Looking at his face again, some had bulging muscles, some had crazed eyes, some had a chilling gaze sharp as a knife, and some had a depth like an abyss. Carrying a sense of oppression, exuding the aura of the strong, it would make one's legs go weak with just one distant glance.
Tap tap tap...
The sound of footsteps stopped beside Mirror Lake, and a figure slowly emerged. It was none other than Otto, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, personifying elegance, dressed in a skin-tight black combat suit. A smile graced his face, yet in his hand, he held a pitiable silhouette that struggled incessantly. His five fingers, like the claws of an eagle, grasped its prey, refusing to let go, firmly locked around the neck.
He slowly raised his palm, easily suspending the Blood Clan member in mid-air.
