The jazz reached a fevered crescendo.
Its notes surged like a stormy sea—rising, crashing, and breaking in waves.
Saint Shaldes danced madly, his iron whip lashing through the air.
His face twisted in frenzied glee, each beat matching his violent steps. The cracks of his whip punctuated the music like a deranged percussionist.
Each strike left welts on the woman's flesh. She clenched her teeth, her back a canvas of bloodied stripes.
Fiery pain burned across her skin, but she didn't scream. She smiled through the agony, obedient. Submissive.
It was her only chance to survive.
"No! That's not the look! That's not the look!!"
Shaldes suddenly roared. His gem-studded hand cracked the whip even harder.
"You should be glaring at me with hatred! You should be furious! You should despise me!!"
"Think about it! I killed your father, your mother—remember it!!"
Another strike across her chest. She gasped. Blood pooled, breath heaving.
And yet, her expression only grew more docile. She knew better.
Hate only made him worse.
Shaldes stormed forward, slapping her across the face.
Her body slammed against the wall, face swelling, blood trickling from her mouth.
Panting in rage, he drew the gold pistol at his waist.
With a click, he flipped off the safety and pressed the barrel to her forehead.
He'd hoped she'd be entertaining. Worth sparing.
But clearly, she wasn't.
The gods had no need for mercy. Especially not with trash.
After all—he already had a new toy now, didn't he?
"I'm sorry, my darling wife."
He smiled cruelly, finger tightening on the trigger.
Color returned to her lifeless gaze as she looked past him.
"Hm?" Shaldes frowned.
A thick, familiar stench.
From behind him... came the sound of a door creaking open.
Blood seeped under the door.
And when it swung wide—
A gust of wind and snow howled inside.
A tall figure stood silhouetted in the storm. Bloodied. Snow-dusted.
Black hair. A white Marine coat flapping behind him.
Shaldes's eyes bulged.
Darren stood in the doorway, calm and smiling.
The CP1 agents—twelve of them—hung lifeless, their corpses pierced by rusted metal spikes.
They swayed in the wind like broken dolls.
Shaldes's breath caught in his throat.
He murdered them all...!
"Captain Darren of the Marines, Supreme Commander of the North Blue, reporting in," Darren said, bowing slightly.
The bullet struck Darren's forehead—
"Not a bad shot," Darren chuckled, stepping forward.
"Y-you... what are you doing!?"
Darren paused, pretending to ponder.
"That's a great question."
"What do you think, Lord Shaldes?"
"You—you've defied a Celestial Dragon!! You'll die for this!!"
He screamed and fired again. And again.
But the bullets all bounced off Darren's body, ricocheting wildly.
Darren closed the distance.
The impact shattered Shaldes's glass dome. Shards ripped into his face. Blood poured.
He flew across the cabin, crashed into the wall—
He shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Darren.
Two iron spikes burst from the floor and skewered his hands, pinning him to the wall like a grotesque painting.
His screams tore through the storm.