A sickening shhhkt rang out, followed by the violent spray of crimson. Blood erupted in fountains, staining the white marble floor, splattering across walls like grotesque calligraphy. Severed heads tumbled to the ground, their eyes still wide in shock, their mouths frozen in the act of voicing cruelty they would never finish. Their bodies convulsed, spurting hot streams of blood before collapsing into twitching heaps.
The stench of iron filled the air.
At the center of the c*****e stood Zaki Lee, cold as a statue of death itself. His dagger gleamed beneath the chamber’s light, silver and slick, warm blood trailing down its edge in slow, glistening rivulets. His face bore no emotion — only merciless finality.
Then it came.
A voice.
Dark. Terrifying. Absolute.
“She… is mine.”
The wor
