*Chapter 33: Bleeding Light*
Li Wei drifted in and out of consciousness, shackled in a cold, rune-carved chamber deep underground. Chains gleamed with faint red sigils; every breath felt heavier, his once-bright senses now dulled and raw. The Crimson Phantom circled him, hood down, gaze fixed and predatory.
A cruel machine—glass tubes and black crystals—pulsed with crimson light at Li Wei's side. With a wave of Phantom's hand, the device hummed, drawing shimmering threads of silver-blue energy from Li Wei's body straight into its core. Each draining pulse felt like icy needles in Li Wei's veins; his muscles cramped, sweat beaded on his skin, and his vision blurred.
At first, magic left him tired but hopeful—he could recover, he thought. But as hours dragged on, the drain went deeper. His life force trembled; his limbs grew weak, and his thoughts tangled in dull fog. The more magic the Phantom took, the more Li Wei's spirit wilted, leaving him dizzy, nauseous, at times fighting to remember even his friends' faces (just like stories where magic overuse leads to exhaustion and confusion).
Amid his fading strength, the Phantom whispered, "Your power will feed an army. But your hope—I'll starve that too." The threat pressed in, draining not just his magic, but his very will to resist.
As the ritual continued, Li Wei collapsed into restless dreams—haunted by memories, flickering lights, and the distant echo of his friends calling his name.