From the shadows, Mark emerged, stepping into the streets. As he walked calmly, a sly smile spread across his lips, his eyes cold and sharp. He entered a bar, when suddenly, a voice echoed.

“Well, well… isn’t this my dear grandson?”

In the corner of the bar sat a man with brown hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin. He wore a spotless white coat and glasses that gleamed under the dim lights. Mark’s face fell, but without a word, he walked over and sat beside him.

The brown-haired man smirked arrogantly, with the air of a hellish king.
“Look into my eyes, little prince.”

Mark’s eyes flickered with a sly gleam. He smirked ironically, his tone sharp and mocking.
“How ironic! Our so-called esteemed scientist—wasn’t he supposed to be experimenting on others? Or should I say… Mahir? My dear grandfather?”

Mahir’s gaze turned ice-cold. His voice, calm, low, and silk-like, cut through the air with dark allure.
“Ah, Mark… is that how a grandson treats his grandfather? What happened to a simple hug?”

Mark tilted his head, smiling playfully, his tone cutting and sardonic.
“A hug, huh? After abandoning your grandson, manipulating my mother and family, only to crawl back out of the shadows? How amusing!”

Mahir’s silky, deep voice carried his chilling charisma.
“Oh, dear grandson. Yes, I despise your mother… but you have no idea how much I love you. Don’t forget—it was your family, Stefan included, who kept locking you into cages, molding you into something you never were. Or am I wrong?”

Mahir leaned closer. His dark, magnetic gaze fixed on Mark as he exhaled softly against his neck. His husky, velvet voice dripped with hypnotic tension.
“Sometimes, a little cub has to learn through pain, to become the master of his own game. I’m only bringing out the real you. These insecure glances, this nervous sweat, your inability to hold eye contact… all of it is because your family broke your essence into pieces. You’re rebellious, Mark, and I’ll teach you how to play the game properly. Don’t worry—you’re inexperienced now, but I’ll guide you.”

Mark’s heartbeat quickened. Time slowed, the room fading away until only he and Mahir remained. His breath caught in his throat, his body trembling with both fear and excitement. But then, regaining composure, Mark lowered his head, smiling slyly, his devilish charisma seeping through.
“You’re sweet, Mahir… but I’ll carve my own path! I’ll create my own chaos. Every artist leaves his own signature.”

Mahir’s eyes glinted with icy menace. His voice, deep and silken, carried a metallic edge.
“You’re fire, Mark. And when I pour water on fire, it rages even stronger. That’s why I touch your flames carefully. Remember this. Oh, and this Friday, I’m hosting my own science fair. I’ll showcase machines controlling the human brain—my mythology of the future. I expect you there, my dear Mark.”

Mark bowed his head, his tone dripping with teasing flirtation.
“Hmmm~”

Mahir smirked arrogantly, whispering with cold, velvety mockery.
“Is ‘hmmm’ all you’re going to say? Or are you hiding something from me? I don’t trust you, grandson. Anyway—have you gotten yourself a girlfriend yet? When you do, you’ll introduce her to me, won’t you?” He hissed the last words, winking.

Mark winked back, his sly grin laced with sarcasm. His voice was low, silky, and ironic:
“Oh, I have. In fact, I’ll be at your precious science fair—maybe I’ll ruin those machines of yours. Didn’t I tell you? Every artist leaves his own signature.”

Mahir theatrically raised a finger, silencing him. Slowly sipping his drink, he smiled with cold wisdom. His voice, low and silk-like, whispered with theatrical menace:
“Ah, my dear grandson… still trapping yourself in cages made of your own lies. And those lies will only forge new chains, binding you tighter. Don’t forget—I’m always one step ahead.”

Mark’s devilish grin widened, his eyes glowing with dark mischief. Whispering with velvet menace, he teased:
“Do you really think you’d make a better devil than me? Don’t flatter yourself, Mahir. I’m the Lucifer Morningstar here—you’re just a cheap imitation.”

Mark’s melodic, hypnotic eyes gleamed with playful danger as he stepped forward. But Mahir, seasoned like a king of Hell, froze him with a predatory glare. His cold, authoritative whisper pierced the air:
“So, you dare defy me? Remember this—you’re the mouse, and I’m the lion. And a lion crushes a mouse’s tail beneath its paw.”

Mahir rose to his feet, his movements slow and heavy, dangerous enough to make the air thicken. His predatory gaze locked onto Mark as he circled him, a serpent encircling its prey.

With sudden violence, Mahir sank his teeth into Mark’s neck. Mark cried out in pain, collapsing to the floor. Around them, the bar remained oblivious, the crowd lost in their own world. As if Mahir and Mark had become invisible.

As Mark’s vision faded into darkness, Mahir’s lips curved into a hellish grin. His eyes burned crimson, hair falling into his face, his aura a mix of sadistic hunger and devilish ecstasy.

When Mark finally opened his eyes again—he was trapped inside a capsule.

—To be continued—