Miss Lan glanced at the fat man and thought to herself, "This isn't about you."
It's for his girlfriend.
How could a two-hundred-pound fat man ever compare to someone's beautiful, delicate little girlfriend?
·
·
At the top of Bren Hill's cabin, a man lay on a beach chair, resting his cheek on his palm, seemingly relaxed.
It was a man with cascading black hair, his face marked with unsettling deep-purple spells, his muscular upper body bare, and his bronzed skin covered with vicious tattoos—a devil writhing in Hell, tilting its head to sing a blood-soaked hymn, eerie and ominous.
"Over so many years, others in the Dark World have tried to emulate the King, ringing the bell."
The tablet was firmly fixed in its stand, the screen paused at the moment a boy stepped on a fallen head. His expressionless face exuded a sense of arrogant dominance over the world.
"But unfortunately, none of them ever carried the King's essence."
