CHAPTER 27: A FATHER’S WRATH, A DAUGHTER’S STORM

One breath after another slowed; my heart tightened as the world collapsed into a tunnel. In the center stood a single figure, John.

Killing him now would be easy; he was too distracted. I told myself I didn’t care what would happen to Arthur, but that was a lie. I wanted the kid to live.

"Sorry," I whispered, the word slipping out like a stray bullet, useless now. It was too late for either of us. Needles coiled around my index finger, spinning at my command, a tiny whirl of steel waiting to singe flesh. I fed the motion into the scalpel already poised at his neck; one clean slice and the nerves would be severed, his head tipping forward in a neat, merciful end.

Yet at that moment, when it seemed the end had already come, something impossible happened. I had sworn he was only a child, helpless against monsters. But as my blade neared within a meter, Arthur’s small body launched upward and threw itself between us. The world slowed to a crawl. My mind couldn’t catch up.

The blade was already there, the distance already gone.

Warm blood sprayed across my face before I understood what had happened. Innocent blood, the one life I hadn’t wanted to take.

He didn’t cry. His eyes didn’t plead. They just looked at me, wide and trembling, full of questions too heavy for a child to bear. Why? Why you, Beatrice? Didn’t we treat you well?

The look said everything he couldn’t speak.

I couldn’t stop the needles. They flew on instinct, sinking deep into his abdomen, shredding organs before my hands even realized what they’d done. It was over in a breath. The boy’s life was extinguished in one merciless instant.

A system chime cut through the chaos. [Congratulations. Quest Complete: {Eliminate all humans in the town}.] The window flashed indifferently. Winning felt hollow. My hands shook as John’s frame turned. His eyes widened at the sight, filling with tears faster than a bullet’s flight.

I did not feel triumphant. My chest fell apart. I had been prepared to be hated by Arthur, to be hunted by him for the rest of my life. I could have accepted Elira’s hatred for killing her father. But this was different. Seeing John fall apart like that left me without a map. I did not know what to do.

The air suddenly tasted of iron. Invisible pressure crashed down from above, squeezing the breath out of my lungs until I gasped. The ground trembled beneath me; loose stones tore free and floated upward as though caught in invisible threads of power.

My knees slammed into the cold ground, pain flashing through my legs. Those broken eyes, filled with pure hatred, fixed on me like blades.

Was this John’s true power?

I’d made a mistake.

How? How in the world could he be this strong? Even the villainess herself had never radiated this kind of fury.

So how could he?

"Why?" The word slipped from his trembling lips, raw and broken, like a wolf crying in the dark. Even the monsters and flames around him seemed to shrink back, afraid to move. In that moment, the middle-aged man standing before me looked less like a survivor and more like an immortal among mortals.

And what truly terrified me was knowing that I was the one who had provoked this god to descend to earth.

His arm shot out faster than my eyes could follow. Iron fingers clamped around my throat, crushing my windpipe like a vice. I kicked, clawed, but his grip didn’t move an inch. It was like trying to bend steel with bare hands. Call me unserious, but in that moment, I felt exactly like a chicken in a butcher’s grasp—helpless, waiting for the blade to fall.

I tried to struggle, to force a sound past the pressure in my neck, but nothing came. His other arm, shaking violently, cradled the boy’s lifeless body against his chest. The contrast was unbearable: one hand that destroyed, the other that refused to let go.

"Let her go!" a voice snapped from my side. A cold breeze hit my face, then swelled into a force that felt like a waking storm. Wind blades bit at John’s skin, opening red, leaving angry lines where they struck. It didn’t touch me; it pushed against him with precise malice, a show of skill more than brute strength.

I turned with difficulty and found Elira standing there; my heart dropped. Tears streaked her face, mixed with soot and blood. She looked at me, then at John, then down at her dead brother. I couldn’t read her. I had expected hate, expected her to lunge for my throat. In my mind, that would have been fair. Instead, her eyes held hesitation. She was pointing at her own father.

"E-Elira, she, you—" John’s lips trembled, the words choking in his throat. His face twisted between disbelief and grief. But of course, he expected his daughter to stand beside him, beside her brother’s memory, and yet, there she was, shielding me. A murderer. An enemy. Losing both children at once... I couldn’t imagine that kind of pain.

While he faltered, a familiar aura darted forward. A streak of chestnut light shot through the air like a bullet, slamming into his arm. His grip broke instantly, and I stumbled back, coughing hard as Beelzebub landed on my shoulder, tiny claws digging in for balance. It let out a furious squeal. I’d never seen it react like that before. It must have sensed the truth I was only starting to grasp: this man wasn’t human in that moment.

I dragged myself backward over the cracked concrete, not caring about the bruises scraping across my skin. My lungs burned, each breath heavier than the last.

"Beatrice, I—I..." Elira’s voice quivered, her hands raised as she tried to restrain the storm swirling between us. Wind screamed around John, shredding loose debris into dust.

"It’s fine," I rasped, forcing my shaking legs to stand. "You don’t have to defend me. You should hate me. You should stand with him. I’m the one who killed Arthur. I’m the one who caused this." The words tore out of me like confession through broken glass.

"No, I—" Her voice broke, the rest dissolving into the smoke between us. Her eyes dropped to the ground, shoulders trembling. "If you leave now, Beatrice... I’ll follow you. So let’s run together. I don’t care what happened—this wasn’t you. It was a mistake, right? Right...?"

I didn’t answer. My lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile, more a quiet ache shaped like one. Her expression fell, the hope in her eyes fading as if she’d just understood what I couldn’t say aloud. I thought that would be the end of it, that she’d finally stop.

But then she did something reckless, stupid, and heartbreakingly childish. Her power erupted all at once, a violent surge of wind that hurled John backward. Before I could react, she lunged straight toward me, and for a moment, I just stood there, jaw slack, too stunned to move.