The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 119: The Monster

Chapter 119: The Monster

Sir Christian, ever vigilant, swiftly moved to aid his distressed commander. He raced toward the beleaguered duke, shielding him from yet another vicious beastly assault. With unwavering determination, he guided the weakened Damien to lean against his robust frame, firmly securing the man’s arm around his own shoulders. Together, they made a hasty retreat from the heart of the tumultuous battle, seeking refuge in a safer haven nearby.

"Your Grace, do you find yourself injured?"

Yet, as if afflicted by a maddening silence, Damien vehemently shook his head in a desperate attempt to dispel the encroaching veil of insanity. No matter his efforts, the crimson shroud that clouded his vision persisted, an ominous harbinger of the chaos to come.

Filled with concern for his commander’s well-being, Sir Christian promptly summoned the High Priest, carefully assisting the duke as he settled onto the chilly ground. Meanwhile, at the rear of the formation, the Crown Prince, drawn by the sudden commotion, disengaged from the ongoing fight and ventured toward the back of the line, his curiosity piqued by Damien’s visibly distressed state.

Despite Sir Christian’s earnest efforts to aid the duke, Damien appeared less than pleased with the assistance. He persistently rebuffed the knight’s support, emitting low, anguished groans while laboring under heavy breaths, akin to a wounded and cornered creature. His once vibrant golden eyes now flickered ominously with a haunting crimson glow.

The High Priest, upon hearing of the Grand Duke’s distress, hurriedly left the shelter. His path, however, was abruptly obstructed by Loyd, whose face bore a weighty, solemn expression. Alexander, taken aback by the prince’s unexpected intervention, widened his eyes in astonishment and, with a perplexed tone, inquired,

"Your Highness? I implore you, allow me to attend to His Grace before he descends further into madness!"

The Crown Prince, after a swift glance back at the panting duke, fixed his piercing azure gaze upon the Priest and shook his head resolutely.

"No. I want him to fight."

Alexander, grappling with disbelief, parted his lips in astonishment and for a moment, found himself rendered speechless. He regarded Loyd as if he were a man more unhinged than the afflicted duke himself. Finally, as his capacity for speech returned, he took a determined step closer to the Crown Prince and almost shouted,

"I beg your pardon?! Your Highness, this is an exceedingly perilous situation, and his symptoms are progressing at an alarming rate –"

"I said no. I want to see him fight."

With a steadfast resolve, the prince pivoted to face Damien, his gaze locked onto the afflicted figure.

"I wish to witness the extent of this monster’s potential."

Alexander endeavored to voice his concerns once more, yet the Crown Prince signaled for him to retreat towards the shelter. He then nodded to two additional knights who had assembled to aid the duke.

"Escort him back to the frontlines. It is an order."

Reluctantly, the knights complied. They relinquished their grasp on Damien, who continued to resist their efforts, struggling to break free even as they guided him back into the maelstrom of combat.

Sir Christian observed as the knights carefully relocated the duke, his expression a blend of disappointment and concern. He cast a sidelong glance at the grinning prince, silently harboring his misgivings.

’I don’t like it one bit. We will surely regret it.’

Damien drove his black sword into the frigid winter ground, seeking support as he leaned upon the hilt. With a trembling hand, he shielded his flushed, perspiring face. It was as if the world had ceased its motion, plunging into eerie quietude, leaving him immersed in a crimson abyss.

The relentless agony coursing through his Acme-drained body gnawed at him, resembling the sensation of multiple fractured bones, while the fiery rush of his overheated blood made it seem as though he might burst from his own skin.

Yet again, it proved insufferable—the torment that inexorably pushed him toward the precipice of madness. The unyielding pain showed no mercy, and only one person held the key to his relief.

"... Rosalie..."

The instant her name escaped his parched, fevered lips, Damien felt an electrifying snap within his mind. His large, sinewy hand coiled around the gleaming handle of his ebony blade, surging with newfound vigor. Damien straightened his posture, fixing his gaze forward, and there it was once more—the colossal black wolf, its fiery crimson eyes a mirror reflection of his own.

A sinister grin contorted the wolf’s elongated visage, revealing dark, almost blood-like droplets of saliva dripping from its bared teeth, akin to sticky venom. It growled at Damien, as if extending an invitation to test their powers against each other.

With an unhinged, maniacal smile of his own, the duke raised his sword and launched himself at the beast, his burning gaze locked firmly onto the crimson orbs that gleamed with malevolence.

The wolf possessed both formidable speed and immense strength. With each leap, its massive black paws sliced through the air, coming perilously close to the man’s body, yet failing to inflict harm each time.

As its claws collided with the robust black steel of Damien’s blade, vivid yellow sparks erupted from the impact, and the resounding clash of their struggling weapons reverberated through the space between them like a thunderbolt.

The passage of time became a mystery as they continued their relentless combat. It transcended beyond the realm of a mere man battling a beast; it had evolved into a clash between two formidable entities, driven by an unfathomable yet unyielding madness. Neither of them harbored any inclination to surrender; they were both resolute in their determination not to be defeated.

At last, jumping dangerously close to the wolf, Damien stuck his blade into the beast’s open mouth, but the latter closed its teeth once again, trapping the sword in between them, and hissed, his ominous sputter making its way into Damien’s brain,

"Give up... the curse... will get worse... you are already... losing your mind... give up... let me... kill him..."

The duke narrowed his red, glowing eyes, then grinned back at the wolf, and pulled his sword out, slashing the creature’s mouth, making it wince and jump back, shivering from the soaring pain.

"I knew it... The summon... You are possessed. Possessed by a human."

However, the beast remained unresponsive, its reticence shattered by a deafening, soul-rending growl. It lunged at the duke once more, blood now cascading over Damien’s tall body. Yet, in this moment, Damien could sense the full might of the demon coursing through him once again. He perceived the world with an uncanny clarity, as though he had merged with the formidable monstrosity before him. He had become a creature of darkness himself.

In a deft and masterful motion, he drove his sword into the wolf’s flank, cleaving through its flesh as if it were dense, yielding mud. Using this maneuver as a stepping stone, Damien vaulted onto the creature’s back. Skillfully wielding the black blade, he sliced through the wolf’s obstinate, inky hide, rending its side wide open. He bore witness to the torrent of dark blood gushing forth from the beast’s body, draining its very essence.

But the wolf was not ready to give up just yet. Although nearly lifeless, it fell down, bringing Damien down with the remaining power of his body. It then dipped its claws in its own black blood and slashed them over the duke’s torso, finally breaking through his armor and leaving wide, gaping wounds across his chest.

The man groaned, feeling the creature’s blood burning his flesh like acid, and crawled away from its heaving body, lifting his sword above his head, prepared to finish off the wolf. But before he could execute his final strike, another wave of deafening hissing clouded his mind as the beast’s last words crept in,

"She will die... he will not... let her live... kill him... or she will... die..."

With a final, labored exhale, the wolf succumbed, its head falling upon the ground with a loud thud, now marred by a sinister tapestry of blood. The once-vigorous creature transformed into a lifeless, frozen form.

Damien, too, found himself frozen in place. He stood beside the massive, ebony wolf’s lifeless body, the tempestuous currents of rage surging within him, roiling his very core, and igniting tumultuous shudders throughout his body.

’He will not... Let her live... Rosalie...’

The wolf’s final words echoed frantically within Damien’s mind, a relentless refrain that churned his innermost emotions and unraveled the fragile remnants of his sanity. His vision blurred, and a crimson haze descended, clouding all reason. Amidst this chaotic disarray, one undeniable truth remained glaringly evident: his battle was far from concluded. His enemy was still not defeated.

In that pivotal moment, a gruesome sight unfolded before him – a battlefield awash in a macabre symphony of death. The dead bodies covered the earth entirely, their dark blood flooding its surface like a rising tide. Despite an inner whisper suggesting the conflict’s end, an incendiary rage, feverishly ablaze within his turbulent mind, adamantly proclaimed the opposite - the slaughter must persist. He bore the solemn responsibility of ensuring that no soul would ever pose a threat to her. He must safeguard her at all costs.