His fingers grazed the edge of a tool inside the briefcase, and he glanced at her one last time.“Then we’ll force the truth out of you. And by the time we’re done… you won’t even know what hit you.”At that moment the man opened the lower compartment of the metal briefcase and lifted out a small steel object—something that looked like a miniature armor casing. The sharp metallic gleam bounced off the dim light above, and for a moment, Sophia couldn’t even breathe.She watched in horror as he unsnapped the second layer. Inside, a thin row of glinting needles lay in order—longer than average, yet delicate enough to sink beneath the skin without leaving an immediate trace. He picked one, held it between his fingers, and ran it gently across his thumb as if testing its sharpness.Sophia flinched hard against the chair, but the ropes on her wrists only dug deeper into her skin. Her ankles burned with pressure. Her entire body shook, helpless and bound. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to

At that moment the call rang once…Twice…Three times.Sophia could barely face the phone, her swollen fingers trembling as the pain throbbed up her arms. Just when she thought she would pass out from panic, the line clicked.“Hello?” Damien’s voice came through, steady and calm, but layered with confusion. “Sophia? I just got to the house. You’re not here—what happened?”Tears poured down her cheeks instantly.“I’m sorry…” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry…”Damien’s tone shifted. He straightened up slightly, brows drawing in. “What? Wait—what’s going on? Is it because you left the house? That’s why you’re crying like this? Are you hurt or something?”She whimpered, her voice breaking between every word. “Yes… I’m hurt… I couldn’t hold on… Damien, I—”Something about her tone didn’t sit right with him. Her words were strange, broken… too much like someone who was trying to say more than they could.Then suddenly, another voice came on the line.A deeper one, Cold, void of

At that moment London brother s suddenly let go of his leg, allowing him to regain his balance. Then he stepped backward, calm and composed, as if the attack had been nothing but a warm-up stretch.London’s brother landed on his feet smoothly. He straightened up slowly, rotating his ankle as he gave Damien a hard stare. His jaw clenched, but then a smirk broke through his rigid expression.“Well… not bad,” he muttered, his voice laced with restrained anger. “I’m quite impressed.”His eyes narrowed, not in admiration—but calculation.“You dodged my attack,” he continued, voice sharper now, “and you even caught it… cleanly. You didn’t flinch. That says a lot.”He stepped in a slow circle, boots crunching over broken crate pieces.“You’re not from here, are you?” he asked coldly. “No. I see that now. No one from this city—not even the top brass—moves like that.”He stopped pacing and tilted his head.“I know every single person that can do what you just did. Every single one of them.”

At that moment, something dark clicked into place.One of the soldiers—the tallest of them—fell to one knee, gasping, his skin paling as veins started to pulse across his arms unnaturally. Another groaned, grabbing his own neck like the air had suddenly turned poisonous. Their bodies were trembling, but they didn’t scream. They only exchanged terrified glances, and it finally dawned on them.This wasn’t just any technique, this was Dark Prison.The forbidden technique. the same one their master—London’s brother—had once boasted about creating but had sworn never to use again.Their eyes widened in silent horror.He had done it. he was using them.Feeding on them, Feeding through them.The technique was outlawed within the military for a reason—because it demanded sacrifice of Life.It devoured spirit energy like wildfire in a dry forest. It didn’t care who you were. It didn’t care if you were the creator or the soldier. It consumed.However Damien watched quietly, his eyes cold and c

At that moment Serenity stood still, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her brows furrowed in disbelief. The room felt cold—not because of the temperature, but because of the weight of what Winston's father had just said. Her heart pounded harder as his words echoed again in her head.“Three hundred years…” he muttered, voice laced with rage and helplessness. “That’s what his body is aging toward. In hours. Not decades.”He was pacing now, his hands trembling, not from fear—but fury. “Someone… someone did this to my son. To a member of this family! They didn’t just attack Winston—they attacked our name.”Serenity clenched her jaw. Her eyes darkened as she watched him struggle to remain composed. She didn’t like Winston. She never had. But this… this was far beyond personal feelings. It was about blood. About legacy.And someone had dared to stain it.“No,” she said sharply, stepping forward. “This is unacceptable. No one—no one—touches a member of this family and walks away. An