Sinn's lingering voice slithered through the air—demonic, commanding, echoing off the cold stone walls. His eyes blazed a deeper, more sinister red as the room began to bleed.
Thick, dark blood oozed from the cracks in the walls, at first only a few, but soon they multiplied, spiderwebbing across the surface as if the very building itself was wounded.
The slow, rhythmic drip of blood onto the floor was a chilling reminder: this space now belonged to Sinn.
The others in the room could do nothing but stare, transfixed by his presence. In the blink of an eye, Sinn was no longer standing; he lounged leisurely in a battered wooden chair, as though he were the master of some macabre throne room.
With a voice that brooked no defiance, he commanded,
"Sit down, Lucas Salvatore!"
A suffocating silence fell over the room, so thick it seemed even the air dared not move. All eyes turned to Lucas Salvatore, whose face had drained of color, horror etched into every line. His government name—rarely spoken aloud, fiercely guarded—hung in the air like a curse. For any ordinary agent, such exposure would be unthinkable. But Lucas was no ordinary man; he was a Salvatore, scion of the most pure-blooded human family left in existence. Their kind was rare, fiercely protected, and shrouded in secrecy.
To have his true name called out so casually unsettled Lucas to his core.
Yet, to everyone's astonishment, he obeyed. With stiff, mechanical steps, he crossed the blood-slicked floor and sat opposite Sinn.
Confusion rippled through the onlookers. Only moments before, Lucas had been locked in a heated argument with Jenny—a stark contrast to his current submission.
But for Lucas, the decision was simple. If Sinn knew his name, he likely knew much more—perhaps everything about the Salvatore family.
Why resist a being who wielded such power? Lucas was no fool; he understood the futility of fighting what he could not comprehend.
He had believed this assignment would be easy. That's what the higher-ups had promised him: a routine job, nothing more. They spoke only of Jenny, accused her of stealing something valuable. No one mentioned facing a monster with powers beyond imagination.
Lucas's fists clenched until his nails bit into his palms, nearly drawing blood. He realized, too late, that he had been set up.
If he'd known what awaited him, he would have spent the day with his daughter, Lucy, celebrating her birthday instead of walking into this nightmare.
As dread gnawed at his thoughts, time itself seemed to unravel. The world slowed, colors bleeding together, sounds stretching into silence. Even Jenny, hand poised on her sword, appeared frozen—trapped in a moment outside of time.
Only Sinn moved, his presence dominating the stillness. His voice reverberated, ancient and unyielding:
"I do not wish to harm you, Lucas Salvatore."
Lucas's gaze locked onto Sinn, his breath coming in shallow gasps, cold sweat trickling down his spine. In a trembling whisper, he managed,
"Then… what do you want? What happened to everyone else?"
"Is this one of your powers?" Lucas's questions tumbled out, desperate and rapid-fire, searching for answers in the void.
Sinn's lips curled into a knowing smile. This was all part of his design.
"Yes, this is my ability," Sinn replied, his words weaving through the air like a hypnotic melody. "And what I want is to make a deal with you."
He leaned forward, eyes glinting with otherworldly knowledge. "You see, I know you quite well. One of my gifts allows me to prophesy events far into the future."
Lucas swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. Skepticism warred with fear in his eyes.
"You want to make a deal with me?" he asked, voice hoarse. He couldn't imagine what he could possibly offer this demon—money, secrets, anything seemed insignificant.
Before Lucas could spiral further into panic, Sinn's next words struck him like a thunderbolt.
"Your daughter will die very soon."
The statement was delivered with chilling indifference, as if announcing an inevitable fate. Rage flared in Lucas's eyes. In a single, fluid motion, he surged to his feet, voice ringing with raw fury.
"If you dare touch my daughter, I'll kill you!"
For a moment, confusion flickered across Sinn's face. Then understanding dawned—Lucas's love for his daughter eclipsed his fear. The trembling agent had found his courage, forged in the fire of paternal instinct.
Lucy Salvatore—his precious child, innocent and bright—would soon become the target of a mutated halfling, corrupted by a malignant energy. Sinn did not fully grasp why the creature stalked a little girl, lurking in the shadows near her school for days before striking.
Fragments of memory surfaced: bitter arguments between Lucas and his wife after Lucy's death. Though Sinn referred to "their" daughter, it was common knowledge that Lucas's wife was only Lucy's stepmother.
It wasn't difficult to piece together the truth. A mutated halfling targeting a defenseless child seemed senseless—unless someone, or something, had manipulated the creature into losing control.
It was more likely that the mutated halfling had been manipulated into losing control within the contaminated zone.
Sinn locked eyes with Salvatore, even though his face was obscured by a black mask. From behind the slits, his red eyes glowed like embers in the darkness, piercing through the gloom of the blood-soaked room.
Despite the mask, Sinn could sense the deep fear Salvatore tried to hide. The agent's emotions fascinated him—curious and terrifying all at once.
To challenge someone so much stronger, even at the risk of death, simply for the sake of family?
For love?
How truly frightening such devotion was!
But Sinn's curiosity faded quickly; he refused to let Salvatore speak further.
"I never said I would harm your daughter," Sinn intoned, his voice echoing with chilling authority. "And if I truly wanted to hurt her, do you think you could stop me?"
He gestured around the room, its walls bleeding and time itself frozen. "Look around, Mr. Salvatore. You and I both know you're a weak man with dirty money."
Salvatore's rant died on his lips. Rage burned in his chest, but as he stared at the figure before him—man or monster—he realized the truth in Sinn's words. His wealth was tainted, and he was powerless here.
Defeated, Salvatore sank back into his chair, eyes fixed on Sinn. The abrupt shift in his demeanor did not escape Sinn's notice. Clearly, Salvatore had become an agent for reasons beyond mere greed.
"What's your deal?" Salvatore asked, voice trembling. "If leaving you alone is what you want, I'll do it. Just… don't take my daughter. Please."
Sinn saw through the facade. Salvatore truly believed Sinn intended to take his daughter, and now he was surrendering, desperate to protect her.
Amused, Sinn decided to clarify his intentions. "I already told you—I don't want your daughter, nor do I wish to harm your family. In fact, I intend to give you a blessing."
Salvatore's face twisted in confusion.
A blessing? What kind of blessing could this demonic figure possibly offer?
Images flickered through Salvatore's mind: horns, skeletal guardians, monstrous gifts. But Sinn's answer came swiftly.
"Your daughter is soon to die, stalked by a mutated halfling," Sinn declared, his tone almost casual. "As you can see, my abilities are quite strong."
He waved his hand, conjuring ghostly images of Jenny and the others, still frozen in time. Salvatore shuddered, cold sweat trickling down his back as he glanced around the room. He swallowed hard, realizing that Sinn had no reason to lie. If he wished, Sinn could have destroyed him—and perhaps even toppled governments.
It was clear that Sinn was offering a way out, not seeking conflict. Regret gnawed at Salvatore for not reading Jenny's reports more carefully.
Even their old arguments had revolved around Sinn's powers—how they amazed her, how she refused to seize them by force, choosing instead to protect him.
She had staked everything on Sinn, claiming he was the reason for her actions. In the past, Salvatore thought her foolish—a weak pureblood standing against government ambition.
But if anyone witnessed Sinn's power today, they would be shaken to their core.
Of course, this wasn't true time manipulation. Rather, it was a deviation of one of Sinn's abilities.
He could create noise or music to weave illusions into reality. Another aspect allowed him to draw others' consciousness into his own constructed world.
In his mind, Sinn conversed with Salvatore, recreating every detail of their last moments together.
He ensured Salvatore would not realize the illusion, nor suspect the true extent of Sinn's powers. Had Jenny been present, her abilities might have shattered the deception instantly, ruining Sinn's plans.
If Jenny ever discovered the truth, she would never again fall victim to his illusions.
Worse, she could warn others, making it far harder for Sinn to ensnare new victims. But for a human like Salvatore, lacking powers or external energy, it was effortless.
Sinn wasn't truly manipulating time; in reality, not even a second had passed during their two-minute conversation.
He would never dream of distorting time or mental energy to this degree against a stronger opponent. But manipulating a human's perception of time was simple.
This was the optimal choice—discussing deals, predicting futures—all within the confines of his illusion. This unique ability was known as the
True Chord of Reverie.