Rongs: Bloodline of the Damned

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Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence, torture, and intense emotional distress. Reader discretion is advised.

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Within seconds, the sharp clatter of metal against concrete shattered the choking silence—a grotesque punctuation to the moment, as the platinum band spun away from the severed finger. Blood spurted in its wake, streaking across Rong Xinghe's face. But she didn't so much as blink. No flinch. No tremor. Her body was a sculpture of stillness, unmarred by pain or pity.

Around her, muffled cries and restrained groans twisted the air—raw, human sounds of fear. But it wasn't the act of violence that unnerved them. It was her. The cold, emotionless precision. The way she carved agony with elegance, like an artist perfecting her craft.

The Hybrids exhaled collectively, unfazed.

Just one thought echoed among them: