The night was as black as ink, a darkness so thick it wouldn't yield, like congealed sludge without a speck of light.
Outside the window, a black shadow hovered eerily, perfectly still.
Its blood-red eyes glinted with greed, but held an even more heart-stopping, pathological obsession.
It stared fixedly through the crack in the window, its gaze locked unblinkingly on the young figure upon the bed.
'This is the most perfect body I have ever seen in my life, the most perfect man…'
The shadow's heart pounded wildly as its tongue darted out to lick its dry, chapped lips. It was the very image of a starving wolf catching the scent of a peerless delicacy, the desire in its eyes practically overflowing.
The qi and blood of a typical Martial Artist, while vigorous, were ultimately riddled with impurities and could hardly be considered refined.
This young man, however, was completely different.
