The Devil Has Come To Visit

Time passed and it was close to midnight, and the dim, blood-soaked basement shifted to the warm, amber glow of a grand study room in the main Holyfield mansion.

Polished oak shelves lined the walls, groaning under the weight of leather-bound books and rolled parchments, while a massive desk dominated the center, its surface cluttered with papers, inkwells, and a flickering oil lamp.

And in the centre of it all, a handsome, middle-aged man with sharp blonde hair streaked with silver sat behind it, his posture relaxed yet commanding as he scribbled his signature across a document.

His attendant, a thin man with a neatly trimmed beard and spectacles perched on his nose, stood before him, reading from a stack of reports in a steady, practiced tone.