No One Hurts My Daughter and Lives

Chapter 2

The sharp crack of a leather whip echoed through the damp, dimly lit basement, tearing through the stagnant air. At that precise moment, Aaron Holmes felt a sudden, desperate weight on his arm. His young daughter was clinging to him with every ounce of her remaining strength. Her tiny, trembling fingers clamped down so hard that her frail nails pierced through his clothes, digging deep into his flesh. A violent shudder ripped through his frame. His eyes, usually calm, instantly flooded with a terrifying, blood-red fury. The realization hit him like a physical blow. His own flesh and blood, his precious daughter, had been enduring this unimaginable hell, and he had been entirely oblivious.

A suffocating wave of heartbreak and self-blame crashed over him. The little girl in his arms was consumed by a bone-chilling terror, her emaciated body quivering uncontrollably against his chest. Aaron Holmes wrapped his strong arms around her fragile form, pulling her into a fiercely protective embrace. He lowered his head, pressing his cheek against her matted hair, and forced his voice to remain gentle. "It is alright, Liv. Do not be afraid. Daddy is here now. No one will ever hurt you again."

The heavyset woman holding the whip finally processed the sudden intrusion. She blinked, her cruel eyes narrowing in the gloom. Her initial shock morphed into ugly rage. "Who the hell are you?" she shrieked, her shrill voice grating against the stone walls. "Breaking into someone else's basement in broad daylight! What do you think you are doing? Get the hell out of here!"

Aaron Holmes did not dignify her screeching with a response. With infinite care, he gently transferred his daughter into the waiting arms of his subordinate. "Liv, be a good girl and go outside with Reaper for a moment," he murmured softly. "Daddy just needs to take care of some business."

Reaper accepted the child with surprising gentleness, but as his gaze shifted toward the screeching woman, the temperature in the cramped basement plummeted. A dark, murderous aura leaked from his towering frame. "Lord Holmes, there is no need for you to personally deal with a piece of trash like this," Reaper stated, his voice a low rumble filled with lethal intent. "Please, allow us to handle it. Do not dirty your own hands."

"Do not worry about it," Aaron Holmes replied coldly. "Take her outside immediately. I am going to handle this personally."

His words carried an absolute, undeniable authority. Not a single soul dared to question the command. Reaper shielded the fragile girl against his shoulder and silently led the rest of the men up the concrete stairs.

"You have some nerve!" the heavyset woman bellowed, her face turning mottled red. "You think you can just march in here and steal people away? Leave that little bastard right here!" She lunged forward, desperately waving her thick arms to block their path.

Her efforts were entirely useless. Aaron Holmes stepped forward, his broad shoulders completely blocking her line of sight to the exit. At that moment, the terrifying presence he had kept leashed completely erupted. He stood in the flickering shadows, exuding an aura so heavy he looked exactly like a blood-soaked Shura crawling out from the abyss. Murderous energy rolled off him, and his eyes burned with a crimson light.

Without wasting a single breath, he raised his hand and delivered a brutal backhand slap across the woman's fleshy face. "You deserve death," he hissed, his tone dropping to absolute zero. "Do you even know who that little girl is? How could anyone possess the cruelty to treat a defenseless child in such a manner? Where is your conscience?"

The sheer kinetic force of the blow lifted the woman entirely off her feet. She crashed heavily onto the hard concrete floor in a pathetic heap, five swollen finger marks blistering across her pale cheek.

"You... you actually dared to hit me?" she screeched, clutching her burning face. She glared up at him, her eyes wide with shock and lingering arrogance.

Aaron Holmes stared down at her, his expression as hard as a glacier. His piercing gaze radiated an intensity that made the air feel thin. "That strike was exactly what you earned," he stated coldly. "Locking a little girl in a dark, filthy basement... you truly have a heart of stone. And that rusted dog collar around her neck. The agonizing wounds covering her small body. All of that was your doing, was it not?"

As he laid out the three condemning facts, the crimson hue in his eyes intensified into a fiery glare. His teeth ground together loudly in the quiet space.

"So what if it was?" the fat woman scoffed, curling her lips into a defiant sneer, foolishly unaware of the monster standing before her. "She is nothing but a wretched little bastard that nobody wanted. I have already been merciful. She should be thanking me just for throwing her a bowl of rice every day."

A flash of pure, unadulterated killing intent sparked within Aaron Holmes's eyes. "You are courting your own demise."

Before the final syllable faded into the damp air, a terrifying arc of cold silver light erupted in the gloom. The woman's pupils dilated to the size of saucers. She froze, staring down in numb horror at her own arms. Two deep lacerations had suddenly appeared across her flesh, and crimson blood began to spray wildly into the air.

By the time her brain registered the agony and she tore her gaze back up, the man standing before her was already calmly sliding a blood-stained dagger back into its sheath. The sequence of violence had occurred in the span of a single heartbeat, moving too fast for her eyes to track.

Only then did the profound terror set in. The woman realized the true, nightmarish nature of the man she had provoked. His sheer ruthlessness and absolute lack of hesitation to inflict lethal violence was a terrifying revelation. She vividly smelled the metallic stench of her own approaching death.

"Boss, please, no! I am begging you, spare my life!" All traces of her arrogance evaporated, replaced by pathetic desperation. She scrambled onto her knees, bowing her head repeatedly against the dirty concrete. "I do not know anything, I swear! I am just a middleman. Someone paid me to keep her locked down here in this hellhole and make sure she didn't starve. I have no idea what their real intentions were! If you want revenge, go find them!"

"They?" Aaron Holmes furrowed his brow, his deep voice slicing through her sobbing. "Who exactly are they?" The realization that his daughter had been dragged into a massive conspiracy sent a jolt of icy rage through his veins.

"The... the Tyler family of Haven City," she stuttered out, trembling violently.

The Tyler family. Upon hearing that name, a monstrous inferno of wrath ignited deep within Aaron Holmes's chest. If Liv had not miraculously managed to contact him, she would have undoubtedly succumbed to a horrific fate, condemning him to bear an unbearable, eternal regret.

"The Tyler family... I will naturally pay them a visit," Aaron Holmes declared, his voice devoid of human emotion. "As for you, I have decided not to let you die today. Go over there and secure that heavy dog collar around your own neck. You kept my daughter trapped in this darkness for half a year. As payment, you will remain chained in this basement for the next three years. Someone will come down here to throw you scraps of food. Whether you survive or rot away will be entirely up to fate."

The heavyset woman stared up at him in profound shock, a deep despair settling into her eyes. Yet, thoroughly broken by his display of power, she dared not resist. Sobbing quietly, she dragged her bleeding body over to the damp corner and obediently fastened the rusted metal collar tightly around her thick neck.

Satisfied, Aaron Holmes turned his back and took a large stride out of the basement. However, his momentary relief was instantly shattered. Reaper was rushing hurriedly toward him, his usually stoic face twisted in sheer panic.

"Lord Holmes, the young mistress, she—"

Aaron Holmes felt his heart leap into his throat. He shot forward, rushing outside with terrifying speed. There, resting gently in the arms of a battle-hardened soldier, was his precious Liv. But a steady, horrifying stream of dark red blood was pouring relentlessly from her small nose, staining her pale skin.

"Daddy..." Liv called out, her voice so incredibly weak it sounded like a dying breath. She fought desperately to pry her heavy eyelids open, wanting to look at her father's face for a few more seconds. "Daddy, please do not be scared. I have leukemia. I know I am going to go to heaven soon. But just being able to see you one last time... I am truly so happy."

Leukemia. The word struck Aaron Holmes like a physical blow. How could someone so young and innocent be afflicted with such a cruel disease?

"Do not be afraid, Liv. Daddy is right here with you. I swear, I will not let anything bad happen to you," he choked out, his voice cracking with emotion.

Liv tried to speak again, but the heavy flow of crimson blood suddenly slid down, pooling into her mouth. The horrific sight caused Aaron Holmes's heart to twist violently, as if an invisible hand was crushing it.

"Daddy... if I do not wake up this time," she gasped out, fighting through the choking blood, "please promise me you will donate my corneas to other little children who need them. That way... they can look at the beautiful world for me."

The moment those devastatingly selfless words left her tiny lips, Liv's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed into a deep, terrifying unconsciousness.

"She is still so young! How can this be happening? No!" Aaron Holmes threw his head back and unleashed an earth-shattering roar of agony. He practically tore his daughter from the soldier's arms, holding her tightly against his chest, and screamed with a hoarse voice, "Reaper! Mobilize the network! Gather the absolute top-tier medical specialists from across the globe to treat my daughter! Go! Now!"

Without hesitating for a fraction of a second, Reaper whipped out his phone and initiated a top-level emergency conference call.

"Listen closely," Reaper barked into the receiver, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "Every single individual or organization that has ever received a favor from our forces, and possesses expertise in the study of leukemia—spare no effort. Rush to Haven City immediately. Execute this order right now!"

The absolute command issued by Reaper acted like a massive boulder dropped into a quiet lake. The entire hidden world of the borders erupted into a chaotic frenzy. Countless powerful figures desperately wished they could instantly teleport to Haven City to stand guard by Lord Holmes's side. However, Reaper had issued a strict directive. With the sole exception of the required medical personnel, absolutely no one else was permitted to travel there.

Far away, inside an opulent castle in Western Europe, a handsome young man with golden hair was lounging lazily on an antique sofa. The serene silence was broken by the sharp ring of a secure phone. After listening intently, he slowly lowered the receiver. His previously relaxed expression had vanished entirely, replaced by heavy gravity. Speaking in heavily accented Chinese, he muttered, "Offering six massive oil fields just to coax me out of retirement... that is truly a staggering display of wealth. But, Lord Holmes, even if there was absolutely no reward offered at all, how could I ever dare to refuse your call?"

Without wasting another second, the young man strode purposely out of his luxurious castle, directly boarding a waiting private jet to blast toward Haven City.

Meanwhile, deep within a dense mountain range in the southern territories of Rusteria Country, an elderly man dressed in a flowing Daoist robe darted through the thick forest canopy. His eyes gleamed with a piercing light. He moved with an impossibly swift grace, his feet practically skimming over the underbrush without ever fully touching the solid ground beneath him.

"At this speed, I can reach the nearest airport in precisely half an hour," the old martial artist whispered frantically to the rushing wind. "Young Mistress, you must hold on. Please, hold on!"

Within the span of a few chaotic minutes, a wave of elite individuals across the globe—each one a master in the complex arts of medicine—received the urgent summons. They abandoned their current lives entirely, springing into action and racing madly toward Haven City, not daring to show even the slightest hint of delay.

Meanwhile, inside a sprawling, incredibly lavish courtyard mansion situated in the heart of Haven City.

Serena Vale, dressed elegantly in a soft chiffon blouse, was pacing erratically back and forth across the center of the expansive grand hall. Every step she took betrayed a deep, gnawing anxiety. Regardless of her current distress, whether it was her flawless temperament or her absolutely stunning figure, she undeniably projected the image of a breathtakingly perfect woman.

A few moments later, the heavy silence of the hall was broken. A man sharply dressed in an expensive designer suit strolled casually out from behind an intricately carved wooden privacy screen.

"Marcus Tyler," Serena snapped, coming to a sudden halt and glaring at him. Her voice dripped with extreme irritation and guarded impatience. "Just what exactly is so important that you had to drag me all the way out here? Why on earth could you not just explain this to me clearly over the phone?"