Chapter 004
1453 Words
With a single, almost careless flick of his wrist, the invisible force surged outward.
Seven or eight bodyguards didn’t so much fall as they ceased to exist.
Their bodies detonated midair, flesh and bone dissolving into thick crimson mist that splattered across the walls, the ceiling, and the polished floor. The air instantly filled with the heavy, choking stench of blood and iron, so dense it seemed to cling to the lungs.
For a brief, horrifying second, silence followed.
Then a thought surfaced in the minds of everyone still alive.
Was this… really something a human being could do?
The three remaining guards were already beyond reason. Their knees buckled as if the bones inside their legs had turned to wax. Their mouths hung open, jaws trembling, eyes stretched so wide the whites showed all around, pupils shaking violently. Terror hollowed them out from the inside.
They were no longer capable of thought.
They couldn’t hear Dylan Brooks’ question.
They couldn’t remember how to speak.
They couldn’t even scream.
At that moment, a scream ripped through the villa from upstairs.
“Aah—Gabby! Gabby—!”
“You animals! You monsters! You’ll never be forgiven—never!”
The voice was Sophie Walker’s.
It was raw, torn apart by despair, hoarse to the point of breaking. The sound carried not just pain, but the absolute collapse of hope, the kind of scream that came from a mother watching her world being dismantled piece by piece.
Boom.
The moment that voice reached him, the suppressed fury inside Dylan Brooks detonated.
The killing aura around him surged violently, slamming into the room like a shockwave. The marble floor cracked outward in spiderweb patterns. The walls groaned under the pressure.
Without even turning his head, Dylan drove a single punch forward.
The three remaining guards didn’t have time to understand what was happening.
They burst apart.
Not flung backward. Not crushed.
They were annihilated, reduced to drifting fragments and vapor before a sound could escape their throats.
Dylan moved.
His body vanished in a blur, launching toward the staircase like an arrow loosed from a fully drawn bow. Each step shattered the structure beneath him, wood splintering, stone fracturing as he ascended.
Upstairs, chaos reigned.
Laughter echoed through the corridor—wild, unrestrained, grotesquely excited.
“So this is the so-called number one goddess of Kingsley?” Matthew Nolan’s voice rang out, thick with satisfaction. “From tonight onward, Sophie Walker, you belong to me.”
Fabric tore.
The sound was sharp, obscene in its finality.
Sophie’s clothes were ripped apart, piece by piece, until only thin, clinging layers remained. Her arms trembled violently as she struggled, but the strength had already drained from her body. Her mind teetered on the brink of collapse.
“You promised,” she sobbed, her voice cracking. “You said you’d let my daughter go. You promised—”
Her pleas fell into empty air.
On the cold surgical table beside them lay a small figure.
Gabby.
Her chest was slick with blood, the pale skin stained a deep, frightening red. The incision was already open, cruel and precise, only one final step away from the ultimate act. Tubes, instruments, and blood-soaked cloths surrounded her small body.
Her breathing was faint.
Shallow.
Almost imperceptible.
“Gabby…” Sophie’s vision blurred. Her heart felt like it was being torn apart from the inside. “Mama’s coming to you.”
With a sudden burst of desperation, she lunged forward and sank her teeth into Matthew Nolan’s arm with all the strength she had left.
A muffled curse erupted.
Matthew recoiled and struck back reflexively, a brutal slap cracking across Sophie’s face. Her head snapped to the side, but she barely felt it. Pain no longer mattered.
In that instant, she broke free.
She staggered toward the surgical table, her movements fueled by nothing but instinct. Her fingers closed around a scalpel lying nearby.
Without hesitation, she turned it toward herself.
Farewell, world.
Farewell, Dylan.
Gabby… Mama’s coming.
The blade cut through skin.
Blood sprayed outward.
But—
There was no pain.
No sharp agony.
Only warmth.
Sophie’s eyes fluttered open.
A strong arm was wrapped around her wrist, stopping the blade inches from her throat.
The scalpel had buried itself into flesh—but not hers.
It was Dylan Brooks’ arm.
Blood streamed down from the wound, dripping steadily onto the floor.
He had arrived.
At the very last second.
“D-Dylan…” Sophie’s voice collapsed into a sob. “You’re back… you’re finally back…”
All the strength drained from her body at once. She fell forward, crashing into his chest, her fingers clutching at his clothes as she broke down completely. Years of fear, pain, regret, and desperation poured out in wrenching sobs.
“Our daughter…” she cried. “Our daughter…”
Dylan held her tightly, one arm wrapped around her shaking body.
Then his gaze shifted.
It locked onto the surgical table.
The moment he saw her face, something inside him shattered.
A little girl, no more than four years old, lay bound there. Her skin was pale as paper, lips faintly blue. Blood soaked the sheets beneath her. Her chest was cut open, cruel and merciless.
Her features—
Her brows.
Her nose.
Her lips.
They mirrored his own with terrifying clarity.
It was like looking at himself, shrunk down into a fragile, broken child.
“My daughter,” Dylan whispered.
His eyes turned blood-red.
The doctor nearby, hands still trembling over the instruments, froze under that gaze. His heart nearly stopped.
“You—you don’t understand,” the doctor stammered. “I was just—”
Dylan was already moving.
His hand closed around the man’s neck.
A sharp twist.
Crack.
The sound echoed in the room like snapping dry wood.
The doctor’s body went limp instantly, life extinguished without the slightest struggle.
Matthew Nolan staggered backward, terror flooding his face. “Who are you? How did you get in here? Guards—where are my guards?!”
“You,” Dylan said, his voice low and absolute, “should die.”
He grabbed the dead doctor’s body and hurled it.
The impact slammed Matthew into the wall with bone-crushing force. He collapsed to the ground, ribs snapping audibly, breath driven violently from his lungs as if he’d been hit by a speeding truck.
Dylan released Sophie and rushed to the surgical table.
With swift, precise movements, he cut through the restraints binding Gabby’s small body.
“My daughter… my daughter…” His hands trembled for the first time.
His heart felt like it was bleeding.
He produced a small pill from his coat and gently placed it between Gabby’s lips. “Your heart hasn’t been taken,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You’ve just lost too much blood. Daddy can save you. I promise.”
The pill dissolved instantly.
Without wasting another second, Dylan began stitching the wound.
His hands were steady now, impossibly precise. The needle moved as if it were an extension of his own body, each motion fluid, controlled, perfect. Blood flow slowed, then stopped.
Within minutes, the wound was closed.
Sophie stood beside him, clutching the torn remains of her clothing around herself, afraid to even breathe too loudly.
“She’s stable,” Dylan said quietly.
Relief crashed over Sophie so hard she nearly collapsed.
A bitter laugh echoed.
“Breaking into the Nolan family of Kingsley’s home like this… you’re courting death.”
Matthew Nolan struggled upright, fumbling for his phone.
The door burst open.
Thomas Reed, clad in full military uniform, stepped inside first.
Behind him came Marcus Hale, the Lord of Nether Court, his presence cold and suffocating.
Then more figures followed—leaders of Divine Herb Vale, the chairman of Riverton Group, foreign warlords, mercenary kings—each one radiating authority that crushed the air.
Matthew froze.
“Who… who are you people?” he whispered.
No one answered.
They didn’t need to.
The pressure alone was enough to shatter him.
“You—you should know,” Matthew stammered, grasping at his last shred of pride. “The Nolan family is a top-tier family in Kingsley. You’ll regret this—”
“Enough,” Marcus Hale said flatly.
He moved.
A flash of steel.
Blood sprayed.
Matthew’s wrists were severed in an instant.
His scream was cut short by a crushing punch to the face. Teeth flew. Bones crunched.
Marcus clamped a hand over his mouth.
“If you make another sound,” he said softly, “I’ll carve you apart piece by piece while you’re still alive.”
Matthew’s eyes rolled back.
He understood.
This wasn’t a threat.
It was a promise.
- Writer
