Reborn Financier-Chapter 29 - 28: Blood of a Demon

Deep below the castle, in the dank, dismal dungeon, the shadows clung like a second layer of skin. There were only the sound of muffled drops of water above and the faint hum of a child’s whispering.

"I’m hungry, I want to go home!" Princess Elizabeth cried, stamping the ground in frustration. Her high pitched scream echoed off the stone walls.

She had always been spoiled, heard always, and obeyed always. Right from birth, being the daughter of a king as made her feel more importance than she originally is, but things are different now, no soothing words of consolation, No embracing hugs, No milk cakes and golden pears. Only silence—and the anger of her mother.

Queen Charlotte rounded on her daughter, eyes that had not blinked in the last four or five hours narrowing to furious slits. Her gentle, queenly voice was sharp and slashing. "Enough, Elizabeth! This is no time for your tantrums!"

The words cut like a knife. Elizabeth stood motionless. Her arrogance was struck at where it hurts the most. Her mother right from birth had never yelled out her, no one did, not even her father nor the workers, it was a blow to her. Her lips quivered as the eyes filled up with tears. "Y-You don’t love me anymore," she cried. "You don’t..."

Charlotte’s heart ached as her own fury turned instantly into guilt. She reached out. "Elizabeth... I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just—" But the girl pulled away, clutching her knees, sobbing alone in the corner of the cell. Even in pain, her pride remained.

"Mom," a Prince David said, "Leave her alone for now. I think I found a way out." Both women turned to him, their hope buried beneath exhaustion and fear. But David’s eyes gleamed—not with tears, but resolve.

David’s eyes shone, not with tears, but determination as he drew a small circle of keys out of the tattered folds of the robe he wore. I picked it up from the guard. Placed it on the ground when they shoved us in.

Charlotte’s breath caught. A shaft of hope pierced the dark fog of despair in her. "You clever boy", she whispered, shuddering, and shakily, her palms trembling for the first time in days, not fear, but exhilaration.

"Come here," she said, walking towards the lock. "Be quiet, don’t disturb him." The watchman at the bars slept like a beast. Charlotte breathed in sharply as she pushed the lock open, the clicking sounding like a thunderclap. The bolt creaked open softly.

"Stay low," she whispered back. "Follow behind me. We slip out undetected." And so they did. Quietly, leaving no trace... the children and the Queen of Everwood disappeared into the night.

****

Meanwhile, in Lord Ravenswood’s Office, the flame of the candle danced furiously. A cold wind slithered across the space like a reptile.

Lord Nicolas Ravenswood stood by the desk, arms crossed behind his back, eyes locked on the darker corner of the chamber. In the shadows, a figure stood silent and unmoving.

"Varyn?" There was a strain in Ravenswood’s voice. "When did you arrive"

No reply

"Did you capture the boy? Was he okay? Did you kill him? What about Paul? Is there any news of him?". The questions tumbled out in a burst, imperative. "In case he was alive, of course, you killed the brat, you wouldn’t waste any time."

Silence

His fingers quivered. "Why won’t you reply?" he snarled, the pitch of his voice surging upward. "I asked a question!"

A low, guttural laugh shattered the silence. The laughter was not Varyn’s. It was not a laugh of humor. It was not a laugh of contempt either, It was a warning.

Lord Nicolas Ravenswood, Duke of the Northern Province, the man once feared for his ruthless tongue and icier sword, now stood unmoving. His throat tightened as the laughter echoed from the dark corner of the room—the shadow where the stranger did not stir. The laughter was not human. It was akin to metal scraping against bone, mixed with a guttural guffaw that belonged in no sane world. Ravenswood’s heart skipped. The air was too quiet, too motionless. His voice cracked—more fear than fury now.

"Your not Varyn," he half-whispered, his voice trembling, mouth drying astringently in one breath.

"You think you’re in command," the man said. His voice was deep, rich with menace, vibrating with power. "But you have no idea where you stand. If I wanted... I could end you right here."

He raised a hand slowly, With a crack, a torrent of wind blasted from his palm, ripping across the room like a tidal wave of raw power. There was a massive boom, a shockwave of air in the shape of a battering ram coming directly down on Ravenswood.

It would have tore him in half if it weren’t for the ring of steel. Varyn’s greatsword burst out of nowhere, intercepting the blow inches above Ravenswood’s chest, shattering the floor in front of it like paper. Behind them, the desk burst apart in splinters.

Varyn was in the center of them, blood already flowing from his mouth.

"So you are the Varyn, welcome welcome" the mysterious man said, having a creepy smile on his face, as he stepped fully into the light now—pale, near-translucent skin. Black eyes of a space devoid of stars. No insignia. No armor. Only the overwhelming presence of someone so much greater than humanity.

"You protected him. What a precious gift," the man taunted, cracking one finger and vanishing.

Varyn’s eyes widened

He’s quick.

His fist slammed into the ribs, and he was sent flying across the room. He smashed through the wall, sliding along the stone corridor like a rag doll before arresting himself in mid-movement. There was blood pouring out of his nose. Bones cracked in his chest.

He did not have time to breathe. The man came back once more, closing the gap instantly, striking at Varyn with a kick that sent the boy hurtling through the ceiling and onto the top balcony of the manor. Plaster rained down on him like hailstones. Varyn spat, tasting copper.

"This is no ordinary martial artist, he is of a different kind, he he a martial maste" Varyn taught to himself while getting beaten up like a baby in the arms of a doctor

****

Lord Ravenswood stooped behind the broken desk, panting for air.

The air was off around him—electric with something old, something savage. He looked up and witnessed the ceiling split open above him. Saw the savage impact of metal on flesh, the convulsing shockwaves of power and mana.

This wasn’t a duel. It is a massacre in slow motion.

Varyn dropped hard, sword clashing against stone, eyes narrowed. Opposite him, the man stood, unhurt, and grinning. "Is this the best the great hunter Varyn can accomplish?" the stranger taunted. "Dull work, if you don’t mind my saying so."

"We’re not finished," Varyn spat. He stirred the one inside of him—his war-beating heart. The sigil on his back, having slept, sat up straight. Dark lines extended across his skin like cracks in porcelain. His arm swelled-black scales materializing on it. Horns erupted on top of his forehead, and his eyes became vertical slits.

Half-demon status

His tone became low. "Try to beating this you son of a bitch."

He vanished, faster than before.

CLANG!

Swords met in the air. They boomed when they crashed together. Varyn fought like a lightning boltfists filled with rage and desperation. Punches caused furrows in the rocky ground. In every movement, demonic form gave powerenhanced strength, velocity heavenly.

The man, though, just smiled. No more dodging. He began parrying.

Simply

Steel against bare fists—and Varyn couldn’t overcome his defense. His sword scraped against unseen might. Sparks flashed. Then—one moment, and the stranger launched a counterattack at last.

His hand landed on Varyn’s chest, and a section of his ribcage caved in under it. Varyn gasped, panting, but whirled to the side, cutting across the man’s belly.

The sword connected, metal sang, but no blood.

His blade had stopped—halfway through the man’s flesh. It hadn’t even pierced him fully.

"What the hell are you?" Varyn whispered, panic rising.

The man smiled wider, twisting his body.

The sword shattered.

Varyn staggered back, clutching the hilt alone. Blood flowed from his mouth—far too much of it. His demon shape began to falter. "I have battled the gods," the stranger replied, stepping forward effortlessly. "You? You are a worm in teeth."

Varyn yelled and punched again—in fists, not sword, just fury. He punched the jaw. Another to the stomach. The man stumbled for the first time but when he looked up, he was smiling.

A hand wrapped around the neck of Varyn, lifting him up in the air saying, "You Should have run." and then—agony followed.

The man’s other hand plunged into Varyn’s gut. Not a stab—a penetration. Like his fingers were knives, reaching inside, crushing organs. Varyn coughed blood, twitching violently.

"You feel that?" the stranger whispered. "That’s despair. Let it sink in."

He threw Varyn like trash. The half-demon rolled, broken and bleeding, demon form collapsing. His horns cracked. His arm shrank. The glow faded. He couldn’t stand, Not anymore

Varyn looked up with one last gasp of defiance. But his body refused to move. "No more strength? No final trick?" the man said, approaching slowly, dragging something metallic behind him. It was a shard of Varyn’s own blade.

"No one’s coming to save you, hunter."

Slice.

The last thing Varyn saw was his own blood spraying across the wall. His head fell to the ground. His body slumped beside it.

****

Lord Ravenswood let out a scream of horror as the head rolled down the stairs--Varyn’s eyes open in shock, even in death.

The stranger turned, and he walked slowly toward the damaged desk.

Lord Ravenswood shook in the corner, gagging on the air he had inhaled himself.

"Wh-who are you

The man kneeled down beside the decapitated head.

I am the one lurking in the shadows. And I murdered your beloved dog, now you are next.

To be continued...