Chapter 113 The price is simple
"But you are never going to earn what you are yearning for," Arman spat, his voice dripping with disdain as he looked up at the King.
"Arman..." Wayne growled, a low warning vibrating in his chest.
The prisoner didn't flinch. Instead, he smirked. As the son of Homer and leader of the Psychic demons, Arman was used to power not chains. But he had gambled on trespassing into the King’s domain, and the abduction was the price of his failed intrusion.
"What happened? Did you feel that sting? Or did you see it coming?" Arman’s voice rose to a growl, eyes locked on the King’s. "Isn't it true that you’ve been trying desperately? Not just you, but your ancestors your entire bloodline everyone has been yearning for those powers."
Wayne recoiled, visibly startled by the accuracy of the strike.
"I have seen my son," Arman continued, letting the silence stretch between them like a taut wire. Wayne’s jaw dropped; he could feel the raw, unshakable bravery radiating from the man in chains.
"And do you know what?" Arman let out a cold, proud laugh. "He is coming to save me. He only agreed to help you so he could find his way back to me."
"But he is never going to get it," Wayne countered, his voice dripping with a cruel sarcasm that cut through Arman’s pride.
"My son is more powerful than I am," Arman insisted. He was fighting to keep his composure, trying to pull his mind back from the brink of chaos, desperate to remain steady.
But Wayne was relentless; he wanted Arman broken, begging for his son's life.
"But before he even realizes it..." Wayne leaned in, his eyes cold and final. "I will kill him."
The words hung in the air. A deafening, pitch-black silence swallowed the room. Arman froze, his breath hitching in his throat. He had expected cruelty, but he hadn't imagined the King would be so willing to extinguish the very power he craved just to prove a point.
He had embraced this kind of pain before the cold, the chains, the loss but he would not, could not, let it touch his son. Not again.
The air in the chamber began to vibrate, a low hum that rattled the stones of the dungeon walls.
"Do not you dare..." Arman’s voice dropped to a guttural, predatory growl that seemed to echo directly inside Wayne’s mind. It wasn't just a threat; it was a psychic warning. "Do not dare to touch him."
"I have done this before, and nothing—nothing—could stop me from doing it again," Wayne smirked, his eyes glinting with a dark memory.
He leaned back, the armor on his shoulders shifting with a metallic scrape. "And you know, I have no regrets. Not then, and certainly not now." A mischievous, hollow chuckle escaped his throat, bouncing off the damp stone walls.
The air in the room suddenly thickened, turning heavy and cold.
"If you dare to lay a finger on my son..." Arman began, his voice no longer just a sound, but a physical force. "I will tear your soul apart. No matter how I struggle, no matter what chains you put on me, I will not let you touch him!"
Arman’s growl exploded into a roar, and the entire dungeon echoed with the frequency of his rage, making the dust shake from the ceiling.
"I will dare," Wayne whispered, his smirk widening as he watched the fire in Arman's eyes finally flicker and die. "And you know better than anyone that nothing can stop me."
The weight of the threat finally crushed him. Arman slumped, his knees hitting the cold stone floor with a heavy thud. The pride of the Psychic demons was gone; he was no longer a leader, only a father.
"I will do... whatever you want," Arman choked out.
Wayne didn't answer immediately. He simply turned his gaze toward Raymond, offering a slow, dark nod of understanding.
"If you want to save your son, then here is what I require," Wayne said. Even through the thick fabric of his blindfold, Arman could feel the air shifting. His psychic senses flared, detecting a sudden, intense surge of malice radiating from the King. The very shadows in the room seemed to recoil from Wayne's presence.
"What is it? Tell me!" Arman’s voice broke, a raw, jagged sound that echoed off the damp dungeon walls. Tears tracked hot paths beneath his blindfold. "I will do anything... everything... just save my son."
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Even without his sight, Arman could sense Wayne leaning in, the scent of expensive wine and cold steel filling his senses.
Wayne’s shadow fell over him like a shroud. "Anything, Arman?" the King whispered, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. "Careful. A Psychic’s promise is a tethered thing. Once you agree, there is no breaking the bond."
Raymond stepped forward, the sound of his boots clicking sharply on the stone. He held something in his hands something that hummed with a dark, ancient energy that made Arman’s skin crawl.
"The price is simple," Wayne began, a cruel triumph glinting in his eyes.