The laughter died in Marcus's throat as if someone had reached down his windpipe and squeezed his lungs shut.
Under the pale silver moonlight and the red glow of the floating recording crystal, Raiden turned around fully.
Half of his long, curly hair was pitch black, while the other half gleamed a stark, bone-chilling Ashen silver. His shirtless upper body was drenched in dark, drying blood from dozens of spatial cuts, and his face was as pale as a ghost's.
Yet it wasn't the blood or the scars that made the Golden-Crested Griffin beneath Marcus suddenly let out a terrified whimper and take two steps backwards.
It was Raiden's eyes.
Those deep violet eyes held no fear, no humour, no hesitation, and not a single drop of human warmth. They were like two bottomless pools of freezing glacier that made him chill to his bones.
"You... came from The True Capital??"
