The child face showed no expression at all, yet inside his heart drowned in a single, overwhelming emotion: sorrow, extreme sorrow. He mourned his family in silence, the loss carving deeper than any wound.
Gorak stared as the child slipped back into his lifeless state, stunned for a moment. He slapped the boy hard and shouted, "Hey, hey, you filth! How could you not cry even for five minutes for your dead family? What will they think? Are you even their own child?"
Gorak kept going, rubbing salt into every fresh trench-like wound. "Are you happy they're gone? Excited you don't have to face them? Are you relieved now that they're out of your way?" He leaned closer, voice dripping with venom, desperate for any flicker of reaction.
But nothing came. The child stared silently at the spot where Gorak's hand still held the phone, eyes fixed and unblinking.
Gorak snorted and flung the phone aside, expecting a flinch or cry. Nothing. The boy continued staring at the empty air where the device had been, not even blinking.
Gorak's irritation grew. "Huh? No fun at all. Well, it's okay. We'll meet again tomorrow. I'm satisfied for now." He paused, then added coldly, "And you can't die yet. You have to live longer. Survive so my child can kill you with his own hands. Don't worry—he's already started practicing breathing techniques. You'll get your rest soon enough. Just survive, okay, filth?"
The child gave no response. Gorak slapped him again. "You aren't answering me again." He delivered a few more sharp slaps before stopping, his own arm tiring from the effort.
He exhaled heavily. "Let's rest. Hey, number three, come here. Go bring some food for him. And make sure from now on this filth survives."
Previously, the child's family had kept him alive. Now, with them gone, Gorak knew the boy might starve himself or end it. He wouldn't allow that. The man nodded and left to fetch food.
Gorak watched him go, then turned to Mory. "Mory, call your son here. Look—the livestream has been stopped."
Mory's hands trembled violently as he reached for his phone, fear coiling in his gut like a living thing. On one side stood his son. On the other loomed Gorak, the heartless monster who had tortured a seven-year-old child without a flicker of remorse.
Gorak noticed the hesitation and his voice rose again, sharp and threatening. "Are you thinking you'll get away this time? Remember, you're not the only one who can help me control your son. Your wife and your daughter will surely be more useful. So what do—"
His words died in his throat. A sudden, intense heat surged from behind him, scorching the air like an open furnace.
Gorak spun around. All he saw was a dark red shape flickering around the child—a crimson so deep and shadowed that even black seemed pale in comparison. The boy's face vanished behind the writhing flames; nothing of the filth remained visible.
A heart-wrenching scream tore from the men still holding the child. "Ahhhhhhhhhh…"
The dark red shape swelled rapidly, first brushing the both guard's skin. Gorak watched in frozen horror as his men flesh began to burn—slowly at first. Hair curled and vanished, clothes disintegrated, skin peeled away layer by layer until muscle and fat bubbled and evaporated.
The hands gripping the child suddenly melted. Bones softened like wax, drooping and releasing the boy to the floor. Gorak's mind reeled. How can bones melt? What is this dark red thing—is it fire? Why is it here?
The remaining parts of the man followed—tendons sizzling, eyes boiling in their sockets, bones turning to white ash that drifted upward before vanishing completely. In a single blink, the guard was erased from existence, leaving only faint gray residue hanging in the air.
The dark red fire surged wider in the next instant. Gorak had no time to react before it engulfed him.
His scream ripped through the room. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…"
He felt everything his man had endured—skin charring layer by layer, flesh dissolving, bones softening into molten slag. The pain was extreme, unending, every nerve screaming as the dark red flames consumed him from the outside in.
Only 1.5 seconds passed before Gorak's body vaporized completely. Even the rising vapors burned away in the dark red fire, leaving nothing behind.
To him, those 1.5 seconds stretched into an eternity of agony—every layer of skin, muscle, and bone dissolving in endless, searing torment.
The dark red shape didn't pause. It surged forward, hungry and unstoppable, consuming everything in its path.
Furniture melted into ash. Electronics sparked once and vanished. Concrete cracked, softened, then dissolved like sugar in flame. Humans—screaming, frozen, fleeing—were erased in moments.
Mory was wiped out. The staff was wiped out. The room itself ceased to exist.
At the center of the dark red shape, the child lay unharmed on his stomach against the ground. The floor beneath him had turned soft and yielding, like warm wax under the flames. His face remained completely blank—no expression, no blinking, no tears. He registered nothing around him. He didn't even know his nightmare was already dead.
From him as the core, the dark red shape expanded outward in all directions.
It didn't stop. With each passing second it grew stronger, the darkness deepening into something more terrifying than before.
It spread across the entire sector of the school.
It spread further, swallowing the other sectors.
It spread more, covering the whole school in a dozen seconds.
The entire structure disappeared without a trace—no rubble, no smoke, no echoes.
And it doesn't stop there.