I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 79: I won’t kill you

The room was silent for a fraction of a second, the only sound the faint crackling of fire from the destruction Malvoria had left in her wake.

Then, with the slow, measured grace of a predator, Malvoria stepped forward, her eyes locked onto the woman standing before Elysia.

The smirk on the rebel's face didn't falter. If anything, it grew.

"Oh?" The woman tilted her head, voice laced with mock amusement. "You look angry."

Malvoria didn't answer. She didn't need to answer.

The moment she moved, the air shifted.

One second, the woman was standing there, arrogance dripping from every inch of her posture—the next, Malvoria had closed the space between them, her claws slicing through the air like a blade. The rebel barely dodged, jerking back at the last possible moment. The force of Malvoria's strike shattered the stone pillar behind her, sending chunks of debris clattering to the floor.

The woman recovered quickly, pulling a curved dagger from her belt, her smirk widening. "Feisty."

Malvoria struck again, this time with no warning. Her fist slammed into the woman's gut, hard, knocking the breath from her lungs. The impact sent her flying, crashing against the far wall with a sickening crack.

The woman gasped, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth, but still—still she laughed. "I was wondering when you'd show some—"

Malvoria didn't let her finish.

She grabbed the rebel by the throat, lifting her off the ground as if she weighed nothing. The woman's hands immediately shot up, clawing at Malvoria's grip, but it was useless. Malvoria tightened her fingers, watching as the smirk finally shattered, replaced by something that tasted like fear.

Good.

"You made a mistake," Malvoria murmured, her voice eerily calm.

The woman wheezed, her legs kicking uselessly. "S—so dramatic—"

Malvoria slammed her into the wall, hard enough to leave cracks in the stone. The woman choked, her body spasming.

"You think this is a game?" Malvoria growled. Her voice was low, dark, lethal. She leaned in, letting the woman see exactly what was waiting for her. "You think you can take what's mine and just walk away?"

The woman coughed, spitting blood onto the floor. "Tch. You demons—always so possessive."

Malvoria squeezed harder. The rebel gasped, her face slowly turning red as her air supply dwindled.

"You hurt her." Malvoria's voice was deadly quiet. "That alone has sealed your fate."

The woman's lips curled, even as her body trembled. "Didn't realize demons had such sentimentality." Her breath hitched. "Or maybe... you're just weak."

Malvoria exhaled sharply. Then—she threw her.

The rebel's body crashed through a wooden table, splinters exploding outward as she tumbled onto the ground. She groaned, coughing, pushing herself up on shaking arms.

Malvoria was already there.

Her boot slammed into the woman's ribs with brutal force, sending her rolling across the floor. The rebel coughed violently, more blood splattering onto the stone.

"Not so talkative now," Malvoria mused, her voice cool.

The woman glared up at her, hatred burning in her gaze. "We're trying to save her, you lunatic."

Malvoria crouched beside her, gripping the rebel's chin with sharp claws, forcing her to look up. "Save her?" she echoed, lips curling. "By beating her? By taking her hostage?" She tilted her head. "You must have a very twisted definition of salvation."

The rebel gritted her teeth, but there was no more smugness. No more amusement.

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Malvoria dragged her closer, her eyes gleaming with something cold, something merciless.

"You wanted money," Malvoria continued softly. "You thought that would be enough. That I'd just hand her over." Her claws pressed against the woman's skin, a whisper away from breaking it. "Tell me—did you ever stop to think about what would happen if I didn't?"

The woman swallowed, the first flicker of uncertainty breaking through her bravado.

Malvoria smiled. It was not a kind smile.

She stood abruptly, releasing the rebel as she did. The woman slumped to the floor, gasping.

Malvoria turned her back on her. For a moment, the room was silent.

Then—"If you're going to kill me," the rebel panted, "just do it."

Malvoria chuckled, low and dark.

"Oh, no." She turned, her gaze burning as she stared down at the broken woman on the floor. "I won't kill you."

She leaned down, voice dropping to a whisper.

"I have something so much worse than death planned for you."

The woman's eyes widened.

And Malvoria smiled.

The woman's breath hitched, a visible tremor running through her battered body as she looked up at Malvoria. The earlier bravado—the smirks, the taunts, the amusement—was gone. In its place was something raw. Something primal.

Fear.

Malvoria didn't move, didn't strike her again. She simply stood there, her presence alone suffocating. Her gray eyes, sharp as a blade's edge, pinned the woman in place, drinking in the subtle quiver of her limbs, the tightening of her jaw as she fought against the instinct to crawl away.

Malvoria could smell it. The way fear changed a person's scent, thickened the air around them.

The woman's throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. "What—" Her voice cracked. She coughed, forcing herself to sound steady. "What are you going to do to me?"

Malvoria's lips curved ever so slightly, her gaze never leaving the rebel's.

"That depends."

The woman flinched.

Malvoria crouched beside her, close enough that the woman could feel the heat radiating from her body, close enough that if she wanted to, she could rip her throat out with a flick of her claws.

The woman knew it.

She stiffened, her breath coming in short, sharp exhales, her pupils blown wide in the dim light.

Malvoria let the silence stretch, savoring the way the rebel's pulse jumped beneath her skin.

Then, finally, she exhaled through her nose, as if the woman had already lost her value.

"We'll discuss your punishment later."

The woman sagged in relief. But it was temporary—because the not knowing was worse.

Malvoria straightened, finally turning her attention to the real reason she was here.

Elysia.

She was still bound to the chair, her violet eyes sharp despite the bruises marring her skin. Blood stained her lower lip, her hair tangled, her wrists raw.

Malvoria clenched her fists.

She had never been good at controlling her anger.

But right now—right now, the rage had somewhere very specific to go.

And it wouldn't be wasted.