The shadowy aura twisted and coiled, its form taking shape—a grotesque, snarling visage with hollow, glowing eyes.
"No," Mila whispered, her voice barely audible. "No, this isn't possible…"
Qiao Jun stepped back, his expression grim.
"There's your proof, Aunt Mila. That thing—" he pointed at the dark entity—"is what you've been nurturing. It's not your son. It never was."
The dark spirit let out a guttural snarl, its glowing eyes locking onto Aunt Mila.
"You…" it hissed, its voice echoing with malice. "You were so easy to deceive. So desperate. So weak."
Mila stumbled back, her hands trembling.
"No! No, you're lying! You're lying!"
The spirit laughed, a cruel, grating sound that filled the chamber.
"Lying? Oh, no, Mila. I owe you my existence. You called me here. You gave me everything I needed to take his place. And now, you've lost him forever."