Rise of the Lustful Evil Monarch (Re)

Third Person's POV

"You die with me, bastard," he hissed.

Without warning, a serrated black dagger appeared in his left hand.

In an instant, dark flames started crawling along the jagged edge of the blade and started burning like cursed oil.

Using his surprise element, or so he thought, Erik twisted his body and slashed upwards toward Ethan's neck in a wild, desperate arc.

The strike was vicious and well-timed, but his grin faded the moment his eyes met Ethan's.

In them, he found no fear, no shock, and no panic but only a glacial stillness.

In the next instant, Ethan ducked with eerie precision as the cursed blade cut nothing but air and passed harmlessly through the space where his throat had been just a breath ago.

Before Erik could even adjust or process what had happened, Ethan rose with a fluid but brutal grace.

In a single motion, he held his chain with both of his hands, and in a sudden movement, he wrapped it around Erik's neck like a noose, binding the barbed links tightly around his neck like a leash.

The movement was so fast and so seamless that it defied the eye, though the most surprising part was that Erik seemed incapable of resisting Ethan's hands, as even when he was resisting, he felt as if those hands were steel and he couldn't budge them even an inch.

With a sharp yank, Ethan spun on his heel and hurled Erik across the room.

The resulting impact was savage as Erik's body slammed into the far wall with such force that the wooden panels cracked and splintered.

The corner of the inn crumbled slightly, and dust fell from the ceiling as Erik howled in agony and anger.

The serrated chain around his neck dug deeper and tore his flesh, leading to ghastly streams of blackish red blood pouring around his neck and then down the chain.

Even the deadly, innate corrosive nature of the blood of the demon seemed incapable of melting down the chain and its end hook still embedded in his chest, wrenched cruelly as his body convulsed, every breath a new torment.

Pain blinded him, and his eyes watered while his vision swam with tears and blood.

Still, he tried to call out, to scream for help, for vengeance, anything, and it was then that he saw her.

The sole woman among his group.

Through the haze of blood and pain, Erik spotted the figure in dark robes dashing toward him, her steps like a ghost's, silent and swift.

Hope sparked in his eyes, and he felt that he could finally see a spark in a sea of darkness, but fate seemed to have no intention of showing any mercy to him.

From somewhere unseen, a silent pike of ice sliced through the air and pierced her shoulder with chilling precision.

She let out a muffled grunt as her balance shattered and her momentum crumbled.

She stumbled and crashed to the ground, and her mouth soon was filled with dirt and broken floor as the pike drove her deeper into the earth.

Cold spread through her body like frostbite, and the left part of her chest and her left shoulder and arm started stiffening from the shock and cold.

Erik's faint smile of relief withered into despair as his world dimmed again and the agony returned sharper than before.

In the very next moment, Erik felt his body jerk violently once again by the relentless chain.

This time, there was no resistance left in him, no strength to brace, and no surface to grip.

His limbs flailed uselessly as he was yanked backward like a rag doll, and before he could even react, Ethan's fist came crashing into his face with the fury of a thunderclap, and this time landed squarely on his jaw.

A sickening crack echoed through the room as bone shattered and teeth flew from his mouth like splinters.

His jaw was torn halfway open, and his face was distorted grotesquely from the blow.

His body was sent hurtling through the air again, and this time it crashed into another wall at an angle.

Wood and stone groaned and snapped under the force while dust and debris cascaded down like powdered ash, but Ethan wasn't done.

Before Erik's body could even hit the ground properly, the chain whipped again with brutal precision.

With another ruthless tug, Ethan dragged the barely conscious demon back toward him and then hurled him down into the floorboards like a hammer striking an anvil.

The boards beneath them buckled and split as Erik's limp form bounced once, only for Ethan to smash him upward into the ceiling like a wrecking ball.

His fury was unrelenting, and behind it burned a singular, blinding thought that echoed,

How dare you lay a finger on my Velcy, you filthy mutt, with that pig-like face?

The rage boiled through Ethan's veins, like a molten surge of protective wrath that wouldn't be denied.

Meanwhile, two of Erik's remaining companions finally stirred, having snapped out of their stunned paralysis.

One of them lunged at Ethan in an arc of motion intended to catch him off guard, though the other was swiftly intercepted by Virelle in its attempt to do the same.

Her eyes flashed like blades as she clashed with the advancing figure, her presence commanding and firm.

As for Lucien and the dark-haired woman at his side, neither moved to assist.

Lucien watched coldly, the corners of his mouth twitching with faint amusement as he muttered silent prayers that the sneak attack on Ethan would succeed.

But the woman beside him had a different reaction.

Her scarlet eyes gleamed with something else, something deeper.

It was a quiet fascination that took root in her expression as she observed Ethan's brutal efficiency.

The raw dominance he displayed was so natural and unhesitating that it struck a chord within her battle-hardened soul.

It was rare to witness such a primal yet composed ferocity that didn't feel forced.