Akashic Records of the Bastard Child Engaged to a Goddess

Chapter 123 Bluestella?s last stand? (II)

Chapter 123 Bluestella?s last stand? (II)

Black Dragon Gate Arc

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(POV: Bluestella)

The fateful hour arrived, the weight of my destiny bearing down upon me mercilessly. The accursed iron mask, adorned with dark and foreboding runes, was secured tightly around my head, binding me in a prison of despair. Chains imprisoned my hands and legs, tethering me to my deserved fate.

"Pig.." (Damian)

I didn't respond.

"Pig.." (Damian)

I didn't respond.

Damian sneered at me, his voice dripping with malice.

"You dare to ignore me?" he spat, his indignation punctuated with the harsh sound of his stick striking the iron mask.

I winced, the metallic clang reverberating through my skull.

"I'm not deaf," I retorted, my voice laced with a trace of defiance.

A wicked smirk twisted Damian's lips.

"Ah, so you're still capable of speaking," he mused mockingly. "Well then, you wanted exile, did you not? It seems you're about to get your wish. We're guiding you to the Great Forest."

I knew his game all too well, yet I chose not to protest.

Damian arched an eyebrow, observing my calm acquiescence.

"No complaints this time, my dear Bluestella?" he taunted, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight.

A wry smile hidden by the iron mask danced upon my lips as I met his gaze.

"There's no need for that, for I'm resigned to my fate," I uttered, my words heavy with resignation.

"And how, pray tell, do you intend to meet your end?" (Damian)

"You intentionally exile me through the Great Forest, well aware that I won't survive a single day within its treacherous depths." (Bluestella)

A resounding laughter erupted from Damian's throat, his stick striking the iron mask once more, taunting me with its cruel melody.

"Ah, you are quite smart," he chortled, his sadistic amusement echoing. "I shall relish every moment of your demise."

I nodded weakly, my voice barely a whisper.

"Of course," I conceded, a flicker of defiance still present but fading fast. "Enjoy it while you can, I'll be happy if my suffering ends in a single day."

Just then, my heart sank at the sight of my son, Jericho, waiting before me. With the guards surrounding me, I couldn't contain the surge of emotions that consumed me.

"JERICHO! JERICHO!! JERICHO!!!"

Like a madwoman, I threw myself forward, disregarding the consequences, and desperately clung to his legs.

"Seize her!"

Damian bellowed at the guards.

Through tear-filled eyes, I pleaded with Jericho, my voice laced with desperation.

"Jericho, my son," I cried, "I love you. Please, you have to understand."

Jericho's gaze pierced through me, chilling me to the core.

Not a word escaped his lips as he stared at me, his silence a cruel punishment that cut deep into my soul.

The guards, ever loyal to Damian's twisted commands, unleashed a rain of merciless blows upon my back, each strike fueling the flames of pain within me.

I screamed out in agony, the pain and despair intertwining in an orchestral symphony of suffering.

As I cried, the guards forcefully dragged me away from Jericho's presence.

But my heart wouldn't let go of him, my desperation clouding my thoughts.

"Forgive me, Jericho," I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. "I'm sorry, please don't hate me."

Jericho's expression remained impassive, his eyes cold and distant.

"I came here," he spoke with venom, "to witness that you receive the punishment you deserve."

His words pierced my heart like a dagger, shattering the remains of my hope.

The agony of his betrayal was unbearable.

Through sobs and broken breaths, I mustered the strength to protest.

"You don't mean it, Jericho!" I cried out as I broke free from the guards' grasp, lunging towards him once again.

But fate played its cruel hand. In my desperate frenzy, I collided with Jericho's leg, causing my iron-clad mask to collide with his knee.

The impact sent waves of excruciating pain pulsating through my head, and I collapsed to the ground in a writhing heap of agony.

Jericho, his voice laced with disdain, addressed me coldly.

"Lana, Lora, and Micah didn't come because they don't care. None of your children do." His words struck deep.

I watched Jericho quietly take his leave.

"How sad," Damian gripped me by the neck constricting my breathing. "Even your own children hate you... you really have nothing left to live for."

"I... understand..." (Bluestella)

...

I made my way through the chaotic and crowded streets of the Royal Capital.

Each step was accompanied by the piercing agony of the guards' sticks striking my fragile body.

Their blows were merciless, raining down upon me, leaving ugly bruises and open wounds in their wake.

"Move fast, Bitch!!"

My every movement was met with even more brutality from Damian, his heavier stick inflicting heavier blows, leaving me gasping for breath and retching with the taste of blood in my mouth.

The citizens of the Royal Capital, no longer seeing me as a human being, saw only an object of scorn and derision.

They reveled in my misery, finding sick pleasure in their own sadistic acts of cruelty.

Feces rained down upon me, hitting my iron mask with a sickening thud, only to slip through the cracks and invade the sanctity of my mouth.

It was a vile concoction that mixed with the taste of my own blood, causing waves of nausea to overcome me, threatening to consume me whole.

But the torment didn't stop there.

A particularly malicious onlooker, filled with twisted glee, threw a piece of feces at my masked face, only for the impact to reveal a hidden rock within its foul contents.

The collision of the rock with my mask sent a searing pain through my already throbbing skull, leaving me momentarily blinded by a surge of darkness that threatened to engulf me.

"Bitch!"

"Foul creature! The king deserves better!"

"The king? This kingdom deserves better!"

"We hope you die! You're an ugly cretin!"

"To think we would bow to a witch! You're no queen!"

As the crowd erupted in laughter and mocking cheers, their sadistic fervor seemed insatiable.

Another individual, fueled by pure malice, broke through the chaos and delivered a savage punch to my gut, followed by a brutal elbow strike to my delicate neck.

The blow to my throat left me gagging and struggling for breath, my vocal cords crying out in silent agony.

"Alright! That's enough you rascal!"

"That bitch deserves it!"

"Yeah, yeah, we know!"

The guards, finally compelled to intervene, pushed the assailant away, their actions more out of convenience than any true concern for my well-being.

But their intervention did nothing to quell the crowd's incessant torment.

They continued their relentless assault, tossing insults and jeers like daggers aimed at my shattered spirit.

And then, in a moment of unadulterated cruelty, a market woman brandishing a bucket of water mixed with urine and cow dung spilled its contents upon me, sending me crashing to the ground in a muddy, wretched heap.

The stench assaulted my senses, intertwining with the acrid taste of blood and feces, a symphony of degradation that further degraded the non-existent dignity I had.

The torment persisted throughout the day.

The sun began its descent, casting long shadows upon the Royal Capital, as I was finally thrown into the desolate and foreboding entryway to the Great Forest.

Damian, his sadistic grin never wavering, stood by my side.

"I must say, you've put on quite a show," Damian sneered. "You must be parched by now, wouldn't you agree?"

He tossed a small water pouch towards my bloodied and broken body, a mockery of compassion. "Here, manage with this," he taunted.

"T-t-thank you.."

As I strained and reached for the pouch, my desperate fingers only inches away, Damian's sadistic streak shone through once more.

With swift and precise aim, he hurled a dagger at the water pouch, piercing the fragile skin and causing the precious liquid to spill onto the ground.

I watched as the water seeped into the grass and dirt, just out of my reach.

A desperate thirst clawed at my throat.

Ignoring the dirt and grime, I stretched out my tongue, desperately lapping up the meager remnants of water from the soiled ground.

Each lick carried with it a mix of blood, dirt, and the bitter taste of humiliation.

"Look at you, lapping up water from the ground like the mutt you are!"

The guards laughed.