57. Revenge isn't That Sweet
Moon and Kai sat in silence, waiting for Ruok to regain consciousness. They had already positioned him perfectly—restrained, helpless.
Two hours had passed since the last echo of chaos faded.
The underground chamber, dimly lit by flickering plasma orbs embedded in the stone ceiling, had grown eerily silent. Dust hung heavy in the air. The blood stains near the far wall had already started to dry.
Then—
A shallow breath. A twitch of fingers.
Ruok's eyes fluttered open.
His vision was blurry at first, colors bleeding into one another like a broken screen. But clarity came fast—and with it, dread.
Just one inch from his face hovered the tip of a spear. Its blade was obsidian-black, but swirled with organic streaks of muddy brown—like dried blood infused into metal. The aura it gave off wasn't ordinary. It was alive. Watching. Hungry.
He gasped, but even the air caught in his throat as he tilted his head up.
Two figures stood over him like gods of judgment.
Moon's glowing green eyes bore down on him like a beast barely restrained. They weren't just glowing—they pulsed softly, like a heartbeat made of emerald fire. His expression was carved from stone.
Beside him stood Kai, hands clasped behind his back, his piercing blue eyes glinting with a chilling sharpness that could cut through steel. His aura didn't rage—it suffocated, refined and surgical. The air around them shimmered subtly from the immense pressure.
Ruok's survival instincts screamed.
He scrambled to speak, his voice cracking, body trembling like a soaked animal. "H-Hey… please… I'm sorry," he blurted out, his palms raised defensively as if that could shield him from divine wrath. "I-I must've been crazy. Just let me go! I swear on my mother—I'll never kidnap or hurt anyone again!"
Kai didn't blink. Moon didn't even twitch.
Only the spear moved—lowered slightly, just enough to remind Ruok that a twitch in the wrong direction could be fatal.
Then Moon took a single step forward.
It echoed. Just one step—but it rang louder than a scream.
And then he spoke.
"Sign the contract. Now."
The tone made Ruok freeze mid-breath. This wasn't the same Moon who had cracked jokes with waitresses or argued over ramen toppings. This voice… was ice forged in silence. No anger. No mercy. Just inevitability.
Ruok's hands shook as he looked to his side—there, hovering in the air due to a projected hologram, was a mercenary contract. The terms were clear.
Ruok's lips quivered. "W-What happens if I don't—?"
"You don't get to ask questions," Kai said, finally speaking.
His voice was light, almost amused—but laced with such terrifying intelligence that it made Ruok want to crawl into himself.
Ruok glanced down. It was a standard hunting liability waiver—the one that stated no party could be blamed if someone was injured or killed during a hunt.
He shook his head rapidly. "No… I can't—please don't make me."
His eyes welled with tears, sweat poured down his face. His body trembled like a candle about to burn out.
Moon's leg moved—a sharp kick headed straight for Ruok's throat.
But Kai stepped in, stopping the strike with one hand.
"If you want to go to jail for murder," Kai said flatly, "go ahead."
Moon froze.
Ruok, seeing the hesitation, suddenly gained a bit of boldness.
He laughed shakily. "Screw you both. I'm not signing anything."
Kai calmly closed his eyes.
Within seconds, Ruok's chest tightened—an unbearable pain slammed into his heart like a hammer pounding a nail. He collapsed, screaming, tears and mucus mixing as he clutched his chest.
Kai walked up, grabbed a fistful of Ruok's reddish hair, and whispered in his ear:
"Listen, worm. I've injected a small portion of my awakened elemental water into your bloodstream. It's bonded to your heart. The longer you resist, the more it'll feel like you're dying from the inside."
Ruok, choking on the pain, quickly scribbled his signature.
Moon and Kai exchanged devilish smiles.
"Good," Kai said smoothly. "Now come with us—outside the base. Walk like you're one of us, or the pain will return."
Ruok had no choice.
The path ahead was fire. Behind him, a cliff. He obeyed.
Moon and Kai walked beside him like old friends. Their posture and tone casual—just enough for the CCTV to record them as allies. It had to look like Ruok left willingly.
Fifteen minutes later.
Nightfall. Somewhere in the Expanse.
Ruok's body was barely recognizable—tied upright to a jagged black rock, arms splayed, ankles chained. His fingers twitched erratically, blood dripping from where every single nail—hands and feet—had been ripped clean off. His screams had echoed into the void hours ago, unanswered.
Now, only ragged sobs remained. A pathetic rhythm of pain.
But the void wasn't empty.
Footsteps.
Moon emerged from the shadows, his figure outlined by the flicker of dying flame orbs nearby. His black cloak fluttered slightly behind him, silent as smoke. In his hand, he held a dagger—not ornate, not flashy. It was worn. Well-used. Familiar.
He stopped just a few feet from Ruok, crouching to eye level.
His face was unreadable. No hatred. No fury.
Only silence.
"Remember that day?" he whispered, eyes locked on Ruok's.
"The way you laughed? How you clapped your hands when I screamed?"
Ruok's eyes widened in panic, already pleading before words could form. But Moon didn't wait.
SHLKT.
The dagger slid across Ruok's right thigh—clean, shallow, but intentional. Blood bubbled up instantly, warm against cold air. Ruok screamed.
"Please—please! I didn't mean—!"
Moon didn't even blink.
Instead, he pressed a knee into Ruok's chest and began.
Skinning.
Not wild, not erratic. He worked with the focus of a surgeon, cutting small incisions, peeling the skin from muscle in strips no wider than two fingers. The blade barely wavered. It was horrifyingly gentle.
Ruok bucked and twisted, but the bindings held. Every twitch only made it worse. Every scream tore his throat further.
Time passed.
Minutes bled into hours.
And by the time dawn broke, the entire lower half of Ruok's body had been stripped raw—skinless, red, glistening. Blood had pooled so thick beneath him it looked like a crimson shadow. His breath was shallow. His voice was broken. His sanity was fraying.
Moon stood silently, his hands covered in blood, eyes unmoved.
Then—CRACK!
His fist slammed into Ruok's jaw with monstrous force. The sound was sickening, wet and sharp. Bone shattered. Teeth spilled to the side.
Ruok's head slumped—unconscious.
That was when Kai appeared.
Dressed in white, flawless and calm, he stepped beside the carnage. His expression held no pity. No disgust. Only calculation.
Kai placed his palm on Ruok's chest.
And then—he began manually pumping his heart.
With casual precision, he stimulated each beat, keeping the man barely alive.
Ruok woke again.
And his scream—this time—wasn't human.
Moon didn't say a word. He simply picked up the dagger again. Walked to the other side. And dragged the blade across Ruok's belly in a single clean line.
Blood poured. And then—
He reached inside.
And pulled.
Inches of intestines unraveled from Ruok's gut, loop after loop, as if coiling out like cursed ribbons. Moon was slow. Cruel. His hands steady.
Ruok screamed until his throat gave out—until the only sound left was the wheezing rasp of pain too deep for words.
It went on. All night.
By the time the second sun began to rise, Ruok was dead. Finally.
Not from the blood loss. Not from the pain.
But from the despair of dying slower than a soul could comprehend.
---
Afterward.
Moon and Kai stood over the mangled body. Neither said a word.
Then, in perfect unison, they raised their hands—and summoned their Tauras Echoes.
A vortex of growls and snarls filled the air. Beast-type echoes—scaled, clawed, horned, and fanged—manifested in a circle.
Moon gave the command:
> "Tear his body apart until it looks like he was devoured by thousand wild animals."
The Echoes didn't hesitate. They pounced, ripping, gnashing, swallowing.
Within minutes, the body was nothing but pulp and marrow.
Blood painted the rock. Bits of flesh were hurled meters away. There wasn't enough left to bury.
---
Later.
The fire had died down. The sky was quiet again.
Moon and Kai sat on a ridge overlooking the gorge below, their legs dangling over the edge like two kids watching a river.
Moon's dagger was clean. His eyes were closed.
"It didn't feel as satisfying as I thought it would," he finally said, voice barely above a whisper.
Kai didn't look at him.
He simply smiled faintly.
"Because your only purpose… had become revenge," he murmured. "Now that it's over, you're just a vessel. Hollow."
Moon didn't reply.
But the wind moved through the silence.
And in that stillness—grief echoed louder than Ruok's final scream ever could.
To be continued…