Two voices shouted in unison.
But Sian remained unfazed.
Without hesitation, he caught the man's wrist mid-strike. In a swift motion, he raised his leg, unsheathed a black dagger, and slashed at the man's arms.
The wounds were clean and precise—deep enough to incapacitate but not fatal.
Sian was furious.
Furious that he had been forced to deal with such filth again.
Furious at the killer's words. At his behavior of taking humans, Solus is nothing.
Furious for the countless lives stolen in the most gruesome, horrifying ways.
Furious that someone like this had been allowed to roam free, reveling in their crimes without consequence.
His rage burned through him like an unquenchable fire.
A raging fire that would never be extinguished unless he did something about it.
The man collapsed to the ground, clutching his wounded arms, rolling in agony.
Then, Sian spoke.
His voice was soft—so soft it was almost a whisper.
Yet, it was more terrifying than any scream.
