After only a few hours of troubled sleep, Isaac opened his eyes, his body still aching and heavy with exhaustion. The dull morning light filtered slowly through the curtains, gently illuminating his face marked by fatigue and the night's exertions.
Without saying a word, he slowly rose from his bed, feeling every muscle protest violently under the weight of the tension he had imposed on them. Yet no physical pain now seemed able to match the unbearable intensity of the rage still burning fiercely inside him.
His mind was now focused on a single goal: to become stronger, powerful enough to crush Belgaroth and avenge Akane.
Isaac dressed quickly, grabbing his black katana before leaving his apartment. He walked swiftly through the now bustling streets of Paris, his face closed and cold, without a smile or apparent emotion. His eyes, burning with anger, stared straight ahead with cold, implacable determination.
