Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!-Chapter 113. The Man behind All

Viewer Discretion Advised

The upcoming 2 Chapters contains scenes of intense psychological distress, violence, and implied sexual abuse that may be disturbing or triggering for some readers. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Themes explored in this narrative are dark and may not be suitable for all audiences. Proceed with caution.

Please don’t take it lightly!!

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The hologram hanging above cast a cold, sterile light over the vast black chamber. Its surface shimmered, images flickering like dying memories. But it wasn’t just light it was emitting anymore.

Now, it played a nightmare.

The screen displayed a white-haired, crimson-eyed child—Rufus. Her son.

Liana’s heart lurched.

At first, she thought it was some illusion, a trick of light or magic. Her mind, perhaps warped by the stress, conjuring false images to haunt her.

But no. The hologram kept looping the same cruel, undeniable footage—video after video of Rufus, imprisoned, brutalized.

And it broke her.

Because the boy shown there wasn’t whole. His body was torn apart—chunks of flesh missing from his arms and legs.

His pale fingers were nailed into a wooden board, thick iron spikes punched straight through the delicate bones like they were parchment.

His skin... gods, his skin had been peeled from his hands, stripped to reveal the trembling red sinew beneath.

And upon that raw, bleeding flesh—

Pests.

Thousands upon thousands of tiny, black, needle-legged insects squirmed and burrowed into the muscle, drinking from him like he was a living chalice.

Blood dripped constantly, soaking into the floor beneath him, painting a grotesque mural of torment.

But the worst part wasn’t the state of his body.

It was the expression on his face.

Or rather, the absence of one.

No crying. No screaming. No whimpering. No fight.

Just stillness. Acceptance.

Because he’d been through it too many times before.

Liana’s scream shattered the silence. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"

She surged forward, staring at the projection, her voice echoing with desperation. "How is Rufus alive?! How—how is he even alive?! Why are you doing this to him?! He’s a child! A damn child! Are you monsters?!"

The man beside her—her captor—chuckled as if her agony amused him.

"Weren’t you all calm and composed just a moment ago?" he asked, voice laced with mockery. "What happened now, Mother?"

She turned on him, fury clouding her vision. Without hesitation, she swung.

Her fist collided with his jaw—only for a sickening crack to echo through the chamber as her own bones broke on impact. Pain shot up her arm. She staggered back, clutching her fractured hand.

He grinned, entirely unfazed. "Wow. Fiery. You swung hard enough to shatter your own hand."

Liana didn’t cry.

She didn’t sob.

Her son didn’t cry, even as his flesh was devoured.

How could she allow herself that luxury?

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the cold stone floor. The black surface felt endless beneath her palms, and her breath came in shudders.

"Why...?" she whispered, her voice raw. "Why is peace so impossible? Why can’t we live without bloodshed? Why... why us?"

A new voice echoed through the vast chamber.

"Because you are weak."

It cut through the air like a blade, cold and absolute.

Her head snapped up.

From the darkness emerged another figure, his appearance both regal and monstrous.

His long robe dragged along the ground like a serpent’s tail, laced with blackened gold embroidery. He walked slowly, with the poise of someone who ruled not just with authority—but with the certainty of superiority.

Liana’s heart clenched as recognition dawned.

Heinau Opalcrest.

The King of Opalcrest. The man behind it all.

His features bore a faint resemblance to the man beside her—similar bone structure, the same obsidian hair, the glint of cruel amusement in their eyes.

But where the first was wild, unpredictable—Heinau was composed, terrifyingly so. A storm behind a still lake.

"My dear Liana," Heinau said, his voice low but cutting, "it is because you are weak. Your family is weak. And, most importantly, you are ambitionless."

He stopped several paces before her, towering above her crumpled form.

"You Everharts cling to your status, to your bloodline, like it’s sacred. But it’s hollow. You bask in the glory of the past, of legacies built by those far stronger than you. And now? You leech off Mythria’s bones, contributing nothing, refusing to evolve."

She looked up at him, blood leaking from her broken knuckles, face pale but eyes alight with rage.

"You tortured my son... for your twisted ideals."

Heinau smiled thinly. "Your son is an unfortunate casualty. But every sacrifice has its purpose. He holds a dormant power. One you yourselves have failed to awaken. I merely expedited the process."

"You’re insane," she spat. "You think power is everything, but what you’re building—this empire of yours—will crumble the moment true strength arrives from the outside. Mythria cannot stand against Alaris, or the Eastern Dominion, or the North. Your delusions will doom us all."

Heinau knelt, just slightly, to meet her gaze.

"But at least we’ll fall as lions. Not worms."

Then, he rose, his robes shifting like coiled smoke. "History remembers those who tried, not those who sat idly while their world burned. You should be proud, Liana. Your family, your son... they will be stepping stones to a stronger age."

Liana clenched her teeth, trembling with fury and helplessness. "You will not win."

"Perhaps not," Heinau admitted, voice devoid of fear. "But I will never die without trying. And your son—"

He looked up at the hologram, where Rufus still hung, silent and broken.

"—he may just be the beginning."

"Or so... I thought."

Heinau’s voice, no longer triumphant or mocking, slipped into something colder. Melancholic. As if even he couldn’t stomach the truth behind his own words.

He turned his back to Liana, looking up at the slowly rotating hologram that continued to display the mutilated body of the white-haired boy.

"We captured him when he was nine," he said, almost as if trying to confess to the void rather than speak to her. "And now... he’s fourteen."

His voice was devoid of guilt. But it wasn’t proud either. Just hollow.

"He’s been tortured since the very first day," Heinau continued. "At first, he acted like any child would. Screaming. Crying. Flailing in pain and fear. Begging for his mother, for someone to save him. That hope, that innocence, it lingered for months. But eventually... after two years—" he let the words hang, "—it stopped."

Liana stood frozen, the weight of his confession pressing down on her like a physical force.

Her eyes remained fixed on him, unblinking, unmoving, burning holes through the back of his skull.

Every fiber of her being screamed to rip him apart, to end him with her own hands. But her body remained chained, and her heart was shattering.

Heinau sighed. "He never transformed. Not even a flicker of bloodline awakening. So I gave up on him as a viable vessel."

He finally turned to face her. And to her horror, his eyes were filled with a strange warmth. A softness that made her skin crawl.

"I thought perhaps it wasn’t him after all," he said gently. "Maybe... it was you."

Liana flinched as he stepped closer, his presence suffocating. His hand rose slowly—too slowly—and brushed against her cheek with a mockery of tenderness.

She slapped his hand away in disgust, but he caught her wrist mid-swing. His grip tightened until her bones screamed.

"You really are beautiful," he whispered, forcing his hand back to her face. "Even when you look at me like I’m filth."

Her expression twisted in pure revulsion. His touch was acid. And he relished her hatred like a fine wine.

Heinau laughed, a sound not of amusement but something deeper—madness.

"Ahahahaha! I also had plans to capture your daughter, you know? But the little rat slipped through. Vanished without a trace."

Then, his tone shifted—his smile faltered. There was something beneath his voice now. A simmering bitterness. And... fear.

"But now that I think about it, perhaps that was for the better," he admitted. "Lucian would have torn Opalcrest apart if I’d laid a finger on her. It would have been a massacre."

The captor, who had watched the exchange in silence, suddenly raised a brow.

He grinned. "You’re scared of him."

Heinau’s eye twitched, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he let out a strained laugh. "Rune... You don’t know Lucian Lancaster, do you? You really don’t."

Rune tilted his head. "You make it sound like he’s more than just some old freak with a family complex."

Heinau stepped forward, his voice gaining gravity.

"Lucian Lancaster is not a man. He’s not even a monster. He’s a god."

There was silence. Even the hologram seemed to dim slightly, as if in reverence to the name.

Heinau continued, eyes gleaming with reverence and terror. "Let me tell you a story. During the Third Great War of Cronica, when the entire continent turned to fire and steel, all the great nations allied themselves against Alaris. Every faction, every army, joined together to end their expansion. But Lucian Lancaster—then only at Rank ★★★★★★★—did the unthinkable."

He paused, letting Rune—and Liana—absorb the weight of what he was about to say.

"He single-handedly destroyed the Eastern Dominion’s main force. Not a skirmish. Not an ambush. A direct assault on their heart. He annihilated Mythria’s defense core in one fell swoop, and it was that devastation that caused the great continental fracture. Mythria was split in two. Literally."

Rune blinked, then burst out laughing. "Same Rank as me... and that’s the gap? AHAHAHAHA! I love it! His battle prowess is ridiculous! I want to fight him."

He turned his grinning face toward Liana, licking his lips as he spoke. "Hey, hag. Let’s get moving, huh? Why don’t you transform already? Make a mess. Go berserk. Your daughter will come running to save you."

Liana narrowed her eyes. "How would she even know I’m here? And you said you wanted me dead. What’s with the change of plans?"

Rune gave a sheepish shrug, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. "Well, here’s the thing. When your daughter comes to rescue you—and believe me, she will—she’ll be told that there’s a way to save you. A ritual."

Heinau chuckled darkly, picking up the thread. "A ritual that requires the mana of an ice-element wielder. A very specific kind, one not found in the Lancaster heir. But..." he smiled wickedly, "a certain male candidate will be nearby. With the exact compatibility needed."

Rune leaned in. "To complete the ritual, your daughter will have to draw his mana into her own body, meld it, and use it to strike you. With the belief that it will ’purify’ you."

Liana’s face contorted in disbelief. "That’s—! That’s the most intimate thing one can do with another person’s mana outside of blood bonding. That’s... basically marriage."

Heinau grinned. "Exactly. And I would love to see Lucian’s reaction to that."

His eyes shimmered, almost glowing. "The girl he guards like a jewel. Offering herself to another."

Rune broke into peals of laughter. "Now that’s entertainment! I want front row seats!"

And through it all, the hologram kept spinning—Rufus, still pinned, still bleeding.

Not crying.

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