Devil Slave (Satan system)-Chapter 1222: Torture Of An Angel (Shall we continue?)

Enel gave Victor a confident nod before turning toward the interrogation room door. With a nonchalant air, he strolled in, his steps unhurried and his demeanor calm. Commander Kael, standing rigidly by the glass, barked a sharp order to his men.

This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.

"Fall back," he growled, his voice laced with irritation.

The werewolves, some clad in light armor, others still in wolf form, reluctantly stepped away from the interrogation room. Their expressions ranged from disdain to thinly veiled amusement, a few even chuckling under their breath.

"Watch the pup embarrass himself," one of them muttered, shaking his head.

Another snickered. "What’s a pup like that going to do to a fallen angel? He’ll be out of there crying in five minutes."

Inside the room, Enel began whistling a slow, familiar tune, one that seemed oddly out of place amidst the tension. The melody of Thriller, his favourite tune from his former life, echoed softly, cutting through the silence.

Meanwhile, Victor coukd not help but raise a brow to that tune. After all, it was all too familiar.

They was only one person he knew that made that tune and it was when he was on the verge of doing something very sick.

Enel’s calm audacity drew Therion’s attention.

The fallen angel, battered and bruised, raised his head. Despite the pain etched on his face, he let out a dry chuckle, his peculiar accent dripping with mockery. "Oh, what’s this now?" Therion sneered, his voice carrying across the room with ease. "So weak and pathetic are you that you’ve sent a child—fat cheeks and all—to come and break me?" He turned his head toward the glass, addressing the unseen observers. "Commander Kael, I must commend you. I didn’t think your incompetence could reach new heights, yet here we are!"

Kael’s hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening with suppressed rage. "The audacity of that feathered bastard…" he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

Victor glanced at Kael but remained silent, his gaze fixed on Enel with growing intrigue.

Enel, unfazed by the angel’s taunts, circled Therion with a deliberate pace. He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against the angel’s pinned wings, stroking the once-glorious feathers now dulled by defeat.

"There are many kinds of angels," Enel began, his tone conversational as if he were giving a lecture. "Cherubim, Archangels, Seraphim, Thrones… each with their own divine duties. Immutable, unchangeable, perfect in their roles." He paused, tilting his head slightly, his fingers still trailing along the feathers.

Therion scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "Is this supposed to impress me, boy? Spouting scripture as if it’s something I don’t know? Spare me your—"

Enel interrupted, his voice turning sharp. "But even perfection has its flaws." He stepped behind Therion now, his fingers retreating as he continued. "Your wings, for example. A mark of power, yes. But also a source of your strength. Your holy power flows through them, sustained by them. Lose them… and you lose more than just flight."

Therion’s chuckle faltered slightly, though he masked it with a smirk. "Idle threats. The demon rods may pin me, but they cannot strip me of my essence. My kind were made perfect by the One Above All."

Enel said nothing for a moment. Then, with a fluid motion, he raised a hand, and the air around him seemed to darken.

The faint glow of shadowy runes materialized, swirling around his outstretched fingers. Their ethereal patterns pulsed with an ominous energy, casting eerie reflections on the walls.

The room fell silent. Even Therion, who had been mocking moments before, grew still.

Victor’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable, though his mind churned. ’Shadow runes… How is this possible?’ His thoughts raced back to one figure who had used such power before—Lenny. Shadow runes were so rare that their very existence was practically mythical. Since the world’s creation, only a handful of individuals had wielded them, and each had left a mark on history.

Kael, too, stared in shock, his earlier disdain replaced by unease. "What in the…?"

Without a word, Enel traced the shadow runes in the air, and with a sudden, sickening precision, he dragged his hand across Therion’s back.

The angel’s eyes widened as a guttural cry tore from his throat. The light in his wings dimmed almost instantly, their divine glow fading until they resembled ordinary, lifeless feathers.

"What… what is this?" Therion gasped, his voice trembling with confusion and fear.

Enel crouched down slightly, meeting Therion’s panicked gaze with cold, unrelenting eyes. "Your power," he said calmly, "even with those rods pinning you, protected you from true pain. But now…" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "…you’ll know what it means to suffer."

The fallen angel’s breathing grew labored, his body writhing in restrained agony. "What… have you done?" he choked out

Enel stood, brushing off his hands as if ridding himself of dust. "I stripped the essence from your wings. They’re nothing more than decorations now." He turned slightly, casting a glance toward the glass where Kael and Victor stood.

Victor’s expression remained unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of both recognition and intrigue. Kael, meanwhile, looked as though he’d been struck speechless, his earlier mockery was now replaced with stunned silence.

Enel turned back to Therion, his voice calm but laced with menace. "Now, let’s begin."

Enel whistled casually as he reached into thin air, and with a flick of his wrist, a table materialized before him. It was sleek, obsidian-black, and seemed to radiate an eerie, unnatural chill. One by one, he placed his tools on the surface—each instrument gleaming under the room’s flickering lights. There was a scalpel with a jagged edge, a wickedly sharp bone saw, clamps, syringes, and an unsettling marker with glowing red ink.

Therion’s chuckle faltered as his eyes darted to the table. "You think I’m afraid of your primitive toys, boy?" he sneered, though there was an edge of unease in his voice.

Enel ignored the taunt. He uncapped the marker and walked behind Therion, tilting his head as if deciding where to begin. Calmly, methodically, he began drawing lines across the angel’s head, starting at the temples and circling up and around the skull. His movements were slow, deliberate, and disturbingly precise.

"What are you doing?" Therion growled, attempting to twist his head.

"Quiet," Enel said coldly. "You’re interrupting my art."

From behind the glass, Commander Kael’s lip curled in disgust. "This…this is barbaric!" he muttered under his breath, but his eyes never left the scene.

Victor remained silent, his gaze sharp and calculating.

With a sickening crack, Enel retrieved the bone saw and began cutting along the lines he had drawn. The sound of metal grinding against bone echoed in the chamber, mingling with Therion’s groans of discomfort.

"You know," Enel began conversationally, "I’ve always been fascinated by biology. Angels are supposed to be divine beings, pure energy given form. And yet…" He paused to peel back the top of Therion’s skull, revealing the pale, pulsing mass of his brain. "Here you are, with a structure almost identical to a human’s. Almost."

Therion gasped, his voice breaking as he struggled against his restraints. "You…you’re insane! A madman!"

Enel chuckled darkly. "Perhaps. But if I’m mad, it’s only because I’ve seen too much." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Did you know that this little part here"—he tapped the amygdala with a scalpel—"is responsible for processing fear and pleasure? How convenient that your creator used the same blueprint for you."

"What are you doing?" Therion’s voice trembled now, the bravado fading as panic set in.

"Giving you a new perspective," Enel replied, his tone cheerful. He made an incision, severing a precise cluster of nerves. The angel convulsed violently, his body seizing against the restraints as an agonized scream tore from his throat.

From behind the glass, Kael flinched, his face pale. "This…this isn’t interrogation. It’s... torture?"

Victor, his arms folded, didn’t respond, though his jaw tightened ever so slightly.

Enel continued his work, ignoring the angel’s thrashing. "You see," he said, addressing no one in particular, "by tampering with this area, I can ensure that any sensation you experience—be it a gentle breeze, the touch of a feather, or even the absence of touch—will be perceived as excruciating pain. Fascinating, isn’t it?"

Therion screamed again, tears streaming down his face. "Please! Stop! I’ll tell you whatever you want!"

Enel paused, tilting his head as if considering the plea. Then he smiled. "Oh, I’m not interested in hearing what you have to say just yet. I’m enjoying myself far too much."

"You’re a sick man," Therion spat through gritted teeth.

Enel laughed softly. "You’re just now realizing that?"

Without missing a beat, he moved down to Therion’s chest, retrieving a blade from the table. With meticulous precision, he carved into the angel’s torso, the sound of flesh tearing mingling with the angel’s guttural screams.

The werewolves watching from the other side of the glass recoiled, some turning away in horror. A few muttered prayers to themselves, while others simply stared, their faces pale.

As Enel split the ribcage open, exposing the pulsing organs beneath, Therion’s body convulsed violently. Foam bubbled from his mouth as his screams turned to incoherent gurgles.

Kael took a step back from the glass, his fists clenched. "This is monstrous," he muttered.

Victor finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "It’s effective. Let him finish."

Inside the chamber, Enel wiped blood from his hands and leaned in close to Therion’s ear. "Now," he murmured, "shall we continue?"