Revenge: A Path of Destruction
Chapter 117: Nyxara’s rage

Chapter 117: Nyxara’s rage

Silence held them all in its grip.

Not the kind that came from awe or reverence, but the kind born from horror. From an impossible truth finally made real.

The head of Khepri, once the unshakable Patriarch of the Earth Clan, lay in the hands of the very boy they had dismissed. The very boy they had wronged.

It wasn’t until the waves of residual mana from the battle began to settle that the truth struck them with its full force.

They could finally feel it.

Alex’s mana signature—now unshrouded in his weakened state.

A Grandmaster.

The same rank as most of them.

No more. No less.

And yet...

He had crushed Khepri. Not through deceit, or traps, or alliances—but in a one-on-one confrontation.

Their minds could barely process it.

Disbelief etched itself into every line of the elders’ aging faces as a single, shared thought surged like ice water through their veins:

’What will happen to us now?’

Lucy was the first to react.

Khepri’s third wife—her once-proud poise crumbled instantly. Her knees gave way, and she collapsed to the floor of the lightning cage, hands trembling as she gripped the bars, staring out at the man who now stood where their leader had fallen.

"No... no, this wasn’t supposed to happen," she whispered, but the words didn’t carry far.

Her mind was spiraling.

She had joined the campaign against the Thunder Clan with fervor, her clan among the first to volunteer. Jealousy had long festered in their hearts. They too had borne lightning in their veins—manipulated the skies with elemental grace—but unlike the Thunder Clan, they had been denied the favor of the Thunder God.

Denied acknowledgment. Denied glory.

Branded lesser.

To only receive the glory of a lesser god

So when the chance came to strike at the favored ones, her brother had seen it as justice. As divine retribution.

Now, all she saw was the face of that same clan’s last heir—standing amid the ashes of their ambition.

And he was holding her husband’s head.

Beside her, Nandi—the First Wife of Khepri—stood frozen, but her breath came in shallow bursts. Her sharp eyes, once so full of command and control, now fixated on the lifeless expression etched into Khepri’s severed face.

That look of disbelief in death...

It was a mirror of her own.

She had also taken part in that massacre. Had ordered death without mercy. Had called it a necessary cleansing when they were told about his talent.

Now, it seemed that death had come to balance the scales.

And it wore the face of the man.

A young man they had made into a monster.

Across from them stood Nefureta, the First Princess, backed into the far corner of the cage. Horror filled her eyes, and her lips parted, but no words escaped her. Her graceful hands clutched the bars tightly, causing her knuckles to turn white. The confident voice she once possessed had abandoned her. Nothing she had ever known could have prepared her for this moment.

Then there was Menkara—the youngest son. He didn’t scream, didn’t cry. But his face had gone stark white, his usual playful and calculating gaze glued to Alex.

He understood one thing than the rest.

If Alex could defeat their Patriarch... there was no one to stop him. No plan, no politics, no plea would save them now. The boy wasn’t playing by clan rules—he was remaking them through force.

But it was Thutmose who drew the most attention.

He remained perched on the ground, towering over the rest as they watched for his response.

He stared down at his father’s severed head.

His expression didn’t change.

No fury. No grief.

No recognition.

His face was a mask of emotionless calm, as if the sight of his slain father had no meaning.

But inside, his emotions were in constant turmoil, in disbelief, rage and helplessness.

While the others drowned in disbelief, dread, and despair, Nyxara was focused on only one thing.

Alex.

The battered young man standing amidst the wreckage—his body wounded, his breathing ragged, his hand clutching the head of a legend.

But she wasn’t looking at the head.

Her golden eyes, usually fierce, electric, and playful, had softened as they locked onto his frame.

And deep inside her, something primal stirred as she stared at Alex’s battered body.

If Khepri were still alive... if he was still alive and had not been killed by Alex...

She would have taken over from Alex to give another nightmare.

She wouldn’t have killed him quickly.

Her blood sang for it.

Her claws itched.

Her fangs throbbed with the memory of the Thunder Clan’s scent—of Alex’s pain, loneliness, and helplessness.

But she reined it in.

Only because she didn’t know how bad Alex’s wounds truly were.

If she gave in to her bloodlust now, the tremors alone from her power could aggravate his injuries—or worse, cause him to collapse entirely. That was not a risk she was willing to take. Not even slightly.

So, without waiting for any order or acknowledgment, Nyxara began to shrink, her massive form folding inward, fur rippling like silk as her muscles compressed and her limbs adjusted. Her size reduced rapidly, still majestic but now closer to a large lioness than a warbeast.

The ground trembled softly beneath her padded paws as she approached him.

Each step was deliberate.

Measured.

Controlled.

For those who had just watched her unleashing black lightning and creating a trail of blood and chaos among both humans and beasts, the transformation was surreal.

How could this be the same creature?

One minute, she had been a force of nature—raw, wild, unstoppable.

Now...

She moved like a mother checking on her injured cub. Her aura, once suffocating and violent, had dimmed to something warmer, protective, and... gentle.

Even the captives in the cage noticed.

The few who still retained enough of their sanity to process anything at all were struck speechless—not just by the wreckage, or the corpse of their patriarch, but by the creature’s shift in presence. It was unnatural, unsettling... and yet mesmerizing.

She stopped just short of Alex, her massive head lowering slightly, tail swaying low.

Her nose twitched as she sniffed the blood lingering on him.

Her eyes narrowed.

He was hurt more than she’d hoped.

And deep inside her mind, the beast roared again.

If Khepri wasn’t already dead, she would’ve made sure he experienced a thousand deaths before the end.

But for now, she just waited—silent and unmoving, like a sentry carved from obsidian—hovering protectively near the one person who was her only family.

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