Chapter 31: No Mercy (2)

Chapter 31: No Mercy (2)

"You... you..." The words tangled in his mouth, his mind refusing to form a coherent sentence. "H-how..."

Finn tilted his head, a slow, dangerous smirk curling his lips. "No need for so many questions."

Simon’s body tensed. A surge of panic, sharp and primal, shot through him.

"No... If PB didn’t kill you..." His body shimmered, cold magic pulsing through him as he transformed into the Ice Prince. His eyes narrowed in fury. "Then that doesn't mean I won’t!"

A sphere of blue energy crackled in front of his palm, the air around it chilling instantly. Without hesitation, Simon hurled the attack at Finn with every ounce of power in his body. The blast streaked toward its target, an unstoppable **** of raw, freezing destruction.

Finn didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

His arms remained crossed, his expression unchanged as the attack made contact with his chest.

A pale green light flickered at the impact site. Then, just as quickly, the blue energy vanished—like it had never existed.

Simon barely had time to react before his own attack turned against him.

A pulse of green lightning crackled around his outstretched arm, the same one he had used to fire the blast. A moment later, agony exploded through him.

The limb detonated from within, the **** sending him careening backward, slamming into the icy wall with a sickening crack.

"Aaaaaargh!"

Simon’s scream tore through the palace, raw and guttural. Pain unlike anything he had ever felt erupted through his shattered arm. Blood gushed from the wounds, drenching the ice beneath him in a growing crimson pool. The once-proud Ice Prince clutched his ruined limb, gasping, **** on the agony.

He had attacked.

And yet he was the one who suffered.

It made no sense. How? How had this happened?

Simon didn’t know—couldn’t know—that when he first pledged loyalty to Finn, he had unknowingly bound himself to something far beyond his understanding.

Like the others on Finn’s lists—Harem, Pawns, Partners—each category had its own unbreakable rules. And one of the conditions of the Pawn list, which Finn had learned from Sika and which had just been enforced on Simon, was simple:

_Any attempt by a pawn to harm their master will not only fail but will also punish the pawn with an attack twice as powerful as the one they used._

A rule Finn had been eager to see in action.

The boy stepped forward, his boots crunching against the ice. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched Simon writhe like a broken animal.

Then, without a word, Finn grabbed Simon by the hair and wrenched his head upward.

"Painful, isn’t it?" he murmured, his voice eerily calm.

Before Simon could respond, Finn shifted his foot and pressed it against the old man’s ruined hand. Slowly, he applied pressure.

Simon’s eyes went wide. His breath caught—then he screamed.

The sound was inhuman, a ragged wail of pure agony that reverberated through the entire Ice Kingdom. Tears spilled down his face, his body convulsing under the sheer **** of the torment.

Finn held him there, savoring the moment, before finally releasing him. Simon crumpled to the floor, curling in on himself like a wounded animal, gasping, whimpering.

Then, with deliberate slowness, Finn reached into his domain and pulled out a sharp dagger.

"You know, Simon," he mused, rolling the blade between his fingers, "pain is a wonderful teacher."

Simon flinched, his breath hitching.

Finn ran the blade over his own skin, just enough to draw a single bead of blood. "And it’s the fastest way to understanding."

He grabbed Simon’s uninjured hand and pinned it against the icy wall.

Then, with cruel patience, he dragged the dagger across the old man’s skin.

The cuts were shallow, but that didn’t make them any less agonizing.

Simon screamed, the sound piercing as blood trickled from the fresh wounds, staining the frozen wall in streaks of crimson.

Finn’s smirk widened.

He was just getting started.

With slow and calculated precision, Finn tightened his grip on the dagger, letting its cold steel glint under the dim, frozen light of the Ice Palace. Looming over Simon’s trembling form, he ran a finger along the blade’s edge, savoring the fear in the old man’s eyes. His smirk widened as he pressed the tip against Simon’s index fingernail.

Simon gasped, his pupils dilating with horror. His body tensed, every nerve on edge as he sensed what was coming. He opened his mouth to beg—to plead for mercy—but before a single word could leave his lips, the blade pressed down, digging beneath the nail, prying it loose from the flesh.

Then, with a single, brutal yank, Finn tore the nail from its root.

Simon’s scream shattered through the icy halls, raw and animalistic, a sound born of absolute suffering. His entire body convulsed, his back arching off the floor as waves of pain crashed over him. He clutched his wounded hand to his chest, fingers twitching, as if his body refused to accept what had just happened.

Finn, however, remained unfazed, his expression one of cold amusement. He gripped Simon’s wrist, forcing his hand flat against the ground, and without hesitation, positioned the dagger against the next nail.

"No... no, please... please, Finn, I—I beg you—"

The second nail was ripped away.

Another shriek of agony.

Then the third.

Tears and mucus dripped down Simon’s pale face as his voice broke, his screams reduced to hoarse, pitiful whimpers. Yet Finn did not stop. He took his time, ensuring every extraction was as excruciating as possible. The blade slid beneath the fourth nail, and this time, Finn twisted it, making Simon feel the full horror of his flesh separating from his body before ripping the nail free. Blood pooled beneath his fingers, staining the ice in deep crimson streaks.

Finally, after removing the fifth and final nail, Finn dropped Simon’s battered hand, watching it twitch and spasm from the trauma. He tilted his head, studying the broken man beneath him.

"This is your punishment, Simon. This is the price of your betrayal," Finn murmured, his voice devoid of warmth.

Simon curled into himself, cradling his mangled hand against his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could barely process the pain, the raw nerves screaming beneath his skin. But Finn wasn’t finished.

"And now... let’s move on to the second part of our little punishment."

Finn’s arm began to shift—his flesh turning molten, his veins pulsing with heat as his hand reshaped itself into a churning mass of magma. The searing glow of his molten fingers illuminated Simon’s bloodied face, casting flickering shadows against the frozen walls.

Simon barely had time to comprehend what was happening before Finn seized him by the throat and lifted him effortlessly into the air. His body flailed weakly, his legs kicking in useless protest.

Finn leaned in, his voice a whisper against Simon’s ear. "I think this suits you better."

With deliberate precision, Finn’s molten hand twisted into the shape of a wolf’s head—far larger than the one he had burned into PB’s flesh. Without hesitation, he pressed the burning insignia against Simon’s back, branding the mark deep into his already mutilated flesh.

The reaction was immediate.

Simon’s body bucked violently. A scream of unparalleled agony ripped from his throat—louder than before, loud enough to crack through the very foundation of the Ice Palace. His muscles seized, his mind blanked, and for a moment, his vision went dark from the sheer intensity of the pain.

Unlike PB, whose mark had only covered her shoulder, Simon’s was far more severe—spanning across the entirety of his back, burning through muscle and tissue. The stench of charred flesh filled the air, thick and suffocating.

For five long, endless seconds, Finn held the molten brand against Simon’s skin, watching as the symbol fused into him. The suffering stretched beyond time, beyond reason, until finally—mercifully—Finn pulled his hand away and let Simon’s ruined body drop to the floor.

Simon convulsed, his breath coming in strangled sobs. His body instinctively rolled onto its side, his back pressing against the frozen wall in a **** attempt to numb the unbearable heat. The ice hissed beneath him, steam rising where his burned flesh met the frozen surface.

Tears flowed freely from Simon’s eyes, his mind barely clinging to consciousness. He didn’t even have the strength to scream anymore.

Finn chuckled. "Tsk... damn it, I thought you’d last longer."

He crouched down, tilting his head as he observed Simon’s pathetic state. Then, after a moment of silence, his lips curled into a delighted grin.

"And now, my favorite part."

A violent shudder ran through Simon’s broken body. His expression twisted into raw dread, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. His eyes, bloodshot and sunken, screamed one thing:

‘There’s more!?!?’

Finn pressed his foot against Simon’s chest, flipping him onto his back. The old man’s breath hitched as Finn loomed over him, his shadow stretching like a monster in the dim light.

Then, without hesitation, Finn leaned down and pressed his thumb firmly against Simon’s forehead.

"Soul Eviction."

The words carried weight—a terrible, unnatural **** that reverberated through the air, as if spoken by thousands of damned voices from the depths of hell.

Simon’s body locked in place. His breath stopped. His eyes went blank.

He simply... stared.

Finn waited. One minute. Two. Five. The silence stretched.

He frowned. "Ugh, Sika, your useless skill isn’t—"

[Don’t move. It has begun.]

Finn froze, intrigued.

Simon’s body jerked violently, spasming like a marionette with severed strings. The blackness drained from his pupils, his irises turning hollow and empty. Drool leaked from the corner of his lips.

Then, without warning, his head snapped to the side, his limbs contorting in ways that shouldn’t have been possible.

Finn watched in fascination as Simon’s body convulsed—his mouth stretching into an unnatural shape, his fingers bending backward as if something was trying to crawl its way out of him.

[Remove your hand now.]

Finn did as instructed, stepping back to observe the final stages of the ritual. The screaming began seconds later.

Simon’s wails were not human.

They were the cries of a soul being forcefully hollowed out, ripped from its body and devoured by something unseen. His voice cracked, shattered, reduced to pitiful whimpers before, at last—silence.

Then, with eerie slowness, Simon rose to his knees.

His head tilted forward in submission.

"Everything... you command... my lord..."

His voice was hollow. Robotic. Lifeless.

Finn’s smirk returned. "Good."

[His soul is now empty. He has no desire or will of his own. As a pawn, you are now his only purpose.]

Finn floated toward the open window, motioning for Simon to follow. He led him high above the Ice Kingdom, where he conjured a small, seething pool of molten fire below.

"Jump."

Without hesitation, Simon let his body go limp and plummeted toward the flames. Just before he hit the lava, Finn struck—his foot slamming into Simon’s gut, sending him flying to the side.

Finn exhaled, satisfied. "I’d love to keep playing with you," he muttered. "But you’re obedient now. No need to waste any more time."

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