Chapter 57 – Devilishly Handsome (1)
The Holy Saint was stained with filthy blood, like a beautiful flower that was plucked harshly and crushed into dust, being one with the soil where it grew up on.
So beautiful even in her death.
The elf lowered his gaze to look at Amelia.
Inexplicable anger simmered in him, he squeezed the man’s head with his slender and mighty fingers, mimicking the way the necromancer had mutilated her. The elf squeezed relentlessly, wanting to inflict the same intensity of pain Amelia had pitifully received.
“Y-you! You are—!” The necromancer piped, eye sockets growing wide at the sight of the dark elf, who he finally saw in broad daylight. He used to see him only at a set distance, lurking in the shadows in fear of being seen. He never dared face him upfront, and because of the Pope’s presence, he made sure to avoid the elf at all costs.
The necromancer stared at the elf’s face. Scarlet and scrutinizing eyes stared back at him, and the sight was unnerving enough that he parted his mouth in a shout, revealing a pitch-black throat. “It’s you!”
He stuttered in a broken voice, and the sound he exuded made it seem like he was sobbing and laughing at the same time. He looked absolutely mad, hysterical even. Like his sanity was wretched from him once again.
He exerted the remaining strength that he had to touch the elf, but his fingers grasped onto nothing but thin air.
An invisible yet sharp blade sliced through the air, cutting his body inch by excruciating inch; Going from his fingertips to his arms, from his feet upwards his torso. Tiny dust particles scattered and a rotten stench of burnt flesh wafted through the air around them.
“It hurts! It hurts!” The necromancer screeched, face contorted in pure agony and he no longer bore the smugness he initially had when he was torturing Amelia.
For many years, he lashed out and took the lives of others without mercy, taking pleasure in people’s suffering, and now the tides have changed; what he was ruthlessly bestowing unto others was now being bestowed unto him, and more. He didn’t expect that such, evil entity would actually come tormenting him this way.
Little did he know that the god who disappeared for thousands of years would appear all of a sudden— in front of him of all people.
Alfonso’s anger surged tenfold upon seeing Amelia’s bleeding appearance, and he himself couldn’t rein his anger in anymore. His eyes were sharp as needles, stance as cold as ice as he slowly crushed the necromancer’s body, making sure he felt every single thing; from the crack of his bones down to the snapping of his veins. Even if his whole body was gone, he would still feel the ghost of the elf’s punishment burned deep into his core.
“W-why are you killing me?” The necromancer howled, his words coming out in stutters. “Is it because of the woman? Don’t forget…. She is a Saint from the Light cult! She is not on your side!”
Alfonso released the hold he had on him, dropping his head onto the ground with a heavy thud. The necromancer keened, proud of himself for having convinced the elf otherwise as he stammered excitedly, “This woman dared to hide you! You must—“
Before he could finish his words, Alfonso raised his foot from the ground and stomped him directly on his face, instantly shutting him up.
After dealing with the necromancer, Alfonso walked to where Amelia was sprawled out and leaned over, placing his arm behind her knees and supported her back with the other as he lifted her up. With no inch of space between them, he could vividly feel the warmth of her body course against his for the first time, and he wondered why it made him feel so angry.
He didn’t understand why, but he didn’t bother reading more into it and shrugged it off. Amelia’s breaths were faint against his ear and he caught a whiff of her scent— the stinky smell that exuded from the Light cult that he somehow grew accustomed to.
Her body was light as a feather, and it seemed like she couldn’t fight someone who was a lot stronger than her no matter how fierce she was. All she could handle was probably someone on her own size, and Alfonso.
The dark elf tipped his chin up and crushed the remnants of the necromancer’s head more forcefully, the skull bursting into a pile of sludge and dirt beneath his foot.
There’s nothing worse than dying at where the Church stood, where bits and pieces of his existence still clung to the cracks of the marble flooring where the God of Light reigned supreme. And to the necromancer’s eyes, nothing was more tortuous than that.
Alfonso bunched the woman in his arms and left the city full of dead.