Chapter 112 - The Bloody Massacre (Finale)

**WARNING:THIS Chapter CONTAINS VIOLENCE AND GORE WHICH MAY SOME PEOPLE FIND DISTURBING, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED**

The heavy iron door of the abandoned church creaked—then exploded inward with a violent

bang

, splinters of rotting wood scattering into the dimly lit nave like shrapnel. Moonlight spilled in through the shattered entrance, casting long shadows across the desecrated altar and cracked stone floor.

Inside, dozens of cloaked cultists turned toward the sound, their torches flickering in the sudden draft. A moment of silence followed, like the air itself had paused in anticipation.

Then, one of them chuckled. Another burst into a cackling snort. The tension snapped—and cruel laughter echoed off the moldy stone walls, growing louder and more twisted by the second.

"Ejiejijieieiejei! Ahahahahahaha!"

"Ohhh nooo, what’s this?! A little brat came to play the hero?" one sneered, his skeletal grin stretched wide.

"Aren’t we supposed to be scared now?" a woman added, mockingly holding up her hands. "Ohhh, I’m trembling!"

Their jeers crescendoed into howls of mockery. But Luca stood unfazed in the doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight, his twin sabers resting at his side. His eyes gleamed—cold, sharp, and brimming with fury. His voice cut through the laughter like a blade of ice.

"Hand her over right now,"

he said, his tone low, unshaking, and devoid of mercy,

"and I will give you a normal death."

That only made the laughter louder. The cultists doubled over, slapping their knees, guffawing as if they had just heard the funniest joke of their lives.

The innkeeper woman stepped forward, holding a small, trembling bundle in her arms. The baby dragon, bound in mana restraints, sobbed weakly—her blonde hair and pale skin stained with dirt and tiny streaks of blood. Her innocent red eyes locked on Luca.

"Papa... Papa... wohwohwowhooo..." she cried.

Luca’s jaw clenched, his sabers humming faintly with restrained power. The woman gave him a twisted grin.

"Haha! And how do you plan on saving her?" she sneered, digging her fingers into the baby’s arm. "Take another step, and I’ll

scratch her little face

, then

break her hands

, and then—

snap

—her legs."

Selena arrived beside Luca, her cloak fluttering as she stepped from the shadows. Her expression twisted in rage the moment she heard those words.

"You

bitch

,"

she spat.

Luca didn’t respond. His crimson gaze locked with the woman’s, bloodlust rising like a storm behind his calm exterior. Without looking, he raised his hand—and a pulse of light shimmered in the air beside him as a great divine beast took form.

Kunpeng, in its small bird form, spread its gleaming wings, crackling with silvery threads of temporal energy.

"For how long can you stop time?" Luca asked, his voice ice-cold.

Kunpeng tilted its head, its golden eyes scanning the cultists.

"They’re weak. One minute is my limit. But are you sure? Last time with the dragon grandpa, I used nearly everything. If I do this... you might not be able to summon me again for a month."

Luca didn’t hesitate.

"I’m sorry, Aira,"

he whispered.

Kunpeng gave a soft, mournful cry—and then flapped its wings.

Time cracked.

The cultists’ laughter froze mid-air. Grins remained carved into their faces like masks, but their eyes—oh, their eyes were wide with confusion, dawning horror, and panic.

One blinked slowly, trying to scream but no sound came.

Another’s smile twitched into terror as he realized he couldn’t move.

"Wh...at’s...happ—?" one barely choked out before his voice locked in his throat.

Selena, standing stunned by the shift, turned to Luca.

"We only have a minute. Let’s kill as many as possible—"

Luca walked forward, not even looking back. A cold, cruel smile formed on his face.

"Do you think I asked for a minute to kill them?"

He approached the innkeeper woman—her face now no longer mocking, but frozen in a silent scream. Her eyes rolled in terror, limbs trembling violently against time’s sluggish grip.

He gently reached out, cradling the baby dragon from her arms. The moment the child touched his chest, she began sobbing harder, burying her tiny face in his bloodstained cloak.

Luca touched the faint scratch on her cheek—so small, yet it stoked the wildfire of rage burning inside him.

But he smiled gently at her, lips twitching upward with warmth as he whispered,

"Shh... You’re safe now."

He turned to Selena and handed her the baby.

"Make sure she doesn’t see this."

Selena furrowed her brows but obeyed, shielding the child from what came next.

Luca turned back.

The woman still couldn’t scream—though her eyes pleaded, begged, screamed

without sound

as he slowly raised one of his sabers.

Her mouth twisted in silent agony.

Time hadn’t fully returned, but her lips quivered. Her body shook.

She could

feel

it now.

The incoming pain.

Luca stepped closer, raising his saber slowly.

"You wanted to scratch my daughter’s face?"

He

pressed

the blade’s edge lightly against her cheek.

And

dragged it across.

Ssshhhhhhhkkk.

A line of blood bloomed along her face, bright and wet.

Her scream finally broke free.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Luca didn’t stop.

He drew another line. And another. Until the side of her face was a

bloody canvas

, crimson tears streaming down her jaw.

He dropped the saber.

And grabbed her left arm with both hands.

One hand at the wrist.

The other at the elbow.

Then he twisted.

Bone crunched.

Ligaments tore.

Her shoulder bulged unnaturally—and then with a sickening, wet snap—

POP.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

As he ripped the arm apart from the shoulder, blood spraying everywhere.

He grabbed the other arm.

POP.

TRRRRRRRRRR

Blood sprayed like a fountain as both arms ripped apart , sockets torn wide.

The cultists, still frozen, looked on in pure

terror

. One was trying to scream. Another had vomited down their robes, even in frozen time. Their expressions were horror distilled.

Even

Selena

, hardened as she was, looked back briefly—only to turn away again, face pale.

Luca stepped back.

His face soaked in blood. His breathing calm.

He looked down at the convulsing, wailing woman—her arms now missing, her face carved and broken.

"Guess our time’s up."

And he

swung his saber

.

A clean arc.

THUNK.

Her head flew from her shoulders, hitting the stone floor and rolling to a stop—her eyes wide, mouth still open in frozen horror.

Blood sprayed across the altar like a painter’s final stroke.

Silence.

Then—

Luca’s whole face was red crimson covered in blood as he turned back..

He walked to Selena, reached out, and without letting the baby dragon look at him, summoned her back to beast space.

"Now..."

he said, voice calm once more.

"Let’s kill the rest of the trash."

The moment time snapped back to motion, the still air of the old church erupted into chaos.

Screams.

Panicked, primal howls of terror from the cultists as they realized one of their own now lay in pieces—limbless, headless, her blood painting the stone in thick crimson strokes.

And standing at the center of it all...

Was Luca.

His chest rising slowly, steam rising from his blood-soaked body, crimson dripping from his chin and hair like war paint. His twin sabers gleamed in the torchlight—dripping. His gaze burned, eyes devoid of empathy, filled with only one thing:

Rage.

A cultist, clutching a jagged obsidian dagger, screamed and lunged forward. His blade never reached Luca.

CLANG—

Luca’s saber flashed.

The man’s forearm was cleaved clean from his body. He dropped, shrieking, to the floor—but Luca was already moving. He twisted, his second saber arcing behind him to sever another cultist’s leg at the knee. Blood sprayed like a geyser, splashing across the altar steps.

Selena raised her arms as the air around her shifted violently—lightning crackled across her fingertips while frost coated the floor beneath her boots.

"[Chain Frost.]"

A wave of cold exploded outward as ice spears burst from the ground, impaling two cultists mid-run, freezing their bodies solid. She pivoted and launched a bolt of lightning straight into a third’s chest, his body convulsing violently before exploding from the inside out.

More cultists charged. More died.

But it wasn’t a fight.

It was a

slaughter.

Luca moved like a demon possessed—his sabers dancing through the air, every step ending in a scream, every swing splattering blood. One cultist raised his staff to cast a spell—Luca’s saber tore through his mouth before he could utter a syllable.

Another tried to flee.

SHUNK.

A saber pinned his leg to the floor. He turned—only to see Luca leap over him, land, and drive the second blade through his spine.

"P-please! Wait—!" a cultist stammered as he backed into a broken pew.

SLASH.

His arm flew across the room, still twitching.

Bodies piled at Luca’s feet, twitching, broken, painting the broken stone floor in layers of blood and entrails. Arms, heads, legs—strewn like shattered dolls across a battlefield.

Selena’s eyes narrowed as she electrocuted another attacker into a twitching pile of ash—then turned her gaze toward Luca.

’When... did he reach this level?’

One cultist, blood splattered across his robes, fell to his knees, clutching his head. His lips quivered, words tumbling from his mouth like dying breaths.

"H-he... He has reached the Core Compression stage..."

The words froze Selena in place. Her brows shot up, eyes wide.

"What...?"

Luca didn’t react.

He cut down another cultist with a downward slash that cleaved him from shoulder to hip, spraying gore in a wide arc. His breathing grew heavier, his clothes drenched not in sweat—but in blood.

Selena turned just in time to blast a trio of cultists trying to flank him with a jagged wall of lightning. One was torn in half. The other two fell to the floor, their skin bubbling and blackening from the raw force.

Luca moved now like an executioner in the midst of divine punishment. He cut down another, then another—one cultist’s head rolled beneath the pews, another’s torso collapsed inward as Luca buried a saber in his gut and

twisted

.

The blood mist in the air had grown thick—fumes of iron and death filled the lungs of the remaining few cultists.

And then...

Silence.

Only

six

remained.

They dropped their weapons.

Knees hit the stone with desperate thuds.

"Please! We surrender!"

"Don’t kill us! We’ll never hurt anyone again!"

"Mercy! Mercy!!"

Luca stood at the center of it all—his breath heavy, his chest heaving.

His twin sabers, soaked in gore, hung low at his sides. Blood dripped steadily from his chin. His hair, sticky and matted with crimson, hung over one eye.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t blink.

He stepped forward.

One cultist whimpered and threw his hands up.

SLASH.

The head flew from his shoulders.

Another crawled backward, shrieking.

SHUNK.

A saber plunged into his throat, silencing him.

The others turned to run.

Too slow.

Too weak.

Too late.

One by one, they fell. Heads split, guts spilled, limbs torn.

Until nothing remained.

But the corpses.

Luca exhaled, the last of his fury ebbing as he stumbled slightly, staggering toward a shattered stone boulder near the pulpit. He collapsed onto it, sabers still in his hands, blade tips scraping stone as they hung on either side of him.

Blood soaked his pants. His hands trembled—not in fear, but from sheer exhaustion.

All around him were the remnants of vengeance.

Of wrath.

Of a father’s love turned into unrelenting death.

Selena, silent, slowly approached. Her eyes darted across the battlefield—faces frozen in agony, limbs strewn across the floor, trails of blood like rivers between the pews.

She looked at Luca.

Still. Seated.

Breathing heavily.

Eyes closed.

He sank onto the blood-soaked boulder, sabers driven into the ground at his sides like gravestones. Around him, only silence. Only corpses.