Reborn To Be The Imperial Consort [BL]

Chapter 195: Swaying Jasmine — XIX

As the elder trembled under the onslaught of pain inflicted upon him, tears flowing down his cheeks, and saliva dribbling down his mouth, he cried out akin to a wounded animal. Standing above him, the beast looked down, face impassive, and crimson eyes as cold as the deepest of winter.

"Does it hurt?" It asked, voice barely above a whisper. The old man nodded desperately, hoping, praying, begging for the suffering to end. Hot flashes of pain seared up his leg, clawing and tearing at his muscles, he could not speak.

The crushing force of the beast’s foot increased, it ground its boot on his leg, the harrowing noise of crushing bones falling to its deaf ears. Raising its foot, it brought down its boot on his other leg with greater strength and ground its heel as the bone snapped.

The man’s head snapped back, hitting hard on the cold floor, voice lost as the pain punched him in the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs.

"Use your words, elder. I am unable to hear you."

Monster.

"Stop. Please— it hurts."

"Does it?"

The elder’s heart chilled at the even tone of its voice, as if the beast was not crushing his bones underfoot. "Y-yes!" He choked out, voice dying before another scream could leave his lips.

The monster’s head canted, almost inquisitively. Carefully, took its foot off the old man’s leg and lowered himself before the man prone on the floor haplessly. Letting the silence fill the atmosphere, the beast heaved a sigh and slowly reached his hand towards him, fingers curled and poised to strike.

The man whimpered, shaking his head vigorously as he crawled back, inching away as quickly as his aching limbs would allow.

It was a useless endeavour of escape, however.

Whilst he crawled back, hands and body shaking, the beast struck, wrapping his hand around his throat, thumb ghosting over the old man’s roaring pulse. The beast’s hand squeezed around the elder’s throat, tightening ever so slightly, as if he was testing his grip.

The old man choked, hands flying to the monster’s wrist and hand, clawing at the increasingly tight chokehold.

"Ark—"

In an instant, the beast moved, slamming the elder’s body on the floor, the impact hard enough to crack the floor.

"You are the last one to die," the monster crooned in a velvety and rich tone, head turned to gaze at the smoldering embers in the fire lamp, crimson eyes flickering to the corner of his eyes as he watched the man’s struggle, "do you know why?"

The man’s mouth opened but no sound came. His face lost its colour, a sickly pallor spread on his face as he tried to pull the hand off his throat. As the seconds ticked by and the lack of breath suffocated him, black spots danced in his vision. He was not even allowed the luxury to scream.

"I shall be gracious and tell you." The monster gave him a slight smile, turning back to face the elder. "Heeding to your plan, your clan" —he pulled the man up and slammed him down again— "took hundreds of civilians hostage." Again. "And treated them like animals."

Again and again, the silver-haired man slammed the elder’s head on the floor, watching impassively as blood splashed everywhere. The warm blood spurted on his face, dribbled down as he clenched his hands.

"Death is a mercy for you." Carelessly, he dropped the motionless body, lowered eyes tracing every sporadic twitch of the lifeless body. "Afterlife will not be so kind, however."

Splat.

Dragging his eyes away from the gore sullying the floor, Liu Mingyun stood up slowly, heaving a soft, inaudible sight whilst taking a step back to evade the viscous blood spreading on the ground.

Silver locks — gleaming under the soft moonlight filtering through the windows — spilled forward as he rolled his shoulders and neck, crimson fluid trickling down his face, the Crown Prince swiped the back of his hand and rubbed the blood away.

Crimson gaze flickering between the bloody mess before him and the pulsing embers, Liu Mingyun bowed his head to stare down at his hands and smiled ever so slightly.

The minute curve of his lips was cold, eyes unfeeling as he exhaled through his nose, the action seemed to plummet the temperature in the atmosphere.

As the silence settled akin to an oppressive blanket upon the blood-ridden hallways, Liu Mingyun’s gaze flicked, taking in his surroundings briefly. His arrival caused a rather inconvenient commotion in the establishment. His mission was complete, the purpose achieved, hardly leaving him with much else to linger for.

Quickening his steps, the Crown Prince all but flew down the desolate hallways, intending to make his exit through the window he had entered and leave before anyone could rush in to investigate. The winds seemed to howl outside, the low noise muffled, almost mournful.

But Liu Mingyun could not bring himself to feel remorseful of the slaughter at his hands. In the events that had transpired thus far, if there was anyone who deserved to feel the choking weight of death and the pain it brought forth, it was these people.

The elders, who called themselves wise and strong, and yet stood behind in the safety of their guarded palaces, all whilst the men and women in their military died a nameless death for their cause.

Hit by a sudden wave of rage, the Crown Prince’s steps slowed, shadows looming over his artificial face as his crimson eyes glowed eerily in the dark. Hands clenching tight on his sides, blood dripped from his closed fists, trailing down his robes as it seeped into the fabric slowly, Liu Mingyun took a long bracing breath, willing himself to not lose his cool.

As he looked ahead, lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure, from the corner of his eyes, he caught a dull light flicker from one of the rooms. For a fraction of a second, doubt flashed in the Crown Prince’s heart.

Had he forgotten, or missed someone? Was there someone who hid away? Frowning, Liu Mingyun lightened his footsteps and pivoted to the direction from where he had seen the flicker of light. Did he leave a survivor?