Mated To The Cruel Prince novel Chapter 770

Chapter 770: Die Next

"What was that?" Aldric turned in tandem with Azrael towards the source of the disturbance, their senses attuned to the disruption in the air.

"I’ll find out," Azreal declared, standing still as a sudden heaviness settled around him. Aldric watched as a raven materialized from Azreal’s body, its loud caw echoing through the space before it flew off to spy on their unexpected visitors.

Azreal’s eyes glazed over, becoming distant, and his voice took on an eerily calm tone as he revealed, "There are a band of witches at the entrance, and by the look of things, they don’t seem happy."

"What do they want?" Aldric asked, his gaze never leaving Islinda, who lay on the couch, her eyes closed in an effort to endure the magical procedure. Lilith stood over her, chanting her spell with an air of indifference, confident that Aldric and Azreal would handle any threats.If the spell failed, they would have to start all over again, and they didn’t have much time left.

"They heard about the arrival of Faeries into their realm and intend to use us as an example to start their rebellion against the Fae King," Azreal explained.

"In that case, we’ll see who ends up as the scapegoat," Aldric responded, his demeanor shifting as shadows began to emerge from him, saturating the room with a dark energy.

Azreal placed a hand on Aldric’s shoulder, stopping him. "I’ll handle this. You keep an eye on them and ensure the process doesn’t get interrupted. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here."

Azrael left the room with anger, ready to face the intruders who dared to cause trouble. He intended to blow off some steam.

Blood was about to spill.

He moved with purpose, approaching the door where the clamor and knocking had grown louder. As he reached for the door handle, he could hear someone shouting to break down the door if no one answered. With a swift motion, he flung the door open, his muscles coiled and ready to unleash.

The clamor ceased instantly. An intense silence stretched between Azrael and the gathered witches and mages, both parties assessing each other warily. Azrael’s towering height and hidden face under his cloak were intimidating. The crowd sensed the dangerous aura surrounding him and instinctively stepped back.

Not all chickened out, though, as the crowd parted for their leader to step through. The leader was nearly as tall as Azrael but lankier. His bald head was marred with symbolic tattoos and markings, some obvious runes nearly covering his entire body, including his face. It was clear from his intimidating appearance that he was equally powerful.

The two men stood face to face, power crackling in the air, the scent of dangerous magic palpable. The leader’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Azrael.

He screamed, a sound of pure agony, but the ravens didn’t relent. They ripped into him, their attacks so relentless that his cries were soon reduced to choked gurgles. Feathers filled the air as he tried to scream again, but only managed to expel a mouthful of blood and down.

The sight was horrific. The leader thrashed and flailed, but the ravens kept coming, a dark, swirling mass of fury and feathers. His struggles grew weaker, his movements more frantic yet futile. His eyes, wide with terror, darted around for any sign of escape, but there was none. The ravens were merciless.

His screams became gurgles, then whimpers, and finally, silence. The birds continued to peck and claw even after his body went limp, ensuring no movement would ever come from him again.

Moments later, as if on a silent command, the ravens dispersed, flying away in a dark cloud. They left behind a grotesque sight: the leader’s body was a mangled, bloody mess, unrecognizable from the fierce figure who had confronted Azrael just moments before.

Azrael turned to the remaining witches and mages, his expression cold and unmerciful . "Now, who wants to go next?"

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