Chapter 71: The Black Gale and the Symphony of Agony
The Shattering of the Sanctuary
The atmosphere didn't just change; it disintegrated. The silver barrier that Rina and Diari had spent days fortifying cracked like fragile glass under the sudden, immense pressure of Malakor's 'Black Gale.' This wasn't a natural wind; it was a physical manifestation of ancient, concentrated hatred. The sky turned the color of bruised flesh before plunging into an absolute, suffocating obsidian. The wooden frame of the house groaned and splintered, the very foundation shaking as if the earth itself was trying to flee from the dark presence.
The Cruelty Inflicted on Elara
Malakor's strategy was as precise as it was sadistic. He went for the heart first—Rina's mother, Elara. From the swirling mists, a whip made of barbed shadows and liquid night coiled around her throat. It didn't just choke her; it burned. Elara was hoisted into the air, her feet dangling helplessly. Her face turned a terrifying shade of violet as she clawed at the invisible tether.
But the physical pain was only the beginning. The shadow-whip was laced with a 'Psychic Poison.' It forced Elara to relive every moment of grief, every year of her forced separation from Rina, all at once. Her muffled screams were thin, jagged sounds that tore through the room. Rina tried to move toward her, but the air had become as thick as tar, pinning her in place as she watched her mother wither in mid-air.
The Freezing of the Father and the Rotting of the Sage
In the far corner, the two demons manifested like stains on reality. One demon pinned Rina's father against the wall, not with a blade, but with claws of 'Eternal Frost.' He didn't bleed; he froze. Every breath he took felt like inhaling shards of ice. His skin turned porcelain white, and his eyes rolled back in excruciating agony as the demon whispered nightmares directly into his soul.
Elias, the pillar of their hope, faced a fate even more specialized. The second demon unleashed the 'Curse of a Thousand Ages.' Elias, who had lived for centuries, suddenly felt the true weight of every year. His spine curved under an invisible mountain of fatigue. His bones, once strong with magic, began to crack and crumble audibly. He fell to his knees, coughing up a thick, black ichor that stained the floor. His ancient staff—the source of his stability—snapped in two, its light snuffed out by the overwhelming gloom.
The Beating of the Silver Queen
For Rina, Malakor had reserved a special kind of brutality. He didn't use a weapon; he used gravity and malice. Invisible forces slammed into her like iron hammers, throwing her across the room. Her head struck the shattered floorboards, and the world spun in a blur of blood and dust. Her silver aura, once a beacon of hope, was now flickering like a dying candle.
Every time she tried to push herself up, a new wave of heavy shadow would crash down on her, grinding her face into the splinters of her own home. Malakor's voice echoed in her mind, a cold, grating hiss: "Look at them, little spark. Look at how they suffer because you dared to hope. Your light is nothing but a dinner bell for my darkness."
The Primal Agony of the Crimson King
Diari's reaction was a volcanic explosion of grief and rage. Seeing Rina bruised and her family tortured broke the last shackles of his restraint. His eyes didn't just glow; they bled a terrifying, molten crimson light. A roar that sounded more like a dying god than a man tore from his lungs. His aura expanded into a roaring furnace of blood-red flames, momentarily pushing back the black mist. He lunged at the demon holding Rina's father, his fists wreathed in a heat so intense it began to melt the stones of the fireplace.
But Malakor was waiting for this burst of emotion. Just as Diari was about to strike, the ground beneath him tore open. Massive, jagged chains forged from 'Accursed Iron' erupted from the abyss. They didn't just bind him; they burrowed into him. The links were lined with microscopic barbs that hooked into his muscles and veins. Each time Diari struggled, the chains pulled tighter, tearing his flesh and searing it with a cold, necrotic fire.
Diari fell to his knees, his muscles bulging and tearing against the links, his blood hissing as it hit the cursed metal. He was a king in chains, forced to watch his queen be systematically destroyed while his own life force was being drained by the very earth beneath him.
The room was a symphony of agony—the sound of breaking bones, the hiss of dark magic, and the desperate, gasping breaths of the broken. Malakor smiled from the shadows, savoring the flavor of their absolute despair.
Written by: Dlin_myth