The bloodstained walls loomed around you, each smear a haunting reminder of the torment endured by those who had come before—victims reduced to nothing more than suffering, their identities lost to agony. Anyone with a shred of humanity would shudder at the thought.

But not him.

The man standing before you was anything but human in his demeanor. Feitan Portor, the torturer from the Phantom Troupe, stared at you with cold detachment as if your pain meant nothing to him. In his eyes, you were just another obstacle, one to be broken and discarded.

Another jolt of pain surged through your body as your head snapped back from his latest strike. Your jaw throbbed, the sickening taste of blood flooding your mouth.

“Where is she?” Feitan’s voice was eerily calm, but you could hear the thin thread of impatience growing. The same question. Again. He had been relentless, asking it over and over since you were dragged into this chamber.

“She” was Neon Nostrade, the girl you had been sworn to protect at all costs. The daughter of Light Nostrade, a powerful figure with influence that stretched far into the shadows. Neon’s rare ability—her Nen, the power to foresee the future—had made her a target for the Phantom Troupe. They wanted her, and they thought capturing you would be the key to finding her.

But they underestimated your loyalty. Your silence enraged them, and so they had sent Feitan—their most brutal torturer—to break you.