Gorak delivered a sudden, brutal kick to the man's chest. The force sent him sliding backward across the floor until his back slammed into the wall with a sickening thud. His spine snapped audibly under the impact, and he let out one final, ragged scream—"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…"—before going limp.
Gorak shook his head in disgust and nodded to one of his men. "Take him out." The man understood immediately; he hoisted the unconscious body and dragged it from the room without a word.
Gorak's gaze shifted to Mory. Mory stared back, eyes wide with a storm of fear, shock, disbelief, and crushing despair. He had no idea what fate awaited him next, his mind already racing to the worst—Gorak's men storming his home, punishing his family for his stubborn silence.
He trembled visibly, glancing at the large screen where the livestream played on. His son remained the center of attention, drawing every eye in the room. *Will Silas's journey, barely begun, end so soon?* The thought clawed at him.
He was still lost in that fear when Gorak stepped closer. Mory didn't dare move—he knew retreating would only make things worse. Gorak draped an arm casually over his shoulders, the gesture almost friendly.
"Don't worry, Mory," Gorak said smoothly. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to. Don't fret. You're the main star's father—you deserve this waiver of punishment."
Mory blinked in stunned relief, a shaky breath escaping him. For a fleeting moment, the terror eased.
But then he caught the looks from the others—the principal and staff staring with raw envy. They had been forced to betray their morals, to strike the boy, while he escaped untouched. All because of his son.
Bam~
A sharp gunshot cracked through the room. Mory's head jerked toward the blank wall ahead, heart pounding. The answer came seconds later: the Gorak man who had dragged the injured staff member away returned—alone.
Mory swallowed hard, throat dry. He knew exactly what that gunshot meant.
He turned fearfully to Gorak beside him. The arm still rested on his shoulders, and Gorak could clearly see the fresh wave of terror in Mory's eyes.
Gorak chuckled. "Haha, it was just a little punishment. He can start his work now as a ghost. Why so nervous, Mory? Don't worry—no one will even touch you."
Then, in a low murmur he made no effort to hide, Gorak added, "Until your son doesn't come here…"
Mory heard every word. The quiet threat pierced him deeper than any shout. Fear flooded him completely, leaving him frozen under Gorak's arm, mind reeling with the certainty that his reprieve was only temporary—and tied entirely to Silas.
But with the fear came a chilling realization. Mory's mind raced: pGorak didn't torture that poor child and kill the teacher out of pure rage. He did it to set an example—for me, and for Silas. A silent warning: behave, or worse will come. If Silas arrives and rejects him… he'll unleash this on us, or something even crueler.
Just then, low, agonized whimpers broke through the silence—the child's voice, faint but unmistakable. The beatings had paused briefly when the teacher's screams filled the room, but now, at Gorak's sharp command, they resumed with fresh intensity.
This time it wasn't only the teachers. Gorak's men joined in, each using their own brutal methods—fists, elbows, knees driven into ribs and stomach. The principal and staff had limited themselves to slaps until now, but these men struck harder, deeper, though they still held back just enough to avoid breaking Gorak's "toy" completely.
Mory stood off to the side, watching helplessly. Guilt twisted his features, heavy and unrelenting.
Gorak observed from beside him, his face etched with irritation and simmering anger rather than satisfaction. He suddenly shouted at the child's unchanging, expressionless face: "Why the hell are you not crying??? Just why? Why?"
Roaring the words, he shoved forward, tossing anyone in his path aside like rags. He stormed toward the boy and halted abruptly, glaring down at him.
The child hung limply between two of Gorak's men, his head drooping forward, eyes fixed on Gorak's feet.
That downward gaze only fueled Gorak's fury—he wanted to be seen, acknowledged. He slapped the boy hard.
Slap~ Slap~ Slap~
Three sharp cracks rang out. The child's already swollen cheeks puffed further; blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Yet still, no reaction. No flinch. No sound. His eyes remained locked downward.
Gorak seized the boy's chin roughly, forcing his head up until their gazes met. He stared into those eyes—lifeless voids, emptier than any doll's or puppet's. No anger, no fear, no sadness, nothing at all.
Gorak paused, genuinely surprised by the absolute absence of emotion. Then a slow smile spread across his face.
"You remember your family?" he asked quietly.
For the first time, something flickered in the boy's dead eyes. They sharpened, locking onto Gorak's face with desperate intensity. He wanted—needed—any word, any news about them.
Gorak caught the shift and nodded inwardly, praising himself. Yes, I'm great. Physical pain fails, but the mind… that always works.
His smile widened into something cruel and triumphant. "Let me tell you where they are now."