward the power room.

The air grew colder here, and the darkness seemed denser.

“Where the hell are those technicians? They were supposed to fix things in case of crap like this,” one gangster grumbled

“Can’t believe the power cut out like this. We paid good money to keep this place running all the time,” he added.

“Shut it. We’re almost there,” their leader snapped.

When they reached the heavy metal door to the power room, the leader leaned his weight into it, forcing it open with a slow, grating creak.

They expected to find the technicians working to fix the issue, maybe even scolding them for not answering the walkie-talkie.

But as soon as the door fully open, a sudden flash blinded them—followed by a sharp, muffled crack.

A warm sensation spread through their heads, and before they could scream, they were dead.

Fast and efficient. This was the power of a gun—something basic magic would struggle to imitate.

Human weapons might be laughable against demons, but against humans, it was an absolute bringer of death.

In fact, it was the most fair and equal thing in the world. It didn’t discriminate—rich or poor, young or old—if it hit someone in the head, death was almost certain.

Asher stepped out of the power room and approached the corpses.

He knelt beside each body, one by one, activating the rune on his palm before swallowing the pills.

Asher also made sure to turn off each flashlight, extinguishing the last of the light in the room.

He felt more at home in darkness.

The absence of light heightened his senses, allowing him to see with unnatural clarity, as if the room were fully illuminated.

—

—

—

A well-built man in a white tank top sat back in his leather chair inside an office, casually smoking a cigar

His jet-black hair, styled in a sharp faux hawk, complemented his rugged look, while his black, monolid eyes held a cold, piercing gaze that spoke of his Eastern lineage.

Tattoos covered his arms, and old stab wounds marred the ink, hinting at a past far from peaceful.

This was Yip Kai, one of the top figures in the Tiger Gang, responsible for handling the import and export of illegal goods from the eastern continent.

“Boss Kai, we’ve lost contact with the group we sent to the utility room,” a thin man said.

He wore eye glasses and looked nothing like a gangster, which made sense—this was Chao, the accountant.

Kai raised an eyebrow, glancing over at his subordinates with a hint of irritation. Smoke curled from his cigar as he leaned forward, exhaling slowly.

“I think we’ve got a visitor—must be from that damned Yamagi family,” Kai muttered, taking another slow drag on his cigar.

“I warned them not to mess with that family, but those greedy old idiots just don’t know when to stop,” he sighed, a hint of frustration in his voice.

“Boss, is the Yamagi family really that dangerous?” Chao asked, clearly surprised.

He knew Kai well enough to know that fear wasn’t something his boss showed easily

“Do you see this cut here?” Kai asked, raising his arm to point to the scar on his skin. “One of their dogs did this to me back in the East.”