The towering monolith of the Vortex Tower stood sealed, cutting a sharp silhouette against the stormy night sky. Outside, the rain lashed against the glass with a vengeance, but inside, the atmosphere was even colder—suffocating and heavy with the scent of death.
In the center of the VIP medical ward stood Vikram, the world's strongest S-Rank Hunter. His towering height and broad shoulders, draped in a midnight-black coat, gave him the appearance of an ancient, vengeful god. But it was his eyes that truly haunted—they were as blue as glacial ice, devoid of any human warmth.
Black blood dripped steadily from his right hand, sizzling as it hit the floor. He had been wounded by the Boss of a "Forbidden Dungeon," and the curse was now consuming him from the inside out, burning through his veins like liquid fire.
"Sir... we have summoned the world's finest healers, but... none dare to step within ten feet of you," his secretary stammered, his knees shaking uncontrollably.
Vikram took a deep, jagged breath, causing the temperature in the room to plummet instantly. "Anyone who approaches me turns to ash. My 'Destruction Power' is no longer under my control. Leave."
Just then, the heavy double doors creaked open.
A slender girl stepped into the room. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and she wore a cheap, faded healer's uniform. Her name was Aarya—an F-Rank healer, the kind the world dismissed as "trash."
"You?" Vikram's voice rumbled like low thunder. "Have you come here to die?"
Aarya flinched at the sheer pressure of his aura, but she didn't lower her gaze. She knew of Vikram's reputation—his ruthlessness was legendary. But she also knew that if he fell tonight, the entire city would be erased from the map.
"I can take away your pain," Aarya whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Vikram let out a dark, mocking chuckle and extended his bare, mangled hand toward her. "The world's greatest healers fled in terror of my 'Touch of Death.' You are but a frail girl... touch me, then, if you hold your life so cheaply."
Aarya hesitated for only a heartbeat. Then, she reached out and pressed her soft, delicate palm firmly against Vikram's blackened, burning hand.
Silence.
Vikram squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable scream of agony, for the smell of burning flesh as she disintegrated into dust. But the scream never came. Instead, he felt something he hadn't experienced in a thousand years.
A strange, soothing coolness. A profound peace.
His eyes snapped open. Aarya was alive. Her hand was still pressed against his, and where their skin met, a brilliant golden light erupted, weaving through his fingers. The black curse began to recede, the wound closing at a visible speed.
"You..." Vikram's voice cracked, losing its edge of steel.
In one blurred motion, he snaked his arm around her waist and jerked her toward him. Aarya crashed into his rock-solid chest, her breath catching as the heat of his body overwhelmed her. His face was so close that his ragged, hot breath fanned against her neck.
Vikram stared into her eyes—eyes filled with terror, yet reflecting a strange, irresistible spark. "Who are you? You touched me... and you didn't break?"
Aarya's head spun. The intoxicating scent of his masculine musk and the crushing strength of his grip made her dizzy. "I-I don't know... I'm just a healer..."
Vikram cupped her face with his large hand, his thumb brushing dangerously close to her lower lip. A different kind of fire was igniting in his blood now—not of hatred, but of raw, untamed passion.
"From this day on," Vikram hissed into her ear, his voice a possessive whisper, "you are going nowhere. Every breath you take belongs to me. Because you... you are the only one who can pull me out of this hell."
Aarya looked into those icy blue depths and realized with a jolt that her life was no longer her own. She was now the captive queen of the Monster King.