The Heavenly Demon of Terror

The grand dining hall was filled with laughter and conversation. Plates clinked, glasses clashed in cheers, and soft music played in the background.

It was a scene of joy and nostalgia, of old classmates reminiscing about their college days.

But at the far end of the table—silent, unreadable, untouched by the warmth of the evening—

Sat me.

Samuel Gebb.

Dressed in an impeccably tailored black ensemble, I leaned back in my chair, my fingers tapping idly against the armrest. My face was impassive, my emerald eyes cold, distant.

I wasn't here to talk.

I was here to watch.

To remind them of the monster they created.

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"Why So Quiet, Samuel?"