Councilman Delaney lay rigid on his bed, clad in dark blue nightwear patterned with faint crescent moons. The king-sized mattress beneath him felt anything but comforting. The yellow sheets were pulled up high, nearly covering his face, leaving only his wide, frantic eyes exposed as they darted from one corner of the room to another.

Beneath the duvet, his trembling hands clutched a handgun, fingers tight around the grip, knuckles pale with tension. The room itself was vast, spacious enough to inspire calm under normal circumstances, yet now it felt suffocating, as though the walls had drawn closer without warning.

"Calm down... you have a dozen men stationed at the door. There is no way someone can sneak in here. That lawyer was messing with me, and tomorrow I will make that clear to him," Delaney muttered under his breath, his voice wavering, lacking the authority he usually carried so effortlessly.

"Clear who?"

The voice came from the shadows.

Delaney’s head snapped violently to the left. In the far corner of the room, where a sofa rested in darkness, a pair of burning white eyes stared back at him. They did not blink. They did not move. They simply watched, calm and patient, like a predator studying its prey.

A surge of terror jolted through him, forcing him upright. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, adrenaline flooding his veins.

But Damain was faster.

With a single snap of his fingers, an unseen force surged outward, expanding in an instant until it sealed the entire room.

[Isolation Barrier Activated]

The air shifted.

"Aaaah!"

Delaney’s scream tore through the silence as he leapt from the bed with unnatural speed, driven purely by fear.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three gunshots rang out in rapid succession, each one echoing sharply as bullets struck something unseen and ricocheted away in bursts of sparks.

To Delaney, it was as if the bullets had collided with the body of the figure seated in darkness, as though nothing could penetrate whatever stood before him.

His face twisted with dread as he spun toward the door. Light still seeped in from the corridor, and the faint silhouettes of his guards remained visible beyond it.

So why were they not moving?

Why had no one responded?

Did they not hear the gunshots?

"They cannot hear you... relax."

Damain’s voice carried a quiet amusement, as though he found the entire display mildly entertaining.

This was not the same man who had sat across from him earlier this morning. Fear had stripped him of his composure.

Delaney froze.

His body trembled uncontrollably under that unseen gaze. He tried to scream again, but no sound came. His throat tightened, his voice stolen by fear.

"Why are you afraid? Were you not aware of my arrival?" Damain’s eyes narrowed slightly, their glow intensifying.

Delaney nodded frantically, his movements desperate and uneven.

"I did... I did..." His voice cracked, barely audible.

"Then you have nothing to fear. My disciple requested that I aid you with my... unique capabilities."

Damain spread his hands slightly, and with that simple motion, several eye-shaped flames ignited into existence, hovering in the air. Their pale white fire flickered softly, casting an eerie glow across the room.

The light revealed him.

He sat with one leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed and composed. His attire was extravagant, a flowing garment of white and gold that resembled a finely tailored coat, adorned with intricate patterns. It was buttoned all the way to the collar, concealing his neck, while his hands remained covered in pristine white gloves.

A fox mask rested over his face, pure white with delicate golden markings that curved elegantly across its surface. Long white hair cascaded down his shoulders, reaching toward his waist.

He looked less like a man and more like a figure pulled from a movie. Elegant, unreachable and utterly terrifying. Yet he did not move like a monster. He sat like a refined gentleman.

"And... and who are you?" Delaney managed to ask, his voice trembling under the weight of the moment.

Silence followed.

Not empty silence, but heavy, deliberate, as though Damain was deciding whether the question deserved an answer at all.

"Some call me a god. Others call me the Black Prophet. But personally... I go by the name Faceless," Damain said at last, his tone almost casual, as though the titles meant nothing to him.

He lifted a hand slightly and gestured toward the seat opposite him.

"Now sit."

Delaney’s instincts screamed that this was not a request, and that there would be no second chance.

He staggered forward, each step uncertain, his legs barely supporting him as he moved toward the chair. His eyes never left Damain, fear locking his focus in place.

When he finally sat, it felt less like a choice and more like surrender.

"S... so how... how can you help me?" Delaney stammered.

"I ask the questions."

Damain’s voice cut through him instantly.

The faint glow in his eyes sharpened, intensifying just enough to send a violent jolt through Delaney’s body.

The councilman let out a choked sound, half-yelp, half-gasp, before doubling over, coughing harshly. His hand flew to his chest, gripping tightly as pain spread through him.

Damain frowned slightly, observing him.

This man was not as strong as he had appeared earlier. The pressure alone had been enough to aggravate whatever weakness lay hidden within him.

’I can’t have him dying on me before I can take advantage of him.’ Damain’s thoughts darkened as he watched the old man struggle, his body wracked with violent coughs that seemed ready to tear him apart from within.

The sight unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

’Can I fix him?’ he asked, his gaze narrowing as calculation replaced hesitation.

Ding!

[If left to die a natural death, this man has twenty years at best to live. That lifespan is not an equal trade. In this situation, there are only two outcomes when using the dark miracle. He is healed briefly, and the sickness returns a few years later, twice as strong. Or you pass the disease on to someone else, but that changes nothing, because his weakened body will inevitably develop the illness again. You will be forced to keep transferring the sickness to others until his twenty-year lifespan is completely exhausted.] Rin explained calmly.

Damain fell silent, his expression tightening as he processed the implications.