239 The Defiant Girl! Will they kill her?
Chapter 239
Some slaves wailed, crawling forward and clasping their hands, pleading to the Inquisitor. “Mercy, please…! I’ve done nothing wrong!” they cried, only to be met with a dismissive wave or the taunting smile of the Inquisitor, who leaned back as if lounging in his own court.
Vasoth’s eyes glistened with twisted delight, sweeping over the desperate faces below. He looked almost serene, his calm demeanor a terrifying contrast to the chaos around him. Now and then, he would beckon to the butcher demon with a lazy flick of his finger, signaling him to bring forth the next sacrifice.
The demons in the crowd watched, licking their lips, delighting in the spectacle. Some were shouting mock encouragements at the slaves, while others laughed cruelly as they watched humans who had once stood tall now grovel and debase themselves. It was a theater of humiliation and despair, crafted solely for their amusement.
One woman with a bruised face clawed at the ground, screaming for her owner in the crowd, “Master! Have mercy! Haven’t I served well? Don’t let me die like this!” Her voice cracked, dissolving into sobs, as her plea fell on indifferent ears. Her owner, a demon with red eyes like burning embers, chuckled, as if this was a reward rather than a punishment.
The cries of those begging and the sight of others lowering their heads to the cold, stone ground only fueled the demons’ derision.
They leaned forward, eagerly awaiting the next execution, like spectators waiting for the climax of an act. The horror was inescapable, each sound, each scent — the coppery tang of blood, the stale stench of fear — saturating the square.
The Inquisitor’s voice sliced through the din, calm yet commanding. “Is this all humanity is capable of? Such pathetic creatures… Or perhaps one among you still clings to bravery?” He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled slaves, as if expecting an answer.
The silence that followed was suffocating, the slaves paralyzed by his words, unsure if any response would mean a quicker death or a temporary reprieve.
Among the crowd, one small figure remained silent, her expression defiant. A young girl with short, coal-black hair and piercing purple eyes stared at the scene, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. Unlike the others, her gaze held neither fear nor submission, but an anger that burned as brightly as the torches around them.
She didn’t cry out, didn’t lower her head; instead, she glared at the Inquisitor, her jaw clenched in silent defiance.
The girl’s eyes burned with a fierce resolve, a determination that had not yet been crushed by the endless suffering she had endured.
Each swing of the butcher demon’s knife, each plea from the slaves around her, only seemed to harden her resolve further. Her gaze remained fixed on the Inquisitor, and for a fleeting moment, his own eyes met hers.
Vasoth curled his lips, it seemed to amuse him to find her interesting as compared to other slaves.
The hint of her defiance in her eyes made him want to crush her. He tilted his head slightly, studying her with a new glint of interest. Here was one who would not beg, who would not tremble. A rare specimen, almost too precious to destroy outright.
In a smooth, calm voice that resonated with malice, he called out, “Bring the little one here.”
The demons in the crowd sneered, eager to see the spirited girl brought low. She was forced forward by a rough hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t flinch. Her purple eyes remained unwavering, locked on the Vasoth, and she spat on the ground in a final act of rebellion.
“Well, aren’t you a bold little thing,” Vasoth purred in a strange voice, his tone deceptively soft. “Tell me, child, do you think you’re different from them?”
She said nothing, her mouth pressed into a stubborn line. The other slaves around her fell silent, their sobs and cries fading as they watched her, a glimmer of shock—and perhaps hope—entering their hollow eyes.
The Inquisitor’s smile grew wider as he leaned in, his eyes gleaming with mock curiosity. “Are you angry?” he asked, tilting his head as he studied her defiant expression. He waited, savoring the tension as the girl’s purple eyes burned with barely contained fury.
“How amusing,” he continued, feigning a look of pity. “You must think yourself quite brave, don’t you? But all I see is a little insect, writhing at the sight of a boot ready to crush it. Do you really think your anger matters here, little one?”
His voice took on a mocking lilt, each word crafted to twist deeper into her pride. “Look around you,” he sneered, gesturing to the crowd of broken, trembling slaves. “You’re no different than them. Just another pitiful human, helpless and afraid. Do you truly believe your defiance means anything at all?”
Vasoth wanted to feast on this girl’s despair as she suffers, demons like him found such despair to be quite the delicacy.
The girl’s fists clenched even tighter, her eyes blazing, but she remained silent, her jaw set in unyielding defiance.
The Inquisitor’s smile grew colder, his voice lowering to a cruel whisper. “But you are so weak… so powerless. You cannot do anything.” He allowed the words to hang in the air, each one slicing into her like a blade. “Since you seem to hate this so much, let’s have you watch every execution. Wouldn’t that be fitting?”
He turned to a demon merchant standing nearby, his tone icy and commanding. “Make sure she watches every single one of them.”
The merchant nodded eagerly, a twisted grin spreading across his face as he beckoned two demons to seize her. They moved forward, each grabbing one of her arms, yanking her to the ground and forcing her head to face the execution platform. She struggled against their hold, her teeth gritted, her face contorted with rage and frustration.
“Ugh!” she groaned, her voice strained as the demons’ claws dug into her arms, keeping her firmly in place, a trace of blood leaking from the sharp claws digging into her soft skin yet she didn’t shed a tear and endured the pain.
She couldn’t look away; her head was locked toward the blood-stained platform, her line of sight fixed on the butcher demon’s grisly work, no matter how hard she tried to avert her gaze. Her heart pounded with helpless fury, and the Inquisitor’s chilling laugh echoed in her ears as he leaned back, watching her futile struggle with unfeigned delight.
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