Chapter 45: Beast? Demon?

Aria’s eyes had barely adjusted to the sudden darkness when the lights flickered back on, one after the other, bathing the hall in a cold, sterile glow. But just as her vision began to adapt to the brightness, she gasped. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched Zyren move. He was fast—inhumanly fast—but his blade was even faster. Before anyone could react, he struck down the woman who had spoken. "Liar!" he snarled, his voice dripping with fury, every syllable laced with deadly intent. The sheer force of his rage was unmistakable. The blade tore through the woman like she was made of paper, slicing her into so many pieces that Aria knew—without a shadow of doubt—that even as a vampire, there was no coming back from it. She had been annihilated. Zyren was merciless, a whirlwind of violence as he slaughtered the others—one by one—as if their lives meant nothing to him. No hesitation. No remorse. Just blood. By the time he was done, all of them lay dead on the ground, butchered in grotesque and horrific ways. Aria was already on her feet, her body shaking from head to toe, her knees threatening to give way beneath her. Her hands trembled uncontrollably as tears streamed down her cheeks. Never in her life had she witnessed something so terrifying—so utterly gruesome. The thick, cloying stench of blood filled the air, metallic and suffocating. The ground itself seemed soaked in it, forming slick pools beneath Zyren’s boots as he walked through the carnage he had created like it was nothing. Earlier, his dark blood had stained his clothing from his own wound. But now, he might as well have emerged from a river of blood. It drenched him—hands, chest, arms, hair. He looked like a god of death. What made it worse—what made it so much harder to comprehend—was the gentle, eerily serene smile tugging at his lips. He looked... satisfied. Almost serene. Like he had done something beautiful. Something pleasing. His grip on the bloodied blade tightened, knuckles whitening, even as his crimson gaze swept lazily over the remaining guards. None of them dared to move. Not even to breathe too loudly. Fear had turned them into statues. "It could have been any of them," Zyren finally said, his voice cold and calm—eerily so. The casual tone sent a chill down every spine in the room. The lords didn’t respond. They only bowed their heads in silence. Not even Vivian, who had been hysterical before, could muster a single word. She stood motionless, eyes wide, her mouth sealed shut in fear. The air around Zyren was oppressive, charged with an aura of pure, blood-drenched menace. It was clear to everyone in the room that the wrong movement—one wrong word—would result in certain death. Aria’s tears flowed freely, blurring her vision. Guilt surged in her chest like a rising tide, pressing painfully against her ribs. But beneath it—stronger than anything—was fear. A suffocating, bone-deep fear that pinned her in place. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t take that step forward she had been so determined to take just moments ago. The people she had tried to save... they were already gone. Their bodies lay scattered and lifeless across the hall. If she stepped forward now, it would mean nothing. Her death would mean nothing. Especially not when her hatred for Zyren burned hotter than ever. Not when her heart pounded with a desperate, visceral urge to rip out whatever kept him alive and crush it in her hands. A monster. Death would be too kind for him. The thought echoed in her mind, bitter and fierce. He had murdered dozens—both humans and vampires alike—and he still wore that wide, contented grin, as if he had done something worth celebrating. As if this was a game to him. The aura surrounding him now burned red, like a living flame. It pulsed around him in waves, smothering the hall in deadly silence. The rest of the occupants stood completely still, their presence barely noticeable beneath the weight of his fury. Rymora stood closest to the door. Her chest heaved in shallow gasps as she clung to the wall, trembling violently like a leaf caught in a storm. The few servants near her looked equally horrified, pallid with fear, barely holding themselves upright. None of them dared glance in Zyren’s direction. "They can’t be the only ones behind the poison!" Zyren opened his mouth to add, even as he slashed the blade in his hand in the air almost like he was trying to wipe the blood off before it dried. Aria had even felt such sense of dread, anger and disgust when she heard him continue. "The kitchen staff! They must be in on it!" he added and the lords nodded aware that none of the servants would be spared, not seeing a reason to put their own heads on the line. Their heads were lowered and they didn’t speak but simply nodded to confirm that they would get it done and just when everyone expected Zyren to send a guard to send them in, Zyren dropped the blade to the blood-slicked floor with a loud clang. Then, turning away from the carnage, he strode casually to the ornate chair where he had been sitting moments before. With a lazy gesture, he lifted a hand and beckoned. "COME!" he commanded. Aria froze at the sound of his voice. It cut through the air like a knife. Her gaze met his—and her breath caught once more. His eyes were no longer the dark, simmering crimson she had grown used to. They were deeper now. Darker. Almost blackened with rage. But within them, she also saw something else: a quiet, terrifying anger. And it was clear—she was not excluded from it. Zyren was pissed. And that fury was now aimed at her. Slowly—terrified, but trying to mask it—Aria forced her feet to move. Step by step, she approached him, her heart pounding so hard in her chest it felt like it would burst. She came to a halt just in front of his chair. Her short black dress clung to her trembling body, and the small jacket over her shoulders offered no comfort from the cold that seeped into her bones. Her dark hair still had the black ribbon tied in place, though several strands had come loose. Zyren’s gaze slid over her, intense and searching, gliding down her body with such weight that it made her heart stutter. She expected him to speak—to chastise her, to accuse her—anything. But instead, he reached out and grabbed her. With one swift pull, he dragged her into his lap until she sat atop him, straddling his thigh. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her dress rode up from the movement, bunching high—so high it nearly exposed her backside. Scandalized, Aria felt heat rush to her cheeks, her face burning despite the whirlwind of horror, fear, and loathing that gripped her. Zyren was still drenched in blood, his skin sticky and red, and the last thing she wanted was to be anywhere near him. ’How can someone kill so many people without batting an eye?’ regretting not putting a higher dosage of poison in his wine when she had the chance. She was still staring at him with a blank expression on his face, wondering why he was yet to hurt her, only to be shocked when she heard his next order, which somewhat terrified her. "Everyone!" he called out in a low and deep voice that everyone had no problems hearing, considering the silence of the hall. "GET OUT!" he ordered. Aria could feel his hand around her waist, light and without any pressure, but the order was enough to remind her just how much power he could muster with those arms. Enough to crush her with his fingers if he wanted to. As much as she tried, she couldn’t hide the fear that sprang into her gaze as she fixed her eyes on him.