Revenge: A Path of Destruction
Chapter 172: Slap of the Decade

Chapter 172: Slap of the Decade

Alex stayed in the luxurious hotel suite like a ghost drifting through a life that didn’t belong to him. Day bled into night, and night returned without meaning.

The king-sized bed—an ocean of soft linens and layered pillows—became his world. He barely moved.

There were no grand plans, no recon missions, no hidden agendas. Just silence. A suffocating, reflective silence.

For the past week, Alex did nothing but lie there, half-awake and staring at the ceiling or out the floor-to-ceiling windows that displayed a sweeping view of the city’s skyline.

The glimmering city lights did nothing to stir him. Not even the occasional burst of laughter from people walking the lively streets below could reach him.

The only time he stirred was when he heard the gentle knock on the door: either hotel staff bringing in food or maids coming in to clean. He would answer the door, murmur a few words, nod politely, and return to bed.

The hotel staff, conditioned by training, never pried. They probably thought he was the son of some noble clan member or the heir of a noble clan with too much time and money.

Nyxara, surprisingly, didn’t disturb him. Not once.

In the hotel room, she had plenty of room, and for the first few days, she’d simply stretched out on a plush couch and begun binge-watching the K-drama series she had put on hold for weeks. Yes—K-drama.

Somehow, the mighty Nyxara, the tigress who could level cities with a single roar, had a soft spot for tragic love stories and misunderstood protagonists.

There was something about the exaggerated emotions, the impossible love triangles, and the tearful monologues under the rain that captured her in a way not even combat could.

As the saying goes, K-drama captures the heart of any pure maiden—and if a monster forged for destruction could be called anything, it was pure in instinct and passion.

Still, after a full week of lying in bed and doing nothing—nothing—even Nyxara was beginning to fray.

She could handle a few days of downtime. She could even enjoy the occasional binge-watching session.

But being confined in the same space, without adventure, without even the thrill of flying through storm-choked skies or chasing after magical beasts for sport... it was like being buried alive. Her tail twitched in agitation.

By the eighth morning, she had had enough.

Nyxara reappeared in the room, exiting the other room. Her form was majestic—sleek black fur laced with runes of deep violet, muscles coiled beneath her skin, and those luminous golden eyes staring at the man still lying on the bed like a half-dead log.

He was in the same position he had been when she left him a few hours ago. One arm slung over his eyes, the other lazily resting on his chest.

His chest rose and fell in the rhythm of someone caught between thinking too much and feeling too little.

Nyxara stood at the foot of the bed, unimpressed.

"You’re still in bed," she said flatly, tail flicking with irritation.

No answer.

She narrowed her eyes at him, studying the man who had once stared down at a sovereign with disdain, killed beasts a rank above him, and had a goal of killing the gods.

But right now, he looked... defeated. Not physically, but emotionally worn—spiritually numb.

Nyxara sighed.

She could guess who had done this to him.

Only one person had the power to do this: a lady, and the only one was a blue-haired girl.

The one from his youth. The one he used to not talk about, which of course meant he thought about her all the time.

She remembered the way he used to hide the fact that he didn’t have a crush on her, or just haven’t noticed it back then.

That girl. Lauren. The one he never admitted to liking.

Nyxara huffed through her nose. She was a creature of instinct, not emotion, but even she could tell this woman meant more to Alex than even he knew.

"Enough of this crap."

With a growl of frustration, she stomped toward the head of the bed where his face still hid under his arm.

"Alex." No reply.

She bared her fangs. "I said ALEX."

Nothing.

That was it.

She raised one of her large paws and with a crackle of raw power, coated it in black lightning. Sparks danced across her claws like the birth of a storm. The air shimmered with tension.

And with no hesitation, she swung the electrified paw straight across Alex’s cheek while simultaneously roaring:

"ALEX, WAKE UP!"

The result was instantaneous and explosive.

His body jolted as if struck by a bolt of divine fury. He went flying off the bed, his body spinning midair like a ragdoll before slamming into the far wall with a dull thud. A painting on the wall rattled and tilted from the impact.

Alex groaned, rubbing his now-bruised cheek as he slid down into a heap on the plush carpet.

"What the hell, Nyxara...?" he mumbled, his voice hoarse, his expression dazed.

Nyxara walked over slowly, elegant and deadly, like a queen approaching a disobedient knight.

"You’ve been lying in bed like a corpse for a WEEK," she snapped. "You’re not a ghost, and you’re not dying.

So, unless that blue-haired girl killed you emotionally, get up and start acting like the person who promised he’d reshape the world."

Alex looked up at her with narrowed eyes, but there was a flicker of something there—life, however dim. The slap had done more than sting his face. It had cracked the shell around his emotions.

He opened his mouth to argue, but Nyxara growled before he could say a word.

"No excuses. I let you mourn. I let you wallow. But now I’m bored, and you’re pathetic.

Either you tell me what the hell happened, or I start shocking you every ten minutes until you start running laps around this damn hotel."

Alex, stunned but slowly regaining his clarity, blinked up at the beast that had always been with him since the fall.

And for the first time in days, the corner of his lips twitched into a faint smirk.