Back in Midas’s study, the Ozyrath released her grip on Midas’s lips and pushed him backward, her claws leaving his face as she stepped away and straightened, her towering form settling into stillness once more. Midas staggered slightly from the force, his breath uneven, his lips stinging as he struggled to regain some form of composure. Draven remained seated, his gaze fixed on Midas without wavering. “You know, you should have died a long time ago and be buried alongside your co demon, Veyron,” Draven said, his voice steady, each word deliberate. “But like they say, save the best for last.” A grin formed on his lips as he watched Midas carefully, studying every flicker of fear and every attempt to mask it. Midas groaned under his breath, his hand twitching slightly as the pain in his lips lingered, sharp and constant. “What does that even mean?” he asked, his voice low, though the tremor in it betrayed him. “Too bad you are slow to understanding,” Draven replied without missin

At the Woodland Asylum, the Vaelcryx moved through the building with speed that left no trace behind, its presence slipping past walls and corridors. Its eyes searched with intent, scanning every ward, every hallway, every room where a patient could be kept, yet there was no sign of Anna anywhere within the structure. The staff carried on as usual, unaware of what moved among them. Psychiatrists checked their notes, nurses moved from bed to bed, tending to patients with the tired routine of people who had done the same work for decades. Their faces bore the weight of age and repetition, their movements steady but unremarkable, and not one of them paused, not one of them sensed the entity passing through their space. The asylum itself was not large, just a modest two story building that had seen better years. Its walls carried the dull wear of time, its equipment outdated, its atmosphere heavy with a quiet that felt more like neglect than peace. Everything about it spoke of somet

General Shaw and his soldiers descended from the aircraft with practiced precision, ropes uncoiling into the night as they glided down onto the rooftops of the villa. Their movements were swift, almost mechanical from years of discipline, and within seconds they had spread across the entire structure, forming a tight perimeter in overwhelming numbers. They moved like shadows, silent and lethal. Below them, unseen to the naked eye, Draven’s convoy remained stationed, cloaked in invisibility. His soldiers stood ready, weapons firm in their grip, eyes scanning every inch of the surroundings. One of them shifted slightly, adjusting his stance, and that was when he caught it. A flicker. Movement where there should have been none. His gaze sharpened, locking onto the rooftop. He saw figures, many of them, all armed. “Kylen sir, seems we have more company,” the soldier said, his voice low as he pointed toward the rooftops. Kylen followed the direction, lifting his gaze. T

Draven turned his back without another glance and walked calmly back to the chair he had occupied earlier, his steps unhurried, as though nothing of significance had just taken place. The tension in the room remained thick, yet he moved through it effortlessly, like it had no hold on him at all. “Tsk, what a total waste of time,” Draven sneered as he settled into the chair. The Ozyrath lowered her head slightly in silent acknowledgment as he sat. Draven crossed his legs with ease, his gaze drifting toward General Shaw’s battered form lying on the ground, his expression completely devoid of concern. Around Shaw, the Northgate soldiers rushed forward in panic, their composure cracking as they gathered around him, their movements urgent, their faces tense with fear and disbelief. “General!” they gasped, reaching for him, their hands trembling slightly as they tried to assess his condition. Draven watched them with mild disinterest. “He is no general, lieutenant suits him

At Margaret’s villa… Margaret lay deep in a warm bath, surrounded by soft bubbles and faint fragrances that filled the room. A tray sat within reach, holding a glass of wine and a plate of tacos placed neatly on a stool beside the tub. “What a day,” she muttered, letting out a long breath as she leaned back, stretching slightly and sinking deeper into the water. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to relax. Then her phone rang. “Urgh,” she snarled, irritation flashing across her face. “This foolish woman just had to leave my phone in the closet.” She didn’t move. “Oh well, whatever it is, it can wait,” she added, settling back again. The call ended. A second later, it started ringing again. “Urgh!” Her tone sharpened with annoyance. She ignored it again, but the calls kept coming, one after the other, refusing to stop. The persistence broke through her patience, forcing her out of the tub. Water trailed down her skin as she stepped out, not even botheri