Eastern District Auction House.
Vorr stood before the pedestal. He had broken free from his cage. He was now tangible once again.
His hand trembled as he reached for the red silk cloth covering Item Number 4. The greed in his eyes was maniacal, blinding him to the stillness of the room.
"Mine," he hissed, his fingers brushing the fabric.
But he never grabbed it.
Before his skin could make contact with the silk, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The body of Vorr stopped mid-air, as time stretched towards infinity.
From the shadows of the corners, from the ceiling, and from the floor itself, eleven figures materialized.
Shhhing.
In a fraction of a second, Vorr found himself immobilized.
Eleven daggers, forged from solidified Mana, were pressed against every vital point of his body. One at his throat. One at his heart. One at his spine. Two at his eyes.
Vorr froze. His eyes widened, reflecting the terrifying sight of eleven identical masked figures surrounding him.
