"Kid, it's not what you think."
Though fully exposed and desperate, the old woman still managed to maintain a veneer of dignity. The kindness on her face was once again a mask, barely covering the ugliness underneath.
She had decided the moment she heard footsteps—no matter what happened, she would keep pretending to the end.
The life of a Celestial Dragon, after all, was sacred. It couldn't be wasted on a mongrel from the lower classes, especially if it meant sacrificing her innocent daughter.
"Yes, yes, I am your aunt. She is your grandmother—your true blood."
The woman, once so unrestrained in her behavior, now shifted completely. Her reckless demeanor dissolved into sudden warmth and understanding. She had instantly joined her calculating mother's charade, clinging to the idea of family as her last line of defense.
But the mask had already been torn away. Now she glanced at the old woman, her eyes full of uncertainty, waiting for a cue on how to respond.
"Yes, what do you mean…" she muttered, forcing a tone of concern.
They were committed to the performance now, these two. Intent on seeing their little family drama through to the end. Determined to never show their true selves unless forced.
They would grovel, flatter, and lie until their final breath—anything to survive.
Ignyr, too, shifted his expression. His cold gaze softened slightly. The atmosphere in the room warmed just enough to plant a sliver of hope.
"We…"
His face, until now as unreadable as a statue, suddenly became approachable—inviting even.
The woman hesitated. She didn't understand the change, but a desperate hope flickered inside her. Perhaps he would spare them. Perhaps mercy still lingered.
"Of course," the old woman said smoothly. "Let go of your hatred. Come back to your family."
Stripped bare, she no longer clung to pride or the dignity of a Celestial Dragon. She resorted to the only thing she had left—manipulation. She wove honeyed lies with practiced ease, covering her desperation with the prettiest words.
Behind it all was a single truth: fear. Greed for life. And a pathetic reliance on blood ties to beg for survival.
"The Draco family," Ignyr said, voice dripping with disdain, "is truly rich—in hearts that master every emotion like a stage play."
From the moment he entered, they'd shifted from familial sorrow to flattery with flawless timing. The performance was perfect.
It made him sick.
Not just them—everything. The whole world.
From childhood to now, betrayal and cruelty had surrounded him. His contempt for human nature had only deepened, and he believed one thing with certainty: only power and interest were eternal.
"Part of you represents pure evil. The rest, pure hypocrisy," he said coldly. "A clear division of labor."
Every word struck like a knife, but Ignyr knew these words couldn't pierce the thick hide of celestial dragon's pride.
He glanced around. This room stank of their rotted legacy.
Ten minutes. That's all he had spent here.
Ten precious minutes of vengeance wasted on their performance.
The game was almost over. It was time to finish what he came for.
"Look at your beloved kin," he said. "Release!"
Dark energy pulsed violently from his hand, swirling outward until it exploded into a vortex of blackness. From within the void, a figure emerged—one they all recognized instantly.
Disheveled, panicked, and broken, the Draco Patriarch was dragged into the light.
The architect of tyranny. The one who had bathed in supremacy. The man who had orchestrated countless horrors.
Now, he lay on the ground, eyes wide in terror. His head whipped around frantically. When he spotted his wife and daughter, the mask of dominance shattered. Tears sprang to his eyes.
"A-ah! Yes—!"
But when he turned and saw Ignyr standing before him, a scream caught in his throat. Panic took over. He scrambled backward, limbs flailing to escape the nightmare before him.
His mouth opened, but no coherent words came. Just guttural gasps.
The blackness swelled again.
The mother and daughter surged forward, their instincts kicking in like animals protecting their own.
But before they could reach him, the patriarch vanished—swallowed again by the swirling black hole.
"No!!!"
They cried out as one, clawing at empty air where he had just stood, as if denial alone could bring him back.
In that instant, all pretenses crumbled. No matter how proud or refined they'd once acted, blood ties remained.
Even the vilest hearts weren't immune to family.
The two women turned to Ignyr, faces twisted with hatred. The anger in their eyes blazed like wildfire.
"You bastard, give him back!" the daughter shrieked.
The elegant, dignified woman was gone. In her place stood a wild, raging beast—hair in disarray, dress torn, eyes burning with madness.
She lunged like an animal, nails gleaming with gold, teeth bared.
Even one scratch—just one—might ease the pain in her heart.
"Good," Ignyr said calmly. "That's the face I've been waiting for."
He met her fury with a serene smile, satisfied at last to see her true nature.
Before she could reach him, a sickening crunch rang out.
With a single kick, Ignyr launched her backward. Her body slammed into the wall and crumpled to the floor.
Dead on impact.
Her chest had caved in from the blow. Bone shattered inward. A grotesque footprint was left pressed into her flesh, clothes and skin torn as one.
"What have you done?!"
The old woman—let out a broken cry as she crawled across the floor, dragging her withered body toward her daughter's lifeless form.
She collapsed over the corpse, wracked with sobs.
"You killed my husband. You killed my son and daughter. Curse you! I'll wait for you in hell!"
Gone was the noble matron. Her face, once painted to perfection, had cracked and crumbled. Her mouth opened in rage, revealing yellowed teeth. She looked like a twisted ghost—something that should not belong in the realm of the living.
Ignyr said nothing for a moment, watching her carefully.
The hatred in her words didn't wound him. It only confirmed what he already believed.
"I've long lived under the curse of hatred," he whispered.
And then, he turned away.