Chase POV
I whipped my head around, my heart racing, and there was Astaroth, lounging lazily on a lavish red velvet sofa. It was the kind of setup you'd expect in some grand, twisted palace—extravagant and disturbing at the same time. He was watching me like someone watches their favourite show, a delighted smirk playing on his lips.
Beside him knelt a man, gaunt and barely clothed, wearing nothing but filthy rags that barely clung to his bruised and battered frame. Chains rattled from the man's wrists, the metal digging into his raw, scabbed skin. His eyes were hollow, and the sound of his laboured breathing filled the eerie silence as he hand-fed grapes to Astaroth like a broken servant.
The contrast between them was stark—Astaroth, relaxed and gleaming with power, his eyes sharp and
