The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 198 - 199: Unleash your anger

Gerwin was still shrieking like a dying goat, his face contorted as soap foamed out of his nostrils and mouth. His legs kicked wildly, arms flailing uselessly as Cyrus’s thick, scaly tail held him firm like a massive vine strangling a fat rabbit.

But Isabella?

She was calm. Composed. A tiny smirk tugged at her lips as she faced the crowd of wide-eyed women. Some were clasping their hands in front of their mouths. Others looked like they were holding back giggles. A few were nodding like this was the best breakfast entertainment they’d had in years.

Isabella dusted off her hands dramatically, letting the last bubbles of soap drip to the ground.

"Now then," she said sweetly, turning back to the crowd like she was hosting a tribal cooking show. "As I was saying before our demonstration got... messy—"

Behind her, Gerwin hacked and snorted soap, still writhing.

"—let’s talk about consequences."

She paced slowly, hands behind her back like a wise elder. The wind rustled her short, jagged fur skirt. She looked tiny in front of the group, but her voice rang out like a war drum.

Based on the reactions Isabella had gotten so far, and everything she had observed, she decided to improvise her words.

"We’ve all seen what this man has done. Heard the stories. The bruises. The beatings. The humiliation. The way he strutted around this village like the sun rose out of his hairy ass—" she paused as a ripple of laughter broke through the group, "—and he thought none of you could fight back."

She stopped pacing, looked the women dead in the eye. freewebnσvel.cøm

"Now, I could punish him. I could keep slapping him until my fingers get sore—" she flexed her hand dramatically, "—but what fun is that?"

The women stared, brows lifting, a murmur spreading.

"No, no. I think you should be the ones to teach him a lesson."

The murmurs grew louder. One woman blinked in surprise. Another’s lips parted slowly. A third cracked her knuckles.

Isabella’s voice dropped an octave, soft, persuasive, dangerous.

"Think about all the times this specific man humiliated you. Think about the mornings you couldn’t move because of bruises. Think about the way he looked at your children like they were nothing. The way he laughed when you cried. The way he threatened your mates. Think—really think—how many times you wished someone would stop him."

The women’s eyes lit up.

"I say today is the day we stop him. Together. For every year, for every slap, for every insult."

She paused. Then added with a sly grin, "Stone-age style." (Sorry y’all I had to add that <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>)

A stunned silence fell across the group.

Then, slowly—deliciously slowly—one woman nodded.

Then another.

Then another.

A fourth raised her hand with a glint in her eye.

Isabella smiled like a cat who just dropped a rat in the fire pit.

"Good," she said. "Now, form a line."

It was chaotic at first. The women jostled to form a queue, shoulders bumping. Someone let out a wild giggle. Someone else actually cracked her neck like she was preparing for war.

Cyrus held Gerwin steady, even as the man started panicking again.

"Wait—wait, what?! No, no! You can’t let them—!"

But it was too late.

The first woman approached. She was short, wide-hipped, and looked like she had carried a boar on her back once or twice.

"This," she hissed, winding back her club-like fist, "is for making me sleep outside for three moons because I burned your damn lizard meat!"

SMACK!

The sound was glorious. The crowd roared. Isabella grinned like a proud aunt at a baby’s first punch.

Next.

"This is for stealing my tooth necklace and giving it to another woman!"

THWACK!

Gerwin howled.

Next.

"This is for calling my cooking trash when your own mother said I made the best rock-baked fish in the village!"

POW!

Gerwin’s head flopped to the side like a rag doll. His nose was leaking more soap now, mixed with a lovely little trickle of blood.

Isabella clapped politely like she was at a theater show.

"Nice aim, good wrist motion!"

One particularly tall woman strode up next, her arms as thick as a bear’s thighs.

"This is for kicking me while I was pregnant with my fourth child, you dung-faced rat."

BOOM!

Even Cyrus winced.

Gerwin slumped in the grip, half-conscious, half-soaped, and fully regretting his entire personality.

The next woman didn’t even speak. She just walked up, kicked him between the legs, and stepped aside like she was watering a plant.

Gerwin made a sound that could not be written in any known language.

Isabella finally stepped forward, raising a hand to signal pause. "Okay, okay! Don’t break him too much. He still needs to walk around and remember this."

Cyrus grunted.

Gerwin was barely upright. Snot, soap, tears, and spit dribbled down his chin. His legs shook like soggy reeds.

But his mouth?

Still had venom.

"I swear," he coughed hoarsely, glaring blindly, "when I get out of here—I’ll find you, woman. I’ll get you back."

"Oh?" she drawled, turning to the women with her arms outstretched. "Don’t mind me, ladies. Here I was, thinking maybe we were going too hard on him."

She shrugged, looking almost apologetic. Almost.

"But nooo, clearly we haven’t knocked enough sense into that thick skull."

Then she grinned and stepped back like a conductor letting her orchestra play.

"Unleash your anger."

The women surged.

Gerwin’s scream was swallowed by fists.

It was glorious.

One punched him in the ear. Another twisted it. A third woman slapped him with a flat piece of bark that had somehow appeared from someone’s waistband.

Someone else jabbed him in the ribs and shouted, "This is for breaking my sister’s arm and saying it was an accident."

Soap and spit flew.

Cyrus calmly adjusted his grip, keeping Gerwin propped up like a dummy in a market square. His massive tail twitched slightly, enough to make Gerwin jerk and grunt like a broken bellows. But the real punishment came from the mob of furious, wide-hipped justice.

In the middle of the beautiful chaos, Isabella stepped aside and nudged Ophelia with her elbow. "Seriously though," she muttered. "How did you ever like a person like that?"

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