Chapter 17:
1221 Words
Diana had already gone far, the sharp clack of her heels echoing dryly along the cold steel hallway, leaving behind Elena’s desperate sobs. The door hadn’t even shut completely before one of the guards kicked it open again—just like the one earlier who had stared at her with hunger in his eyes.
“Even after a beating, she still looks delicious.” Another man spoke, his lewd laughter echoing through the frigid room. “Skin so pale… those lab guys are wasting her, keeping her around instead of getting a taste first.”
Elena screamed, “Stay away from me!” She kicked out weakly, trying to keep them at bay, but they quickly surrounded her. A slap knocked her flat on the ground. The metallic taste of blood rose in her mouth. She struggled to get up, only to be yanked backward by her hair.
“A bit of fun won’t kill her. She’s just the wife of that useless Lone Wolf. Who would care if she lives or dies?”
Elena thrashed, her nails raking across the face of the speaker, leaving a long, bleeding gash. But almost immediately, a punch slammed into her stomach with bone-crushing force, making her vomit. She collapsed to her knees, trembling, breath broken and ragged.
She wanted to scream, but only a hoarse rasp came out. Through the haze, she heard a child’s sobbing… faint, tender… coming from behind the glass chamber nearby.
“Mommy…”
That feeble voice was like a blade through Elena’s heart. Her vision blurred, her body limp, dragged roughly by the three men who reached for her clothes.
And then—a c***k.
A sound like something snapping open inside the very air itself.
Everyone froze. The heavy metal door outside—always locked—had flung open.
Yet no one had touched it.
A shadow stood there, framed by smoke.
Slow. Silent. Breathless.
But from where he stood, something radiated outward—like the sky itself was collapsing. The pressure was intangible but overwhelming. Some of the men began to panic and step back.
“Wh-what the hell is that…”
“I… I can’t breathe…”
“Is the gravity… increasing…?”
The man stepped forward — his long black coat trailing across the cold tiles, his eyes void of all emotion.
Elena had already passed out.
And the little girl was staring at him through half-lidded eyes, reaching out with a frail hand, whispering, “Daddy…”
Zeyan’s body gave the faintest jolt. That innate blood connection awakened instantly. He knew — this little girl was truly his daughter.
The man with the clawed face shouted, “Who the hell are you?! Who gave you—”
Before he could finish, his legs buckled as if stomped from above. He screamed, crushed like a building had collapsed on him. Blood burst from his nose, his eyes rolling back.
“Gaaah—!! It hurts… I… can’t… stand…!”
“Something’s wrong! He’s—”
Another one crumpled to the floor, spine bent unnaturally, foam spilling from his mouth.
Zeyan took one more step.
The pressure spread like invisible shockwaves, layer after layer, locking around everyone’s lungs.
No one understood what was happening. All they knew was—so long as he stood there, their bodies were paralyzed, hearts thundering, lungs burning.
“H-he’s not human…”
“Not a Beta either…”
“Alpha…? No, this isn’t… this is something else…”
One man broke, screaming in terror, “What the hell is standing in front of us?!”
Zeyan didn’t answer.
He walked slowly toward where Elena lay, lifted her bruised body into his arms, and gently draped his coat over her. With his other hand, he reached toward the glass door behind which the child was imprisoned.
The door clicked open—on its own. Soundless.
The little girl blinked, again whispering, “Daddy…”
Zeyan nodded. “Daddy’s here.”
He didn’t look back at the others. His voice echoed, cold and void of mercy:
“Touch my wife… and not a single one of you will remain whole.”
Just one sentence—but every word dropped like a thousand-ton weight onto their minds.
One by one, they fell to their knees. Some tried to resist, but blood began leaking from their ears, from their eyes. No more jeering. No more insults. Only cries. Only pleas. Only terror.
Terror so deep they didn’t even dare to breathe.
Terror so deep… that losing consciousness felt like mercy.
Eventually, silence returned to the room… broken only by faint breathing and soundless sobs of those who had just encountered something… unnameable.
Then came hurried footsteps down the corridor, echoing amid the damp air and thick stench of blood. Several figures in black burst in, eyes adjusting too slowly to the dark—only to freeze at the sight.
A tall man stood in the center of the ruined lab. Blood streaked the tile beneath him. The bodies of the guards were still twitching, as if a storm had swept through. At the eye of that storm stood the cold, commanding back of Zeyan Wang—the man they all knew as Boss Silverfang.
Beside him stood a little girl, maybe three years old, her face pale, lips bluish, and a blood-transfusion needle still stuck in her tiny arm. She clung instinctively to Zeyan’s sleeve, as if only that familiar scent could keep her safe in this hell.
One subordinate stepped forward, face stricken with disbelief: “Is… is that your daughter, Boss?”
“They… they must be out of their minds. To do this to your wife and child…”
None of them had ever imagined that a child could make the Boss lose composure. Nor that the Boss had ever had a family.
Lucas stepped up, asking, “Then… what’s the next move, Boss?”
Zeyan didn’t turn around. His voice was glacial, like frost settling on corpses. “Investigate. Drag out every single person behind this. Who signed the order, who executed it, who looked away—I want them all named.”
“Yes, sir!” they chorused. Every one of them knew: once Boss Silverfang gave the command, even razing an entire organization wouldn’t be too much.
Zeyan knelt and touched his daughter’s wrist. Ice-cold. Her pulse barely detectable.
Without hesitation, he rolled up his sleeve, pulled a small blade, and slit open a vein. Then he connected the transfusion directly into it. His blood—the blood of the highest-ranking Lycan, the sole bearer of the Golden Gene—began to flow into her frail body. As the tube turned from clear to deep crimson, he whispered, barely audible:
“It’s okay now. Daddy’s here…”
Someone watching clutched their chest in awe. Lycan blood of that caliber was only ever used for pure heirs or to resurrect dying warriors. Yet here he was—offering it freely, without a second thought, to a child he had never held.
“Boss, have you called the medical team?”
“Yes. But… they might not make it in time.” Zeyan’s voice was quiet, gaze fixed on her face. The girl trembled, eyelids fluttering open. Her voice, cracked and faint, barely escaped her throat.
“Daddy…”
- Writer
