The underground sealing prison of Chuzu Akuma was a place that seemed to devour light. Even with the wards faintly glowing on the stone walls, the shadows here felt alive, coiling like serpents. Pierce, the white-haired former knight, was at ease as he moved with practiced efficiency. He worked alongside a handful of small youkai, who scuttled about, setting up the necessary wards and magical artifacts for the interrogation. They worked in a flurry of tiny limbs, their mischievous smiles contrasting with the solemn task at hand.
Mark Jiejing stood in the middle of the room, his presence commanding, indifferent, and cold. His robes swept the floor as he traced symbols, each one glowing faintly before settling into the stone like they were etched by some unseen force. It was meticulous work, each symbol tied into the next, a binding ritual that would ensure their guest would not pull any tricks.
