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Western Suburban Park.
At the center of the large patch of grass was an artificial lake, the center of which was a small island, occupied by a cabin straight out of a fairytale. Tonight, though, the cabin had been razed to the ground, replaced by the throne of Wrath. The roughly constructed red chair stood out with a unicorn's horn twisting and reaching toward the night sky like a crimson spire.
Hundreds of strangely-shaped horns protruded from the lake around the island. From afar, they looked like decayed wood growing out of the water.
Mark sat on the throne, wearing only a pair of shorts. With his hands on his knees, he leaned forward with his head lowered. Despite his stillness, he radiated an agitated and wild energy.
In the amusement park five hundred meters away, a man and a woman stood on the rail of a rollercoaster, looking down at Mark through tactical...
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