The Damned Demon - Chapter 861

Chapter 861: Banished From Death’s Mercy
“You, my people, have suffered at his hands. You, my queen, have borne more pain than anyone else. It is your right to decide his fate.”

As Asher’s words boomed across the space,

Drakar gurgled weakly, desperately shaking his head as incomprehensible noises spilled from his throat. His pathetic form hunched over, trembling violently under everyone’s searing gaze.

The people exchanged grim, determined glances. Whispers began to ripple through the crowd, filled with dark, merciless intentions. Many stepped forward with barely suppressed rage, their expressions twisted in fury and grief. Drakar shuddered uncontrollably, whimpering as he struggled futilely, desperate for escape.

They could easily guess that their king had crippled this draconian dog and stripped him of everything that once gave him the arrogance to proudly call himself a king.

One of the children gasped in shock upon noticing the blood on his crotch, realizing his “peepee” must have been cut away or worse. They had heard of such terrifying punishments the draconians would use to punish their own.

As the Bloodburners closed in around him, their shadows looming ominously, Drakar’s eyes grew dull, lifeless, filled with the realization of the nightmarish torment awaiting him.

He had sown death, despair, and pain—and now, facing the wrathful judgment of those who were supposed to be beneath him, Drakar found himself wishing for death, silently begging for oblivion to claim him swiftly.

The alien fiend was right…he should have just killed himself before all this. If only he knew!

But he had no idea his suffering had only just begun.

Suddenly everyone became silent as their queen moved, her heart thundering loudly as she locked eyes with Drakar.

The oppressive silence lingered as Rowena walked towards him.

Was she going to cut him down right here and now? Half of the people felt it would be enough rather than endure the presence of this evil thing for a second longer

But the other half felt he shouldn’t go out so easily.

However, all of them knew their queen would make the right choice and they would be satisfied with it.

The flickering shadows of dusk danced across her elegant yet intimidating figure, making her seem both majestic and terrifying.

Her steps were deliberate, calculated, the gentle rustle of her gown seeming unnaturally loud as every Bloodburner held their breath in anticipation.

Rowena came to a halt, her crimson eyes like embers glowing beneath a moonless sky, colder than frost and sharper than steel.

She gazed downward at the pitiful form of Drakar, whose once fearsome visage was now nothing more than a pathetic ruin.

His mutilated lower jaw dripped blood onto the dirt, staining it dark red. The remnants of his proud black hair were reduced to bloodied patches, his scalp raw and exposed from Asher’s merciless grip.

She took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the heavy gaze of her people around her. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional whimper and labored breathing from the trembling, pathetic creature before them.

Rowena’s voice finally shattered the heavy silence. It resonated clearly in the ears of everyone gathered, each word searing into their hearts.

“I once dreamed of the moment I would tear your heart from your chest,” she began softly, yet each word dripped with venom and cold contempt. “But the more I think of it, such mercy is unworthy of a creature like you. Death, even painful death, is too kind for the sins you have committed.”

Drakar’s eyes, glazed with pain and terror, darted up to meet hers, pleading wordlessly for mercy he knew would not be entertained.

“We will not kill you quickly,” Rowena continued coldly. “Instead, you shall know agony—agony as profound as the wounds you inflicted upon my kingdom, my people, and my child.”

Turning slightly, she gestured gracefully toward Igrid, who stepped forward, a small but darkly glowing crystal vial cradled carefully in his wrinkled hands.

The old physician’s eyes glinted with a grim satisfaction.

Rowena carefully took the vial from Igrid, holding it high so all the survivors could see clearly. The liquid within seemed alive, pulsing like a tiny heartbeat, its sinister glow promising pain unimaginable.

“This,” Rowena explained, voice firm and clear, “is an ancient potion once reserved for traitors who betrayed their kin. No matter how strong their body, how resilient their spirit, this elixir strips away every ounce of strength, leaving its victim vulnerable, frail, and utterly defenseless. Pain becomes more intense, every sensation magnified tenfold. Every breath, a torment. With your mana circuit crippled, your body is defenseless against this. You will soon be no weaker than a Soul Eater.”

Drakar’s eyes widened in pure, unbridled fear, his pathetic groans muffled by the remnants of his shattered mouth as he desperately tried to drag himself backward. But he was helpless, trembling, unable to escape.

Rowena knelt gracefully, gripping Drakar’s trembling upper jaw harshly, tilting his ruined face upward. Her gaze held no mercy, only ice-cold resolve.

“You will drink deeply,” she whispered bitterly, “and know weakness, fear, and suffering as my people did.”

She poured the dark potion down his ravaged throat, watching impassively as Drakar choked violently, convulsing in pain as the elixir seared through his veins.

His powerful physique shriveled grotesquely, muscles atrophying rapidly as his impenetrable skin became thin and brittle, almost translucent.

As the potion’s magic completed its grim task, Drakar collapsed, his trembling limbs barely able to support even his reduced weight. He gasped and sobbed openly now, pathetic and broken, completely exposed and vulnerable.

Rowena rose to her feet, eyes scanning the faces of her people. “He is yours now,” she announced firmly, her voice ringing out with strength and resolve. “He can no longer defend himself, nor resist your vengeance. Let him taste the torment he inflicted upon us.”

The survivors hesitated only for a heartbeat before stepping forward, one by one, their gazes burning with grief, rage, and a deep, primal need for justice.

They took up makeshift weapons—rusted knives, sharp stones, broken branches—and struck him with the force of decades of pent-up suffering.

Each blow was delivered not only with anger but also sorrow. Every strike carried the weight of lost loved ones, shattered dreams, burned homes, and ravaged innocence.

“HRGHHH!…HRKKK!….URNNGHH!….”

Drakar’s wails and shrieks echoed endlessly through the air, filled with agony and humiliation. The pain was more than just physical—it was the relentless shattering of his pride, dignity, and ego. With each blow, his soul broke further, consumed by despair.

Silvia hissed in anger as she also wanted to step in and give this dog a piece of her fist.

But Sabina’s hand stopped her as she said with a scoff, “Don’t taint your pretty hands with his blood. Besides, if you step in, you will just give him what he wants…instant death.”

“But Silvia had been waiting for this!” Silvia said with gritted teeth.

Sabina’s expression grew darker as she said, “Of course I had been waiting too. But on second thought, just look…isn’t it more enjoyable to watch our people breaking him down inch by inch?”

Silvia slowly turned to look at Drakar getting brutally battered left and right while occassionally getting forcibly fed with healing potions to extend his agony.

Her lips curved into a sadistic smile as she realized Sabina was right. This was more fun and satisfying to see him suffer like this.

Isola wasn’t one to take pleasure in watching people getting tortured but for good reasons she found herself watching every second of his suffering.

From one of the faraway tents, Merina was sitting inside looking after a sleeping Ravina.

However, tears were trickling down her cheeks as a grim smile of vengeance adorned her usually gentle face.

Even by sitting here she had sensed and heard all the commotion that was going outside.

But she chose to stay since she didn’t want to leave little Ravina alone. She never could risk it again.

After the initial happiness and relief upon realizing her master was back had subsided, she now couldn’t help but take satisfaction in the sound of Drakar’s body getting mutilated.

Each strike to his flesh soothed her heart.

Now Ceti’s soul might finally have some peace after seeing this.

Eventually, the people stepped back, satisfied, exhausted, their expressions heavy but fulfilled.

Drakar lay twitching weakly, sobbing brokenly into the dirt, barely alive yet unable to escape the pain still tearing through him. His legs were utterly brutalized and ripped away along with his wings while his broken arms were somehow still connected.

Asher remained silent as he watched it all calmly, feeling an inexplicable peace in his heart even though he knew it wouldn’t bring back what he and his people had lost.

Rowena stepped forward once more, towering over his battered form, her eyes narrowed in disgust.

“Plesasshhhe… k-kill… me…” Drakar rasped, his voice barely audible, his bloodied tongue hanging loose, making people smile grimly upon seeing how he looks exactly like a dog now.

Rowena’s cold, crimson gaze followed his crawling form as it disappeared into the shadows beyond their encampment. Her voice, heavy with grim finality, whispered after him:

“You will find no mercy. Your punishment is to die slowly, painfully, knowing every soul you wronged has been avenged. Crawl away from here unless you want my people to continue. Crawl like the pathetic worm you are. You are banished from death’s mercy. The beasts will shun you, even the lowliest scavengers shall reject your tainted flesh. You will live in pain until your body starves itself.”

With a swift motion, she drew another vial from her robes, pouring a strange, putrid liquid over Drakar’s bleeding form. The stench immediately filled the air, foul enough to make several onlookers recoil in disgust.

“This will keep even the hungriest beast away,” Rowena explained coldly, her gaze unrelenting. “You will starve, slowly and agonizingly. Each moment shall be a torment you richly deserve.”

Drakar whimpered feebly, eyes filled with dread and defeat as he dragged himself slowly, painfully forward. He didn’t want to dare stay here a second longer lest her bloodthirsty people be trapped in a cycle of torment though the alternative wasn’t really better.

And every inch was a struggle, every movement a fresh agony.

The crowd silently parted, their gazes merciless as they watched him drag his broken, tortured body out into the desolate wilderness.

Drakar continued to drag himself through the darkness, knowing only agony and despair awaited him. He whimpered pathetically, lost in the haunting realization of his impending doom.

His sobs faded gradually into the distance, each painful gasp echoing hauntingly.

Rowena slowly turned, her face etched with cold resolve. Her people watched in awe and satisfaction, their hearts lightened by the justice delivered today.

The tormentor had become the tormented and their people avenged.

Justice, in its most cruel and perfect form, had been served.