It was not certainty.
It was hope.
A stubborn, unyielding hope that his father was still alive somewhere on this cursed island.
William wanted to believe the Devil had imprisoned him the same way it had the others. Sealed inside those grotesque pods for whatever twisted purpose it served.
But earlier, while searching the island with his telepathy, reaching outward with his mind to grasp even the faintest whisper that might belong to his father, William had found nothing.
Not a voice.
Not an echo.
Nothing.
Still, he refused to accept it.
That man had crawled through hell before and survived. A place far worse than this. If anyone could cling to life for a few more minutes, it would be him.
And that meant William had only one task.
Remove every obstacle standing between him and his old man.
"Persistent bastard!" the Devil growled in irritation.
The horn on its forehead flared with crimson light.
Instantly, the ground cracked open.
