The Vampire King's Pet-Chapter 306: He’s weak!

"I guess I’ll have to kill them."

The thought had only just settled in his mind when he instantly moved to carry it out, aware that the time around him felt wrong, as though it were speeding faster than he wanted it to. There was no hesitation, no pause to reconsider, no moment of doubt. The decision was made, and that alone was enough.

Raising his hands slowly, deliberately, more than dozens of werewolves were ripped from the ground and lifted into the air at once, their bodies suspended unnaturally as if the world itself had betrayed them. Zyren glanced toward King Jared, a faint smile appearing on his lips even as he went ahead to do exactly what he had already done before.

The screams came immediately.

They echoed loudly around the clearing, sharp and desperate, bouncing off stone and wood alike. King Jared’s golden eyes burned brighter, a red tinge bleeding into them, a color that promised nothing but utter violence. His jaw tightened, muscles flexing as he glared at Zyren with an intensity that left no room for doubt.

He would attack the moment he was free.

Zyren noticed the look and found it mildly amusing. Beyond that fleeting amusement, however, he continued on a killing spree without restraint. His movements were smooth and controlled, every action deliberate, every death effortless.

If before, blood had simply tainted the ground in scattered streaks, it soon became far worse. The scent of it thickened the air, metallic and heavy, clinging to skin and fabric alike. Bodies dropped one after another, striking the earth with dull finality.

The remaining werewolves looked as though they were about to faint from fear. Some trembled violently, others stared in numb disbelief. Their breaths came shallow and uneven as the realization settled in.

They were about to die.

Aria felt her heart racing violently in her chest, each beat pounding against her ribs. Despite that, she appeared calm on the outside, her expression carefully controlled. She forced herself not to react as the slaughter continued before her.

Nearby, the vampires quietly moved, pressing themselves behind Zyren so that he wouldn’t mistakenly kill them. None of them wanted to draw attention to themselves. None of them wanted to die.

Zyren’s gaze remained calm throughout it all. His red eyes burned with an intensity that unsettled everyone who dared to look at him. Even as he killed apathetically, it was clear that whatever emotions he possessed, if he had any, were not connected to what he was doing.

But even as he moved, dark sand continued to slip past his defenses.

It crept unnaturally along his body, burning through his clothes and into his flesh. His body healed rapidly, far faster than any ordinary being’s, so the wounds themselves were not what troubled him. What troubled Zyren was the way the sand behaved.

It moved with intent.

The dark sand burrowed through his muscles and bones, clearly aiming for his blood. That was the last place he would ever allow such an insidious thing to reach. He could feel it crawling inside him, invasive and persistent, refusing to be expelled no matter how much power he exerted.

When the next batch of dead werewolves finally dropped to the ground, silence crashed down upon the clearing. It was sudden and deafening. No one spoke. No one moved.

Zyren continued to draw shadows toward himself, dark tendrils sliding across the ground and curling around him. He killed sporadically, unpredictably, without pattern, and no one dared to speak.

King Jared and Clara continued to watch, expectation written plainly on their faces. They were waiting for the artifact to work, waiting for Zyren to weaken enough that they wouldn’t have to face him directly.

I knew it was a mistake to allow myself to come, Aran cursed inwardly as he remained frozen, unable to move. Fear locked his body in place as his thoughts raced wildly.

Zyren was still killing the werewolves, but what was to stop him from killing the hunters next? Nothing. The realization sent a fresh wave of terror through Aran as sweat pooled on his forehead and slid down his face.

He cursed the day he agreed to lead the hunters in regard to the plan.

I knew I should not have trusted that Jared wolf ears, he thought bitterly, staring at Zyren. Dark sand had mostly seeped into Zyren’s clothes, staining them black, yet he still looked completely unaffected.

Look at him. He’s completely fine.

Terrified, Aran continued to stare at Zyren, whose expression remained eerily normal even as he continued killing with casual indifference.

As Zyren amassed a huge number of shadows around himself, his face finally shifted, resolving into a faint frown. The realization came slowly but unmistakably.

He was fighting a losing game.

Canceling the ability that had kept everyone frozen, he pulled all the shadows back into himself. The pressure lifted instantly. Barely had that happened, barely had the werewolves realized they were free, when an overzealous man suddenly ran forward.

"You killed my two sons!" the man screamed, tears streaming down his face, grief twisting his features. "I’ll kill you!"

He barely took a few steps closer to Zyren when his body froze mid-motion. A thin wound opened across his neck. For a brief moment, there was silence.

Then his head slid from his shoulders and hit the ground.

Dead.

Everyone else, whose instinct had been to attack Zyren, instantly froze. The man had died so easily that Zyren hadn’t even been looking at him. He hadn’t turned. He hadn’t acknowledged him.

Instead, Zyren had been calmly taking off his dark coat.

King Jared and Clara exchanged a glance and silently decided to wait. They would allow the dark sand from the artifact to do more damage before stepping forward.

Meanwhile, Zyren finally felt it worsen.

The burning intensified, spreading far faster than his healing could keep up with. Worse still, some of it had already gotten inside his body. Blood began to trickle from his nose, a thin line that stained his skin and made it clear to everyone watching that something was wrong, regardless of Zyren’s calm expression.

King Jared began to boast loudly, his voice echoing across the clearing. "I told you you were going to die," he said with cruel satisfaction. "It was just a matter of time!"

Zyren didn’t respond.

His pain increased steadily, relentlessly, even as he continued to kill anyone who stepped closer, anyone foolish enough to think they could take advantage of the situation. Those who tried died instantly, cut down without warning.

Aria watched silently, her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms. She didn’t know what to feel as she watched Zyren bleed. She forced herself not to react, repeating the same thought over and over again.

He deserves it.

She stood beside Liora, who also watched, her gaze sharp and focused.

Then Liora opened her mouth to speak.

"He’s weak," she said eagerly. "I can kill him now."

She wanted to be the one to finish Zyren before anyone else could, especially with the sheer number of people watching, all of them desperate to be the one to deliver the killing hand after the people he had killed.

Before Liora could take a single step forward, a hand suddenly closed around her wrist.

Aira had moved without thinking, her grip tight and unyielding as she pulled her sister back just enough to stop her advance. Her breath was shallow, eyes wide as she leaned closer, panic sharp in her expression.

"Are you stupid?" Aira hissed under her breath, her voice shaking despite her effort to keep it low. "You’ll get hurt."

Liora turned sharply, glaring at her sister, irritation flashing across her face. She yanked her hand slightly, though she didn’t break free. "Let go," she whispered harshly. "I’m not defenseless."

Aira didn’t.

"I have an offensive ability," Liora continued in a strained whisper, her eyes never leaving Zyren. "I don’t have to get close. I can attack from a distance."

Aira’s grip tightened instead of loosening.

She knew better.

If Zyren was in pain, then he was far more dangerous—not less. The blood at his nose, the way he still stood so calmly despite it all, the way people continued to die even now—it wasn’t weakness. It was a warning.

Worse still, if Liora got injured—

Aira’s chest tightened painfully.

She wouldn’t be able to heal her.

Not after the ritual. Not after the price she had paid to gain her powers.

Aira swallowed hard, her voice dropping even lower as she leaned closer to Liora’s ear. "You don’t understand," she whispered. "If you get hurt this time, I can’t fix it."

Her fingers trembled slightly around Liora’s wrist, fear finally breaking through her anger. "You could die! You have clearly seen how strong he is! Are you really going to take that risk?." she asked hoping her sister wasn’t stupid enough to say yes.

Meanwhile, Liora went still.