John gulped down a mouthful of grape-wine, then turned his head slowly toward the speaker.
He saw a sincere pleading in the bull-man's expression—eyes full of unease, yet also respect.
But before John could speak, the black diary he had been absentmindedly flipping through twitched.
Suddenly, three jagged blue electric arcs burst from the book's pages and slapped him squarely across the chest.
CRACK!
John groaned—softly.
Everyone in the hall froze. The electric burst had looked savage, brutal enough to maim. Yet all he gave was a low groan?
For a brief moment, the entire room tensed, thinking John had turned hostile. But when they realized the arcs had attacked him, not from him, they were struck dumb.
He took that hit without flinching? From that monstrous book?
Fear quietly crept into their hearts.
Whispers stirred beneath the silence.
What kind of monster cultivates his body by willingly enduring that kind of torment?
