The Dark Angel Of Merciless Deaths
The shock in his eyes was palpable, his expression mirroring that of someone who had been blindsided by a force beyond their comprehension.
"I hate you so much, Antonio Rico Luca," I continued, my voice carrying the weight of my loathing. The words were a culmination of all the pain, suffering, and torment I had endured at his hands, a torrent of resentment that surged forth. "And I curse the day that I met you. My blood is going to be on your head," the finality of my declaration hung heavy in the air, an oath that felt as chilling as the void that now beckoned me.
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