Chapter 104: When Winston Tower Split in Two

Victoria stood inside the Norton City Hospital with her arms crossed and her patience already gone.

"Where is My Husband?" she asked again.

The nurse at the front desk checked the system twice before answering.

"He was admitted earlier. Room 214. But after a few hours... he was gone. No one saw him leave. We already informed the police."

Victoria’s expression did not change much, but the air around her cooled.

If Daemon was not here, then there was only one place he would go.

Straight to Roxanna.

She turned without another word and left the hospital.

At the top of Winston Tower, more than fifty werewolves surrounded the rooftop and howled toward the figure in the air.

Daemon did not answer them.

He did not speak at all.

His body hovered above the concrete in silence, black flames wrapping his shoulders, arms, and head. The fire moved with him, not wildly, but like it belonged there.

His eyes burned red through the dark. There was no recognition in them. No warmth. No familiar presence.

This was not Daemon in control.

His bloodline had taken over.

Requiem.

Until his real consciousness returned, the power sealed inside him was moving the body on its own.

Roxanna wanted to check him. She wanted to reach out, force the flames down, and pull him back. But the longer she looked, the less the figure in the air resembled the man she knew.

The posture was colder. The pressure was heavier. Even the way he hovered felt wrong, as if something ancient had stepped into his skin and decided the rooftop belonged to it.

Before she could decide what to do, the sound of rotors cut through the night.

A media helicopter rose into view near the tower. Drones followed right behind it, lights flashing, cameras already locked on the scene.

Inside the helicopter, an anchor’s voice came through the open channel, loud enough for nearby equipment to catch.

"We are live above Winston Tower, where reports of an SS-Rank battle and unidentified beasts have already flooded social media. Viewers, what you are seeing now is not a simulation.

A figure is currently hovering above the building, completely covered in black flame. At this time, we cannot confirm the identity of the individual. The face remains fully obscured by fire."

The cameraman adjusted the lens.

"Stay on him," the anchor said. "Do not lose the shot."

Roxanna muttered under her breath.

"What are these idiots doing here?"

Below, cops and hunters were already emptying the building floor by floor. Winston Tower was massive, and the number of people inside made the evacuation slow.

The media did not wait for clearance. They kept filming, kept pushing closer, kept treating the rooftop like a stage instead of a battlefield.

Daemon raised one hand toward the helicopter.

The media locked onto the movement at once.

"The flaming figure is raising a hand toward our aircraft," the anchor continued, voice tightening. "We still have no confirmed identity. I repeat, the subject’s face cannot be seen through the black flames."

Roxanna understood what would happen next.

If that hand completed the attack, the people inside the helicopter would die.

She moved instantly.

Green life energy burst from her shaft and formed into three massive spectral hands. The constructs shot upward, wrapped around the helicopter, and tore the crew free from the cabin just as Daemon’s black flame condensed in his palm.

The blast left his hand a second later.

Black fire ripped through the helicopter and every nearby drone. The explosion lit the sky above the tower in a violent wave of dark flame.

Metal tore apart. Burning wreckage scattered into the night. People in nearby buildings screamed and began leaving at once as the fire reflected off their windows.

Roxanna pulled the three media workers down hard onto the rooftop.

They collapsed near her feet, shaking, eyes wide with the delayed understanding of how close they had come to dying.

"Thank you," one of them gasped. "If you hadn’t—"

"Get out of the building now!" Roxanna shouted.

They did not argue. They ran for the access door while the rooftop continued to burn at the edges.

Then the werewolves attacked.

They came from every direction at once, claws out, jaws open, bodies launching toward the flaming figure in the air as if numbers alone could bury him.

Daemon still did not speak.

He only moved.

One punch crushed the first werewolf’s skull and set its entire head on fire. Another swing tore through two more and left their bodies burning as they fell. When a larger group leapt together, Daemon’s eyes flared brighter.

Red-black fire shot from his gaze in a clean beam.

The blast cut through the front line and set bodies alight mid-air. Werewolves screamed as the flames clung to their faces and chests, refusing to go out.

Daemon drifted through them like a silent executioner, punching, crushing, and burning without hesitation. Every strike ended a life. Every eye-blast left scorched bodies on the concrete.

Kaine watched his subordinates die one after another.

The black flames on their corpses did not fade quickly. They kept burning, as if the fire itself wanted to finish the job.

Sweat ran down Kaine’s face. The confidence he had regained from numbers drained out of him in seconds.

He looked at Roxanna.

Then at the monster in the air.

He could not capture her now.

Not with that thing standing between them.

Escape was the only choice left.

Kaine turned and used the full speed of his werewolf form, body low, claws scraping as he tried to break away from the rooftop.

He did not make it far.

Daemon’s eyes locked onto him.

The eye-blast fired again.

The beam pierced straight through Kaine’s body and cut him cleanly in half. His werewolf form collapsed on the spot, dead before the two pieces finished falling.

But the blast did not stop with him.

The same beam continued forward and carved through the structure of Winston Tower itself.

For one frozen second, Roxanna could only stare.

A deep line of black fire split across the upper floors. Concrete cracked. Glass shattered outward in sheets. The entire building shuddered hard enough that dust and debris rained from the edges.

Winston Tower had been cut in half.

And it was still shaking.