My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 293

Chapter 293: Blood Eagle
Alexa stood there for a moment, staring at the kneeling, trembling, bloodied man. A blur where there had once been an eye ran down his cheek, staining the floor with a red puddle. His breathing was irregular, wheezing, almost like that of a wounded animal.

She advanced slowly, her footsteps echoing in the silent cellar like the bells of a funeral.

Vergil took a step back, silently giving way – it was hers now.

“Do you remember what you did, Alex?” Alexa’s voice came out low but firm. She stopped in front of him, and he tried to raise his head, but he no longer had the strength. “I remember. Every touch. Every word. Every dead friend… every time I cried in fear of going to sleep because of what you did.”

She knelt down and pulled him by what was left of his hair, forcing him to look at her with his one remaining eye. There was an empty expression on his face – not of remorse, but of disbelief. He had never believed that she would be alive… strong… in control. He’d thought she’d die bleeding, left her like that thinking she’d just die…

And yes, considering her injuries, she was going to die. They were in an environment conducive to infection, although of course, controlling the injuries, it was a fact that nature would do its job and kill her… That’s if Vergil hadn’t arrived and healed her using something he didn’t even know about. That power, it was part of Ashborne’s power, today he knew more or less what it was, but he didn’t know then.

If anyone other than him tried to cure Alexa, she would probably get an internal infection and die. She may be a werewolf, but she doesn’t matter. Not like vampires, who can easily overcome infections because they’re immortal. Her regeneration had also been compromised in that situation, so yes, she would die for sure.

“You left me to die. Your own sister.” she whispered, raising the blade until he could see it reflecting in the dim light of the basement. “Now it’s my turn.”

“I’ll help you.” Vergil said as he clicked on a Rune on the wall, it was a kind of rune that interrupted the flow of mana.

His body became completely unusable and Alexa noticed that his strength was gone, and of course, took advantage of it.

She drove her blade into the bottom of his left foot.

Alex tried to scream, but the sound came out garbled, his strength so drained that his entire muscles contracted, preventing him from acting… Then Alexa began to pull, with slow, calculated movements, tearing the skin off the sole like peeling rotten fruit. The skin peeled off in vivid, long strips, oozing thick blood.

He began to tremble with pain.

The second foot came soon after. A deep, vertical cut, and Alexa tore off a piece of flesh as if it were old fabric.

Alex overcame the force of the demonic rune, and screamed… now – guttural screams just speaking from his throat, animalistic, interspersed with saliva and blood dripping from his mouth as he tried to bite his tongue.

“You feel it, don’t you?” she asked, panting, her eyes burning with contained fury. “The despair… the helplessness…?”

The blade in her hand trembled slightly, not from fear, but from boiling adrenaline. She was alive – more alive than ever. And standing before her was the man who should once have protected her… and instead destroyed everything she was.

“It must have been fun, huh? Watching my friends die… my only family being crushed, one by one. Everything I had. Everything I was.”

Her voice faltered for a second, but not from weakness – from anger.

“You and our father left me for dead. You threw me away like I was a mistake, a freak.” She stepped closer, her eyes fixed on Alex’s rotting face. “But I know why…”

She pulled the knife out of his abdomen with a dry motion, making the blood flow like a thick torrent.

“It’s because you’re disgusted with me, isn’t it? Because I’m like her. Because I inherited everything from Mom.”

She spat out the word like poison, with tears caught in the corners of her eyes.

“The hair, the eyes, even the way you smile… you hated me for it. You, him… both of you cowards. He threw me out. You tried to erase me.”

She bent down until she was face to face with Alex, her face inches from his. Her voice came out as a sharp whisper:

“You hated me because I’m the living reminder of everything you destroyed.”

She gripped the knife tightly and rose.

It cut into the knees, without piercing – just tearing the skin until the tendons were exposed. The muscles contracted in involuntary spasms, trying to protect themselves from something inevitable. He screamed so loudly that there was no air left. His body trembled as if in shock, but she knew exactly what she was doing.

She cut off the tips of his fingers – she didn’t cut them off, she just pulled the nails out with the tip of the knife, one by one. The nails crackled like glass being broken. He screamed again, but now it was a hoarse squeal, a desperate attempt to protest against reality.

She didn’t stop.

With each cut, she whispered something.

“For every night.”

“For every scar.”

“For every piece of me you stole.”

an uncontrollable shaking, eyes rolling, drool running down her chin.

Vergil was still watching. Silent. Immobile.

It was her justice.

Alexa pulled the blade, and blood gushed out. She stared at it for a moment, covered head to toe in red, breathing heavily… and then she stood up, facing her brother.

He no longer looked human.

He looked like what he had always been.

A monster.

“And now…” she said, wiping the blade on his bloody clothes. “Heal him, Vergil.”

Vergil smiled.

Not a happy smile – it was cold, meticulous, like that of an executioner satisfied with the sharp blade in his hand.

He raised his right hand, and from his fingertips oozed a thick black energy, like a liquid veil of living darkness. The rune on the wall glowed one last time before crumbling, as if even she knew that what came next was unnatural – it was a perversion of the very idea of healing.

“As you wish, Dear.” her voice sounded low, husky, almost reverent.

The dark energy snaked through the air, moving as if it had a will of its own, as if hungry. As it touched Alex’s mutilated body, it sprang into action – not gently, but like a swarm of needles burning dead flesh. The wounds began to close. The skin remade itself in a grotesque, imperfect way. The nails that had been pulled out sprouted like crooked bone shells. The flesh restructured itself, but crookedly, pulsing irregularly, as if mocking biology.

Alex arched his back in a violent spasm.

The pain was different now – it wasn’t the pain of destruction.

It was the pain of forced regeneration.

Unnatural. Painful. Incomplete.

“Aahh-AARGHH!!!”

He screamed again, this time with something else: consciousness. He felt every bit of his body being rebuilt with that corrupt energy, as if worms were sewing his flesh back together.

Vergil took a step to the side, watching as someone finished an incomplete sculpture.

“Don’t worry… he’ll live,” he said quietly, almost dismissively. “At least long enough for the rest.”

Alex’s body shook in erratic spasms, his eyes wide, the one remaining eye filled with pure terror. Still unable to move properly, he was now breathing – panting, like an animal about to be slaughtered again.

Vergil looked at Alexa, blood still dripping from her, and made a slight gesture with his head, like someone offering the blade again: “He’s all yours.”

And in that heavy silence, broken only by the wet sounds of flesh stitching itself badly… Alexa smiled.

A smile that wasn’t one of revenge.

It was one of justice.

Bloody. Slow. And still far from over.

“Do you know what’s coming next, little brother?” her voice sounded calm. Almost serene. As if she were telling an old story. She knelt behind him, and with the dirty blade, began to slowly cut the back of his shirt, exposing his back. “This is an ancient execution. Viking. They called it the Blood Eagle.”

Vergil watched in silence. He knew it. He recognized the name. And he accepted it. This was more than revenge – it was ritual. It was a sentence.

Alexa traced two vertical lines with the blade, one on each side of the spine, from the shoulder to the base of the back. The skin opened easily. Blood began to flow in thick lines. Alex shuddered, but he couldn’t run away. Not anymore.

“First, the skin…” she whispered, as if teaching him something. With firm hands, she began to pull away the flesh, tugging with fingers and blade, peeling the skin from his back like a sadistic craftsman.

Alex screamed in agony, but the screams seemed increasingly drowned out – perhaps by fear, perhaps by shock.

“Then the ribs…” Alexa drove the blade into the side of his spine, forcing it between the bones. A dry snap, and she began to separate the ribs from the center, one by one, pushing them out, as if she were opening the wings of a black crow.

The sound of bones breaking was wet and repulsive.

She pulled, pushed, twisted.

Each “wing” that formed was a living denunciation of pain and perversity.

Vergil approached. He touched the tip of Alexa’s blade, tinged with flesh and blood. “Do you want help?” he whispered, almost in a complicit whisper.

Alexa nodded. “That part… I’ll do it myself.”

She stuck her fingers into the open chest from the back, digging through the blood, flesh and bone until she reached the lungs. Alex’s body no longer screamed – only gasped in spasms, his brain struggling to process the pain.

And then, slowly, with brutal precision, she pulled.

The lungs came, slipping through the open cavity, still connected, still pulsing weakly.

The “Eagle” was formed.

Wings made of suffering.

Alexa stood there, staring at the living sculpture. A tribute to what he had been. A reminder of what she had suffered. A warning to the world.

“Now, you will live… for as long as your lungs can stand being exposed to air.” – she stood up, her eyes shining with hot tears. “And you’ll feel every second of it.”

Vergil touched her shoulder. “That’s enough.”

But Alexa didn’t answer. She just stood there, staring at the monstrosity that had once been her brother, now reduced to a reflection of what he had always been.

A monster.

Without a soul.

Without redemption.

And for the first time, she smiled… not out of pleasure. Not out of pain. But for freedom.

“Let’s go.” She said, “let him suffer until he dies.” She said, leaving the room… Vergil looked up and smiled…

“Itharine” He murmured and from his shadow… something woke up and rolled over, jumping into Alex’s shadow. “Save it for later.” Vergil spoke with his eyes glowing purple… “Yes, my liege.” The shadow replied.