Chapter 11 · The Price of Elite Flesh

"Still shaking, little parasite?" The Obsidian Knight’s voice wasn't a voice—it was the sound of grinding tectonic plates, vibrating right through my chest.

He had me pinned. My current form, this pathetic shadow-slick, was nothing under his gauntlet. The cold metal pressed into my core, crushing the very essence of my being. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could only feel the suffocating weight of a monster that knew exactly who I was.

"Get... off..." I hissed. It didn't even sound like words. It sounded like air escaping a punctured tire.

"Or what?" The Knight leaned closer. The void where his face should be pulsed with a dim, cruel light. "You’re a seed. A speck of dust. Silas didn't even give you the mercy of a clean kill. He left you to rot in the dirt, and look at you now. Still scavenging for scraps."

I felt a surge of heat—not the warmth of life, but the searing burn of pure, unfiltered rage. Every word he spoke was a needle in my brain. Silas.