CHAPTER 430: ABOLISHING ORGANIZATIONS

DAEMON’S POV

He had no interest in peace anymore. The mere concept of it tasted sore on the tips of his tongue. And the knowledge of the price that had bought that peace gnawed at him even more.

But it was because of that price that he was forced to stand before thousands of people from the West. Some gravely wounded, some wailing and mourning. For even though the evil had started from there, it affected them too.

Because the Deformed couldn’t careless to differentiate between friends and foe as they marched on to other lands.

Hundreds of people had perished under them. Hundreds who had families of their own, and children of their own as well. It was for them, considering what would happen, that Zina made this sacrifice. Yet no amount of times he reminded himself of that fact was able to keep away the bitterness from him.

So he stood before their vast numbers at the Square, Zina in his arms in a black dress that contrasted heavily with her pale skin and the white hair that fanned about her.

The same dress she wore while forced down a fiery altar to marry another man.

But he refused to rest his anger on Rowan just yet. The man didn’t deserve to die a quick and easy death. He might have lost his mind from grief, but not enough for him to be unable to discern that striking at that moment would lead to a lifelong of regret.

For death was far easier after all. Rowan and his Master would live a very long life, he would make sure of it. And every millisecond of that very long life would be the kind of hellish that would make them grovel for death.

And once he unleashed his fury on them, there would be no coming back from it.

Absolutely no coming back.

Malik Zorch leaned in to whisper to him. "The Seven Witch Seers have been captured. It was Luna Ameneris that saw to it that they wouldn’t escape right before she appeared."

Daemon glanced to his side, and true to her report, the seven utterly despicable women were tied together.

His wolf simmered below, screaming vengeance. After all, this started when they declared the Screamers Pack as traitors. But he didn’t give in just yet, instead he fixed his golden eyes on the crowd before him.

Some of them cowered, some trembled, and the vast majority fell on their feet at the raw power that exuded from him in droves.

Malik glanced at Zina as if debating asking if he would allow her to carry her instead. But the gods save her for she hesitated, and then seemed to banish the thought entirely knowing fully well it was far from wise.

"From today onwards," he thundered in a voice that tore through the air and killed all the commotion, "there will be no such thing as an Organization again."

The seven women thrashed in their bounds. "Do you think you can rule all?! That the North will sweep like a windfall?! Vraga will belong to the West, Great Beast Wolf or not!"

"Rip out their tongues." He commanded coldly while collective gasps rang out.

His business with the women was hardly finished, but he wouldn’t need them to be speaking for the plans he had in stock for them. Not to mention, their collective voice annoyed them.

Seven Epsilons approached to do as were commanded while the women thrashed violently, true fear settling in their eyes for the first time as they realized that maybe they were dealing with a monster after all.

In one voice, they spoke hurriedly, panic wrapping around them like a "We curse you, Daemon NorthSteed! Even if not today, your generations to come will witness the grim fate you have avoided! They will suffer ten times and your house will fall—!"

Their tongues were ripped out before they could finish, blood spurted out and their gurgled screams were the only sounds that could be heard.

The Epsilons stepped away, the remainder of the crowd who were still standing, fell on their knees trembling.

"The White Monks of the West," Daemon thundered, "The Night Mages of the North, The Masequeraders of the Central, The Red Sisters of the East, and the Tiger Wolves of the South—all these organizations shall cease to exist henceforth! Should any of them disobey I shall hunt them down! If they purport to form rogue factions in disguise, I will maim and execute them! From today henceforth, only Packs with the structure of one shall be allowed in Vraga!"

"As you command, your royal majesty!" The crowd thundered while his people who stood with him on the elevated pavilion fell on their knees, proclaiming the same.

Zina’s last words hunted him as he continued just as she wished. "I, Daemon NorthSteed, have won this war." He spelt out with finality, "Although avoidable, the West remains responsible for what has come of today. For that reason, strict supervision will go on here for years till I am satisfied that no tyrant will ever rise again to perpetuate an evil like raising the Deformed!"

They all bowed till their foreheads touched the ground, "As you command, Your Royal Majesty!" They thundered in one voice.

He swallowed, staring down at Zina.

He had finished what she wanted.

What remained for him was to go back and unite the North in the manner he always wanted to.

Yet... it was funny, pitiable in fact, but in this situation that demanded that he be strong, he found that he was most weak.

He didn’t want to make orders, didn’t want to face his throne and duties. He just wanted to retreat into a dark cave where he would be with Zina forever.

But he had duties, responsibilities. He had a nation to lead, rats to weed out, and things to put in their place properly.

He might have lost the woman he loves—no, loved—but the world didn’t stop to mourn with him. If anything, the delusional crowd before him believed that Zina was the Prophesied Moon Goddess sent to die for their sins and save them from perishing.

He clutched her closely to him, tears welling up in his eyes while he gnashed his teeth to stop the downpour. "Zina, we are finally going home. I am sure you must have hated this despicable place. But worry no more for I am taking you home. To our home."

And that was when it happened. A feverish word