Isaac had never felt such raw, primal fear. His body refused to move, every muscle locked in place, his tongue heavy and unresponsive. The darkness of the room was suffocating, and worst of all, he couldn't see the face of his tormentor—Damon Grey.
Tears streamed from Isaac's eyes as he lay helpless.
"Please... please don't do this," he whimpered, his voice a desperate rasp coated in despair. "I'll pay you... I have money... lots of it... millions of zeni..."
From the shadows, Damon's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Money? You think your wealth can save you?" Damon let out a cold chuckle.
"How funny. Lark Bonaire said the same thing before he died."
Isaac's trembling intensified at the mention of that name.
