Zabo woke to the sensation of being dragged. His blood rushed to his head from being held upside down. Pain radiated from his right side, where Noah’s brutal assault had scorched and torn his flesh. He couldn’t remember passing out, but the last thing he recalled was Noah’s mocking voice and the searing agony that followed. Now, barely conscious, he was acutely aware of his precarious situation. He tried to move, but his limbs felt like lead, his body too damaged to respond.

He blinked several times to clear his blurred vision, but all he saw was a haze of light filtering through the urban landscape. The surroundings gradually came into focus—high-rise buildings, neon signs, and streets crowded with people moving about their lives in blissful ignorance of the bloodied young man being dragged through their midst.

Zabo struggled to form words, his voice barely a whisper. “What’s… going on?” he croaked out, though the effort sent a fresh wave of pain through his side, making him wince. He craned his neck to look up at Noah, who was hauling him with one arm, the other free to swat away any onlookers who got too curious.

Noah didn’t bother to answer, instead focusing on walking briskly through the cityscape. He weaved through the crowd, his attention solely on the destination ahead. Zabo tried again to speak, but the exertion was too much, and he lapsed back into silence, his mind racing with confusion. He could barely comprehend what was happening, let alone why Noah was dragging him through the bustling streets of the city center.

The surrounding buildings towered into the sky, sleek glass and steel structures that seemed to pierce the clouds. The city center differed from the dingy alleys where Zabo had fought for his life just moments earlier. Here, the streets were pristine, the people well-dressed and oblivious to the brutalities that occurred in the shadows. Zabo could barely keep his eyes open, but when he did, he caught glimpses of polished surfaces reflecting the endless glow of neon lights. The world around him seemed distant, unreal, as if he were moving through a dream, or a nightmare.

Ahead, a massive tower loomed, its silhouette cutting a stark figure against the sky. The structure was unlike anything else in the city, a marvel of modern architecture that reached dizzying heights. At its peak, the name “Kajima” was emblazoned in bright, luminescent letters, visible even from the ground below. The tower was a symbol of power and wealth, its presence dominating the cityscape, and it was where they were headed.

As they neared the tower, Zabo’s condition worsened. He could feel the life draining out of him with each passing second, the blood seeping from his wound in a steady, sickening flow. He had no aura left, no strength to draw on, and he knew that without it, his chances of survival were slim to none. All he could do was hold on to consciousness, hoping for some miracle that would spare him from whatever fate awaited him at the top of that towering edifice.

Noah pulled Zabo through the grand entrance of the building. Zabo’s flipped view caused the polished floors to shake. The lobby was opulent, with a sleek, minimalist design. The people inside turned to stare, their eyes widening in shock as they recognized Noah Voltaire, heir to the Voltaire family, and the bloody, broken body he dragged behind him.

Whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire. “Is that Noah Voltaire? What’s he doing here?” “Oh my God, he’s even more handsome in person!” “But who’s that he’s dragging? Is he… dead?” The whispers grew in intensity, a murmur of excitement and fear that filled the lobby.

Noah ignored the stares and whispers, his focus fixed on the elderly receptionist stationed behind the massive, curved desk at the center of the lobby. She was a frail woman with gray hair pulled into a tight bun, her eyes magnified by thick glasses. As Noah approached, her gaze fell on Zabo’s mangled body, and she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.

“Dr. Valenkov,” Noah said, his voice cold and commanding. “Where is he?”

The receptionist was trembling, her eyes darting between Noah and Zabo’s bloody form. The sight of the young man’s side, a gaping, charred wound from which blood oozed steadily, seemed to paralyze her with fear. It took her several moments to find her voice, and even then, it was barely more than a whisper.

“H-his lab is… free for you to enter, but…” she stammered, unable to tear her gaze away from Zabo’s wound. Her hands fidgeted nervously with the papers on her desk, as if searching for something to anchor her away from the dangerous noble.

Noah didn’t wait for her to finish. He strode past the desk, still dragging Zabo, who was now leaving a trail of blood across the pristine marble floor. The receptionist watched them go; her face pale and her body trembling as she realized there was nothing she could do to stop him.

They moved deeper into the building, where the atmosphere became more sterile with the smell of bleach that clung to the nose. White corridors lined with doors bearing plaques engraved with the names of various researchers and departments. The lighting was harsh, fluorescent bulbs casting an artificial brightness over everything.

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As Noah reached the door to Dr. Valenkov’s lab, his footsteps echoed in the empty hall. He paused for a moment before pushing it open. The lab was spacious but eerily empty, with only the hum of machinery breaking the silence. The usual bustle of activity was absent, the rows of desks and workstations deserted, save for one figure bent over a microscope.

The woman looked up as they entered, her brown hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She wore a crisp white lab coat, her ID badge clipped to her breast pocket, the name “Dr. Samantha Hart” printed in bold letters. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw Noah and the bloodied figure he dragged behind him.

Panic flashed across her face, and she quickly stood up, nearly knocking over the stool she had been sitting on. “Hello—can I help you?” she asked, her voice shaky.

Noah ignored her question and glanced around the lab, taking in the various pieces of equipment and the rows of vials and containers. “Dr. Valenkov,” he said, his voice low and menacing, “where is he?”

Dr. Hart swallowed nervously, her eyes flicking back and forth between Noah and Zabo’s lifeless form. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, “but Dr. Valenkov is on a scientific expedition right now. I don’t know when he’ll be back, but he left me in charge of the lab. Is there anything I can do?”

Noah’s gaze shifted to the ID badge pinned to her lab coat. “Dr. Hart,” he intoned, the edge in his voice unmistakable, “you wouldn’t happen to have any vials of ambrosia here, would you?”

Dr. Hart’s eyes widened in fear, and she took a step back. “Ambrosia… it’s a rare potion, and it must be handled very carefully,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry, but even if I had any, I couldn’t just give it to you.”

Noah’s expression darkened, and he took a step closer to her. “I see, then I suppose I need to leave a message for Dr. Valenkov. Please make sure he knows I was looking for him and I need his expertise in Sector 5. I presume you know who I am already.”

With that, Noah turned to leave, dragging Zabo’s body towards the door, but Dr. Hart’s voice stopped him. “Wait!” she called out, her voice desperate. Noah paused, turning back to face her.

Dr. Hart hesitated, then pointed to Zabo. “That boy… he’s dying. I—I have something that might help, but it’s not complete. It won’t fully heal him, but it could stop the bleeding.”

Noah looked at her, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You said you didn’t have any ambrosia,” he said, his voice cold.

Dr. Hart shook her head. “It’s not ambrosia,” she explained, “but a derivative I’ve been working on. It’s still in the experimental stage, and it won’t completely heal his wound, but it could buy him some time.”

Noah watched her carefully as she grabbed a small orange vial from a nearby shelf. She approached Zabo cautiously, her hands trembling as she uncorked the vial and poured the contents over his wound. Zabo’s body convulsed, a strangled scream escaping his lips as the liquid touched his flesh. The bleeding slowed, but the wound remained deep and gruesome, the surrounding flesh still raw and burnt.

“Thank you,” Noah said, though the words carried no genuine gratitude. He turned to leave, dragging Zabo behind him once more, but Dr. Hart’s voice called out to him again.

“Wait!” she said, her voice more urgent this time. “You can’t just leave him like this. He’ll die if you don’t do something.”

Noah glanced back at her, his expression one of mild annoyance. “He’s a criminal,” he said dismissively. “His life or death is of no consequence.”

Dr. Hart flinched at the coldness in his tone, but she didn’t back down. “Even criminals deserve a chance at survival,” she replied, though her voice wavered. “Besides, if he’s valuable enough for you to bring here, then maybe he’s worth saving.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed as he considered her words. He wasn’t used to being challenged, especially not by someone as insignificant as a lab assistant. But there was something about her that piqued his curiosity. Her boldness, or perhaps her naivety, in standing up to him, made him pause, but not only that, she seemed–oddly familiar. He turned fully to face her, still gripping Zabo’s collar tightly.

“What’s your name again? Have we met before?” Noah asked, even though he already knew from the id.

“Dr. Samantha Hart and I would’ve remembered if I met someone as famous as you.” She replied, lifting her chin up.

“Well, Dr. Hart, you’ve done your good deed for the day. But understand this: his fate is not in your hands.”

Samantha bit her lip, her eyes darting to Zabo’s limp form. “If you leave him like this, he won’t make it. The derivative I gave him isn’t enough. He needs proper treatment.”

Noah’s patience was wearing thin. He’d had enough of this pointless conversation. “Your concern is touching,” he said sarcastically, “but unnecessary.” He turned back toward the door, signaling that the discussion was over.

Samantha watched as Noah turned to leave, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew she should be relieved that the young man might have a chance, but the fear of what might happen next still gnawed at her.

Without another word, Noah turned and left the lab, Zabo’s bloodied body still slung over his shoulder. As the door closed behind them, Samantha felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She had no idea if the young man would survive the night, or if Noah would simply kill him. All she knew was that she had done everything she could, and now it was out of her hands.

She stood there for a moment, her mind racing. Then, with shaking hands, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number, her breath hitching in her throat as she waited for the line to connect.

After a few rings, a voice on the other end answered. “Max?” she said, her voice trembling. “He was here. Noah Voltaire was just here. I think… He was looking for Dr Valenkov. Do you think he’ll find out what we did?”

The voice on the other end responded, and as they spoke, the weight of what she had gotten involved in settled heavily on Samantha’s shoulders. Something far more dangerous than she could have ever imagined, and there was no turning back now.

Noah Voltaire, you’ll pay for what you did.