CHAPTER FOUR

In a dimly lit room, illuminated by a flickering ceiling light bulb that seemed on the brink of failure, a man with a bag over his head endured the merciless hold of two menacing individuals. They relentlessly submerged his head in a large bathtub filled with water, only to yank him out moments later for further interrogation.

The room bore the evidence of their struggle—water pooled on the floor, a result of both his resistance and the dampness of the bag. The man, shirtless and kneeling, bore numerous wounds adorning his chest. As they removed the bag from his head, he gasped for air, coughing in response.

The attention of both the captive and his tormentors was captured by the creaking sound of the metal door, announcing the arrival of their superior.

A figure dressed in a black overall entered the room, his coal-black eyes piercing the atmosphere. His dark, silky hair and pale complexion added to his striking, yet sinister appearance. His slightly pink lips gave him an air of both beauty and malevolence that could strike fear into anyone.

He was the one who wielded authority within those walls. The enigmatic figure known as Lord Damien commanded unwavering obedience, with his every word carrying the weight of law. None dared to defy him, and even his adversaries found themselves powerless before him.

With purpose, he approached the sole chair in the room and took a seat. His intense gaze fixed upon the solitary figure before him, the only person capable of granting him what he sought.

"You possess what I desire, do you not?" Lord Damien addressed the young man who knelt helplessly before him.

"Please, Lord Damien, I have no knowledge of what you seek. I am innocent," the young man pleaded, tears welling in his eyes as he looked to the one individual who held the power to set him free.

"Ignorant fool! I am the last person you should have turned to, for you will not leave here until you provide me with what I want... I can delve into your thoughts," Damien responded, shattering every shred of hope the young man had clung to. "Let us attempt this once more: where is the Blood Ring?"

"I possess no such ring," the young man cried out, tears streaming down his cheeks. Water continued to drip from his hair, adding to the tension in the room as he struggled to catch his breath.

The young man's response seemed to enrage his interrogator further, and the once impassive Lord Damien's lips curled into a mask of fury.

A gust of wind swept through the room, and before anyone could react, Damien stood before his prisoner, his hand clenched tightly around the young man's neck, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.

"Do not tempt me to snap your neck like a twig!" Damien roared, his eyes darkening further with unbridled hatred. The intensity of his gaze struck fear into the hearts of even his loyal henchmen.

The young man fought against the tightening grip, desperate for air. But the more he struggled, the more constricting Damien's hold became. As he began to lose consciousness, Damien abruptly released him, allowing him to collapse to the floor.

"Give me a reason to trust you," the young man implored, his gaze fixed on Damien's back as the boss turned away.

"You should trust me, for I have slaughtered countless individuals who failed to provide what I sought, drinking from their skulls," Damien replied, his eyes closed.

The young man gulped, his heart racing as he watched Damien turn back to face him. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he realized the imminent danger of Damien's crimson eyes.

"I will speak," he relented, breathing a sigh of relief as Damien's pupils returned to their obsidian hue. "I gave the blood ring to a human girl."

"You gave it to whom?" Despair washed over Damien, though he concealed it beneath a veneer of anger. "Who is she?" he asked, crouching to the young man's level, his intense gaze fixed upon him.

"Please, spare me if I reveal her identity," the young man pleaded, his sweat now streaming profusely.

"I won't kill you," Damien assured him.

"I do not know her, but her image remains vivid in my memory. I can describe her appearance to you," the young man offered, sensing a glimmer of hope. Damien grinned and snapped his fingers, prompting one of his henchmen to quickly retrieve a pencil and a piece of paper.

"Please, describe her," Damien instructed, holding the paper ready as he focused on the young man.

"She possesses brown eyes and long brown hair. Her face is oval-shaped, with a pointed nose adorned by freckles at its base," the man shared, pausing as Damien nodded in acknowledgment.

"Boss," the henchman interjected, approaching with the drawing in hand. Damien accepted it, his gaze fixed on the image.

He studied the picture before him—a depiction of a beautiful young woman. Even he, in that moment, felt something stir within him as he gazed upon her likeness.

"Hmm," Damien murmured, rising to his feet with the drawing still in his grasp. "Dear prisoner, do you believe in royalty?" he inquired, his eyes fixated on the image.

"Yes! I would never betray them," the prisoner cried out, his fear of Damien's potential connection to the royal bloodline fueling his response.

"Dispose of my prisoner; he no longer serves a purpose," Damien commanded without turning to look at the young man.

"What?! But you promised!" the prisoner pleaded in despair, desperately scanning the room for a savior who would never appear.

"Indeed, I promised not to kill you myself, but I never said they couldn't," Damien replied, his fist clenched tightly.

Without warning, the sound of gunshots reverberated through the room, followed by an eerie silence.

"Now, it is time to hunt our next quarry," Damien declared, a malevolent smile curling upon his lips as he stared at Avery's picture.