The room reeked of sweat, despair, and burned mana.
Noah leaned casually against the desk, his hood pulled low, watching the boy in the chair writhe.
The shadows held Galahad firmly in place, their tendrils snaking around his wrists, his ankles, and across his chest. Every time he bucked against them, they tightened, digging into his skin with cold pressure.
The red glow of the Soul Pyre pulsed across Galahad's chest again, sinking deeper into him. His scream tore from his throat, jagged and raw, but it went no further than the walls.
The shadows devoured every sound, trapping the noise inside the suffocating black cocoon Noah had wrapped around the dorm room.
Minutes blurred into hours.
Noah didn't relent. Each time the glow faded, he reignited it, feeding just enough mana to the spell to keep it regulated. He didn't want Galahad to die too quickly. That would be merciful. He wanted him to burn, soul first, until the very essence of him collapsed.
