There was a man in Sian's team—someone frighteningly skilled at crushing the skulls of monsters and ripping out their still-beating hearts. A man whose presence passed like a shadow, silent and intangible, yet whose movements were swift and lethal.
He was like a ghost.
Always alone. Always watching.
His eyes were devoid of light, emotionless—hollow. As if his soul had long since withered away.
He was called Kong Yin, a name spoken in hushed tones, trailing behind him like the echo of something lost.
But that name was only a shell.
