"Let go of her! Now!" Han Ye's voice was a ragged scream that echoed off the high stone walls of the library.
He didn't move. He couldn't. His hands were still locked with Mo Ran's, and the golden light of the Sutra was still swirling around them. If he pulled away now, the ritual would snap. The old man had warned him that a broken circle meant they would both vanish into nothing. But the black chain was tightening around Mo Ran's throat, and her face was already turning a bruised, sickly purple.
"You are in no position to give orders, demon," the Sovereign said. He stepped further into the room, his heavy boots crushing the old scrolls scattered on the floor. "The ritual is almost complete. I can feel the resonance. You are doing all the hard work for me."
"Han... Ye..." Mo Ran gasped
