"Factory." The word left his lips before he could process it fully.
"Drag him inside!"
A commanding voice cut through the silence.
"Someone, fetch me a chair! And bring everything—guns, rods, drugs."
The response came instantly,
"Yes, SIR!!!"
The subordinates moved with practised efficiency.
Shouts filled the air as they tossed Vrit onto the ground, the impact jarring his body. Footsteps scattered as they rushed to find a chair, leaving him momentarily alone.
With my hands and legs tied, I was playing down on the ground. Then the sound of slow, deliberate steps approached.
A firm hand pressed down on Vrit's shoulder, forcing him still.
A voice, close to his ear, taunting. "I would love to look... But—"
Without warning, his head slammed into the ground—once, twice, the force ruthless. By the third, pain blurred the edges of his vision.
Vrit's body ached, his skin bruised and bloodied. The guards returned with a chair, while one was sent to stand watch near the vehicles.
"You, over there, I want you to go stand there near our vehicles."
"Okay, sir!"
Emilieo leaned in, his voice low but sharp.
"Listen up. I'll answer your questions in a way you won't forget. Consider it a lesson your parents failed to teach you on minding your business."
His words dripped with amusement, a smirk playing on his lips as he enjoyed the control he held over the situation.
Vrit exhaled sharply, his frustration boiling over. His voice cut through the air, laced with venom.
"Watch my tongue? Haah... Emilieo, you're nothing more than a spoiled brat who hides behind his father's name, throwing his weight around to intimidate the weak. You demand respect, I bet your father doesn't think much of you."
Emilieo snapped upon hearing those words. Fury overtook him, and he let his rage explode onto Vrit. His fist connected with Vrit's face, the impact brutal.
"You worthless piece of trash! You're nothing but society's discarded garbage. Be aware of your LIMITS!"
Emilieo's voice thundered, each word dripping with rage. Blow after blow landed as Vrit screamed in pain, his cries echoing through the desolate space.
"Had to cover my head with a bag, tie my hands and legs... all because you're so scared of me using my powers on you," Vrit muttered, his tone dripping with mockery.
Emilieo let out a sharp laugh, clearly amused. "You love trash-talking, don't you?"
After a brief pause, his voice turned cold and commanding.
"Drag this motherfucker inside. Make him sit. I thought about letting him go, but..."
"Okay, sir!" came the immediate response from his men.
They grabbed Vrit and hauled him inside. He was forced onto a chair, his hands tied tightly to the armrests and his legs secured to the chair's legs.
Emilieo's voice dripped with mockery as he leaned closer, his presence suffocating.
"You talk about power... Look at you now. I kidnapped you, dragged you to this godforsaken place, dug up everything about you, and beat you to a pulp. And yet, you still dare to talk about power?"
Vrit clenched his jaw, his body tense. He stayed silent, knowing that any response could escalate the situation further. His breathing was shallow, his mind racing for a way out.
"Haah... Your silence is pathetic. You've lost your chance. I'll let my men handle you—or maybe I'll just kill you myself."
Emilieo's voice was cold, dripping with disdain.
The guards didn't hesitate. They surrounded Vrit, their movements calculated and merciless. The first blow landed hard against his ribs, followed by a brutal kick to his stomach. Vrit gasped, his cries of pain echoing in the factory.
Punch after punch rained down on him, each strike leaving him weaker, his body trembling under the relentless assault.
Emilieo watched, his expression unreadable, until something caught his attention. His hand shot up, commanding silence.
"Stop. Boys, stop."
The guards stepped back, their breathing heavy,
As Emilieo approached. He crouched down, his presence suffocating. Gripping Vrit's head through the bag, he slammed his fist into Vrit's nose, the impact sharp and unforgiving.
"Ask for mercy," Emilieo growled, his voice low and venomous.
"BEG for mercy."
and continued to punch until Vrit passed out.
Emilieo sneered, eyes filled with disdain.
"What a weakling. Big mouth, nothing else."
Laughter erupted around Vrit. It wasn't amusement—it was cruelty, their voices dripping with mockery as they stood over his beaten body. To them, he wasn't a person. He was entertainment.
Emilieo commanded. "Splash a bucket of water on his face. The bastard's unconscious."
(Vrit heard a deep and heavy voice in his head.)
[DEMON REALM OPEN.]
Time around Vrit stopped he had lost consciousness, there was a voice who was speaking to him.
"Here you are getting punched by a kid. Haha... Wake up loser"
Vrit suddenly gained consciousness, as he opened his eyes he found himself in pitch-black darkness, unable to speak or move he thought.
"What a strange sound, am I dead already?"
The suffocating darkness around Vrit flickered, transforming into a fiery glow—yellow and orange flames licking at the edges of his vision.
Towering pillars of black stone lined both sides, each crowned with blazing fire. Strange, intricate engravings sprawled across their surfaces, chaotic yet mesmerizing.
"I was floating… and suddenly, everything lit up,"
Vrit thought, the surreal scene unfolding before him.
A towering fortress dominated the horizon, its presence suffocating. Pulled by an unseen force, Vrit drifted forward, powerless to resist. His gaze fixed on the immense stairway ahead, rising into the unknown.
At the top, a platform loomed—its presence unnatural, almost forbidden. One glance told him it didn't belong in the world he knew.
"Empty."
The word surfaced in his mind, unbidden, yet absolute.
As my gaze adjusted, a figure took shape—a creature shrouded in absolute darkness, seated atop a throne. Its mere existence exuded an unnatural dread, enough to send icy tendrils of pain through my body.
"Am I dead? Is he the lord of hell?" The thought clawed at my mind, unanswered.
I took in my surroundings. It felt like standing in the grand court of a king, a ruler whose power was beyond comprehension.
As the events unravelled, the creature finally spoke. Its voice was deep—unearthly—reverberating through the space like a force beyond comprehension.
"Vrit… that's your name. Quite the coincidence, quite the twist… hahaha."
The sheer weight of its voice shook my very core, forcing me to my knees. I couldn't lift my head, couldn't face it. Its presence alone was suffocating.
Then—without warning—agony tore through me. A blade, sharp and merciless, struck my chest, piercing deep. My breath hitched, my body frozen in shock.
"You dared to look my way… but I'm not surprised."
"What… was that? Who are you?" Vrit's voice wavered, barely holding together.
The creature chuckled—a slow, unsettling sound that reverberated through the void.
"Who am I… Ah, such a familiar question. But answers are earned, not given. Prove your worth first."
Suddenly, Vrit's eyes snapped open. The suffocating darkness was gone, replaced by raw agony. The bag still smothered his head. Blows landed—heavy, relentless. Yet with each strike, the pain faded, his body sinking into numbness.
Vrit couldn't see. The bag still covered his head, muffling his surroundings.
A hand gripped his head through the fabric.
"Sir, please stop! We can't remove the bag. Our research confirms he has powers that—"
"What is your name?"
"Sorry, sir—?"
Emilieo's voice snapped. "I ASKED WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR NAME!"
As Emilieo spoke, flames erupted from his clenched fist, igniting the bag covering Vrit's face and filling the air with heat.
"Montana's Flare!" he shouted, lunging at the nearest guard.
The blast sent the guard flying, his attempt to defend himself futile. Burned and broken, he collapsed, his injuries leaving the others frozen in caution.
As the bag was burnt away, light-flooded Vrit's eyes, blinding him momentarily. Disoriented, he struggled to grasp his surroundings. Voices echoed nearby—guards speaking to someone in front of him.
Their eyes locked for the first time.
A tense silence hung between them before, in unison, they spoke—
"What kind of animal are you?" Vrit spat.
"And look who finally opened their eyes!" Emilieo sneered.
Emilieo had a lean, moderately muscular build—like someone who trained just enough to stay dangerous. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, hinting at restless nights, while his sly grin spoke of past misdeeds relished. His long hair, streaked with red and purple highlights, framed his sharp features, and flames flickered at his fingertips.
With a puzzled look, he muttered, "Animal?"
Vrit's voice was firm. "You beat your own man just for stopping you… to do things that could land you in trouble?"
Emilieo chuckled, unbothered. "They're my men. Paid well. And for the right price, if I ask them to bark—they bark."
Vrit's eyes burned with defiance. "And now—YOU'RE CAUGHT!"