"No, no, don't kill me! I am a direct descendant of the Crowley family of Wekami..." Marco cried out, his voice trembling with desperation as he lay sprawled on the muddy ground.
Kicked down with ruthless force, he now begged for mercy, his once-arrogant demeanor replaced by abject fear.
Aizen, standing over him, was entirely unsympathetic; he had no desire to waste words on someone like Marco.
The sword in his hand gleamed under the faint light as he prepared to end Marco's life with a swift, merciless strike.
But just as Aizen raised his blade, he noticed a strange shift in Marco's expression.
The terror in his eyes was suddenly replaced by a look of deep, almost hypnotic intensity.
Marco's gaze locked onto Aizen's, and within those eyes, Aizen saw something uncanny—a swirling, dark whirlpool filled with an intense and seductive allure, a strange, almost supernatural force that seemed to pull at Aizen's spirit.
