The figure was completely engulfed in a massive black cloak.
The voluminous fabric obscured his build and his face, leaving only a pair of eyes visible in the darkness. Those eyes were fixed on the girl on the screen.
His gaze was predatory and grim, carrying a chilling, scrutinizing weight.
Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the room.
A subordinate bowed as he entered, keeping his head lowered in a posture of absolute submission.
"Overlord," he said softly upon stopping. "The Prescotts are calling again."
The cloaked figure, addressed as the Overlord, kept his eyes locked on the screen without a ripple of emotion.
The subordinate continued, "The Prescotts are begging you for one more chance."
"They promised they would find a way to dispose of Serena Lancaster this time and ensure she doesn't ruin our plans."
The cloaked figure let out a remarkably raspy scoff.
The sound was quiet, yet it sent a shiver down the spine. "A chance?"
His voice had been put through some kind of synthetic modulator, rendering it deep, grating, and devoid of genuine emotion. "Does trash like the Prescotts really think they have the right to ask me for a chance?"
The subordinate lowered his head further.
The cloaked figure spoke lightly, "They're a bunch of useless garbage. Get rid of them."
The subordinate tensed and immediately agreed. "Yes, sir."
He was just about to retreat.
"Wait," the cloaked figure called out.
The subordinate paused, his tone reverent. "Overlord, do you have further instructions?"
The cloaked figure's gaze returned to the screen.
The footage shifted, playing a piece of hidden surveillance video with no public record.
It was the exact moment in the arena's blind spot where Serena grabbed the security guard's neck and injected the neurotoxin straight into Phelps Prescott's veins.


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