Chapter 118: Chapter 118: Death is a Mercy

[Author’s Note: The following Chapter contains scenes of extreme graphic violence and gore. Reader discretion is heavily advised.]

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Chapter 118: Death is a Mercy

The agonizing, blood-curdling screams of Valerius Thorne echoed off the high stone walls of the Iron Colosseum.

He thrashed wildly on the cratered floor, his pristine white suit soaked in a spreading pool of his own dark blood.

For a C-Grade Incubus Lord, losing a limb was supposed to be a temporary setback.

His Level 50 biology should have instantly triggered a massive cellular regeneration, sealing the wound and beginning the process of bone reconstruction.

But the wound did not close. It burned.

The invisible embers of my Law of Emotional Radiance clung to his torn flesh, actively incinerating the very concept of healing.

During the fifty-eight days of the grace period, Anise had relentlessly trained me to hone my Law. She taught me how to make the flames linger, how to attach my raw fury to an enemy’s soul.

Valerius could not regenerate because my hatred simply would not allow it.

Up in the royal box, my pack watched in silence. Rolf, Kaelith, and Lysandra were all Level 50, but they had not awakened their Laws yet.

As Anise had explained, a Law was not something you simply leveled up to acquire. It required a profound, reality-shattering catalyst, a crucible of the soul.

My catalyst had been the psychological torture of the Labyrinth. They were still waiting for theirs.

Around the arena, the absolute silence of the crowd finally broke.

The rulers of the Monster Continent reacted exactly as their natures dictated.

"Unnecessarily brutal," Archduke Vladis Crimson murmured, adjusting the velvet collar of his coat with a look of mild disgust. "A king should execute his enemies with a blade, not act like a starving hound."

"You know nothing of true warfare, leech," Warlord Bloodfang roared, his deep voice carrying over the stands. The Orc chieftain slammed his heavy fists against the stone railing, his eyes burning with genuine respect.

"That is the truest, most absolute display of raw strength. He stripped the arrogant mage of his magic and broke him with his bare teeth. It is a fair fight. The Goblin is a true Apex."

High Lord Malphas simply nodded in silent, grim agreement.

But Seraphina Thorne was not cheering. She was gripping the obsidian railing of the delegate box so hard her knuckles were bleeding.

Her perfect, aristocratic mind was completely fracturing. She stared down at the arena, her eyes wide with utter, paralyzing shock. The reality unfolding before her simply did not make sense.

It was impossible.

’The creature standing in the sand was just a terrified, low-level runaway a few months ago. He was barely Level 20 when he fled the Zenith Academy. How could he possibly be standing there now at Level 50, clad in indestructible magitech armor, wielding a fully awakened Law? How had he bridged the gap of centuries in a matter of months?’

She was watching the proxy powerhouse of her continent being dismantled by a gutter-born anomaly.

Down in the sand, I stood up.

I reached down and grabbed the severed arm of the Incubus Lord. I hoisted it high into the air, presenting it to the thousands of citizens packed into the colosseum. Blood dripped heavily from the torn shoulder joint, painting the sand red.

I held it up as a prized, absolute trophy.

The citizens of the Forge erupted. The roar of the crowd shook the very foundations of the capital.

"Spare him." Seraphina’s voice cracked, amplified by her panicked magic as she leaned over the balcony.

"Spare his life. He is defeated. He needs immediate medical treatment."

She moved to leap over the railing, intending to flood the arena with her own magic.

Before her boots could even leave the stone, a massive, shadowed hand gripped her shoulder, and a wall of pure demonic fire erupted in her path.

Matriarch Vespera and High Lord Malphas blocked her completely.

"Sit down, child," Vespera commanded, her voice dripping with venomous authority.

"But he is dying." Seraphina shrieked, struggling against the Dark Elf’s grip.

"He chose to walk into the ring," Malphas rumbled, pushing her back into her seat with overwhelming physical force.

"We are the witnesses of the ancient ritual. The Rite of the Apex is absolute. The moment he accepted the challenge, his fate was sealed. You will not intervene."

I slowly lowered the severed arm, letting it drop into the bloody sand.

I looked down at Valerius, who was sobbing and hyperventilating, the pain completely breaking his aristocratic mind.

Then, I looked up at the royal box, locking my glowing red eyes directly onto Seraphina.

"I had to abandon my home," I projected my voice, letting the heavy, baritone resonance echo across the entire stadium.

"I had to abandon my ordinary life because this pathetic little piece of shit of a brother you have was trying to make me his immortal slave using the Core of Archlich Malacor."

Valerius groaned, clutching his ruined shoulder.

"Oh, how the situations change," I growled, stepping closer to his writhing body.

"That day, I was kneeling beneath your feet in the mud. And today, you are groveling in the dirt because you just lost an arm."

Seraphina was weeping now, begging the other rulers to step in, but they remained as immovable as stone.

"My friends, my family, had to cut off my arm in the middle of nowhere," I snapped, pointing my heavy brass Vanguard Arm at the Zenith delegation.

"They had to saw through my bone with a crude blade just to stop the corruption of the Lich from spreading to my heart. I had to endure the absolute agony of losing a limb while they watched it happen."

The Fire of Rage began to flare around my armor again, reacting to the raw, traumatic memories.

"And you want me to stop?" I roared, my voice cracking the reinforced glass of the royal boxes.

"You want me to spare the man who is the sole reason for my suffering? Hell no. Today, I shall mark the day my revenge officially begins. And I shall not stop until I destroy every single one of you who looked down on us. You shall see the wrath of this gutter-goblin."

I reached down with my heavy left hand and grabbed Valerius Thorne by the throat.

I lifted him entirely off the ground. He choked and gasped, his legs kicking weakly in the air.

"I told you," I whispered, pulling him close to my metal faceplate. "I shall give you a death more horrible than a dying rat."

I raised my right hand. I clamped my heavy brass fingers directly onto the top of his skull. My thumb pressed deeply into his temple.

"Stop it." Seraphina screamed, her voice tearing through the colosseum.

"You Goblin. If you kill him, we will consider this as an absolute Declaration of War. Stop it. No, stop right now."

I did not stop.

I closed my eyes behind the visor. I did not see the arena, and I did not hear the crowd.

I saw Elara Hardsteel.

I saw her lying on the cold metal table of the clinic. I saw her beautiful body brutalized and broken.

I saw her mana veins shattered, her skin pale and soaked in her own blood. I remembered the sheer, suffocating desperation I felt as I tried to hold her fragile life together.

I opened my eyes and looked at Seraphina one last time.

"Death is a mercy."

I pulled my hands in opposite directions.

SKRRR-CRACK-SQUELCH.

The sickening, heavy sound of the Incubus Lord’s cervical spine snapping echoed like a gunshot. I ripped his skull completely away from his neck.

A geyser of dark blood erupted from his severed torso, painting the front of my crimson armor completely black.

The headless body of Valerius Thorne fell heavily into the sand.

I stood in the center of the ring, holding the severed head of a Continental Envoy in my hand.

The silence that followed was absolute. It was the silence of a continent realizing that the rules of the world had just been violently rewritten.

The Continental War was officially declared.