The room became a theater of the obscene, the air thick with the copper tang of blood and the cloying, musky sweetness of unleashed desire. Rex stood in the center of the ritual circle, a predator who had finally cornered his prey, his eyes burning with a dark, unholy triumph.
With a casual flick of his wrist, his telekinetic power lashed out like invisible whips, wrapping around Veylor's spectral throat and limbs.
The ghost was slammed against the wall with such force that his form rippled like disturbed water, pinned there by chains of pure necrotic force that severed his ability to make any sound.
Veylor could scream until his very essence shattered, but no sound would escape his lips; he was a prisoner of silence, forced to witness everything through a lens of helpless terror.
"Now then," Rex purred, his voice cutting through the low hum of magical energy. "Let's remove these unnecessary barriers."
