CHAPTER 144: GROTESQUE

It was grotesque.

Blood dripped out of her eyes to the floor in steady, sluggish drops that splashed onto the polished stone, staining it like ink across parchment. It wasn’t normal bleeding. It was thick, dark—almost black—and the way it oozed from her like a weeping wound made it clear that she was in hell-defying pain.

Pain so deep it pulled inhuman, gurgling sounds out of her throat—sounds no servant, no woman, no person should ever be able to make.

Her body convulsed transforming , her ribs flexing unnaturally beneath her skin. Her form twitched and jerked, caught between something human and something not. Her eyes were dark, like pits of pure shadow, but her skin...her skin was even darker now. Hardened, coarse like stone left out in fire and ash.

Worse.

Blood coated the edges of her mouth, trailing down in red rivers. And her teeth—jagged, not flat, not human—were bared as her jaw stretched wider than it should have. Her claws, slick and shining, were already red at the tips in a way that now made it obvious that someone else had already fallen victim to them.

She had tasted blood before this moment.

She had already killed someone.

A choked scream tore from her lips, but it came out mangled—like bone scraping metal. Her limbs stretched taut, muscles quivering as her body wound up to strike. She was just about to move.

But the Vampires moved first.

Lord Virelle’s form blurred as he disappeared from his chair in a flash of black and red so swift it felt like a gust of wind ripped across the room. Even Brilla, ever-cold and calculating, had a shocked expression on her face as she lost track of him for a second.

Her eyes widened, scanning the room—and then there he was, slamming into the high beast in front of them with enough force to crack the floor beneath them.

The only thing that looked remotely human was her head—and even that had been split into two bloody pieces, lolling forward and back like a broken puppet.

Lord Virelle’s claws and fangs had grown, monstrous extensions of his body that shimmered with power and bloodlust. He didn’t hesitate. His eyes were glowing now, crimson and furious, and he struck without ceremony.

She tried to defend, with an almost panicked look on her monstrous face even as she scrambled back only to instantly lose her arm in the blink of an eye.

The limb fell to the floor with a thud—disconnected flesh and bone twitching briefly before going still. Blood sprayed like a fountain against the far wall, splattering across King Jared’s golden coat.

Gasps and shouts erupted from the lords and council members—but no one dared move. Not with that fight unfolding in front of them.

Martha—if she could even still be called that—let out a rattled, fractured shriek and tried to turn away.

But Virelle didn’t let her.

He took her down like a beast would a wounded deer, clawing at her legs and dragging her back with unnatural strength. She fell hard against the floor, shrieking, but the moment she hit the stone he was on her—pounding her into the ground.

Again.

And again.

His claws tore chunks out of her chest and neck, his fists cracking bones, breaking ribs. The stone beneath her was painted red. Her legs kicked out, twitching in reflex—but they weren’t enough to stop him.

Lord Virelle didn’t make it clean.

And it was obvious that he wasn’t trying to.

He was sending a message.

By the time the monster’s body had stopped moving, reduced to a ruined and bloodied pulp, silence had instantly settled on the room.

No one dared speak.

No one even moved.

Aira sat frozen beside King Zyren, her hand covering her mouth, eyes wide with unblinking horror. Her lips quivered. Her breath came in short, sharp pants as tears spilled freely down her cheeks.

She had practically jumped out of her chair when the creature first screamed—and now, she looked like she wanted to run. Flee. Escape. Anything to get away from the smell of blood and the sight of flesh torn like paper.

She moved, legs shaking, preparing to run for the door.

Only to be stopped by Zyren, who pointed at her chair with a look that made her freeze in place.

"Sit," he said firmly, low enough only she could hear—but firm enough to make her legs move on instinct.

She sank back into the seat, body trembling, clutching her skirts with trembling hands as she tried to hold herself together.

The moment wasn’t lost on King Jared. His golden eyes had flicked between the two, catching every motion—though he said nothing. Not yet.

Confusion was written visibly on the faces of most people there. Even the strongest were shaken. Their expressions were tight, lips drawn, brows creased.

Whispers began to rise.

"What... was that?"

"That thing—what was it?"

"Is it human? Was it ever—?"

The next second, King Zyren stood, his voice ringing through the hall like steel over fire.

"Everyone who isn’t a Lord," he said, "leave. Now."

Nobles stood, almost stumbling over themselves as they fled. Even the guards, vampire and wolf alike, were waved out with a single gesture.

The massive doors slammed shut behind them.

Now it was only Zyren. Jared. Their council. And Aira—who still sat there, trembling.

King Jared rose slowly to his feet.

His face twisted into a scowl as he pointed at the mangled corpse that still twitched faintly on the floor.

"It’s a Zygo....!" he spat, the words hitting the air like lightning., "No! It’s ....something related to them!"

Gasps rippled through the room.

Even the council froze.

"Are you going to lie and tell me this wasn’t planned?" Jared asked, fury bleeding into his tone. "That this—this thing just showed up at your castle by chance? That this wasn’t your way of starting a war without saying the word?!"

Zyren’s stare hardened. His voice dropped cold.

"I don’t make shitty plans," he said. "Why would I dirty my own hands—and my castle—with this?"

The silence that followed made it clear.

No one doubted him. Moreover if Zyren could make such a monster then he wouldn’t have kept it a secret. He would have unleashed it on them.

Even the council members who had come with King Jared turned to each other with uneasy glances. Falson’s jaw clenched. Kannedy looked pale.

Still...

Still, all of them paled at the mention of the word Zygon.

Especially Lythari.

Her pale hands were clasped together so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. She looked like she had seen a ghost, her violet eyes wide and fixed not on Zyren—but on Lord Drehk.

Drehk met her gaze with one just as severe. Grim. Knowing. No words passed between them—but something old stirred in their expressions. A memory of something they had once hoped would never return.

"Zygons..." Kannedy murmured under his breath, voice barely audible. "That’s a myth. They’re myths."

Brilla leaned forward, voice low.

"They were never confirmed real."

"They were real enough that our ancestors warned us about them!" King Jared barked back. "Creatures from the old lands. Creatures that bled death and moved like shadows. Shapeshifters that brought nothing but destruction"

"They were said to die off centuries ago," lord Noctare said, voice level but strained. "There hasn’t been a single sighting since before the founding treaties."

Jared turned toward Zyren, jaw tight.

"And yet one showed up here. In your home. Dressed as your servant."

Zyren stepped down from the dais. Slowly. Calmly.

He stood just inches from the corpse now, looking down at it with narrowed eyes.

"It was no Zygon," he said flatly. "It resembled one—but it lacked the precision. The intelligence. This was... distorted."

"Convenient," Jared muttered. "A half-Zygon beast that ends up here—of all places—and just happens to die before it can speak."

Zyren’s voice sharpened.

"Do you think I’m foolish enough to weaponize something I don’t control?"

"Or foolish enough to underestimate your own experiments?" Jared snapped.

The room froze again.

Zyren’s eyes narrowed—just slightly.

For a moment, it seemed like the argument would turn to violence. Lord Drehk and Falson both stiffened, hands ghosting over their weapons.

Then—

Zyren turned away.

"You need to rest," he said. "Go to the quarters we prepared for you."

Jared scoffed. "I don’t need—"

"Spend time thinking," Zyren cut in. "About what you saw here. About what that thing was."

Jared stared at him, then turned to look at the corpse one last time.

The werewolves moved to follow.

But Zyren wasn’t done.

"Oh," he added, voice razor-sharp. "And take the dead body with you."

The wolves paused.

Zyren’s gaze remained steady.

"Take the thing that was beaten into pulp... and use it as a reminder."

Jared’s nostrils flared. But he said nothing more.

The body was scooped up by one of the werewolf guards. Aira flinched at the sound of broken bones shifting in the remains.

And with that, the wolves left the bloodstained hall.

Leaving behind silence.

And the rising stench of war.