At the bottom of the Stone Prison, a bone-chilling cold seeped through the air.
Only a single Magic Crystal lamp swayed above, casting a ghostly green halo.
The stingy, icy light painted the slick, moss-covered walls to resemble congealed, ancient bloodstains, filling the space with a nauseating blend of mold and rust.
The air was so heavy it felt as if water could drip from it, every breath piercing with icy pain.
Luo Ling curled up in the darkest corner of the Stone Prison, her thin body trembling from the cold and humiliation.
She wore a Silk Dress that once belonged to “Ling Xiya”—a false persona crafted and briefly sustained by the Demon Queen’s hand.
Now, its former splendor was gone.
The delicate fabric had been mercilessly shredded by rough Black Iron Chains, the torn scraps revealing skin mottled with bruises and crisscrossing whip marks—old wounds layered with new, their colors a sickening blue and dark red beneath the eerie green light.
These scars were proof of the Demon Queen’s cruel “blessing.”
Countless times, she had tried to summon the remnants of Holy Sword Power within her—a hero’s final hope, the only force left to resist the darkness.
But each time that familiar, warm, and sacred current struggled to rise from her core, the demonic brand seared into her chest by the Demon Queen would explode with fiery agony.
The pain, like a burning iron, brutally strangled her power at its source, shredding and crushing even the faintest trace of Holy Light Power within her veins, leaving only the smoldering after-pain and a helplessness that gnawed at her very bones.
“Awake?”
A cold, metallic female voice rang out in the deathly silence of the Stone Prison, without warning.
Then came the crisp sound of high heels striking the frozen stone floor—“tap, tap, tap”—approaching from afar, each step pounding against the heart.
An absolute, undeniable pressure weighed down, making the air grow heavier, almost suffocating.
Outside the cell, the Demon Queen’s figure appeared, a solid shadow in the gloom.
She wore a luxurious black robe, the fabric heavy and smooth, embroidered at the edges with intricate dark gold magic patterns, trailing along the ground like an extension of the night.
At her collar was a ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg.
Under the ghostly green Magic Crystal lamp, it shone not with brilliance, but with a thick, bloodthirsty luster—as if it contained the screams of countless souls.
Her face was hidden beneath the shadow of a hood, only a pale jawline and deep, icy eyes visible.
At that moment, she toyed idly with a Silver Collar in her hand.
Embedded with tiny, glowing green Magic Crystals, it was clearly no ornament, but a sinister tool of bondage.
Her lips curled into a cold, mocking smile—void of warmth, laced only with the arrogance of a predator toying with its prey.
Luo Ling slowly raised her head.
Beneath messy hair, the eyes that once sparkled with hope and resolve, now reflected only endless cold—and a stubbornness yet unbroken.
Her lips were cracked, her voice hoarse to the point of distortion.
It sounded like sandpaper scraping against rotting wood, yet she still forced out each word with all her remaining strength.
“Let me out.”
The voice was weak, but it carried a power that pierced through all.
It was the unyielding will of a hero—the flame that refused to be extinguished in the depths of darkness and despair.
The Demon Queen seemed amused by this display, releasing a low, derisive chuckle.
She stretched out fingers gloved in black lace, caressing the Silver Collar, the Magic Crystal’s eerie glow flickering in her eyes.
“Let you out?”
The Demon Queen’s lips curved in a frosty arc, as if she’d heard the most absurd joke in the world.
With a silvery, hollow laugh, she lazily pushed open the rusted cell door.
High heels clicked against the cold stone in a rhythmic beat, each step echoing within Luo Ling’s heart.
She crouched down, her slender, pale fingers lifting Luo Ling’s chin with a careless grace—forcing her to meet those cruel, mocking eyes.
“My little ‘Xiya’ has long since been scattered to dust.”
Her tone was gentle, but every word cut like a blade.
“Now, you’re just a toothless, wingless prisoner, Luo Ling.”
She stepped forward, the cell door sliding open before her, a cold wind sweeping in.
“The taste of Holy Sword Power in your body is a nostalgic one.”
Her hand reached out, fingertips nearly touching Luo Ling’s pale cheek—then, as Luo Ling trembled with shame and rage, she instead lifted the tattered fabric at her chest, her gaze settling on the savage demonic brand, burning with greed.
“Unfortunately, now it’s mine. No, perhaps… even your entire being, inside and out, will belong to me.”
Luo Ling jerked her head away, evading the icy touch, her glare as sharp as a blade.
“Don’t even think about it!”
She gritted her teeth, every word squeezed from her mouth, tasting of blood.
The Demon Queen seemed satisfied with her reaction, standing up to survey the hero huddled in the corner like a wounded beast.
“Don’t even think about it?”
She let out a light laugh, raising the Silver Collar high—the Magic Crystal on it flashing with a dangerous light.
“Soon, you’ll understand what it means to lose all control.”
She strode into the cell.
The high heels’ rhythm echoed in the small space, the prelude to death.
The green glow of the Magic Crystal lamp stretched her shadow long and twisted across the scarred stone wall, like an ancient demon poised to devour.
And Luo Ling, once a hero ablaze with light, could only watch helplessly as the shadow of despair swallowed her whole.
She clenched her fists, nails digging so deep into her palms that blood oozed out—but she felt no pain.
For the despair and rage within had long surpassed any physical torment.
The Demon Queen paused, gazing at her pale face, a cruel pleasure flickering in her eyes.
Her smile deepened.
“Did you think Qiqi and Liliya could escape?”
“Qiqi… Liliya…”