Damian sat huddled in the corner of a cold, damp cell, the chains around his wrists heavy and biting into his skin. The smell of decay and filth hung in the air, making it hard to breathe. His body ached from the brutal beatings he had endured, but nothing compared to the hollow feeling that gnawed at his insides. The silver necklace he clutched tightly in his hand was the only thing grounding him—Lamia's necklace. It was the last tangible piece of him left in this world. Damian stared at it, his chest tightening as he recalled Lamia's death, the look in his eyes as his life ebbed away. The guilt had turned into a poison that killed him from the inside out.
But now, he was nothing more than a commodity. Sold to Dante Gonzalez, a ruthless mafia leader in Valemont City, the head of an underground organization known as La Muerte Silenciosa, a powerful syndicate involved in human trafficking and organ harvesting. Dante was once aligned with the Black Dragons, but betrayal had turned him into a man fueled by vengeance. Damian was just another tool in Dante's arsenal, a weapon Dante intended to sharpen to cut down Peter Lockwood, the new leader of the Black Dragons, who had double-crossed him.
Damian had no desire to live. He barely felt anything anymore. Every blow, every insult was numb against the all-encompassing void that filled him. The magic that once surged within him—the magic that could have saved Lamia—was silent, as dead as his heart.
"Get up, witch!" a gruff voice barked from outside the cell. The iron bars creaked as the door swung open, and two guards dragged Damian out, throwing him onto the stone floor in front of Dante.
Dante stood tall, his broad frame casting a menacing shadow in the dim light of the room. His black suit was pristine, his dark eyes sharp as blades as they bore into Damian. He was a man used to getting what he wanted, and what he wanted now was Damian's power. He stepped closer, crouching down until his face was inches away from Damian's bruised one.
"I didn't buy you to watch you mope around like some broken doll," Dante growled, grabbing a fistful of Damian's hair and yanking his head up to meet his gaze. "You have power—power that could wipe the Black Dragons off the face of this Earth. I need that power."
Damian's lips parted, his voice barely a whisper, "I have no power left."
Dante's grip tightened, his eyes narrowing. "No power left? I think you're lying. You just need the right motivation." He released Damian, standing tall again. "You have two weeks. If you don't show me what you're truly capable of by then, I'll carve your head from your shoulders myself. Understood?"
Damian didn't respond, his mind too clouded with thoughts of Lamia to care about his own fate. If death was his way out, so be it. But there was something that stopped him—the cold, creeping thought of revenge. All the men who were responsible for all of these, the thugs, Dante if he ever leaves this cell and last but not the least The so called Peter Lockwood who was a beast for harvesting human organs from innocent children. If there was a way to destroy them, to make them suffer, maybe he could endure a little longer. His grip tightened around the necklace as Dante barked orders to the guards.
"Take him back. He needs to learn his place."
The days that followed were filled with torment. Damian was beaten, starved, humiliated by the other mafia members who resented Dante's apparent favoritism. They believed Damian was special, but every time they saw him limp through the halls with his head bowed, they laughed. He was weak.
Two weeks passed in a blur of pain and despair. The night before Dante's deadline, Damian sat in his cell, his body battered beyond recognition. His ribs ached from the relentless kicks, and his vision blurred from exhaustion. The memory of Lamia's death weighed on him like a stone, and for a moment, he considered letting Dante carry out his threat.
But then, in the dead of night, as Damian lay on the cold floor, two men crept into his cell. They were from La Muerte Silenciosa, both wielding knives, their expressions full of malice. "Dante's pet witch," one of them sneered. "Time to put the dog down."
They lunged at him, blades flashing in the moonlight. Damian barely had time to react, rolling out of the way as one knife sliced across his shoulder. Pain seared through him, but it ignited something deep within, something dark and primal. For the first time in weeks, he felt something stir—something dangerous.
The men came at him again, but this time, Damian didn't retreat. He stood his ground, his heart racing as the silver necklace in his hand began to glow faintly. A surge of energy coursed through him, and before he could fully comprehend what was happening, his power erupted.
The room was bathed in an ethereal light as Damian's magic, wild and untamed, tore through the air. The two men screamed as their bodies were lifted off the ground, their bones snapping with sickening cracks. Blood splattered against the walls as they were ripped apart by an invisible force. Damian's chest heaved, his heart pounding as the power surged uncontrollably from him, like a dam that had finally broken.
By the time it was over, the cell was painted in blood, and the two men were nothing more than twisted corpses. Damian stood in the center of the carnage, his hands trembling, but his eyes burning with new life. His magic had returned, but it was darker, more violent than before.
Dante entered the cell moments later, his eyes widening in surprise at the scene before him. A slow smile spread across his face as he approached Damian. "Now, that's more like it," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I knew you had it in you."
Damian's breath came in ragged gasps, his mind still reeling from the intensity of the power he had unleashed. But Dante wasn't finished. With a swift motion, he pulled out a syringe and plunged it into Damian's neck.
Damian's vision blurred, the world spinning as the drug coursed through his veins. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor, his consciousness slipping away.
When Damian woke, he was strapped to a cold metal table. His body felt heavy, sluggish, and as he looked around, he saw Dante standing beside a man dressed in a white lab coat. The room was sterile, filled with strange equipment that buzzed and hummed with a sinister energy.
"Welcome back," Dante said with a smirk. "This is Doctor T. He's going to help us unlock the full potential of that magic of yours."
Damian's body was too weak to resist as Doctor T inserted needles into his veins, hooking him up to machines that began to whir and beep. "The origin of your power is quite unique," the doctor mused, examining the data that flashed across the screens. "I've never seen anything like it."
Damian's vision blurred as the experiments began. The pain was excruciating, his veins burning as chemicals were pumped into his bloodstream. Every nerve in his body screamed in agony, but there was no escape.
"Don't worry," Doctor T said with a chilling smile. "This is only the beginning."
Meanwhile, across the city, Maxandra arrived at the hospital, her heels clicking sharply against the cold, sterile floor as she rushed toward the ICU. She was a vision of grief and strength, her short black gown clinging to her slender frame, her black boots glistening in the harsh fluorescent lights. Her normally composed face was pale, her eyes wild with fear as she burst through the doors, only to be met with the sight of her husband's lifeless body lying on the hospital bed.
Her knees gave out beneath her as she collapsed to the floor, her hands clutching at her chest as sobs tore through her. "Charles!" she screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief. The sight of his cold, unmoving form was too much to bear.
Dominic stood silently in the corner, his face ashen as he conveyed Charles' final message to Maxandra. "He wanted you to know… he loved you. He was sorry."
Maxandra's sobs grew louder, her chest heaving as the weight of everything crushed down on her. "No… no, no, no! It wasn't supposed to be like this!" She crawled toward Lamia's bed, where her son lay, pale and unmoving. The doctors had done all they could, but his chances of survival were slim.
"Lamia," she whispered, her hands trembling as she reached for him. "Please… don't leave me too. I can't… I can't lose both of you."
The monitors beeped in steady rhythm, but the doctors had warned her—there was almost no hope. His brain was bleeding, and the internal damage was extensive. They had given him a 2% chance of survival.
But Maxandra wasn't ready to give up. She pressed her face against Lamia's chest, her tears soaking his hospital gown. "Please," she sobbed. "Please, God, don't take him from me. Take me instead, but let my son live!"
And then, as if by some miracle, the monitor began to beep faster. Maxandra lifted her head, her tear-filled eyes widening in disbelief as Lamia's heart rate
See you guys tonight and know they are reference in the Sequel TRAPPED WITH THE DEVIL'S here so don't expect Lucas, Charles and Maxandra full story here..