Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop
252 – Beyond Mercy

Serpent Bo’s breath came slow and sharp, nostrils flaring as he took in the man before him. Burn. The one delivering their sentence without preamble, without ceremony, as if passing judgment was as natural as breathing.

There was no indulgence in his tone, no drawn-out gloating, no sadistic smirk. Just cold, absolute authority.

Bo had met all kinds of rulers in his life—warlords who bathed in their enemy’s blood, nobles who relished slow, calculated vengeance, kings who saw justice as nothing more than a performance. But Burn?

Burn was worse.

Not because he was cruel. No, cruelty required pleasure. Burn wasn’t enjoying this. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even disgusted. He was simply done.

That made him terrifying.

A man who killed in rage could be reasoned with. A sadist could be satisfied. But a man who sentenced people as if disposing of waste? A man who stripped them of their humanity with the same weight as ordering bread at a tavern?

Bo clenched his fists. The others begged, whimpered, sobbed. He did not. He knew when he had lost.

Burn had decided they were beneath mercy. And a man like Burn? He never changed his mind.

They were no longer human in his eyes. Or perhaps, even worse—they still were. And because of that, because he still acknowledged them as people, he had chosen a punishment so meticulously cruel that it could only be inflicted on those deemed capable of suffering.

Burn hadn’t discarded them like animals, hadn’t granted them the mercy of an execution. No, he had calculated their fate with the precision of a man who understood exactly what it meant to strip a person of everything that made them who they were—their voice, their sight, their dignity, their ability to leave behind a legacy.

If they had been nothing more than insects to him, he would have crushed them underfoot without a second thought. But he hadn’t. He had looked at them, seen them for what they were, and decided they deserved to be broken, not erased.

And that made it so much worse.

Once again, this wasn’t the fury of a man enacting revenge, nor the glee of a sadist savoring suffering. This was deliberate. Precise. Cold. It was the kind of judgment that only came from someone who had thought long and hard about what would be fitting. Not just punishment, but consequence.

Burn saw them as humans, alright. And because of that, he had ensured that for the rest of their miserable, mutilated lives, they would never be able to forget it.

So what if they had never been on his radar before? This man was beyond them.

So what if they had never been punished before? This man walked among myths, dealt with world-ending threats, not them—just petty schemers, gnawing at power like rats in the dark. Beneath his notice. Beneath his cause.

But now that they were? They were done.

That was why there was no rage in his eyes—no fire, no fury. Just judgment.

Their names might have carried weight elsewhere, might have mattered to lesser men. But to him? They were nothing. Dust among dirt. Fleeting specks in a world he would soon rule. They had never truly been meant to escape, not when their fate was already sealed.

Look where he sat.

Look at how the eldritch held him in regards.

How could it have been so easy to pluck them from power? To tear down their carefully woven webs of influence?

Because, well, their power had never been real. They had only ever thrived in a world where men like him didn’t bother to exist.

They thought they were untouchable. That no ‘hero’ could ever bring them down.

And they were right.

No hero could have.

But he wasn’t a hero.

It ended, almost before it even began.

The Dwarven King, Wekkoun Anville, sat rigid in his chair, his thick fingers tightening around the armrests. His people knew punishment, knew justice measured in steel and fire, but even he had to admit—this was another level.

His trusted knight, Grumbletoe, clenched his jaw so hard his beard seemed to bristle in protest. Dwarves valued fairness, and while none here would call these criminals innocent, there was something… daunting about Burn’s absolute authority in this moment.

Queen Tashr Reyrie of the elves did not flinch, but the faintest crease marred her otherwise unshakable composure. Her daughters exchanged glances—small, barely perceptible, yet revealing a trace of uncertainty.

The elves had seen their share of cruelty from mortals and monsters alike, but sterilization, branding, and forced servitude? It was a fate far worse than death.

From the centaur delegation, Chief Adroros Borion let out a slow breath through flared nostrils. His kind valued freedom above all. This… this was not freedom. His son, Endreos, younger and still unshaped by the weight of diplomacy, swallowed visibly. Burn’s decree was a reminder that justice was not always kind.

The alicorn, Eos Kirmizi, radiant even in stillness, shifted his wings, the feathers ruffling as if disturbed by an unseen gust. His eyes, deep and ancient, reflected no protest—only a solemn understanding that this was the will of the assembly’s leader.

Among the beastkin, Selen Blackmantle, the fierce weretiger sovereign, curled her lip in distaste, a low growl barely restrained in her throat. Her husband, the minotaur Theor, remained stone-faced, but his tail flicked once—a sign of agitation. Beasts were not kind rulers, but there was a difference between the law of nature and this.

The Werewolf Alpha King, Onulph Sam, folded his arms, his claws tapping rhythmically against his gauntlets. Werewolves were no strangers to brutality, yet something in Burn’s voice unsettled him. He had heard ruthless decrees before—had issued some himself—but never had they been so methodical, so… calculated.

Half the length of their fingers, their toes, their tongue—taken, but not entirely. Not enough to kill, not enough to render them completely useless, but just enough to ruin. To inconvenience. To make the simplest of tasks a constant reminder of their punishment.

Eating, writing, grasping, walking—each movement would become an exercise in frustration, a slow, grinding torment that would never truly fade. Their voices, once used to command, to deceive, to weave their influence, would be slurred, broken, robbed of their former clarity.

He didn’t take everything—he spared just enough to force them to live, yet imperfect. No clean severance, no merciful end. They would still be able to function, but never properly, never wholly. It wasn’t just about pain. It was about stripping away dignity, normalcy, and identity.

They would remain. But lesser.

In the far shadows of the hall, Vlad, the Vampire of the West, sat in his usual languid pose, yet his fingers curled against the armrest, betraying a flicker of unease.

His daughter, Bella, smiled, grinned that her lips slightly parted, as if she wanted to speak but knew better, holding her excitement.

Beneath the surface of the water-filled throne, the Merfolk Monarch, Aidyl Navarre, exhaled slowly. The deep sea held its own merciless ways, but the idea of being stripped of the right to die… of course. How intriguing!

Then there was Isaiah, the Dragon of the East. His fingers drummed idly against the arm of his seat, his molten gaze unreadable. Dragons understood dominance, power, and the will to control—yet even he had to admit, Burn had cemented himself as something beyond mere rulers, beyond even legends. He had not sentenced these criminals to death.

He had sentenced them to something much, much worse.

And no one dared to question him.

So this was the way of humans?

And that was when Serpent Bo could no longer hold it in. A sudden outburst, raw and desperate, cut through the heavy air.

"But why—?! Why would Rafaye Inkor only be sentenced to death?!"

It was a protest born not of defiance, but of disbelief. Anger, yes, but beneath it, something closer to desperation.

Because now, faced with something far worse than death, they found themselves questioning why the worst among them—the King of Inkia himself, the very man who had allowed the Demon Lord to take root in their land—was granted what seemed like mercy in comparison.

Burn did not bristle at the question, did not even seem surprised. Instead, he met Bo’s fury with something far more unsettling. Calm. Unshaken. Certain.

"Do you know how we planned his death to be?" Burn asked, his voice smooth as a blade gliding across skin. Then, with a tilt of his head, he added, "If you want to know, do you dare offer yourself for the same punishment?"

Silence.

The weight of those words crashed down like an executioner’s axe.

What kind of death… would Rafaye Inkor receive?

A slow, creeping horror spread through the room. Until now, they had only considered death as an end—a release, an escape from the nightmare Burn had laid out for them. But now? Now, the unthinkable took root in their minds. What if death, under his judgment, was not mercy at all? What if it was something far worse?

The sentenced criminals, already trembling, now seemed to shrink into themselves. Fear clung to them like a second skin, thick and suffocating. Whatever awaited Rafaye Inkor, they no longer envied it. They only dreaded the thought that they, too, might learn firsthand what it meant.

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Alright, quick real talk.

I’ve said before, I don’t mind low ratings. You wanna rate my story 0.5? Go ahead. Everyone’s got their taste, and not everything’s for everyone. But as you know, what I do mind is when there’s no context behind it, or worse, when someone leaves a review that’s… just not true.

Someone recently did leave a review for a 0,5 rating, which I appreciated at first, like goddamn, finally, some explanation. But turns out, it was based on a misunderstanding. They said the time loop “wasn’t even infinite” and called the summary misleading. Even dropped a “liar” in there.

So just to clear the air:

Yes, the loop is infinite. That’s literally the point. Morgan Le Fay has an endless soul. That’s her curse. Even when it gets drained to rewind time, she doesn’t die, and she doesn’t run out. That’s why she’s the Infinite Witch. She keeps walking, keeps bleeding, can’t escape it. It’s not a power trip, it’s tragedy.

And if she could rewind time with no consequence, what’s the point? That’d just be another OP timeloop gimmick. That’s not this story.

Anyway, no hate to the reviewer. Just setting the record straight. If you’re reading and wondering about how the mechanics work, stick with it. I promise I’m not throwing stuff in randomly. There’s a reason behind everything.

Appreciate all of you who’ve been following along and giving the story a real shot. Means a lot.

(P.S.: I deleted the review at Royal Road because it's full of wrong/misunderstanding, uncovered spoilers. It's a harmful, worst kind of spoiler that would deter everyone from starting to read this book right there in the review section. But you who had read this far to the story, it's no longer spoiler anymore.)