Chapter 203: Dinner: The elven feast

"No... NOOOOOOOO!" Serandor screamed, his voice cracking with panic as he let go of the Arrow.

The sacred projectile burst forth with an explosive howl, moving faster than sound, flames raging from every angle like a meteor of divine wrath. The air distorted around it, heat shimmering violently.

But just as it reached Mikael—mere inches from impact with his back—

Crack

Catch.

With a casual flick of his wrist, Mikael twisted his hand backward in a creepy way and caught the burning arrow mid-flight without even looking at it.

He stared at it, unimpressed, as if it were some stupid kid’s toy.

"Hmm...? This is interesting, I can’t feel the heat as well." Mikael muttered, inspecting the sacred arrow of Juliana like it was a dull stone.

Serandor’s legs buckled slightly.

"W-W-What kind of c-creature are y-you...?" he stammered, eyes wide with absolute terror. Sweat poured from his forehead, and he instinctively stepped back, his bow trembling in his hands.

Mikael raised his head slowly. His expression twisted—not in amusement, but in pure disdain. "I’m not a creature." His tone dropped, his voice laced with fury. "My name is Mikael."

He began walking toward Serandor—slow, deliberate steps that made the ground feel heavier with each one.

Serandor’s breath hitched. "N-No... Stay away from me! S-Stay away!"

His fingers scrambled for control as he tried to draw his bow again and chant a teleportation spell, last desperate attempt to escape. But before he could even release the string—

Stab.

The very same arrow—his arrow—pierced straight through his palm and fingers. Mikael drove it in, locking Serandor’s hand to the bowstring.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Serandor screamed, voice echoing across the checkpost. Blood erupted from his palm, the arrow burning it from within. The pain was unbearable—like his nerves were on fire, his bones melting under divine heat.

From behind, the elf soldiers could only stare—frozen. Not one of them dared move. Not one of them breathed too loudly. All they could do was watch in horror as their prince writhed in pain.

Mikael leaned in close, his face emotionless, eyes glowing faintly.

"I said I’m not a creature," he whispered coldly. "Don’t ever call me a fucking creature again. My name... is Mikael. Understand that, you fucking elf ?"

Serandor’s entire body trembled. He couldn’t even scream anymore.

"I-I-I understand... M-Mikael..." he choked out, tears mixing with blood on his face.

"Good."

Without another word, Mikael raised his arm to chest level, his fingers stiffening like claws.

And then—

STAB.

CRACK.

He drove his hand straight through Serandor’s armor. Not a punch. Not a blow. Just his hand—piercing metal, flesh, and bone like paper.

"Gwahhh—!" Serandor gagged, spitting out blood as his eyes rolled back. His ribs shattered under the force. Mikael’s fingers wrapped around his beating heart.

"You will not kill the Lopez family," Mikael said calmly. "Only I will. I am the only one who will kill them."

Pull.

"W-Wha—"

Before Serandor could even finish the sentence, Mikael tore his heart out with a savage yank. The elf prince’s body slumped to the ground, lifeless, collapsing with a dull thud.

Mikael raised the still-beating heart, glowing with fading life essence.

He placed it into his mouth.

*Munch-Munch-Munch*

"Mnnnhhh~ Very delicious meat," he growled with a sick smile. Blood coated his lips as he lifted his foot and stomped down on Serandor’s corpse.

CRACK.

His boot shattered the elf’s skull—crushing the lower half of his face into a grotesque pulp.

Then, with animalistic glee, he reached down, ripped open the top of the skull, and pulled the brain out, chewing it like a delicacy.

The remaining soldiers stood paralyzed. Fear rooted them in place. Their hands shook. Some soiled themselves. And without a single word, they began to run—not scream, not shout—just run.

Silently, desperately, like prey escaping a predator.

But as they neared the checkpost’s exit—

Alfon appeared, flanked by his own troops.

"What the hell is happening here? Where is Serandor? Why are you running?!" he barked at the approaching elves.

One of the healers tripped forward. His face was pale, eyes hollow.

"S-Sir... Serandor is dead..." he whimpered.

"What?! Is the human army still inside?!" Alfon demanded, rushing to the healer.

"I-I have to run... I have to run..." the healer stammered, wide-eyed with panic. He shoved past Alfon and bolted in the opposite direction.

"What the—?! Catch him!" Alfon barked.

His guards surged forward, tackling the panicked healer. He kicked and flailed like a madman.

"No—no! You don’t understand! He’s a MONSTER! Please—I have a family—"

BITE.

In the blink of an eye, Mikael appeared behind him.

His maw opened unnaturally wide and clamped down on the healer’s neck with terrifying force. One bite—and half his neck was gone.

The crack of bone. The gush of blood. The healer died in a twitching mess, his body collapsing like a puppet with cut strings.

The blood splattered onto the surrounding soldiers—painting their faces, their armor. They staggered back in horror.

Alfon’s eyes locked onto Mikael.

"What in the bloody fucking hell are you...?" he growled.

Mikael didn’t answer. He simply kept chewing—tearing into the healer’s corpse like a starving beast, gnawing on organs, snapping bones between his teeth.

"Sir... should we kill him?" one of the soldiers whispered, trembling as he took aim.

"No." Alfon’s voice was cold. "Step aside. I want to see him... up close."

"B-But sir—"

"Step. Aside."

"Y-Yes, sir." The soldiers obeyed, reluctantly stepping back but keeping their arrows nocked.

Alfon walked forward, kneeling beside the horrifying sight. Mikael was elbow-deep in the elf’s chest, pulling out intestines and chewing them like ropes of meat.

"Do you have any idea what you’ve done... you stupid human?" Alfon asked, his voice low and sharp.

Munch. Munch. Munch.

Mikael didn’t respond.

Swish.

Alfon raised his holy sword, pointing it at Mikael’s heart.

"You have a heart, don’t you? Let’s see how you—"

STAB.

Without warning, Mikael grabbed the sword with both hands... and shoved it into his own chest.

The blade plunged straight through—front to back.

"Wha—what?!" Alfon stumbled back, eyes wide with shock.

"Nothing... useless," Mikael muttered, pulling the blade out casually.

SSSSSSHHHHH.

The wound sealed shut instantly, his body regenerating like clay reshaped by unseen hands.

He exhaled slowly.

"Fuuuuuuuuu~" A long breath escaped his mouth, releasing a hot plume of steam like a dragon awakening from slumber.

Alfon stood and backed away.

The truth was clear now—Serandor was dead, and this thing in front of him was no man.

’What is he...? He looks human, but acts like a demon. No—no, even demons have rules. This thing is... chaos made out of flesh.’

He gritted his teeth.

’I have to escape. To do that, I must sacrifice the soldiers.’

---

Mikael stood up, licking the blood from his fingers.

"Kekekeke... Elven meat is divine. So tender, so sweet. I might get addicted..."

He grinned.

"But now... I want to eat a female."

A cold wind blew through the ranks. Every elf soldier felt it—a freezing chill down their spines. Some dropped their weapons in fear.

"What do you want?" Alfon asked, forcing composure. "I’m the prince of the Elf Kingdom. I can give you anything with just a flick of my fingers."

Mikael looked at him and laughed.

"You speak big words for food." His voice was cold and condescending.

"But can’t you see? There’s nothing you can offer. All of you are mine. Tonight, I’ll feast. Then I’ll sleep."

Alfon’s disgust twisted into rage.

"You’re fucking sick. I’ll kill you tonight."

But inside, he was screaming: ’I need to get out. I can’t keep this bluff up much longer.’

Mikael’s eyes gleamed.

"You have guts. I’ll pull them out—slowly."

He paused.

"But... I’m not heartless. I’ll give you all one chance to survive."

He turned to the soldiers.

"Run. I’ll hunt you. Maybe... some of you will live."

He grinned.

"Kekekeke..."

The soldiers broke. No command. No hesitation. Just pure panic.

They turned and bolted in every direction.

Swish.

But before the second step—they froze.

Red lines slashed across their legs—clean, precise.

Then—collapse.

Every one of them dropped as their legs separated from their bodies.

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

"MY LEGS!"

"PLEASE DON’T KILL ME!"

"I CAN’T FEEL MY—AGHHHHHH!"

The snow turned crimson as their blood soaked into the ground. Their screams echoed across the mountains, sharp and desperate.

Some tried to crawl away with just their arms, dragging bloodied stumps behind them.

"Still crawling? Like worms? Hah... They aren’t even making as much sound, just like the humans did." Mikael said, watching with amusement.

"Now... what was that about killing me?"

Alfon clenched his fists.

"SOLDIERS! ATTACK HIM! KILL HIM!"

"YES, SIR!" The archers fired instantly, releasing a hailstorm of magical arrows.

Mikael looked at them—and smiled.

He turned to face the volley—

And closed his eyes.

STAB-STAB-STAB-STAB-STAB-STAB.

The arrows sank into his body. Again. And again.

Still standing.

"Hmm...? Is that all you—"

He stopped.

Alfon was gone.

"Ah... He ran?" Mikael muttered, licking blood from his lips. "Well... time to eat."

He strolled toward one of the surviving soldiers.

Without a sound, he shoved all five fingers into the man’s chest.

"N-No—No—NOOOOOO!" the elf screamed.

"Yes."

RIIIIIP.

The chest split apart like wet paper. Mikael pulled out the heart and devoured it instantly.

Then, he looked toward a nearby female soldier.

"You..." he said with a wide, bloody grin.

"Fuck... no." she whispered.

Thud.

She dropped her bow and ran.

She glanced back—he was still standing there. Smiling.

She turned again, heart pounding—only to feel a sudden sharpness in her chest.

Stab.

She looked up.

Mikael was in front of her.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked softly.

And ripped her heart out in one swift motion.

THUD.

Nom-nom.

He began to eat her heart.