Chapter 160: Heartless

The figure that had exploded through the wall lay crumpled in a heap of rubble and blood, his chest cavity was torn open like something had reached inside and ripped out its most vital organ.

A massive, ragged hole gaped where the heart should have been. It edges were cruelly… cauterized as if plucked by burning fingers , ribs splayed outward in a grotesque parody of a flower in bloom.

Blood pooled beneath the corpse in rivers of thick and viscus crimson liquid. Spreading outwards slowly and steaming faintly in the night air.

The man’s internal organs glistened wetly in the moonlight. It was a horror show of anatomy.

Most of the rib cage was broken and the severed vessels dangled like cut rope, still dripping the last of his life onto unforgiving marble.

But it was the face that would haunt Ishiki’s nightmares for years to come.

The man’s features were frozen in the final instant of life and his eyes bulged out so far from their sockets they seemed ready to burst free entirely.

His pupils had dilated to abyssal voids, swallowing all light and reflecting only the terrible comprehension of what had been done to him.

One of his hand was outstretched, fingers curled into claws as if trying to grasp something—life, perhaps, or simply one more second of existence. The nails were torn and bloody, having scraped futilely against stone in those last moments.

His cheeks had hollowed grotesquely, as if death had sucked the substance from within, leaving only a mask of terror stretched over bone.

Ishiki stood frozen, every muscle in his body was locked rigid, his stomach was acting to the scene and he had the most powerful urge to puke he ever had in his life.

Beside him, Filch had gone utterly still.

“Well now,” a voice resonated from above, deep and laced with sardonic amusement that made Ishiki’s skin crawl. “Looks like someone finally took my advice about getting to the heart of the matter. Though I must say, he seems rather heartbroken about it. Or should I say… heartless?”

The words jolted them like a physical blow. Ishiki’s blood turned to ice…

An invisible force gripped Ishiki’s heart—as if colossal fingers encircled the organ within his chest, poised to crush it the moment he twitched. He couldn’t breathe.

he turned his head millimeter by millimeter, dread coiling in his gut like serpents.

The sensation was overwhelming, paralyzing and more effective than any chains or bonds.

’If I move,’ Ishiki’s mind screamed in panic, ’it will crush my heart. One wrong motion and I’m dead.’

Beside him, Filch seemed to be experiencing the same invisible restraint… his eyes were wide and his long burgundy hair had come undone, now plastered over his face.

The dragon hovered between them, four wings beating languidly to maintain its lofty position, utterly silent in its approach.

’When did it get here?’ Ishiki’s thoughts raced. ’I didn’t hear anything or even sense anything. It just… appeared.’

In one of his taloned hand dangled a massive man—easily twice Ishiki’s size, a colossus of muscle and bone reduced to a struggling ragdoll in the dragon’s effortless grip. The man’s face had gone purple, veins bulging at temple and throat as he clawed futilely at the fingers crushing his windpipe.

In the other hand, he held a woman who was twisted and writhed, legs kicking empty air, and hands scrabbling for purchase that didn’t exist. Her violet eyes were wide with terror.

The massive man convulsed once, a violent full-body spasm of final resistance. His hands fell away from the dragon’s grip going slack and his eyes rolled back to show only whites. Then he went completely limp, head lolling at an unnatural angle, tongue protruding slightly from lips.

The dragon glanced at the corpse with theatrical disappointment, like a child examining a broken toy.

“How unfortunate,” it said with exaggerated sorrow. “This one couldn’t even play a game correctly. No sense of humor whatsoever!”

With casual disdain, the dragon hurled the body aside. It sailed through the air like discarded refuse, crashing into a nearby wall with bone-crunching force before sliding to the ground in a boneless heap.

The woman screamed… a piercing sound cut short as the dragon’s grip tightened. She twisted in its grasp, eyes locking onto Ishiki’s with desperation. “Help… help me…”

The plea struck Ishiki like a physical blow. ’I can’t,’ he thought desperately. ’I can’t even move.’

Behind the dragon… debris from the collapsed house shuddered and then reshaped themselves. Stone and rubble fused, elongating into a massive pillar that was straight as a spear with its edge honed sharp as a javelin.

It launched silently, propelled by raw earthen force, slamming into the dragon’s back.

The impact was thunderous. The pillar’s tip punched clean through one lower wing, membrane tearing with a wet rip. Golden ichor sprayed as the wing sagged awkwardly mid-beat.

The dragon’s golden eyes flicked downward, annoyance flashing across its perfect features.

In that split-second distraction, more debris stirred beneath it. A low wall erupted from the street, slamming upward into the hand clutching the woman and then smashing into it with a jarring force.

The dragon’s fingers spasmed open. The woman plummeted free, hitting the ground hard but alive, scrambling backward on hands and heels.

Filch, who was already on ground… made another attempt using his skill and more debris responded to his will. Walls surged upward around the dragon like slabs of stone interlocking seamlessly into a cage.

They sealed the dragon within in the span of a heartbeat—a prison forged from the very destruction the creature had wrought.

The burgundy-haired young man darted forward, one hand outstretched toward the fallen woman, the other pressed flat against the rubble-strewn street.

For a single, impossible second, hope flickered in Ishiki’s chest.

Then the dragon flexed.

The cage exploded. Stone pulverized into fragments and dust in an instant. The dragon stood amid the ruins of Filch’s construction, entirely unharmed save for the injured wing, which was already beginning to regenerate.

Its gaze swept the street.

Filch froze. Then, with visible effort, he wrenched himself backward, stumbling several steps away from the dragon, chest heaving.

The dragon descended gracefully despite the damaged wing, landing on the street with barely a sound.

The woman lay mere feet away, still scrambling backward, fingers scraping desperately against stone.

The dragon took one deliberate step forward.

Then kicked.

The woman’s head exploded like ripe fruit, skull fragmenting into countless pieces as brain matter erupted in a crimson spray that painted the street and nearby rubble.

Her body convulsed once then went utterly still, neck ending in a ragged stump from which blood pooled in expanding circles.

The dragon looked down at its foot, now splattered with gore and bone fragments, and made a show of scraping it clean against the marble street like one might clean mud from a boot.

“How inconvenient,” it said with mild irritation. “I really should be more careful about making a mess.”

Then it turned its full attention to Filch, and smiled.

“You,” the dragon said. “You are a great young man who is talented and resourceful. That skill of yours is quite impressive, really. Few humans could have managed what you just did.”

“These fools,” it gestured casually at the scattered corpses littering the street, “didn’t accept my generous offers. One after another, they chose death over service. Such a waste of potential.” The golden eyes fixed on Filch with burning intensity. “So let me extend the same courtesy to you.”

The dragon’s smile widened.

“Would you like to work with me?”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep