Chapter 12
1271 Words
Diana had already gone far, the sharp clack of her high heels echoing coldly against the steel corridor, leaving behind Elena’s desperate cries of anguish. The door had barely started to close when a guard kicked it back open—just like the one who had earlier eyed her with greed.
“Beaten, but still damn appetizing,” another man sneered, his vile laughter ringing out across the icy room. “So fair-skinned… Those researchers are such a waste. Why keep her locked up and not sample the goods first?”
“Don’t come near me!” Elena screamed. She staggered backward, trying to keep some distance, but the men quickly surrounded her. A harsh slap sent her crashing to the floor, a metallic taste of blood spreading in her mouth. She tried to crawl away, only to have her hair yanked back by a cruel hand.
“A little fun won’t kill you. You’re just the wife of a useless Wolf. Who gives a damn if you live or die?”
Elena thrashed, her nails raking across one man’s face, leaving a bloody scratch. But in the next instant, a brutal punch to her stomach made her retch violently. She collapsed, trembling, breath coming in jagged gasps.
She wanted to scream, but her throat only let out a hoarse rasp. Through the fog in her mind, she heard crying… faint… fragile… her daughter’s cry… echoing from the glass-walled room behind her.
“Mommy…”
That weak voice stabbed Elena’s heart like a blade. Her vision dimmed, and her nearly limp body was being dragged by three rough men, hands reaching to tear at her clothes.
Then suddenly—c***k.
The sound snapped through the air like something had fractured within the space itself.
Everyone in the room froze. The outer metal door, always locked tight, had just been… flung open without a single touch.
A silhouette stood in the mist.
Slow. Silent. Breathless.
But something poured from where he stood… like the sky itself was collapsing. An invisible pressure spread outward—unseen, but overwhelmingly suffocating. A few began to panic, stumbling back.
“W-what the hell is that…”
“I… I can’t breathe…”
“Is the gravity… increasing…?”
The man walked in — a long black coat sweeping across the cold floor, eyes devoid of emotion.
Elena was unconscious.
The little girl, however, blinked open her foggy eyes, lifted her tiny hand toward the figure, and murmured, “Daddy…”
Zeyan’s body trembled faintly. A primal, blood-deep instinct surged within him—he knew instantly the child was his own.
The man with the clawed face screamed, “Who the hell are you?! Who gave you—”
He never finished. His knees buckled as if crushed by an invisible force from above. He howled like he was being flattened by a skyscraper. Blood gushed from his nose; his eyes rolled back.
“Gaaah—!! It hurts… I… I can’t… stand…!”
“s**t! Something’s—”
Another man collapsed, spine twisting grotesquely, foam bubbling at his mouth.
Zeyan took another step.
The pressure spread like a shockwave, layer by layer, squeezing the air from every chest in the room.
No one understood what was happening. All they knew was—as long as he stood there—they couldn’t move. Their hearts pounded erratically, their lungs burned like fire.
“H-he’s not human…”
“Not a Beta either…”
“Alpha…? No, that’s not… what is this…?”
Someone trembled, screaming in sheer panic, “What the hell is standing in front of us?!”
Zeyan didn’t answer.
He walked slowly to where Elena lay, lifting her bruised body in his arms and gently draping his coat over her. With the other hand, he reached toward the glass chamber where his daughter lay.
The door swung open. Silently. Automatically.
The child’s eyes fluttered open again, and she whispered, “Daddy…”
Zeyan nodded. “Daddy’s here.”
He didn’t look back at the others. His voice rang out, cold and emotionless:
“Touch my wife… and not a single one of you will leave here whole.”
One sentence. But every word carried the weight of mountains, crashing onto the minds of those still conscious.
One by one, they dropped to their knees. Some struggled, but blood began to pour from their ears and eyes. They could only cry and beg—no more arrogance, no more insults. Only fear remained.
Fear so deep, they didn’t dare breathe.
Fear so heavy, that losing consciousness felt like mercy.
Moments later, silence returned to the room… broken only by ragged breaths and voiceless sobs of those who had come face-to-face with something… they couldn’t name.
Then came the hurried footsteps echoing down the empty hallway, slicing through the humid air thick with the stench of blood. Several men in black rushed in, their eyes barely adjusted to the darkness when the scene before them stopped them dead in their tracks.
A tall man stood at the center of the wrecked research lab. Blood stained the tiled floor. The bodies of several guards still twitched in spasms—as if consumed by a hurricane. And at the epicenter of it all stood the cold, commanding back of Zeyan Wang — the one they all knew as Boss Silverfang.
Beside him stood a little girl of about three, face pale, lips bluish. A blood-transfusion needle still pierced her tiny arm. She clung to Zeyan’s sleeve instinctively, as though his familiar scent was the only thing that could make her feel safe in this hell.
One subordinate stepped forward, face full of disbelief: “I-is that… your daughter, sir?”
“They… they must have a death wish to dare do this to the Boss’s wife and child…”
None of them had ever imagined that a child could make Boss lose his composure. Even less could they believe—he once had a family.
Lucas approached cautiously. “Then… what are your next orders, Boss?”
Zeyan didn’t turn. His voice was as frigid as frost settling on corpses: “Investigate. Drag out every single bastard behind this. Who gave the order, who acted, who stood by and watched—I want every one of them named.”
“Understood!” they all responded in unison. Every one of them knew—when Boss Silverfang gave an order, even if it meant tearing down an entire organization, it would be done.
Zeyan knelt down, placing a hand on his daughter’s wrist. Ice cold. Her pulse was so faint it felt like it might vanish at any moment. Without hesitation, he rolled up his sleeve, drew a dagger, and sliced his own wrist, connecting the transfusion line directly into his artery.
His blood—blood of the highest-ranking Lycan, the only one with the golden gene—began to flow into his daughter’s fragile body. As the line slowly turned from clear to deep crimson, he whispered, barely audible:
“It’s okay now. Daddy’s here…”
One of the others watched in silence, heart tightening. Lycan blood of that level… was only ever shared with direct heirs or to revive dying warriors. Yet here he was, giving it freely—to a child he had never even held before.
“Boss, has the medical team been called?”
“They have. But they might not make it in time.” Zeyan replied quietly, eyes never leaving the child’s face.
She shivered. Her eyelids fluttered… slowly opened.
Her voice, hoarse and weak, barely reached his ears:
“Daddy…”
- Writer
