The Devil

Elara lay crumpled on the rug, her body still trembling uncontrollably from the near-fatal suffocation. Her throat burned, each breath ragged and painful. She didn't dare look up, didn't even dare make a sound, terrified of provoking the capricious demon lord again.

Duke Reinhardt stood before her, looking down, as if admiring a piece of art he had thoroughly destroyed, yet which miraculously retained a sliver of "interest."

He seemed pleased with Elara's current "obedience"—the state of being utterly dominated by fear, not daring to show even a hint of defiance.

He slowly bent down, reaching out again, using his fingertips to gently wipe away the wretched tear tracks and sweat from Elara's cheeks. His touch was incredibly light, almost giving the illusion of... a twisted "gentleness"? But this "gentleness" only sent more shivers of pure terror down Elara's spine! Because she could clearly see that his cold eyes held not a shred of pity, only... the playful scrutiny of a predator before delivering the final mark.

His fingers finally came to rest on Elara's lips—trembling slightly from violent coughing and fear, bearing the faint scar from before.

"It seems... the previous lesson wasn't profound enough," the Duke murmured, his voice low, laced with a chilling, terrifying amusement.

Elara's heart leaped into her throat! She stared at him in horror, wondering what this demon intended to do now!

The Duke gave her no time to think.

Reflected in Elara's terrified, rapidly constricting pupils, he lowered his head. His lips, perfect as sculpted ice, for the third time, bit down hard on her soft lower lip, with irresistible force, an air of punishment, assertion of ownership, and... pathological obsession!

This time, he bit harder than ever before, more... cruelly! As if wanting to infuse his very essence, his mark, into her blood and bone!

"Ah—!!!"

A suppressed, heart-wrenching scream finally tore from the depths of Elara's throat! Sharp pain shot through her nerves like lightning! The rich, warm taste of blood instantly filled her mouth, dripping down her chin, staining the expensive Persian rug with small, startling patches of dark red!

She could clearly feel her lip being torn open! The wound was deep, bleeding freely! The pain nearly made her faint!

This man! He wasn't human! He was a bloodthirsty demon! He fed on her pain! Took pleasure in her fear!

Elara convulsed in agony, darkness clouding her vision, her consciousness fading. She didn't even have the strength to struggle anymore, lying there like a truly broken doll, enduring this "brand" from the devil, delivered with extreme pain and humiliation!

The Duke seemed extremely satisfied with this bloody "masterpiece." He could clearly feel the body in his arms (he had, at some point, half-lifted the limp Elara) trembling violently with pain, could clearly hear her suppressed, choked sobs, could clearly smell the scent of her blood, slightly sweet and metallic, filling the air...

All of this ignited a darker, more frenzied, and more... satisfied light in his cold eyes.

He slowly lifted his head, looking down at Elara's small face—contorted with extreme pain, stained with tears and blood, looking exceptionally tragic yet possessing a kind of broken beauty. He looked at the lip he had ravaged, bleeding profusely. A very slow, yet chillingly cold... genuine smile finally curved his lips.

That smile was filled with absolute possession, cruel pleasure, and... a pathological satisfaction, as if finally having his prey completely under his control.

He extended the tip of his tongue, licking the blood he had drawn from Elara off the corner of his own lips with agonizing slowness and a chilling elegance, as if savoring the most delicious sacrifice.

"Now..." his voice was low and raspy, carrying a bewitching power like a magic spell, echoing on the edge of Elara's fading consciousness, "...you... inside and out, body and soul, are completely... marked with my name."

He gently touched Elara's still-bleeding, broken lip with his fingertip again, as if admiring his work.

"Remember this pain, remember this humiliation, remember... who bestowed all this upon you." His voice was cold and cruel, like a poisoned blade. "This is... the fate you must endure... as 'my property'."

With that, he seemed to have finally sated his twisted desires. He released her, letting Elara slide limply onto the rug like a discarded doll.

He stood up, looking down at her one last time. His gaze held too many complex, unreadable things—possession, amusement, cruelty, perhaps even... a fleeting trace of emptiness he himself didn't recognize?

Then, he pulled the bell cord. Soon, Frau Helga appeared at the doorway like a phantom. Seeing the scene in the room (the bloodstains on the floor, the limp Elara), her face remained impassive, merely bowing slightly.

"Clean it up," the Duke ordered flatly, as if speaking of a trivial matter.

"Yes, Your Grace," Frau Helga replied respectfully.

The Duke didn't linger. He turned, walking with steady steps out of the room filled with the stench of blood, pain, and despair, as if the preceding brutality had nothing to do with him.

Elara huddled on the cold rug, the sharp pain on her lip and the thick taste of blood in her mouth a constant reminder of everything that had just happened. She felt like a broken doll, thoroughly played with, then carelessly discarded.

All illusions, all hopes, were gone.

All that remained was endless darkness, and... the bloody brand of the devil, seared deep into her soul.

Yet, in this utter darkness and despair, upon the ruins of her nearly stopped heart, something colder, more frantic, began to grow like poisonous vines crawling from the depths of hell, silently entwining, nourishing, spreading...

Hatred!

Hatred stronger, purer, more... desperate than ever before!

Hatred for the betrayers of her past! Hatred for the demon of her present, who treated her as a plaything, trampling her dignity!

And... the most bitter hatred for this damned fate!

She had to live!

She absolutely had to live!

Even if it meant enduring hell, even if it meant dancing with the devil, she absolutely had to live!

Live to see it all! Remember it all! And then...

Find a chance, return it all... tenfold!!!

Elara's eyes, shimmering through tears and bloodstains, completely lost the last trace of human warmth, leaving only a coldness like eternal ice, and... the fiercely burning, vengeful resolve of hellfire!