CHAPTER 464: I GOT YOU! ELFIN (3) [BONUS]

The air around the Time Witch shimmered like heatwaves or a mirage on a road. At first, it was subtle. It was a mere flicker, but then, the change took over violently.

Her frail, withered body straightened on the floor, with a sickening crack, her gnarled fingers smoothing out into delicate hands. The deep lines of age melted away, leaving soft, unblemished skin behind. Her hunched back unfurled, her spine stretching as if she had just shed a heavy burden.

Most of them did not understand what was going on, but her sister did, and she could not help but look at Ian in surprise.

Within moments, the ancient crone was gone. In her place lay a young woman, no older than twenty, her hair now thick and cascading over her shoulders like liquid night. Her once-cloudy eyes gleamed bright, sharp, and full of youth but still grimacing from the pain. Her bones had healed. The only resemblance to the previous form was the clothes.

But instead of triumph, a horrified scream ripped from her lips. "No ... no, this is wrong!" She clutched at her face, her hands trembling as if trying to peel the youth away like a mask. "What did you do to me?!" Her voice cracked in pure distress, her breathing ragged as panic set in.

None of the people understood, but sister lowered her head, her face unreadable.

The Time Witch shuffled backwards, eyes darting around wildly for an explanation, for a way to undo whatever had just happened. "Give it back!" she shrieked, desperation dripping from every syllable. "Give me back my years!"

It turned out that the older she was, the more powerful she was. The Time Witch got her strength from her age; therefore, with this change, she almost had no power!

With another wave of Ian’s hand, she was thrown hard against the wall, and this time, it was even more gruesome to look at. Without her power to shield her from Ian’s, that was all it took to get rid of the Time Witch. She had lived for centuries, but it only took a man of a few decades to get rid of her.

Then Ian turned to the eight-year-old-looking girl. His instincts told him not to underestimate her, and he understood when his eyes landed on her tattoo.

Ian still held Shelby plastered against his front.

"Are you with her?"

Ian asked.

None of the Faes in the room made a sound, and no one turned from this seemingly crazy human.

"Me?" the little girl’s voice came out,

"No! She wasn’t with me!" the girl denied vigorously, her voice sharp and unwavering.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. The weight of her words hit them like a slap. How could she? They all knew the relation between them. They expected grief, at least hesitation.... but there was none.

"Are you insinuating because she was my sister?" She opened her little arms, saying words that were difficult to associate with her age,

"She never paid heed to my warnings... and I will not be revenging. if that’s what you want to know."

Her expression was set, cold even. She did not shift on her feet or glance away. Let them think what they want. She was not about to stick her neck out for a dead person.... An ungrateful one at that.

Was it heartless? Maybe. But what good was loyalty to someone who was already gone?

Ian’s icy expression finally changed,

"Don’t look at me like that... In fact, consider that as payment that I owe your wife. I won’t seek revenge, my sister.... We can call that even then, right?"

Ian frowned but decided to deal with her later. If she was no threat, then there was no need for him to pay attention to her.

Whatever that payment was for, they could get to the bottom later.

Ian turned fully to look at the prince, who was grovelling.

The prince who was to be crowned king had been reduced to a pauper. Prince Simon did not want anything to do with the freak. The Witch had been the most powerful being he had ever known, but this freak had killed her without so much of an effort?

"You gave the order?"

Ian asked, and Prince Simon shook his head vigorously.

Prince Simon sat there, sprawled on the cold floor, shuffling back, defeated. His once-envied attire was crumpled and even torn from the jerky reactions when he fell. The rich fabrics were now stained and dirtied, a far cry from the grandeur he once projected.

His royal demeanour, once the embodiment of confidence and command, had completely shattered. He was on his bum. A whole Prince was on the floor and afraid of a mere human!

His face was pale, his breath coming in short, jagged bursts. Fear ... raw, unfiltered ... coated him, a stark contrast to the proud figure he once was. Prince Simon had never bowed to anyone in his life. His mind raced, but his body refused to obey, weighed down by the crushing weight of dread.

All dignity and pride had vanished in that moment. There was no room for shame, not now. Simon couldn’t afford it. The gnawing terror clawed at his chest, but he couldn’t afford to let it show ... yet it was there, undeniable, plastered across his face as he sat helpless, utterly exposed.

"YOU WANTED MY WIFE?!" Ian boomed! The anger rose yet again,

Most of the Faes gathered had deduced Ian’s relationship to Shelby. Per the customs, Ian was right in his actions. After all, a man had to defend his woman in any way, but the fact their Prince was in that state was a bit much for some of the elders to handle. However, who was going to be the vocal one?

"I’m sorry! I didn’t know that she was marri"

"But I told you that she was bonded?"

A quiet voice stated from the crowd, making everyone, including Ian, turn to this person.

Prince Simon’s blood froze, but he could not even curse at this person... for he recognized the voice. The stupid man wanted him dead!

As all of this went on, none of the onlookers noticed the terror creeping into the faces of some of the royals gathered, especially Prince Syla and his Princess, Ash. Ash stood frozen, as was Syla in his wheelchair, their eyes wide with dread, as if they had just seen a ghost.

They were in no state of mind to even try to save their son. Ash should have been the one doing this mainly, but with their eyes transfixed on Ian and their hearts in their throat, did they have any mind to think of Prince Simon, who was being humiliated?

The subtle, almost imperceptible tremor in their hands, the way their gazes darted uneasily around the room ... it was a silent admission that something had gone horribly wrong, something they couldn’t quite comprehend yet. Even the proudest of them couldn’t hide the fear that had crept into their hearts, and for a fleeting moment, their confidence faltered.

One word rang in both their heads as well as from the heads of some of the older Faes,

’ROMAN!’

Ian’s demeanour, his voice, his features and mannerisms, as well as his power, all pointed at one person... Roman.

They could not help but think that this was the power they had been chasing all along. If this was so, it had opened for more questions than answers.

One could say that it was for this very fact that Brian, the record keeper, had spoken out.

"You did?"

"Yes, Your Majesty...."

Loud gasps went around the room at how Brain had addressed the human.

He did not complete Brain’s sentence when Ian nodded.

Raising one hand, while supporting Shelby with the other, an invisible force wrapped around Prince Simon’s throat, squeezing with suffocating pressure. Prince Syla’s body went rigid as if a giant, unseen hand had closed around his neck, lifting him off the floor. But Ian was still very far from him.

Simon’s feet kicked helplessly in the air, but there was no escape. He was desperate, but no one was coming to his aid. His eyes bulged as his breath became a shallow, desperate gasp, each inhalation harder than the last. The crowd fell silent, watching in stunned disbelief as the once-proud prince, the symbol of their rule, was choked by an invisible grip.

The thing was that if Simon could not resist this, then he was not even qualified to be king.

The veins in Simon’s neck strained as his face turned a deep crimson, then a sickly purple. His red, watery eyes darted from side to side, pleading for release, but no mercy came. Fear flooded his mind.....he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back. The sense of helplessness was overwhelming, as the power that held him felt as though it would rip him apart.

In that moment, all his pride, all his arrogance, vanished. Simon, once untouchable, was nothing more than a puppet dangling from a string of his own demise. His dignity, now shattered, meant nothing. The very air seemed to constrict around him, amplifying the horror of his helplessness.

With each passing second, his strength weakened, his vision blurred, and the once-proud prince, who had stood above all, could only feel the crushing weight of fear and shame .... his royal status irrelevant in the face of such overwhelming power.

Just as it had started, Ian let go, and Simon was dropped into a heap. Simon took in large gulps of air, coughing so loud that he felt his throat would tear.

He thought Ian had let him go, but Simon had no idea because Ian’s only thought was: ’It’ll be too simple to kill him off like this. It’ll not appease my anger.’

Then Ian did something that had everyone reeling from shock. He walked up to the throne and sat on it!

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