CHAPTER 38: THE MONSTER’S AWAKENING

Cassel — POV

Rage overwhelmed me.

It was not the sharp sting of sudden anger, nor the bitter ache of resentment.

No — this was something else entirely. It was a flood, dark and suffocating, rising from the deepest part of my being until it consumed everything that made me human.

A killing intent, pure and absolute, coursed through my veins like fire.

It filled my chest, burned my throat, and made my vision pulse red. Every heartbeat echoed like a war drum — each throb screaming for violence.

I had never felt such hatred.

Not even for the man I once called my father — the man who took my mother’s life without remorse. Not even for him.

Even when betrayal had wrapped its claws around me time after time — when I had been deceived, used, and abandoned — I had never felt this particular shade of fury. It was new, raw, primal. It didn’t just burn; it devoured.

But now... anger owned me.

It didn’t ask for permission — it ruled. It took hold of my mind and heart until nothing else remained.

How dare they?

How dare these worthless pieces of scum look at what is mine?

How dare they dream of touching something sacred to me?

There was no room left for reason.

No space for restraint or forgiveness.

Not when something that should never be touched had been touched.

"You dare..."

My voice came out low, rough — a sound too distorted to belong to anything human. It slipped from my throat like the whisper of a ghost, like the echo of a grave that had just opened.

Even to my own ears, it sounded like the promise of death.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Henry’s sudden movement. He stepped back, widening the distance between us instinctively — as though he knew that even standing near me could be fatal. Frederick’s expression twisted into open fear — his eyes wide, his breath uneven.

I could see it reflected in their faces — what I looked like in that moment: a monster, a storm barely contained in human form.

And that was exactly what I wanted them to see.

Because this was my choice.

After the collapse of the world’s laws and morality — after everything that had defined right and wrong turned to ash — I had made a vow.

Never again would I smother what I felt.

Never again would I hide my truth behind the mask of civility.

I had buried too much of myself once. I had played the roles people expected — the obedient son, the calm leader, the rational survivor.

But no more.

I could still stand beside my father and call him "father." I could even act the dutiful son if the situation demanded it. But that was only because I felt nothing for him anymore. That bond had already died long ago — buried with the woman he murdered.

If even a fragment of that old hatred, that violent sorrow, ever rose again within me... I would not hesitate.

I would tear his head from his body and toss it to the zombies without a moment’s regret.

And now — now that these men had dared to awaken that sleeping monster within me —

They had no one to blame but themselves.

"You... you..." one of them stammered, his voice trembling between rage and fear. "You think you can scare me? I—"

He never finished. His words died before they reached me, swallowed by the silence that followed.

For a moment, everything stilled — time itself seemed to hold its breath.

I lowered my gaze. My hands, trembling faintly, were painted red.

Not metaphorically — literally drenched in blood, fresh and warm, dripping between my fingers.

The sight triggered something deep in my memory.

My hands had always been like this.

Always stained. Always dirty.

Whether it was my own blood or someone else’s, it didn’t matter.

From the beginning, my life had been surrounded by killing, by corpses, by shattered bones. Death had been my only companion — my shadow, my mirror.

I could not remember a single day of peace.

But this time... it was different.

This time, I wasn’t someone’s pawn, sent to slaughter for the sake of others. I wasn’t a weapon wielded by someone else’s hand.

I was killing for myself.

For my own will. For my own pursuit.

To protect what is mine.

The realization made my pulse quicken. It was intoxicating — like tasting freedom laced with madness.

"M-m-monster..." a voice broke through the haze, shaking.

"You’re a monster... you’re not human..."

Big, burly men — men who had spent their lives surviving in this brutal world — now stood trembling before me. Their hands shook around their weapons, their eyes darted wildly, searching for escape.

Good.

They should fear me.

Especially when their leader’s head dangled from my hand.

It was still warm.

The eyes — wide and glassy — stared at nothing, forever frozen in that final instant of disbelief and horror. Blood streamed down from the severed neck in a slow rhythm, dripping onto the dirt like dark rain.

A weak, pathetic creature.

Not even worth using my full strength on.

I could have crushed his skull with one hand if I wished.

Now his head hung loosely in my grip — the last echo of his life fading into silence.

Anyone who could look upon that sight without fear was either truly powerful — or utterly insane.

"What did you say just now?"

My voice, soft and even, cut through the air sharper than any blade.

They flinched. No one dared to breathe.

I paid no attention to their pleas or their tears. I had seen it all before — people begging, screaming, promising anything for a chance to live.

But to me — I, who had killed too many to count — the loss of another life meant nothing.

And those who had dared to covet what belonged to me... they didn’t deserve even a single breath more.

"What did you say you wanted to do with my girl?" I whispered.

The words were calm, almost gentle — but the effect was devastating. I could see the life drain from their faces, the color fading as terror rooted deep. One man’s knees gave way beneath him; another’s breath came out in broken gasps.

Someone wet himself — the stench sharp in the still air.

"You should have stayed away from what’s mine," I said. My tone barely rose above a murmur, but it carried through the space like thunder.

"Back off! Back off!" one of them screamed, his voice cracking.

Then, in a burst of madness, he lunged toward me — sword raised high, desperation twisting his features.

A foolish act.

As if a weapon like that could matter.

The moment he moved, I was already beside him. My hand caught the sword mid-swing — the metal shrieked, bending under my grip — and then it was mine.

The man screamed.

"Aah—my hand! My hand, you mad beast, you cut off my arm! Aah!"

Blood spurted in violent arcs, splattering the ground in crimson pools. The scent of iron grew thick in the air — heavy enough to choke.

The ground turned slick beneath our feet — a carpet of red and black, shining under the dim light.

And maybe, because of that unhealed rage boiling inside me, I didn’t even try to suppress it anymore. I let it all pour out — the power, the hunger, the cold and merciless part of me that I had spent years locking away.

I let them see the monster.

And then, I killed them all.

Every single one of them who stood with Barney.

Without hesitation. Without exception.

It wasn’t a battle — it was a massacre.

Their screams rose and fell, echoing through the ruins like a requiem.

I began with those who had ogled Rosalia, who had whispered filthy things about her, who had dared to imagine taking her for themselves.

Their deaths were the slowest.

Because in this world — my world — Rosalia is mine.

Mine alone.

No one touches her.

No one looks at her.

No one even dreams of her.

Anyone who dares to look upon what’s mine — or even lets the thought flicker across their mind —

I will end them.

And as the final body crash-landed onto the ground, a heavy silence descended—dense, oppressive, and utterly deafening in its stillness.

The wind carried away the smell of blood, but not the weight of it. It clung to my skin, my hair, my soul.

I stood among the corpses, chest rising and falling, my breath still uneven.

My rage had finally found its outlet — yet the void inside me remained.

The line between man and monster had long blurred, and I could no longer tell which side I stood on.

But in that silence, with the world reduced to stillness and death, one truth burned clear and unshakable:

They should never have touched what was mine.

Never think of what is mine.

Never desire what is mine.

Or else... they will have to welcome doom.

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Erato-san has something to say:

See you in the next dark Chapter.

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