Ravenous Beast

“WE ARE SORRY!"

"PLEASE SPARE US FOR THE LAST TIME! PLEASE, NICK!"

"WE BEG YOU!"

"PLEASE SPARE US!"

The girl with raven hair and her two friends pleaded and cried out in their screams as they were dragged into a spacious room, ominously referred to as the torture chamber, which was illuminated by the fiery glow of torches.

"Shut up!" Nick's voice thundered through the grand hall; his tone laced with raw fury.

Nick's piercing gaze bore into them as he tightened his grip around the bound wrists of the raven-haired girl. "If you truly cared, you never would have carried out those heinous deeds in the first place. Now, prepare to face the reckoning you rightfully deserve."

With an unyielding pull, he dragged the girl forward, his strides echoing against the cold stone floor as he advanced toward the imposing throne—a masterpiece of black, gold, and crimson that loomed over the chamber like a silent judge. Without hesitation, he shoved her to the ground, where two boys already knelt in subdued defeat, their hands bound just as tightly. Wendy, his unwavering partner, had delivered them there alongside Nick, ensuring they, too, would share in the fate that awaited them.

"Please! We were only following orders from the higher-ups!" the blonde boy beside the raven-haired girl stammered, his voice quivering with fear. Desperation clung to his every word as his wide eyes darted between Nick and Wendy, searching for even the slightest hint of mercy. "You don't understand... If she saw us—if she knows—we're as good as dead!"

But his pleas fell on deaf ears. Nick and Wendy exchanged a glance; their smirks were unnervingly calm as if his terror amused them. The weight of his impending fate settled over him like a suffocating shadow, but the two before him remained unmoved, their unsettling composure far more terrifying than any threats they could have uttered.

"Wasn't death the reason for hiring me and leading you all to her? The three of you are well aware that I am Nick Lockwood, Her Majesty's left hand. What did you expect when you saw me at your doorstep if not death? "I thought everyone already knew," Nick drawled, his voice a low, ominous rumble that sent a chill through the air.

"I am Her Majesty's personal Grim Reaper of doom, the one who collects the souls she... drops dead."

A wicked smirk curved his lips, accentuating the sharp allure of Nick's handsome features. The eerie gleam in his dark, striking cerulean eyes flickered like a predator savoring the hunt with his expression effortlessly blending charm with something far more dangerous and foreboding.

"Nick, enough with the intimidation," Wendy mused, a smug smile playing on her lips as she twirled a strand of her sleek dark red hair, the black highlights catching the dim light-like threads of shadow. "We wouldn't want them to exhaust all their tears before Her Majesty has the chance to enjoy the spectacle, now, would we?"

Her tone was light, almost teasing, yet laced with cruel amusement. Tilting her head slightly, she cast a lazy glance at their trembling captives. "Why not let them bask in what little happiness they have left? After all, it won't last long."

A low, sinister chuckle rumbled from Nick's throat, and his amusement was evident as he gave a slow, deliberate nod. Meanwhile, the remaining trio had already crumbled beneath the weight of their fear, their eyes glistening with unshed tears before breaking into full-fledged sobs.

The grand doors, an intricate wooden piece of gold and black, creaked open with an air of regal authority. As they parted, a breathtaking young woman stepped through, moving with an effortless grace that commanded attention. She was draped in a flowing white elegant dress, its delicate fabric whispering against the floor yet trailing behind her as if weightless, defying gravity with every poised step.

Without hesitation, Her Majesty glided toward the towering throne, her presence both ethereal and imposing. The moment she neared, Nick, Wendy, and the trembling trio dropped into deep bows, their heads lowered in unquestioning reverence.

The moment her gaze settled upon the trembling trio, a wicked smile unfurled across her lips, a silent promise of the tempest about to be unleashed. They were not just captives—they were doomed spectators, bound to bear witness to the wrath that lurked just beneath her poised exterior.

"Nick, there's something that piques my curiosity," the brunette seated upon the throne mused her voice, a rich, ominous melody that slithered through the air. "Would you do me the honor of indulging it?"

As she spoke, Wendy, positioned gracefully at the left side of the throne, extended a glass of wine into her waiting hand. Dressed in a sleek black leather jacket and matching pants, the silver chains accentuating her attire gleamed under the dim light, adding an edge to her already formidable presence.

Nick, clad in the same dark ensemble, dipped into a respectful bow, his movements precise and unwavering. Both he and Wendy were not merely servants or comrades—they were Her Majesty's grim reapers, harbingers of fate who stood at the ready to enact her will.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I would be truly honored," Nick replied, offering a bow in acknowledgment with his gaze lowered in utter respect.

A sinister grin spread across Her Majesty's lips as she took a slow sip of her wine, the rich red liquid lingering on her tongue, adding enriched flavor to the chaos brewing in her head. Her soulless eyes, brimming with unsettling darkness, remained fixed on the trembling trio before her as intimidating domination kept emanating from her.

Bound by fear and submission, they knelt in silence, and their heads bowed low with their bodies stiff under the crushing weight of her presence. Though no words escaped their lips, their quiet, ceaseless tears betrayed the depths of their despair, which acted as a silent offering to the one who now held their fate in her grasp.

"Nick, tell me," Her Majesty purred, her deep, velvety voice slithering through the air like a cold whisper against everyone's spines. "Do I appear beautiful in this attire?"

A heavy silence fell over the room, the question hanging like a blade poised to strike.

Nick met her gaze without hesitation, his expression impassive, devoid of fear or flattery, as he replied confidently, "No, Your Majesty." He then added with his tone flat and unwavering, "You don't."

"That's precisely why you hold the favored position in my court. I despise the color white. So, would you object if I choose to adorn it with something more exquisite—like blood? The process might turn rather gruesome," Majesty inquired, taking another sip of her wine.

"No matter the method, Your Majesty, you must always exude beauty—after all, you are our 'King,'" Nick remarked, his lips curling into a dark smirk.

His words hung in the air like a whispered oath, and as if in response, an even more sinister smile spread across their King's exquisite face—a smile laced with danger, power, and amusement that sent chills through the very torture room.

The instant Her Majesty's smile and Nick's chilling words settled into their restless minds; a dreadful realization struck them like a dagger to the gut. Their hearts plummeted, sinking deep into their stomachs, while their already frantic pulse spiraled into a wild, uncontrollable frenzy.

Terror seized them with an iron grip, for they now understood the cruel truth—Her Majesty was toying with them, savoring their fear, just as a cat toys with a helpless, beaten-down rat before delivering the final blow.

Satisfied with the response from her most trusted confidant, Her Majesty leisurely extended her empty wine glass toward Wendy, who wordlessly accepted it before stepping back into the shadows.

A shift rippled through the air as Her Majesty's silver-grey eyes darkened, bleeding into a deep, menacing crimson. Folding her arms across her chest with an air of absolute authority, she turned her piercing gaze toward the trembling figure in the center, with her presence suffocating every captive kneeled before her.

"You!" Her Majesty's voice sliced through the air like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. Her crimson gaze bore down on the trembling figure in the center, suffocating the girl under its weight. "You, in the middle! What compelled you to pursue that boy—the one I explicitly deemed… forbidden?"

The room grew colder with the sheer force of her presence as she stated, "I distinctly recall issuing a warning to each of you," she continued, her tone laced with chilling authority, "I made it undeniably clear—emphasizing the imperative of avoiding any contact with that boy. And yet," her voice dropped to a deadly whisper, "Despite my explicit directive, your coven dare to defy me. Why?"

"Your-your Majesty, please! Forgive us! We-we're only doing what we were—"

"Do you believe I crave your pathetic apology?" Her Majesty's voice dripped with disdain, each word striking like a lash. "How utterly foolish of you to assume such a thing."

She took a slow, measured breath, though the weight of her presence only grew heavier. "Your words are nothing but wasted air," she continued, her tone smooth yet laced with an unshakable finality, "Save your breath—for I will unearth the truth, whether you offer it willingly or not."

Her piercing gaze swept over the trembling trio, exuding an air of calm so unnervingly potent that it made them feel as though the very ground beneath them might crumble at any moment.

The trio trembled uncontrollably; every fiber of their being consumed by the suffocating grip of fear. Deep down, they knew—no plea, no desperate excuse could alter the inevitable.

Their fate was already sealed, and there was no escaping the death that loomed over them ever so closely.

The tan-skinned, raven-haired girl, kneeling at the center, drew in a shaky breath, summoning what little courage she had left. Without pausing to consider the consequences of her defiance, she dared to speak—unwittingly calling death a lot earlier than they could've anticipated.

"Your Majesty," she stammered, her voice wavering yet laced with quiet resolve. "Since you're not—not going to spare us… we have no reason to answer any of your—"

Before the raven-haired girl could finish her sentence, her words were violently stolen away. In the blink of an eye, as if materializing from thin air, Her Majesty appeared beside them—swift and merciless.

With a single, brutal motion, she plunged her hand straight through the throat of the kneeling teen to the girl's left. A sickening crack echoed through the hall as flesh and bone gave way beneath her unrelenting grip. The girl's cerulean eyes widened in sheer horror, and her breath caught in her throat as she watched her best friend, Oliver, collapse backward—lifeless, with his body hitting the floor with a hollow finality of loud and clear 'thud.'

Shaking with tears brimming in her eyes, she forced herself to look up. But the sight awaiting her sent an even deeper wave of terror crashing over her.

Her Majesty stood tall with her expressionless face, all calm while holding up the mangled remains of Oliver's windpipe—still connected to a portion of his ribcage. The blood-soaked display of her was nothing short of monstrous, and at that moment, the girl realized—this was only the beginning.

A bloodcurdling scream tore from her lips, raw and unrelenting, until her throat burned with the effort. Yet the agony in her voice was nothing compared to the horror before her.

Their Majesty stood amidst the carnage just like an unholy vision of grace and brutality.

The once-pristine white of her flowing dress was now marred with streaks of blood, and the spattered blood painted a grotesque contrast against its once lively purity. And yet, she remained unfazed—standing in eerie with macabre splendor, as if death itself bowed at her feet.

Though the dress had been a masterpiece of elegance in its untouched state but, in Her Majesty's eyes, it only achieved true perfection once it was drenched in crimson. The splattered blood transformed it into something far more exquisite—an artistry of carnage that suited her far better than mere white silk and lace ever could.

Her Majesty basked in the gruesome spectacle, reveling in the rich cascade of crimson that adorned her like a morbid tribute. She savored the moment, delighting in the macabre pleasure of being bathed in blood as if it were a sacred rite meant only for her.

"Finish that sentence… and I will erase your entire bloodline from existence in mere minutes," Her Majesty snarled, her voice laced with lethal intent. With a flick of her wrist, she discarded the torn trachea, sending it tumbling into the far corner of the chamber—a grim resting place already littered with remnants of past victims. Bones lay scattered like discarded relics, skulls grinned in eternal silence, and frozen splotches of blood stained the dark floor, which remained as a testament to the countless lives claimed before.

"I believe... you're under the impression that I haven't identified you... Helena Cale." Her Majesty's voice dripped with cruel intent as her piercing gaze locked onto the trembling girl before she added, "A venerable witch among us. Did you assume I lack the acumen to discern the faintest trace of your decaying sorcery clinging to that boy?"

She took a slow step forward, her presence suffocating, all the while stating, "Look around, Helena," she murmured, her tone mocking yet laced with an undeniable threat. "Your entire coven… every last one of them… was strewn headless in their blood in this very chamber. Did you truly believe feigning ignorance would set you free?"

A twisted smirk curled her lips as she delivered her final promise, "No. I shall ensure each of your heads is presented to the witch leaders—served alongside a chalice brimming with your blood for every severed cranium. In an act as a fitting toast to your demise."

Tears cascaded down Helena's face under her despair while Markus, consumed by terror, instinctively began inching backward with his every movement, driven by a desperate urge to escape. But fate was unkind, and on this very day, mercy would not be his to claim.

The sanguine Majesty shifted her gaze toward the raven-haired youth, his feeble attempt at escape shattering the moment his hazel eyes locked with the ominous crimson depths of their merciless ruler.

An ancient adage echoed in the air — never gaze into the eyes of a... ravenous beast.

In a flash, Majesty's hand shot forward, clamping around Markus's throat with an unforgiving grip. The pressure mounted until his neck gave way with a sickening rupture, splattering her face, hair, and the upper half of her once-pristine white dress in a gruesome veil of crimson. The robust youth, so full of life mere moments ago, crumpled lifelessly under the merciless grasp of the bloodthirsty sovereign. A manic smirk curled across the brunette Majesty's lips as she languidly ran her tongue over her lips, savoring the taste of freshly spilled blood.

"Since you refuse to answer my questions, I see little use for your tongue," Majesty mused, her voice dripping with dark amusement. "Why waste words when I can so easily unravel the secrets buried in your mind?" She let the words linger, her tone dipping into something husky and laced with malice. "Besides," she added, a wicked smirk curving her lips, "I've already dealt with your precious bond mate." Her gaze flickered toward the tearful girl, whose trembling form remained frozen as she kept staring in horror at Markus Conant's lifeless body.

"You dare not snuff out my life, you fiend!" Helena's voice cracked with grief, her anguished scream reverberating through the bloodstained chamber.

"For if you dare... ha... you'll be unleashing a war against us," Pain twisted her features with the unbearable loss of her beloved fueling the defiant fire in her eyes.

Whereas Majesty hummed in disinterest before she discarded the lifeless body after extracting the heart and pulverizing it until its blood trickled down through her fingers. She then placed the remains into the flames conjured from her palm, the fire dissipating effortlessly after completing its task.

Turning her attention to her final prey, she seized the trembling girl's tongue with merciless precision. With a flick of her fingers, she ignited it, the flames licking hungrily at the flesh before she clenched it within her fist, snuffing out the fire just as easily as she had summoned it.

Majesty's lips curled into a wicked smirk as she stepped closer, her voice a low, velvety purr laced with malice, "As for the war you speak of so boldly... allow me to enlighten you," She chuckled darkly, tilting her head as she informed, "The war had already begun the very instant you vermin dared to implant cancer within that boy. Your worthless existences would have been terminated had I been privy to the truth sooner instead of discovering it just yesterday."

She leaned in, crimson eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement as she whispered the final blow, her tone dripping with cruel certainty, "And… oh, poor thing… I don't just dare to kill. I kill anyone I please."

Helena sobbed, her trembling hands clawing at the cold, bloodstained floor as she tried to crawl away, desperation fueling her futile escape.

But it was all for nothing.

In an instant, Majesty's hand shot forward, seizing a fistful of her dark tresses and yanking her back with merciless force. A strangled cry tore from Helena's throat as fresh agony surged through her skull, her body convulsing from the violent pull.

Blood dribbled from her lips, cascading down her chin in a scarlet stream, pooling beneath her like a shattered offering to the monster looming over her. But this was merely the beginning. The true nightmare had yet to unfold—Majesty's cruel, crimson gaze gleamed with unholy delight as she loomed over her final prey—the trembling little witch who had been chosen for a fate far worse than death.

Majesty tilted her head, savoring the trembling form before her, eager to drink in the terror reflected in her prey's eyes. But Helena, though wracked with fear, stubbornly refused to meet that bloodthirsty gaze. She clenched her jaw in pain with her tear-streaked face turned away, denying Majesty the satisfaction of witnessing her final moments of unfiltered horror. A flicker of defiance still remained in her, however futile, yet a last shred of resistance glimmered against the inevitable.

A wicked smirk curled Majesty's lips as she moved with merciless precision, her fingers slicing through Helena's scalp and peeling it away in one swift motion. A scarlet torrent erupted, painting the cold ground beneath them once again. Helena's agonized screams reverberated through the chamber, raw and desperate—until Majesty, unfazed, plunged her fingers into the trembling girl's eye socket, twisting and wrenching until the delicate orb was torn free.

The cries faltered, weakening into choked gasps, but the spectacle was not yet complete.

With a single brutal motion, Majesty grasped Helena's head and twisted it until a sickening snap echoed, and her prey's neck snapped with such force that her head detached entirely. Majesty held the severed head aloft like a morbid trophy while the lifeless body crumpled into the thickening sea of blood, lost among the corpses that had met the same merciless fate before the little witch's body.

The heavy doors burst open without warning, crashing against the walls as a man with silver-streaked hair hastily strode into the blood-drenched chamber and came to an abrupt halt before Her Majesty.

His gaze swept over her, and his expression was one of incredulity as if she had sprouted an additional head.