Starting out as a Dragon Slave-Chapter 130: - : Surrender

Isaac stared at his sister, time suspended between them like a thread ready to snap. Léna looked back at him, her face a theater of conflicting emotions visceral fear, total incomprehension, and budding anger that made her lips tremble imperceptibly. Her eyes, wide and glistening with barely contained tears, desperately searched his for a familiar spark, a trace of the man she knew.

The helicopter blades carved through the air above the building with mechanical violence, each rotation sending vibrations deep into the foundations. The searchlights pierced through the windows like spears of raw light, projecting a choreography of shadows and brightness that turned their faces into shifting masks.

Outside, the voices amplified by megaphones continued their relentless litany, each word hammered out with the cold authority of those who hold power.

- "Isaac..." murmured Léna, her voice barely audible above the outside chaos, a solitary tear finally tracing its path down her pale cheek. "What did you do? Why are they here?"

Isaac’s silence stretched on, heavy as a shroud. His gaze, locked with his sister’s, betrayed nothing a frozen lake where all emotion seemed to have drowned. His eyes, once warm, now reflected an alien light, cold and calculating, as if something within him had irreparably shattered, leaving only an abyss. The orange glow that usually inhabited his irises seemed to have intensified, like embers smoldering beneath the ashes.

Seconds stretched out, interminable. The drone of helicopters, the shouts of agents, the sinister dance of lights all of it blurred into an indistinct background, insignificant against the silence that hung between them.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity compressed into a heartbeat, he inhaled deeply, the air filling his lungs like an unwelcome guest.

- "It’s a misunderstanding," he articulated, his voice so flat, so devoid of inflection that it seemed to belong to a stranger. Each syllable dropped into the space between them, cold and lifeless like stones falling into a dried-up well. "I’ll clear it all up."

Léna stared at him, a look of horrified disbelief spreading across her face. An involuntary shiver ran through her body, her skin prickling as if exposed to an icy wind. The man before her wore her brother’s face, but the soul that inhabited it seemed to have been replaced by that of a stranger. Her Isaac the one who had comforted her after childhood nightmares, whose laughter still echoed in the hallways of her memory was gone. In his place stood a creature with a fixed gaze and a face sculpted into calculated indifference that chilled her blood.

- "Isaac... wait, I..."

The words died on her lips, useless and futile. He passed by her as one passes by a piece of furniture, his presence reducing the space between them to nothingness. A hand rested on her shoulder a gesture once familiar, now strangely ceremonial. That light but firm pressure carried with it all the weight of a farewell he would not take the time to articulate. Without another word, without a backward glance, he crossed the threshold and moved down the staircase, leaving Léna frozen in silence as heavy as lead.

His steps echoed against the worn concrete stairs, each impact producing a funereal echo that reverberated off the decaying, graffiti-stained walls. The air in the stairwell was oppressive, laden with dust and an electric tension that seemed to accumulate with each flight he descended. Isaac moved with deliberate slowness, almost ceremonially. His right hand brushed against the chipped metal railing, his fingers registering every imperfection, every patch of rust, as if mentally mapping the last vestiges of a world he was about to leave behind.

His face remained impassive, frozen in a mask of perfect indifference. Yet behind that facade, something simmered not an emotion, but a cold, unyielding determination crystallized around a promise made to the dead. Each step brought him closer to his destination; each stair conquered was a new silent oath.

Wait.Patience.Vengeance.

He finally reached the ground floor, a lobby with cracked tiles and walls yellowed by time. The shards of light filtering through the grimy entrance windows assaulted him suddenly, aggressive rays drawing geometric shapes across the floor. He took a few steps forward, his eyes gradually adjusting to the artificial brightness. Through the fogged and streaked glass of the entrance door, the outside world revealed itself like the stage of an urban war zone.

Silhouettes in tactical gear spread out in formation, their bodies protected by reinforced armor that gave them an almost inhuman appearance. Armored vehicles were arranged in a semicircle, forming an impenetrable wall of steel. Massive searchlights systematically swept the building’s facade, their beams slicing through the darkness with surgical precision. On every vehicle, on every piece of equipment, the emblem of the Hunter’s Bureau was displayed with deliberate arrogance a constant reminder of their absolute authority.

Above, like metallic predators, helicopters maintained a hovering presence, their blades tearing through the night air with deafening violence.

slowness, he pushed the door open and stepped outside, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

The effect was immediate. A murmur rippled through the ranks of the soldiers like a wave, their weapons adjusted in a chorus of metallic clicks, and the beams of the spotlights converged on him with mechanical precision, enveloping him in a harsh halo that seemed intent on piercing his flesh. A myriad of red dots appeared on his body laser sights that transformed his silhouette into a scarlet constellation, marking each vital point with murderous precision. A macabre mapping of his mortality.

He stood still in the midst of this storm of light, his hands still raised towards the sky, his gaze fixed on the invisible horizon beyond that wall of men and steel. The soldiers advanced in perfect synchronization, their movements a testament to rigorous training. Their faces were hidden behind full-face helmets with polarized visors, transforming them into anonymous, identical creatures. They encircled him methodically, forming a perfect ring of metal and flesh around him, each weapon locked onto him with palpable determination.

A man then stepped forward from the group, his armor distinguished by its more elaborate design and the golden insignias adorning his pauldrons and breastplate. His full-face helmet, more sophisticated than those of his subordinates, reflected the harsh light of the spotlights, masking his face entirely behind an opaque surface. His stride betrayed an innate authority, each step measured with military precision.

- "Isaac Mordred?" he asked, his voice rendered metallic by the modulator integrated into his helmet, resonating in the air like the verdict of an invisible judge. "Place your hands in front of you, palms open."

Isaac held his gaze unseen but felt through the impenetrable visor. In that silent face-off, two wills clashed the established authority against something older, deeper. After a moment that seemed to stretch time itself, he nodded imperceptibly and complied, extending his hands before him, palms open as if in a mockery of supplication.

The officer approached with calculated caution, each of his movements betraying extreme tension despite his apparent confidence. Two other hunters followed him like shadows, their weapons aimed directly at Isaac’s head, their fingers grazing the triggers with barely contained impatience.

The man withdrew from his belt a device that bore only a superficial resemblance to handcuffs. Thicker than ordinary restraints, they were forged from a metal with bluish reflections, their surface engraved with complex symbols that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Ancient runes formed concentric patterns that pulsed faintly with an ethereal glow. The officer locked them around Isaac’s wrists with expert precision, the mechanism snapping shut with a dull clack that resonated like the closing of a cell door.

The effect was immediate and devastating. A wave of icy cold swept through Isaac’s body, spreading from his wrists to every extremity. The mana that usually coursed through his veins that familiar presence, that extension of himself he had learned to manipulate since childhood vanished abruptly. It wasn’t merely a blockage; it was a spiritual amputation. The channels that connected his essence to the universal flow of mana seemed to have been cauterized, leaving a vertiginous void in their place. The world suddenly lost an entire dimension, leaving him incomplete, diminished.

- "Good..." the officer said, satisfaction evident even through the electronic distortion of his voice. "Now, move."

Isaac offered no resistance. His face remained a mask of perfect neutrality, his eyes still as cold and analytical as ever. He allowed himself to be led, his feet sliding over the wet asphalt as if he were walking in a dream. The soldiers surrounded him in flawless formation, their coordinated movements betraying intensive training, each of them ready to react at the slightest sign of rebellion.

The entire street had been converted into a military operation zone. Armored vehicles formed an impenetrable barrier, their engines purring softly in the night like slumbering but vigilant beasts. The emblem of the Hunter’s Bureau shone on their flanks, illuminated by the spotlights a constant reminder of the authority that had orchestrated this capture. Through the tinted windows of the vehicles, silhouettes could be seen, observing his passage with a mix of hatred and satisfaction.

Isaac recognized some faces among those shadows members of Lazare’s team. Their features were twisted with burning animosity, their eyes gleaming with a mixture of vindictive triumph and barely restrained rage. Some exchanged fevered whispers, others pointed at him with gestures full of contempt. Yet Isaac did not avert his gaze. He observed them with the same clinical indifference as an entomologist studying specimens under a magnifying glass.

They finally approached a vehicle that stood out from the rest. An armored van with sleek lines, its matte black body absorbing the light. Its windows, entirely opaque, offered no hint of what lay within.