The cold steel of the scalpel gleamed in the dim light of the library. Heron's breath came in ragged gasps as he sat on the chair, his entire body trembling. His arms were bound, his legs weak beneath him, and his vision blurred from the pain already inflicted. Lila lay unconscious on the table beside him—untouched, for now.

Jim stood before him, silent as ever. He said nothing. He didn't offer threats or taunts. He simply worked.

The scalpel pressed against Heron's skin—just below his collarbone.

A sharp, shallow slice.

Heron jerked violently, his body twisting in agony as the rusted blade carved through his flesh like a whisper. The cut was thin, almost delicate—but the pain was blinding, a white-hot streak of fire running through his nerves.

Then, another cut.

The scalpel dragged down his arm, tracing along the bicep. His body convulsed, but the bindings held him in place.

Again.

And again.

Tiny rivulets of blood seeped from the wounds, slow, deliberate, agonizing. Each incision felt like shattered glass being driven into his skin, but the blade never went too deep. It wasn't meant to kill him. It was meant to hurt. To last.

Heron's lips parted, a hoarse, broken gasp escaping him. His fingers twitched uselessly, his body shaking as he tried to steel himself.

Jim moved lower, pressing the blade against his stomach.

Heron's stomach caved inward instinctively, but it didn't matter. The scalpel sank into his flesh, slicing sideways in a slow, excruciating motion. His back arched violently, his throat raw as a muffled scream fought to escape.

Then—Jim turned the blade sideways.

And peeled.

A small flap of skin lifted from his abdomen. The sensation was unlike anything Heron had ever felt before. It wasn't just pain. It was wrong—a visceral, stomach-churning sensation of his own body being undone, layer by layer.

He gagged.

Then vomited.

His body lurched forward, bile spilling from his lips and onto the floor. His vision swam, the edges of the world darkening. His consciousness teetered on the edge—a blessing, an escape.

Jim wouldn't allow it.

CRACK!

A sickening snap echoed through the room.

Heron's finger broke in a grotesque angle, the pain yanking him violently back to reality.

His scream was ragged, hoarse—a wounded animal's cry.

Jim remained silent.

Cold water splashed against his face. Heron coughed, his body shuddering from the shock, but there was no time to recover.

Jim stabbed the scalpel into his thigh.

The blade sank deep, severing muscle. A fresh, wet scream tore from Heron's throat, his body jerking so violently that his bindings groaned against his struggles.

Then came the breaking.

Jim grabbed his arm.

Heron had a second—a single second—to register what was happening before—

SNAP.

His shoulder dislocated.

The pain was a supernova exploding in his nerves, blinding, overwhelming.

Then—his leg.

Jim wrenched it sideways.

The joint popped, twisted, and then—another snap.

Heron's screams were no longer human.

His body twitched, convulsed, his breath stuttering as tears and snot mixed with the blood dripping down his chin.

Jim let him slump forward, only to grab his jaw and lift his face up.

Then came the club.

The first hit cracked against his cheekbone.

The second split his lip open.

The third knocked a tooth loose.

Heron could taste iron, copper, filth.

The wooden club smashed against his skull, the impact so heavy his ears rang, his vision went white. The pain wasn't sharp—it was deep, bone-deep, breaking, crushing.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Heron's world became nothing but pain, his body a mass of open wounds and shattered bones.

His mind fractured somewhere between reality and the abyss.

And still, Jim did not speak.

The silence was worse than anything.

Jim stood like an executioner—silent, unshaken, methodical. The scent of blood, sweat, and fear was thick in the air. Heron slumped in his chair, his body a broken mess of wounds, bruises, and shattered bones. His breath rattled—a thin, wheezing gasp, barely clinging to consciousness.

Jim's fingers twitched slightly, awaiting his next order from Shaun Jim might be carrying out this torture but the one instructing him right now is none other than shaun.

And then—a small whimper.

Lila woke up.

The moment her blurry, terrified gaze fell on Heron, she froze. Her tiny hands trembled, her lips parted, but no sound came out at first. She couldn't comprehend it. She didn't want to.

Then—the horror consumed her.

A shrill, broken cry tore from her throat. Tears flooded her wide, innocent eyes as she stumbled off the table, running to Heron.

"U-UNCLE!" she sobbed, her small arms reaching for him.

She grabbed onto Jim's leg, as if she could stop him, as if she could protect Heron from whatever nightmare was unfolding.

"D-Don't hurt him! P-please!"

Her voice was tiny, trembling, yet in that moment, it cut through the suffocating silence like a dagger.

Jim paused.

Inside his mind, an order came.

"What now?"

A voice answered.

Master Shaun.

"Throw her away. Lightly. Just enough to scare her."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Jim obeyed without hesitation.

His clawed hand grasped her tiny frame and, with a simple flick of his wrist, tossed her aside.

Lila tumbled across the wooden floor, her small body hitting the ground with a thud.

She gasped, her breath knocked out of her lungs.

And then—the crying began anew.

Not just from pain—but from fear. From pure, soul-crushing terror.

Heron snapped.

"STOP!"

His voice was hoarse, desperate, barely human. His broken body convulsed, trying to rise, trying to do something, anything.

His eyes burned with fury, despair, and helplessness all at once.

"P-please, leave her alone—please!"

Lila, trembling, stood up again.

She stumbled forward, putting herself between Jim and Heron once more.

Her tiny arms stretched out.

"P-please don't b-bully him!" she sobbed, her tiny fingers gripping Jim's coat.

Her entire body shook violently, her messy black hair sticking to her tear-soaked cheeks.

Jim received another order.

"Repeat after me."

Jim's voice, cold and empty, finally broke the silence.

"Bully? Girl, your father is the biggest bully in the area."

Lila's sniffles hitched.

"Don't you think it's unfair that he's the only one who gets to have all the fun?"

Heron's heart shattered.

"P-please…" His voice cracked. "P-please, I—kill me. Just leave her out of this. I beg you!"

Jim tilted his head slightly, listening. Then, another order.

"I have an idea."

Jim's gaze returned to Heron.

"I'll let you both live… if you tell her."

Heron's eyes widened in confusion.

Jim stepped forward, towering over him.

"Tell her every single thing you have done."

The words were slow, deliberate.

"Every plan you've made, every action you've taken.

In detail."

Jim knelt slightly, staring at Heron like a predator playing with its food.

"But remember—"

A thin, rusted scalpel appeared in Jim's fingers once more.

"If you leave something out…"

The blade gleamed.

"I will kill you. And she will go through the same pain as you."

Heron froze.

Lila sniffled, blinking up at him.

Heron looked at her. His heart broke all over again.

A sob ripped from his throat as his body convulsed in despair. He wept—loud, broken, shameful.

"F-forgive me… f-forgive me…!"

Jim didn't react.

He simply lifted the scalpel.

"Start talking."

Heron's body trembled. He couldn't even lift his head.

Tears streamed down his battered face, dripping onto the bloodstained floor. His chest felt hollow, crushed under the weight of his own sins. His lips trembled as he tried to force the words out.

Everything.

Every crime, every betrayal, every enemy he had crushed, every life he had ruined.

He spoke of his dark empire—how he had built it, how he had planned to expand it, the people he had destroyed along the way.

His voice cracked with every confession, his breath shaking.

With every word, his heart sank deeper.

He knew—he knew.

His niece's innocence would be gone.

She might never look at him the same way again.

She might grow to hate him when she was old enough to understand it all.

But if it meant she would live—then he would accept everything.

He didn't hide a single thing.

Not one lie. Not one omission.

Everything.

Lila sat frozen, her small face wet with tears.

She didn't understand most of it.

But she knew it was bad.

She knew it was terrible.

And yet—she didn't want to believe it.

She shook her head furiously, her tiny hands clutching at her messy hair.

"No… n-no, it's not true…" she sobbed. "Uncle… Uncle, tell them it's not true! Tell them it's a lie!"

Her body shook violently, her cries echoing through the room.

She wanted to wake up.

She wanted to be anywhere but here.

Jim stood silent, watching her break down.

Then, his lips moved. His voice was as cold as a corpse.

"Good enough."

His red eyes shifted to Lila.

"So, Lila… what should I do, dear?"

His tone was empty, as if the question meant nothing to him.

"You tell me."

Heron's bloodied face snapped up.

His heart stopped.

"You— you promised!"

Jim turned his head.

Just one look.

And Heron shut up instantly.

Lila sniffled, hiccuping through her sobs.

She grabbed onto Jim's leg, shaking violently. Her fingers were too small, too weak to stop him, but she held on anyway.

"F-forgive… p-please…" she whimpered.

Her tear-soaked eyes stared up at Jim, desperate, terrified, pleading.

"All I w-want is for my uncle to live…"

Her tiny fingers clutched his clothes, begging.

"I want to live with him. Please forgive him."

Her words were simple. Childlike. Innocent.

And yet, her voice carried the weight of a thousand screams.

She hiccuped, her small body heaving.

"Wh-whenever I did something bad… M-my father punished me a little… h-he wouldn't talk to me…"

She rubbed her tear-streaked face, her breath hitching.

"But after a little while… after I promised never to do it again… he forgave me."

She looked up at Jim, eyes wide, filled with desperate hope.

"So… can't you do the same?"

Jim stared at her.

Unmoving.

Unfeeling.

Silent.

The burning forest roared around Shaun, yet he strolled through it like a man taking a peaceful evening walk. The flickering flames reflected in his cold, calculating eyes. He watched the destruction unfold, the screams, the chaos, and the collapse of everything Heron had built.

And yet, he exhaled slowly, watching embers drift into the sky.

"Maybe that much is enough."

A smirk curled at his lips.

"I'd like to break him more, though… but anything beyond this would be heartless."

With that, he gave his next order.

"Make her unconscious. Don't hurt her."

Jim received the command without hesitation.

He turned his gaze toward Lila, still clinging to his leg, crying so hard her tiny body trembled.

Then, with a precise strike to the back of her neck, she collapsed—gentle, painless, unconscious.

Heron screamed.

"NO—NO, DON'T TOUCH HER—!"

Jim simply glanced at him, expressionless.

"Don't worry. She's okay."

Heron's breath came out in ragged gasps.

His mind was spiraling into madness—his body broken, his niece lying limp on the floor, and he could do nothing.

Then, Jim's voice cut through the silence.

"I keep my promise. Neither you nor this child will die."

Heron froze, his chest heaving.

Jim stepped forward, towering over him.

"But."

Heron's stomach sank.

"There are still things you have to follow. But before I get to that…"

Jim rolled his shoulders, cracking his knuckles.

"…I still have to beat you."

Heron's eyes widened in horror.

And then the torture resumed.

Jim's wooden club swung down.

CRACK.

Heron's ribs fractured further.

CRACK.

Another blow—his vision blurred, stars exploding in his mind.

10 minutes.

His fingers, one by one, were snapped, crushed under the cold steel of the pliers.

20 minutes.

His ears rang, drowning in pain. His legs were shattered, his body now a twisted wreck.

He had been beaten to the very doorstep of Hell.

And yet—he wasn't allowed to die.

His body begged for death. But Jim refused to let him pass out.

Every time he drifted toward unconsciousness, a sharp, agonizing shock jolted him back—whether it was a slap, a snap of a bone, or cold water dumped over his head.

The horror was never-ending.

And then—

It stopped.

Heron's body twitched.

He barely even felt the pain anymore—his entire body was numb with suffering.

Jim sat down on a chair across from him. Calm. Unbothered.

He pulled out a single piece of paper.

Heron's breath hitched.

"…W-we're done?"

Jim nodded.

"Your punishment is over."

Heron felt like weeping. The agony, the suffering—it was finally over.

But then Jim's voice turned sharp.

"Now, listen carefully. Your life depends on it."

Heron flinched.

Jim raised the paper and, in an emotionless tone, repeated Shaun's words.

"First—leave the county. Abdicate your position. Shut down your businesses— legal and illegal alike. Cut off all connections.

"You may keep your noble title, but you are to take this child and use your remaining wealth to disappear.

"You may hire guards. You may seek protection under another power. But.

"You will never reveal that this fire was man-made.

"You will never say that we were behind the destruction of your empire.

"You will tell the world it was a coup. A betrayal. People within your own ranks tried to overthrow you.

"If you even think about revenge, you will die.

"I do not give second chances.

"And—never again will you step into the business world or the underworld.

"Live as if you no longer exist."

Heron sat motionless.

His mind spiraled.

His life. His power. His legacy.

All of it—gone.

His hands, trembling, curled into fists.

He could rebuild. He could gather allies. He could—

Jim's cold, dead voice stopped him.

"Remember. It is this child who saved your life."

"Without her, you would already be dead."

Heron froze.

His eyes shifted to Lila, still unconscious.

His heart ached.

She had saved him.

She had begged, pleaded, cried for his life.

The humiliation didn't matter. The pain didn't matter.

Only she mattered.

Slowly, his head dipped forward.

His voice was a whisper.

"…Whatever you say."

Jim disappeared into the shadows.

Then, in a flicker, he reappeared further away, his steps silent as he distanced himself from the ruins of Heron's empire.

As he walked, his mind reached out to Shaun.

"Was it really okay to let him go like this?""Didn't we need to dig his grave?"

Shaun, still strolling leisurely through the burning forest, smirked at the flames licking the sky.

"What are you saying?" His voice was eerily calm. "That grave is already done."

Jim listened in silence as Shaun continued, his tone both calculating and merciless.

"What I wanted to kill is already dead.

"His empire is burned to the ground.His resources—gone.And his will? I shattered that completely.

"Even now, when the guards find him and drag his broken body to safety, I know exactly what's going to happen."

Shaun's smirk deepened.

"He won't seek outside help. Not with all the enemies he's made."

"The moment word spreads that Heron is in a weakened state, all those who once feared him will come out of hiding.

"They'll hunt him. Try to kill him. Tear apart what little remains of his dignity.

"He knows this. That's why he won't show his face.

"He'll just run. Disappear into some faraway land, trying to start over.

"…Though a 'normal life' isn't possible for him anymore."

Shaun exhaled, watching the embers flicker.

"His body is ruined.His mind is shattered.His spirit? Completely broken."

A brief pause.

Then, with quiet amusement, he murmured—

"I bet he won't even be able to sleep for years."

Jim remained silent, absorbing every word.

"The Heron I wanted to kill is already dead."

"So is everything that made him a threat."

Shaun tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he continued.

"Even if he spits the truth, who's going to believe him?

"Who would he even go to?

"I hid my presence. My signature. My existence.

"And you did too.

"To him, you're just a nameless man."

"Even if he tries to investigate, he'll find nothing."

Shaun chuckled darkly.

"And if he digs too deep—he'll only expose his own sins."

"And what happens then?"

His grin widened.

"The royals and nobles will execute him themselves."

"Now that he's lost his influence, lost his power—

He's worth nothing."

Shaun turned away from the flames, walking deeper into the darkness.

"So don't worry, Jim."

"His grave has already been dug."