The Last Spade Master

The Last Spade Master

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing5h 32m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Wed, Apr 10, 2024
In a dark narrow and abandoned subway, a man stumbled his way, holding a half-finished alcohol bottle in his hand. His stubbles longer, hair messy and ungroomed. His eyes are bloodshot and swollen from continuous crying. He wobbled and fell down. A sharp stone grazed the side of his forehead, leaving a slight trail of blood, but he did not react as the pain in his heart numbed this pain from a petty wound. He dragged his body and leaned against the wall of the alley. His bloodshot eyes looked up at the dark and gloomy sky without blinking. A lone tear slides from the side of his eyes, yet he made no effort to brush it away. He closed his eyes as another tear slipped before he broke into heartwrenching cries. He throws the bottle in his hand at the wall as it shatters into pieces, just like his heart. A loud scream sounded at the end of the subway, waking him up from his despair. He gets up before looking towards the source of the sound. The alley looks so dark, making it hard for him to see what was before him. He staggered towards the end of the subway. When he heard another scream, he found that the sound came from the dilapidated shed at the end of the subway. He makes his way toward the shed. The door was already broken, making it easy for him to enter. The man's eyes roamed around the shed, looking at the rusted steel pipes and other damaged electronics. This place seemed like a dump yard. When he felt something wet under his shoe, just like when one steps on muddy water, he squinted his eyes only to see a pool of blood. His eyes trailed the traces of blood, finally setting on the terrifying scene before him. He retreated back with eyes full of fear before asking, "Wh... wh... what are you doing?". "Please... help me."
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  • ITS JUST A DESIRE

What happens when you're in the wrong place at the wrong time? She is just at the beginning of her year-long world travels when she falls into the hands of him - an Italian mafia Don driven by the thirst for answers and revenge. When there is something else thrown into the mix - obsession. But is it the healthy kind? -- "I can see it, you know," he continues, his voice as smooth and dangerous as the edge of a blade. "The fear you're trying so hard to hide. The way your hands tremble ever so slightly, the way your breath catches in your throat when I'm close like this." My hands instinctively curl into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I struggle to maintain control. He tilts his head, studying me like a predator sizing up its prey, his proximity suffocating. "You should be scared," he says, the words laced with an unsettling certainty. "Because when I'm done with you, there won't be anything left of that defiance you're so proud of." A shiver runs down my spine. "I've faced worse than you," I manage to grit out, though my voice is barely above a whisper. "And I'm still standing." His lips curve into a sinister smile, a glint of something dark and twisted flashing in his eyes. "We'll see how long that lasts." "Let's go." "No." --

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