On my command, the floor-to-ceiling windows on the first level shattered under a hail of baseball bats. Servants and bodyguards scattered like rats, hands over their heads. I followed the pull of my Immortal Soul, striding toward the basement level of the Harding estate. The steel door to the basement was sealed with a combination lock. I stepped back. Bruno pulled out the hydraulic cutters he always carried. One clean crunch, and the lock snapped apart. I kicked the door open. The stench hit me first. Blood and antiseptic, thick enough to taste. The moment I saw what was inside, my vision went red. This was no storage room. It was a fully equipped sterile surgical suite. Thomas Harding. My brother. The man who had once stood tall in the Celestial Realm, untouchable and effortlessly elegant. He was strapped to a freezing operating table. His face was the color of ash. His eyes were shut. Each breath came so faint it barely counted as breathing at all. His back had been cut open. A tube as thick as a man's forearm was jammed into his spine. Dark, reddish marrow crept through the tube, draining out of him drop by drop. On a second bed beside him, a plush hospital bed fit for a hotel suite, lay the Harding family's pampered fake prince: Vivian Harding.
Vivian's cheeks were rosy. He was propped up with a tablet, watching some variety show, giggling every few seconds.
Irene Harding sat at Vivian's bedside, spooning bird's nest soup into his mouth one careful bite at a time.
"There you go, sweetheart. Eat up. Once they finish extracting your brother's marrow, you'll be completely cured."
The private doctor in his white coat frowned and spoke up. "Mrs. Harding, Thomas's vitals are dropping. The volume of marrow already extracted is far beyond the safe limit. If we continue, he will die."
Irene didn't even look up. Her voice dripped with impatience.
"His worthless life, traded for my Vivian's health? He should count himself lucky."
"Increase the dosage. As long as it cures Vivian, even if he dies on that table, consider it his filial duty to the Harding family."
Filial duty.
The last thread of reason in my skull snapped clean in two.
"Filial duty my ass!"
CRACK.
I brought the bat down on the extraction machine with everything I had. Sparks erupted. The thing shrieked with the sound of shorting circuits and went dead.
The crash sent the bowl of soup flying from Irene's hands. It shattered on the floor.
"Who are you?!" Irene shrieked, stumbling to her feet, staring at me in terror.
Vivian burrowed under his blankets like a frightened child.
I didn't spare him a glance. I grabbed the doctor by the collar with one hand, lifted him clean off the ground, and slammed him into the wall.
"Who gave you the guts to touch his marrow?"
The doctor shook so hard his teeth chattered. He jabbed a trembling finger at Irene. "It was... it was Mrs. Harding's orders! I was just doing what I was paid to do!"
I drove my knee up into his stomach.
He screamed, crumpled to his knees, and retched bile onto the floor.
Bruno and Harry stormed in with the rest of the crew and locked down the surgical suite in seconds.
I rushed to the operating table and fumbled with the restraints around Thomas's wrists.
Deep purple welts ringed both wrists where the straps had bitten in.
His skin was ice under my fingers. Not a trace of warmth. Not a trace of life.
"Thomas! Thomas, wake up!" I slapped his cheek, and my voice wouldn't stop shaking.
His eyelids fluttered open. His pupils were unfocused, drifting.
When he recognized me, his cracked lips pulled into a thin, bitter ghost of a smile.
"Reggie... you came..."
