Chapter 113. Floor four
In the evacuation chamber, a massive room far within the prison of Treachery, chaos ruled despite the order. Masked troops hastened, pulling crates and carts draped in white cloth towards a gigantic, glowing green portal that throbbed with mana, throwing eerie shadows.
Draven stood in front of it, his gray eyes shining with the portal’s light, his jaw tight with anger. His soldiers moved fast, pushing a cart full of experiment gear into the portal’s glow, heading to the cult’s fallback location.
Draven’s voice sliced through the noise, abrupt and irate. "Is everything transposed?"
A soldier hesitated, holding a trolley steady. "Yes, sir. All sensitive evidence, experiment results, and gear are done. But two operatives to extract a high-value subject have not come back."
Draven’s eyes tightened, annoyance sparking. "We’re closing the portal. Now." The soldier nodded, shoving the trolley into the green vortex.
Draven glanced at the chamber’s massive iron door, his voice a low mutter. "I’ll see you again, Ruler." His lips curled into a snarl. "Even if it’s over your corpse."
He stepped into the portal, and with a low hum, it collapsed behind him, leaving only silence.
On the fourth floor, prisoners clung to their cell bars, eyes wide with awe, hope, and fear. The narrow hallway was a mess, unlike anything they’d seen in this dark prison.
Erin Dranemount stood in the middle, like a grim reaper, leaving behind a trail of torn-up bodies—deep cuts, chopped-off arms, and heads scattered on the bloody stone. Cult soldiers yelled orders to catch her, their voices panicked, but none could stop her.