APEX RISING

Chapter six: What The Hell's going on!

Damian’s breath caught.

Because the face staring back at him in the photo was him.

The man with the golden eyes.

The very same man who tore his family apart all those years ago. The face burned into his nightmares. The face that haunted every quiet moment. The man whose existence defied logic, reality, and everything Damian thought he knew.

He stared at the picture, his whole body going rigid, blood from his broken nose trailing down to his chin.

His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible.

“…Where did you get this?”

The woman said nothing—her expression cold, watching him tremble. She let go of his collar, the picture still in front of him, burning itself into his thoughts.

His hatred stirred. But beneath it now… a growing sense of fear.

Damian's breath grew ragged.

His eyes locked onto the picture—those golden eyes staring back at him, that smirk like a phantom carved into memory. His fingers curled into trembling fists, the metal chains around his wrists rattling with a sharp clang as he lurched forward, rage boiling up from the depths of his soul.

“WHERE DID YOU GET THIS!?” he roared, veins rising on his neck, his body shaking like a dam about to burst. “TELL ME WHO GAVE YOU THIS PICTURE! TELL ME WHERE HE IS!”

The metal table rattled violently as he slammed his fists down, ignoring the fresh surge of pain tearing through his busted lip and broken nose. Blood dripped from his chin, splattering across the steel.

“You think this is a joke?!” he spat, glaring at the woman through a haze of fury and agony. “That monster—that thing—slaughtered my family in front of me! He smiled while he did it!”

His voice cracked with the weight of grief and years of buried rage.

“I’ve spent my whole goddamn life trying to find him… and now you throw his face at me like this?! WHY!?”

The woman didn’t flinch.

Her cold stare remained unchanged, but something flickered in her eyes—interest. Perhaps even pity.

Damian slumped back in the chair, chest heaving, his eyes still burning holes into the photograph. He looked broken—but beneath the surface, that fire hadn’t gone out.

It had only gotten hotter.

The woman’s face twisted with disgust. “You really think this is going to work on me?” she spat.

Before Damian could respond, she slammed her palm against the back of his head, forcing his face down onto the cold steel table. The clang echoed through the sterile room. Blood from his broken nose smeared against the surface as his cheekbone pressed hard against the cold metal.

“TALK!” she barked, her voice thunderous in his ear. “Stop playing games. You were seen. You were with him. You know something.”

Damian groaned, pain flashing through his spine. Still, his eyes remained glued to the picture that now lay slightly bent on the table beside him. Those eyes—the same golden eyes that haunted every breath of his life—stared right back at him.

With everything he had, he tried to lift his head. His muscles screamed in protest, blood dripping from his split lip as he whispered through clenched teeth, “That’s… not me…”

“Liar,” she growled.

In one swift motion, she stepped back, pulling something from her belt. A thin white rod—no longer than a pen, with a metal tip that glinted beneath the flickering fluorescent light.

“You think I don’t know your type?” she hissed. “You want to play helpless, act like a victim? Then let’s see how long that act holds.”

With a click, a soft electric hum filled the air. She pressed the rod against the side of Damian’s neck.

And then—

Snap!

Electricity surged.

Damian’s body jolted violently, his arms flailing against the restraints. A primal scream tore from his throat as his spine arched and his chains rattled like angry ghosts. Veins bulged from his neck, his eyes wide and unfocused. The picture slid slightly across the table, as if mocking him.

His jaw clenched tight, but even through the pain, he didn’t beg.

He didn’t cry.

When it stopped, he collapsed against the table, chest heaving, sweat mixing with blood.

And still… his glare burned.

 

The rod sparked again. And again.

Each time it made contact, Damian's body jolted—his muscles spasming violently, his scream choked by exhaustion. Blood from his nose and lips pooled at the edge of the metal table. His chains clinked dully now, the fight nearly drained from his arms.

The woman showed no hesitation, her face blank as if inflicting pain was no different than flipping a switch.

Zzzzt!

Another burst. Damian’s eyes rolled back, veins throbbing in his temples.

Zzzzt!

He gasped, drooling blood, his teeth grinding as his body seized in place.

He was trembling now, body slick with sweat, lips pale, and arms limp in the cuffs. His breath rasped against the metal table, shallow and broken. He could barely feel anything—except the sting of that damn picture burning into his memory.

Then—

A calm, commanding voice echoed from behind.

"That's enough."

Instant stillness.

The woman froze instantly at the sound, withdrawing the rod as if snapped out of a trance. She straightened up without protest, stepping aside like a soldier answering to a superior.

Damian’s head lolled to the side, eyelids fluttering weakly. He groaned, blinking through the blood and sweat. He struggled to lift his head, only to feel the weight of his own skull pull it back down.

Then… he saw him.

A man stepped into view—his presence quiet but commanding. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, polished shoes tapping lightly on the cold floor. A thin walking cane ticked with each step. His skin was pale, his slick black hair perfectly parted, and his eyes—

Covered in pitch-black sunglasses.

He stopped just a few feet away, the faintest tilt of his head suggesting awareness of the room’s layout. Though his gaze was hidden, Damian could feel it—locked directly on him.

He was blind.

Damian’s breath hitched. Even in his agony, something about the man’s presence made his skin crawl.

The man spoke again, his voice smooth like silk, but laced with authority.

"Unchain him. I would like to speak to him… alone."