Lanqi's Blood Moon City Hell Mode

Dusk. No matter how bustling the city-state appeared during the festive November of the National Day celebration, no one noticed that deep underground, an ultra-ancient city was slowly turning its gears. If granted unseen permission, one could traverse that long, dark road straight to the black palace in the deepest depths. "Strange... where did my credentials go?" a man muttered to himself. He wore a pitch-black leather jacket, its polished buttons gleaming against the blood-red horizon. Maguire simply could not fathom how his badge holder from the Imperial Special Operations Department had vanished into thin air. Ruling out the possibility that he had misplaced it himself, the most he ever did was hang his leather jacket in his office, and it rarely left his sight. Moreover, no one could open his office except him—not even Nikolai could dream of sneaking in. Yet he had no time to dwell on the matter now. His only option was to report it lost and request a replacement right away, without making too much noise about it. A blunder like this at such a critical juncture could easily prove fatal for him. As the sole Tier 7 combatant in the Imperial Special Operations Department, no one dared lightly tail Maguire, and he possessed top-tier counter-surveillance awareness. Furthermore, entering and exiting this secluded subterranean city through the hidden portal within the City Hall could be done entirely unnoticed. Maguire strolled toward the far end of the underground city-state. A towering castle built of natural obsidian stood silent in the dark night, its outer walls inlaid with cold, hard silver trim and accented with translucent red crystal carvings that refracted hazy diffraction gratings under the faint light. The crimson blood moon hanging high above the pitch-black cavern ceiling cast its pure moonlight across the ground, draping the meticulously constructed dark stone city in hazy red veils. Walking through it felt like wandering inside a mysterious, eerie dream. Passing through layer upon layer of corridors, Maguire pushed open a colossal door carved with incantations dating back to the golden age of the Blood Moon. The space opened up abruptly, revealing a magnificent council hall before him. Maguire bowed his head respectfully. In the presence of the Blood Clan, he was well aware of his own insignificance and humility. Not daring to look around without leave, he could only wait in silence for the Blood Clan Progenitors' response. He waited for a long time, yet received no command. It seemed he had arrived early; the Blood Clan Progenitors who had summoned him had not yet appeared. Only then did Maguire slowly raise his head. Beneath the soaring dome, wrought-iron chandeliers hung from chilled chains. On either side of the long council table, the thirteen throne-like high-backed chairs were completely empty. Suddenly. As if sensing something, Maguire glanced toward the shadow-cloaked wall of the hall. Someone had arrived earlier than him— The tall figure stood like a statue carved out of the dark, his coat fluttering faintly in a rising breeze. In the pitch blackness, his form was difficult to make out. Only a pair of deep purple eyes shone with distinct clarity in the dark. "Colonel McCree, what are you doing here?" Focusing his gaze, Maguire discerned the man's identity from the faint silhouette of sunglasses beneath those sharp purple eyes. The Military Police of the Capital Garrison Command was divided into the First and Second Brigades. When the magic-energy accident occurred aboard the Brierda last month, the Second Military Police Brigade—responsible for the capital's outer perimeter—had been dispatched. Meanwhile, the First Military Police Brigade safeguarded security within the capital's inner ring. This Colonel McCree was the commander of the First Military Police Brigade. "..." The man merely folded his arms, maintaining a grim silence. "Cold as ever, I see." Maguire didn't intend to chat further with him either. Up on the surface, he had never gotten along well with this commander of the First Military Police Brigade. The fellow always wore sunglasses with an air of looking down on everyone. Even though both held the rank of colonel, the Imperial Special Operations Department, being an intelligence agency, held greater authority than the regular forces of the Capital Garrison Command's Military Police Brigade. Yet McCree acted as though he were oblivious to that fact. Right then, the unexpected sound of dripping water echoed through the council hall. Deep within the palace, a glimmer of emerald light quietly flickered. From the lifeless ground, a tender green seedling actually sprouted. It grew at a pace visible to the naked eye, vines coiling and twisting like serpents, leaves rustling softly. In the blink of an eye, a tree as tall as a person shot up from the stone, lush with foliage. Suddenly, a fissure opened in the trunk, and a slender silhouette stepped gracefully forth, like a butterfly breaking free from its cocoon. Her skin was as fair and translucent as snow, and soft golden hair cascaded down to her waist. Her long eyelashes fluttered slightly, and the eyes she slowly opened resembled fresh spring leaves or deep green pools—clear, luminous, and glinting with a faint, eerie sheen. She wore an unadorned white dress decorated with intricate green motifs resembling winding vines. With fair, bare feet set in wooden clogs, she stepped lightly off the trunk and strolled through the palace like a gentle breeze. A refreshing, delicate floral scent radiated from her, steeping the air in the alluring warmth of spring. "My apologies. That's just how my precious Holy Son is. Please don't take it to heart, Captain Maguire," the light-haired, green-eyed woman who had appeared in the hall answered with a smile. The sight sent an involuntary shiver down Maguire's spine. Instinctively, he avoided meeting her gaze. Wither Cardinal Netochka. A specialist in wood and mental attributes. A woman of unknown true identity who delighted in toying with human hearts, she favored beguiling those in power, whispering slanders into their ears to purge valiant generals and virtuous ministers until nations teetered on the brink of collapse. Everyone had assumed she would choose an equally wicked Holy Son or Holy Maiden. Unexpectedly, she had chosen a Holy Son whose defining trait was overwhelming direct combat strength. "Captain Maguire, why are you ignoring me when I'm speaking to you?" Wither Cardinal Netochka asked again. Her pure, innocent smile bore a childlike air, yet her eyes held a subtle bewitchment that was chilling to the bone. She looked around the hall idly, her slender white fingers lightly brushing the walls. Wherever they passed, delicate, dew-kissed blossoms bloomed one after another, and green vines cascaded downward like waterfalls. The air instantly turned fresher, yet this supernatural power filled Maguire with an indescribable dread, giving him a glimpse of authority akin to a creator's. "Lady Netochka must be joking," Maguire cleared his throat lightly and apologized. The Wither Cardinal looked like an amiable beauty, but anyone foolish enough to believe it would undoubtedly end up dead without ever knowing how. "Don't be so stiff—" Just as Netochka was about to say more, her gaze shifted slowly toward the council hall's entrance. Within the palace, a figure walked forward, footsteps falling rhythmically against the carpet. The middle-aged man was clad in the dark green robes of a scholar and wore a top hat. His hair and beard were impeccably groomed, giving him a cultured, refined air as if he had never seen battle; yet the excessively dark eyeliner lent him a heavy, sinister charm. A faintly glowing lantern in his hand cast long shadows across his body and the surrounding floor. Unbeknownst to them, the middle-aged man had pushed open the black iron door of the council hall and now stood inside alone. "Farmer, were you called here today as well?" Wither Cardinal Netochka recognized the Decay Cardinal immediately and asked in mild surprise. Though the Wither Branch and the Decay Branch were both partners of the Blood Clan, normally there wouldn't be any matter important enough to convene all of their pinnacle combat forces together. "Of course. Heriteer sent someone to fetch me." Decay Cardinal Farmer nodded. Even having just arrived, he could easily read Captain Maguire's unease at being sandwiched between two Cardinals. It seemed Captain Maguire's masters, the Blood Clan Progenitors, had not yet arrived, and Maguire was deeply wary of these notorious Cardinals. "All right, Netochka, you're scaring him. We Cardinals have quite the foul reputation on the Southern Continent; you ought to be a little more self-aware," Decay Cardinal Farmer set down his case, smoothing things over. He was merely regarded as rather cruel, having killed a fair number of people in biochemical experiments. Netochka, on the other hand, was an outright kingdom-toppling enchantress. "Oh, honestly. It's not like I've done anything truly terrible. I was just playing around a little, so why does all the blame fall on me?... Isn't that right, Holy Son?" Netochka raised her hand, examining her lovely fingernails as she pouted faintly. "I have no comment on you. One day, I will take you into custody." The Wither Holy Son did not humor her. Instead, standing firmly in opposition, he rebuffed her with rigid resolve. "Hehehe, you truly are my greatest amusement. I'll be waiting for that day—catch me if you have the skill." Far from being angered, Netochka covered her mouth and chuckled with playful delight. "As for you, Farmer, rein in your little hobbies while you're in the imperial capital. The Imperial Special Operations Department nearly latched onto your trail," she turned to advise Farmer instead. "Serial killings happen everywhere. Is casually slaughtering a family of three and turning them into an artistic family portrait statue really that uncommon in the empire?" Decay Cardinal Farmer retorted dismissively. Before they could continue their exchange, "My apologies, Cardinals, for keeping you waiting." Accompanying this voice, two more figures walked into the spacious council hall. At the lead was the Seventh Progenitor, Marquis Heriteer. She strode directly toward the seventh high-backed chair along the long council table. Meanwhile, the other figure sat down in a high-backed chair diagonally opposite her, perfectly composed and at ease. Heriteer's eyes remained shut, as if she were perpetually piercing through layers of domes to discern the patterns woven by the brilliant stars in the night sky. "We just got here ourselves," Wither Cardinal Netochka said, casually spreading her hands. "First, Maguire, brief us on the intelligence from the Imperial Special Operations Department," the Seventh Progenitor, Marquis Heriteer, spoke in a calm, ethereal tone. She did not mind sharing the empire's current state of affairs with her two allied Cardinals. "Right away," Maguire answered hastily. "Violet has now returned to the capital, Brillda. However, she hasn't noticed anything amiss regarding Princess Alexia's confinement and is focusing all her efforts on preparing for the Lunar Goddess Festival in the middle of the month," Maguire promptly began reporting the latest developments. His previous instruction had been to find a way to keep the Sixth War God, Aquamarine Violet, away from Brillda for as long as possible. The Blood Clan had pulled strings in secret to manufacture the illusion that remnants of the ultra-ancient divine beast, the Bone King, had surfaced within imperial borders. The discovered ruins were extraordinarily perilous, necessitating formidable power to protect the imperial expedition team and the archaeologists from Saint Creti Monastery. In the end, Violet had personally traveled to Lake Stabergen, adjacent to Botswana Province, where she was able to freeze over the entire lake surface near the cavern being excavated. In aquatic or surface combat, Violet held an absolute advantage. Aside from her, only the First War God, Hyacinthus, could have guaranteed complete success, but as the commander-in-chief, Hyacinthus could hardly take the field in person. Thus, the Sixth War God, Violet, had been the obvious choice. During this period, the Blood Clan had achieved numerous objectives in Brillda. For instance, tightening their control over the imperial family, transporting a Progenitor back into the capital from abroad, and assassinating many targets they had long desired to eliminate. "Very good. During her absence, nearly all the objectives we set out to accomplish have been met." The Seventh Progenitor, Marquis Heriteer, nodded. Although a few matters had fallen through—including the failure to assassinate that wolf witch possessing the Eye of Sin Verdict—they were still within an acceptable margin of error. Having failed once, killing the wolf witch would now be difficult; not only would Violet protect her, but even that old bastard Dex might take notice of her. The hounds under Duke Dex in the Imperial Special Operations Department might not be exceptionally strong in combat, but their investigative prowess was formidable; just days ago, they had nearly seized evidence of the Decay Cardinal's gluttonous feeding. Even Maguire dared not collude too brazenly with the Decay Cardinal. The risk of making clandestine moves within the Special Operations Department was exceptionally high. Furthermore, large-scale infiltration would inevitably be uncovered by Dex. For now, Maguire was the only dependent the Blood Clan had truly turned within the department, ensuring he would not be compromised by the exposure of others. Apart from those troublesome agents in the department, there was an even more primary reason—Duke Dex was one of the empire's most secretive powerhouses. He was neither easy to assassinate nor easy to manipulate. Not only did he have few weaknesses, but given his standing and sharp insight in the empire, failing to completely control him would inevitably trigger a catastrophe. "Thanks to your stratagem, our assassinations not only avoided suspicion from the imperial authorities, but the blame was entirely shifted onto the Silver Moon Restoration Society," Captain Maguire flattered her respectfully. Last month, the Silver Moon Restoration Society's assassinations of nobles had grown increasingly brazen. While the society occasionally eliminated political rivals for them, it also struck down dependents they had carefully brought under control. Maintaining a degree of internal strife within the Creti Empire was certainly advantageous to the Blood Clan. However, letting a terrorist organization like the Silver Moon Restoration Society continue its wild killing spree would inflame tensions between the nobility and populace beyond control. Later on, even if the Blood Clan took charge of the Creti Empire, it would inherit nothing but a mess and have to clean up after the society. Even Marquis Heriteer could not divine the identities of the organization's nine Venerables. They maintained no contact with one another, and with so few karmic ties between core members, divination was impossible. Even if one Venerable were located, it would be almost impossible to root out the others through that single link. Hence, they were exceedingly difficult to deal with. Later, however, Marquis Heriteer had devised a vicious scheme and assigned Maguire to carry it out: If the Silver Moon Restoration Society wanted to kill, they would kill alongside them. Maguire and other Blood Clan dependents joined in the slaughter, seizing the chance to eliminate more political enemies and orchestrate sensational cases before pinning the blame on the Silver Moon Restoration Society, thereby stoking the imperial nobility's fury. "Now the empire's manhunt for them has reached an unprecedented scale. Even Colonel McCree has likely worked quite a bit of overtime because of it," Maguire continued with a touch of feigned apology. Standing over by the wall, Colonel McCree shot him a glance and said nothing. "Sure enough, the Special Operations Department has no choice but to thoroughly investigate the Silver Moon Restoration Society now. Even Kestrel Nikolai is running himself ragged." Decay Cardinal Farmer clapped his hands; he already understood what the Blood Clan had orchestrated. "You people really are wicked. No wonder I haven't heard any news about the Silver Moon Restoration Society lately," Wither Cardinal Netochka remarked with a helpless shrug. Currently, the Blood Clan was not only seizing political power in the Creti Empire, but also tightening its grip on its economy and press. Taking advantage of the chaos to eliminate troublesome imperial figures while having the Silver Moon Restoration Society shoulder the blame allowed the Blood Clan to act with impunity. At the same time, they also killed a few imperial magnates already under their control to muddy the waters and avert suspicion. Because their operations were premeditated, they could arrange in advance to transfer the deceased's inheritance and authority from the left hand to the right. In essence, the loss was negligible—merely swapping out one puppet for another. "This is what one calls 'meeting each other halfway.' An old opponent taught me that." The Seventh Progenitor, Marquis Heriteer, sneered softly, her tone carrying a blend of sigh and wistful nostalgia. "Maguire, what about the movements of the other War Gods?" She tilted her head and asked casually. Because intelligence regarding the Twelve War Gods constituted top-secret military information, unauthorized investigations risked triggering counter-espionage measures. The Imperial Special Operations Department was one of the very few inspection bodies independent of the military. As the war dragged on, the Tier 8 hero units of both the Empire and the Allied Forces would gradually wear down. Legions and city defense installations likewise struggled to replenish their strength. While the Blood Clan possessed pinnacle hero units, they lacked legion numbers. They could only utilize humans or convert them from the human camp. To some extent, legions were like minion waves; without minion waves to absorb damage from enemy defensive structures and magical engineering barriers, even hero units could not break through single-handedly and might even suffer defeat in a reckless assault. At present, the fierce clashes of the war's opening phase had gradually subsided. With the fall of key strategic positions on the Allied Forces' southern perimeter, the Allies had willingly conceded certain regions, resources, and vision, pulling their defense lines back northward. For the Empire, intercepting Allied hero units outside their fortifications was no longer an easy task. Moving forward, victory would hinge on macro-management, the outcomes of large-scale battles, and contests over neutral resources. With no immediate strategic objectives contested, the tempo of offensive and defensive maneuvers had slowed. War Gods were likely to return one by one to renew the vital blessing of the God of War and Swords. "Currently, only the Tenth War God, Rubellite Julius, has returned. By the middle of the month for the Lunar Goddess Festival, more War Gods will return, followed by the Creti National Day celebration next month, when every single War God is guaranteed to be present to maintain order during the ceremony and receive divine protection." Still kneeling on one knee with his hand resting on his leg, Maguire reported with utmost deference. The Creti War Gods all carried a time-limited blessing from the God of War and Swords, granting a modest boost to their basic attributes. The annual National Day celebration was when those protections were renewed. A person could bear only one divine protection at a time—they could not stack—yet the Creti Empire's blessing of the God of War and Swords was a rare attribute purely geared toward offense. Furthermore, the blessing the Creti Empire bestowed upon its War Gods lasted a full year, unlike the fleeting durations of most divine favors. "Why did that guy rush back so hurriedly?" Wither Cardinal Netochka asked on intuition, though that particular War God posed little threat to her anyway. "He didn't come back voluntarily. I can guarantee he wanted to stay on the front line more than anyone. He was recalled to face a court-martial," Captain Maguire shook his head and explained. This traced back to the first large-scale clash over energy reserves between the Empire and the Allied Forces in the Western Hub, where the Tenth War God, Rubellite Julius, turned the tide with a single cannon shot that triggered a colossal explosion—nearly engulfing both the Allied Tier 8s led by the Western Speaker and his fellow War Gods alike. The imperial military dared not let Lieutenant General Julius, reckless and greedy for glory, run wild on the front lines any longer. Perhaps the First War God, Hyacinthus, viewed war as an instrument to realize imperial ideals. Other War Gods viewed battles as their duty. Only the Tenth War God, Julius, genuinely reveled in war. "Honestly, sometimes I rather envy those War Gods," Decay Cardinal Farmer sighed. "I must ask the two of you to exercise caution within the imperial capital and avoid exposing your mana. As of now, three War Gods are stationed here, and the number will only grow toward the end-of-the-month National Day celebration," the Seventh Progenitor, Marquis Heriteer, reminded the two Cardinals. "Do we need to stay near Brillda the entire time?" Wither Cardinal Netochka asked. Decay Cardinal Farmer also looked toward Marquis Heriteer. From her words, there was further need for them ahead—likely the principal purpose behind summoning them today. "Farmer, do you recall? You once asked me whether it was truly necessary to go to such lengths just to kill Mikhail's daughter," Marquis Heriteer asked Decay Cardinal Farmer. "I remember. Several attempts failed. That daughter of Mikhail's seems to have the protection of the Goddess of Fate, always slipping past the omen of death you foresee. And she does seem to be a clergywoman of the Church of the Goddess of Fate, so being favored isn't surprising..." Farmer reminisced briefly, recalling that he had indeed raised the question when personally delivering the Decay Alchemical Beasts to the Blood Clan. "The more we fail to kill that half-blood demon, the less anxious that Tier 8 demon becomes. Her rate of progression is remarkably fast. If she is allowed to continue cultivating in hiding within the Creti Empire, she will become our greatest variable—everything seems to carry some karmic connection to her," Marquis Heriteer explained. Ever since the Blood Clan captured Duke Mikhail, that silver-haired demoness had actually tracked down the coordinates to Blood Moon City. Whenever she caught a member of the Blood Clan, she tortured them mercilessly, eventually interrogating them until she uncovered the location of their underground palace. And with her extraordinary talent, she had managed to escape. Even though she had been afflicted with the Blood King Divine Flame, Heriteer could not rest easy. For the blood of the Sixth War God, Aquamarine Violet, was capable of purging that fiery toxin. Yet as long as intense hatred could be stirred within the silver-haired demoness, no matter how much she grew, she would never match the Blood Clan's current peak combatant, the Third Progenitor, Duke Rasheal. Duke Rasheal's authority stood at the zenith of mental magic. The heavier an enemy's negative emotions, the more easily Duke Rasheal could locate mental vulnerabilities to achieve mind control and forced brainwashing. "I see. You fear that on the day of the Creti National Day celebration at month's end—when the Twelve War Gods are incapacitated—that demoness will make a resurgence, perhaps even bringing stronger companions to storm Blood Moon City?" Decay Cardinal Farmer struck his palm lightly as he reached his conclusion, the interest in his eyes burning brighter. He had long wanted to capture this reputedly gifted demoness and add her to his laboratory collection. However, the silver-haired demoness's threat was not the primary purpose behind killing Miss Hyperion. The true significance of Miss Hyperion's death was to shatter Duke Mikhail's psychological defenses; only then could Mikhail be reduced to a slave of the Blood Clan. Duke Mikhail's dark magic was far too useful to the Blood Clan, serving as a protective umbrella even in broad daylight. "I cannot say for certain whether that demoness will come that day to rescue her husband, but knowing her thought process, if there is any chance, she will attempt it on the National Day. The longer she delays, the more likely we are to lose our patience and put her husband to death," Heriteer confirmed. To the side, "One, two, three... six, seven." Wither Cardinal Netochka counted, tapping the air with her fingertips. She included herself, Decay Cardinal Farmer, Marquis Heriteer, and the figure seated across from Heriteer. That figure was clearly a member of the Blood Clan as well, though he had not spoken a word since entering the hall, merely listening with composure. The remaining ones presumably referred to the Eighth Progenitor Marquis Somerset, the Ninth Progenitor Marquis Bernhard, and the Third Progenitor Duke Rasheal, who were not present today. She counted only combatants of Tier 8 and above, and that already made seven. "These are necessary preparations," the Seventh Progenitor Marquis Heriteer told her, as if discerning Netochka's breezy thoughts. "Prudence is never amiss. In the past, it was precisely because preparations hadn't been made to a thousand—or even ten thousand—percent." Marquis Heriteer tightened her grip, a rare display of emotion. "Thank you for rescuing me," the figure in the tenth high-backed chair finally spoke. He had white hair, and ruby-like eyes that held a restrained brilliance. "..." Maguire could not help gazing at this Blood Clan member. In all his visits to Blood Moon City, this was the first time he had ever seen him. Soon, Maguire realized it was insolent to stare and inspect him so openly, and panic set in. The Blood Clan Progenitor Maguire was looking at seemed to notice his gaze and returned a gentle, polite smile. Unlike the other Progenitors, he exuded no sense of danger; his very existence seemed like a work of natural art. "There is no need for restraint," the Blood Clan Marquis said. He had been sealed in the north ten thousand years ago and should have taken much longer to be found. Fortunately, the defeat of Apostle Duke Morotian in the north had triggered a chain reaction, leading factions from the Northern Continent to initiate a trade: they offered to return the mosaic pillar sealing a Blood Clan Marquis in exchange for a portion of blood essence from each of the four Progenitors on the Southern Continent. Who knew what the Northern Continent factions were plotting—though it likely wasn't even the Northern Continent itself, but somewhere further beyond, past the Calamitous Wasteland. Yet that was a variable that might only unfold in another tale many years down the line. For now, they had already received the Blood Clan Marquis shipped across the ocean. Upon undoing the seal, they found that the one revived was the Tenth Progenitor, Ulysses. "Ulysses, we will have to trouble you to fight for us when the time comes," the Seventh Progenitor Marquis Heriteer requested with a pang of reluctance as she looked at this old friend she hadn't seen in tens of thousands of years. He had just been unsealed, yet was already being asked to battle once more. "Think nothing of it. Everything is for the sake of our long-cherished wish." The Tenth Progenitor, Ulysses, nodded in agreement. As the supreme painter of the Blood Clan, his authority [Blood Creation] could manifest creations from his brush for a brief period, rapidly producing vast numbers of summoned beings tailored to any situation. He was a thoroughly versatile summoner. Though his raw combat power was weaker than that of the Seventh Progenitor Marquis Heriteer, the Eighth Progenitor Marquis Somerset, and the Ninth Progenitor Marquis Bernhard, his strength lay in his versatility—a nearly well-rounded caster Progenitor capable of handling any opponent. "You've truly shown that demon lady quite the respect," Wither Cardinal Netochka said with a smile. One Tier 9 plus six Cardinal-tier Tier 8s. Blood Moon City's defensive strength on that day would reach its absolute peak. This was an excessive trap. Moreover, with the flawless mechanics of Blood Moon City augmenting them, any number of invading enemies would merely be throwing their lives away. It seemed the Blood Clan was only waiting to capture that demoness and eliminate future troubles before initiating the next phase of completely subjugating the imperial royal family. "As long as we assimilate Night Cardinal Mikhail into our ranks, even above ground, we will no longer be affected by the empire's daylight." Marquis Heriteer slowly opened eyes as deep as pools of blood, the gaze above her beauty mark seeming to pierce through vast stretches of space and time across countless eras. "We of the Blood Clan learn our lessons, while humans never do. That foolish race can only repeat history again and again, cycling through endless tragedies, living and perishing." When that time came, not even the Twelve War Gods, the Saint Creti Emperor, or Duke Dex would be able to stop the Blood Clan. Heriteer's voice carried an almost physical weight, sinking down, piercing through the ground, and falling into the vast void beneath Blood Moon City. ... Blood Moon City, deep within the subterranean abyss kilometers beneath the void. At the end of a spiral staircase inside a palace that shifted and interlocked like stone puzzle cubes lay a temple chamber, an altar standing in its center. In the center of the altar, sealed within a crystal like black amber, was an emaciated man. The black crystal bound his form, leaving no chance of escape. He was a gentle, dark-haired man whose demeanor made one feel an instant sense of closeness, possessed of an extraordinary handsomeness. Yet at this moment, he lay in an unbroken slumber.