Chapter 32
Hazelton paced the filthy, damp warehouse, his boots crunching on broken glass and debris scattered across the concrete floor.
His rage churned like a storm inside him, barely contained, and every step only fueled his torment.
The warehouse stank of mildew and oil, a fitting backdrop for his spiraling thoughts.
He needed to calm himself, but the anger was like an inferno—unrelenting, consuming every ounce of logic he tried to muster.
He hadn’t heard from Hortense in days, and that infuriated him more than he cared to admit.
He’d gone back to her forest, only to find himself wandering aimlessly among identical trees.
It was as if the entire forest had shifted to mock him, hiding the very spot where he’d thought Hortense had been keeping Bethany.
And without the witch, he was powerless!
No stolen energy, no magic to amplify his abilities, just this insufferable, simmering rage that clouded his every thought.
Why hadn’t he just been satisfied with Bethany?
If he’d taken her powers and stopped there, he could have been halfway across the world by now, soaring through the skies like the all-powerful being he deserved to be.
He could have snapped his fingers and conjured up feasts in Paris or chaos in Tokyo.
He could have had adoring humans at his feet, ready to obey his every whim.
But no. His arrogance had led him to target Sorcia, the High Priestess of the Eastern Territory.
Her power had been like a siren song, and he’d been stupid enough to listen.
Her strength, her aura—it had bewitched him, taunting him with promises of unimaginable power.
And now, he was trapped. Stuck in this rotting tomb of a warehouse, surrounded by witches patrolling the city like a relentless swarm of hornets.
Hazelton clenched his fists and slammed them against the nearest wall.
The impact sent a satisfying jolt of pain up his arms, but it wasn’t enough to quell his fury.
He couldn’t even sneak out for a bit of fun, not with those damn witches everywhere.
Normally, he’d revel in the chaos he could cause among humans.
He loved the way he could push their fragile egos to the breaking point, sparking fights with a single glance.
Watching drunkards in bars turn on each other like rabid dogs had always been one of his favorite pastimes.
But now? He couldn’t risk it. Not when he knew the witches were hunting him. The moment he caused a commotion, their energy would spike, and they’d descend on him like vultures. He wasn’t stupid—he knew he was outnumbered and, worse, outmatched without any stolen powers to defend himself.
He growled, the sound reverberating in his chest like a caged beast. All of this was his own fault. His greed had brought him to this. He’d wanted too much, reached too high, and now he was paying the price.
What was he supposed to do now? Run? Hide?
Both options felt like failure. The idea of sneaking out of the territory was tempting, but every potential route seemed blocked by those insufferable witches.
If he could just slip away unnoticed, maybe he could start over in another region, somewhere quieter, where witches weren’t on high alert.
But getting out without being caught—that was the real challenge.
Hazelton leaned against the wall, staring at the dim light filtering through the cracked windows. He hated the feeling of being cornered. A demon of his caliber wasn’t supposed to be the prey.
But for now, he was trapped. And that realization only stoked the inferno of his rage higher.