Chapter 438: Did We Invite The Devil?
Seeing Cassius take that single step forward, the entire field changed.
A second ago, the mob had been laughing, sneering, taunting.
Now, silence. Pure, breathless silence, broken only by the quiet drip, drip of blood falling from Cassius’s hands.
They had come here brimming with arrogance, mocking him as a lunatic, an idiot boy talking to a fish. They had laughed, sneered, called him insane...But now?
Now they didn’t know what he was.
Madman? Monster? Demon?
Whatever he was, it wasn’t something that belonged to this world.
Because no normal human could tear another man apart with their bare hands like he had. Not so easily. Not so casually.
His eyes, those blood-red eyes, were cold and distant, not even filled with rage, but something far worse. Indifference. The kind of calm one only saw in those who didn’t see others as people at all, but as meat, objects.
That look alone was enough to make every hardened killer there feel a cold, primal terror sink into their bones. Their instincts screamed at them: run.
Run...Run and don’t look back.
And almost in perfect unison, their legs began to move on their own.
One after another, they stumbled backward, dropping their weapons, tripping over one another, desperately trying to flee.
"RUN!" One of them screamed, breaking the silence. "RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"
But the devil was always one step ahead.
A man at the very back, farthest from Cassius, turned around first, his mind filled with nothing but the desperate instinct to survive. He didn’t look back. He didn’t care if anyone followed. He just wanted to run.
But as he turned into the forest,
Cassius was there.
Standing right in front of him, blocking his path, smiling like he’d been waiting.
The man’s scream never left his throat.
Cassius’s hands shot forward, gripping his torso and thigh once again with that same effortless precision, and with a wet, snapping crack...he tore him in half.
Skkkrrchhhh!
The sound was sickening. Flesh, bone, and muscle split apart like paper, and the single half of the body fell to the ground with a heavy, nauseating thud.
Cassius held up the torso, his blood-soaked hands gleaming crimson in the light.
"What about this one, Mr. Fish?" He asked cheerfully. "Do you like this one?"
He paused, tilting his head as though listening.
"Oh, you don’t?" He said in mock disappointment. "Alright then. We’ll find another."
He tossed the body aside like trash and vanished again.
The next man barely had time to shout "No, please stop!" before Cassius was there, his grin widening as his fingers sank into flesh once again. A single pull, and another life was gone, split into two perfect halves, blood and organs raining down on the grass.
Cassius chuckled softly. "This one’s handsome too, don’t you think, Mr. Fish? A bit broad at the shoulders...Oh, you don’t like him either? Picky, picky."
Then he turned again, moving faster than eyes could follow, grabbing another screaming man and ripping him apart, blood spraying in arcs around him like ribbons.
He dropped the corpse with a wet thud.
And then he went for the next one.
And the next.
And the next.
It was no longer a fight. It was a massacre.
Men screamed and stumbled, some tried to flee, others swung their weapons in desperation, but it made no difference.
Cassius moved through them like a shadow given flesh, each movement smooth, precise, horrifyingly graceful. His hands tore, crushed, split, bones cracked, skulls burst, limbs flew through the air like broken branches.
Blood sprayed in arcs across the field, splattering the dirt, the trees, and even the horrified villagers standing frozen behind him.
The mob’s screams became a symphony of agony.
"STOP! STOP IT!" One of them shrieked. "PLEASE, NO MORE!"
"HELP ME! GOD—HELP ME!"
"RUN! RUN AWAY!"
But there was nowhere left to run.
Cassius hunted the ones who fled first, picking them off like insects, his laughter calm and casual, as though he were hosting a dinner party.
"Mr. Fish, you’re so picky. Look, this one has broad shoulders, no? Too plain?"
"Ah, you don’t like him either. Hm. Well, I suppose we’ll have to keep searching."
"Oh, come now, you can’t be that choosy! They’re all fresh!"
His voice was light, almost teasing, but his actions were monstrous.
Each time he found a new victim, another body was ripped apart, another shower of blood painted the grass.
The "smart" ones realized too late, he was targeting those who tried to run first. Their fear marked them as his prey.
He was killing systematically.
He always went for the ones who tried to escape first.
But by the time they noticed that pattern—half of them were already dead.
The survivors froze, trapped between running and waiting for death. Their minds screamed to move, but their bodies refused. They just stood there, trembling, watching as Cassius dismantled their comrades one by one.
The ground itself had turned slick with blood. The air shimmered with heat and iron and madness.
And yet, there was something almost mesmerizing about it.
The villagers, the old fishermen, even Nala herself, none of them could look away.
It was horror. Pure, unimaginable horror. But the way he moved, so smooth, so precise, so effortless, made it seem unreal. Like a dance.
Each time he tore through another man, the blood sprayed in graceful arcs. The sunset caught the droplets, turning them into streaks of red light.
It was monstrous, and yet, disturbingly beautiful.
Cassius looked as though he had been born from the blood itself.
He didn’t even breathe hard. Didn’t even blink.
And when it was finally over—only two were left.
Marcus, and one other young man, who had fallen to his knees, shaking so violently that his teeth clattered.
Around them lay nothing but carnage. Bodies ripped open, intestines strewn like ribbons, blood soaking into the soil.
Marcus stared at it all, eyes wide and unfocused.
He wanted to scream, but no sound came out. His mouth hung open, his throat dry.
He could feel warmth running down his leg. He looked down and realized, he’d pissed himself.
Every breath came out in short, shallow bursts as Cassius turned toward him, who was drenched in blood from head to toe, dripping red. His smile hadn’t changed, it was still gentle, almost kind, but now it looked like something from a nightmare.
He stepped closer, boots squelching against the blood-soaked ground and Marcus stumbled back, falling on his rear.
"S-Stop...please—stop...I’m begging you..." Marcus’s voice broke as he lifted a trembling hand.
Cassius said nothing.
"I-I’m sorry!" Marcus screamed, his words spilling out in a frantic rush. "I’m sorry for everything I said! For what I did to your wife! I was a fool! I didn’t mean it!"
Tears streamed down his face as he stammered on.
"Please! Forgive me! I’ll tell everyone in the other villages! I’ll tell them Nala has nothing to do with this! I swear it, I’ll make them stop! Just, please, please let me live!"
He was sobbing now, his voice breaking apart, but Cassius didn’t even look at him. His eyes drifted toward Nala instead, toward the half-fish she was still holding.
Then he pointed down at Marcus.
"What about this one, Mr. Fish?" He asked softly. "Do you like him?"
He paused, as if listening.
Then his face lit up with a cruel, delighted smile. "Oh? You do like him? Really? You think he’s the perfect candidate?"
Marcus’s stomach dropped. "W-Wait...wait, no..."
Cassius crouched down slightly, still smiling.
"You like him so much that you don’t want me to tear him apart quickly, right? You want me to do it slowly, carefully...so he stays nice and intact?"
He nodded thoughtfully. "Ah, I understand. Of course, Mr. Fish. You always did have refined taste."
"W-Wait, stop, please—!"
Marcus pleaded, but Cassius only stepped forward and placed one boot on Marcus’s stomach, pressing down lightly, pinning him to the ground.
He smiled faintly saying, "Sorry...Mr. Fish has taken quite a liking to you."
Marcus tried to scream—but it turned into a choked gasp as Cassius reached down, gripped his leg, and pulled.
Thwack! Tear! Splash!
A wet pop echoed through the silence as his leg tore clean off at the hip.
"AAAAAAGHHHH!! MY LEG! MY LEG!!" Marcus’s shriek shattered the dawn.
Blood spurted from the stump like a fountain, splattering across Cassius’s arm.
But Cassius didn’t even flinch and instead tilted his head slightly, his eyes glinting as he examined the severed leg.
"Hmm...not bad quality. Firm build. Mr. Fish might like this one."
Then, without warning—he grabbed the other leg.
"NO, PLEASE, PLEASE!!" Marcus screamed again.
But Cassius ripped it away just as easily as the first.
Tear! Splatter!
"AHHHHHHH! MY LEG! MY LEG! GAHHHHHH!"
Now Marcus was nothing but a torso, writhing in the dirt, blood pooling beneath him. His screams had turned into hysterical sobs.
And Cassius, calm, elegant, and merciless, lifted the two legs in his hands, one in each, blood dripping steadily onto the grass before throwing them aside like trash.
"Well now, Mr. Fish." Cassius said with an eerie calm, brushing a crimson smear from his cheek. "You’ve seen it all, haven’t you? The legs, gone clean off, just like you asked. That ought to make him perfect, hm?"
He tilted his head, listening, the faint popping of the fire echoing in the silence. Then he smiled, nodding, eyes gleaming with unhinged clarity.
"Ah, I see. Since you’re a fish, you wouldn’t know what it’s like to have arms, would you? You think they’re unnecessary. You want me to take those too? Well..." He gave a lazy thumbs-up, grin spreading wide, teeth flashing white against the blood. "...no big deal, Mr. Fish. No big deal at all."
He stepped closer to Marcus, whose ruined body twitched against the dirt, blood pooling beneath him.
"Please...no." Marcus whispered, his voice rasping like dry leaves. "Leave my arms. They’re all I have left..."
But Cassius didn’t hear, or pretended not to. He crouched, grasped Marcus’s left wrist. His fingers dug in, nails biting, then he twisted.
Pop! Chrrk!
There was a wet crunch, the snap of bone, the sickening tear of sinew as he wrenched the arm free. The sound rolled through the square like thunder.
Every villager still standing gasped or screamed, some retching, others covering their mouths as the arm landed with a fleshy thud.
Cassius then straightened, blood dripping from his hands, then reached for the right arm. Marcus thrashed weakly, his scream a hollow sob.
"No, no, please, please—AHHHHHHHHH!"
But it did nothing, as Cassius tore again, another crack, rip, splash, and tossed the limb aside, breathing deep, savoring the smell of iron and death.
Now Marcus was nothing but a head and torso, his chest heaving, blood bubbling from the stumps.
"There, Mr. Fish!" Cassius dusted his palms together as if finishing a chore. "He’s even more streamlined now, just like you."
He tilted his ear again, mock-listening to some imagined whisper.
"Oh? You think I forgot something?" His eyes widened with theatrical realization. "Oh, you’re right! I took the two legs, but there’s still a third one, right there in front!"
Marcus’s eyes went wide with primal terror. He tried to curl away, but Cassius’s hands were already on him, clawlike, digging into the soft flesh of his groin.
The villagers could only watch, frozen in disbelief and dread, as Cassius grinned and ripped. The sound, wet, tearing, obscene, echoed through the square, and Marcus’s scream tore through the night, high and broken, before dissolving into choked sobs.
"AHHHHHHH! NOOOOOOO! NOT THAT! GYAAAA!"
Men in the crowd clutched themselves, some collapsing to their knees, faces twisted in shared pain.
A few turned away, unable to watch as Cassius hurled the bloody thing aside with a look of disgust on his face, showing the first look of repulsion during the whole massacre, almost as touching that was the only thing that bothered him.
"There we are." He said lightly, wiping his hands on his ruined shirt. "Now he’s perfect. Don’t you think so, Mr. Fish?"
He bent again, ear angled toward the bucket. A pause, then a laugh.
"What’s that? You want the head gone too?"
His eyes flicked to Marcus’s trembling face, where tears and blood mingled down his cheeks. Hearing this, Marcus’s eyes also darted wildly and his mouth opened and shut, but only a hoarse rasp came out.
Cassius then went on to say as if he was puzzled by what the Mr. Fish had said.
"But Mr. Fish." He said softly, crouching again. "Without a head you won’t see anything. You won’t be able to do a thing with it. What use would it be?"
He paused, nodded slowly as though receiving another quiet revelation.
"Ah...I see. You think it’s too ugly. You don’t want a head like this on your fine new body. That’s it, isn’t it? You’d rather live without one than wear this face."
He chuckled lowly, shaking his head.
"Oh, you’re also loyal, Mr. Fish. Loyal to the end. You remember, don’t you? The things he said about my wife."
His tone hardened just slightly, something bitter curling beneath the smile.
"To insult her, of all people...and now you’re telling me you don’t want even his mouth? You’d rather be silent forever than carry that filth?"
"Ah, Mr. Fish, you’re a true friend." He clasped a bloody hand over his heart, eyes shining with manic gratitude. "To think you’d sacrifice even that for her honor...I’m blessed to have met someone like you."
The villagers stood frozen, horror locking their limbs. They knew that he really wasn’t talking to the fish and was talking to himself like a madman, but no one dares to point it out in the moment and break the friendship he had with a dead fish at the risk of getting torn apart.
Cassius then looked down again, his shadow stretching over Marcus’s mutilated body.
"Just one more thing." He said in a near whisper, a cruel smile spreading slowly across his blood-spattered face. "One more tug, and you’ll be perfect."
He bent low, fingers threading through Marcus’s hair, gripping the skull like a handle, while Marcus sobbed weakly, the sound gurgling through his ruined throat.
"Please...please, no...anything but that..."
"Shh. It’ll be quick. Just relax, I’ll make it painless."
Cassius’s voice softened, almost soothing, as he tightened his grip and the villagers could barely watch. His arms flexed, muscles corded, and with a steady twist—
Kachuk!
—the neck bones gave way, tearing through what little flesh still held them.
The head came free, red strings snapping as it separated. For a moment Cassius held it up before him, staring into the dead eyes frozen in horror, the mouth still twisted in a final silent plea.
He studied it with detached curiosity, as though trying to puzzle out the nature of a foolish creature that had dared to offend him. Then he exhaled sharply and tossed the head aside.
It rolled across the dirt, bumping to a stop against a villager’s foot, spattering their trousers with blood and in response, the man staggered back, sobbing, as if the head itself might still bite him.
And that immediately broke the spell.
The people screamed, some running, others falling to their knees.
What had once been a celebration square was now a slaughter pit, bodies strewn across the mud, limbs and viscera glistening like butcher’s scraps.
And Cassius stood among them, blood dripping from his elbows, his fine clothes clinging wetly to his skin, chunks of flesh tangled in his hair. His shoes squelched in the mess as he took a slow breath and looked around.
Calm. Smiling. Proud.
He flexed his fingers, admiring the streaks of crimson that caught the torchlight. To him, it looked like art, a masterpiece painted in heat and fear. But around him, the villagers shook and whispered prayers, unable to meet his gaze.
The man they had that they knew—Nala’s rich hansome, charming, kind suitor was gone. In his place stood something else, something older and colder, with eyes that reflected no humanity at all.
And they couldn’t help but wonder if they had actually invited the devil into their village and wondered if they should really give away their Nala to someone as terrifying as him...