Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 373: Die Trying III

Chapter 373: Die Trying III

"This cannot be!" Alistair howled in demented rage, but it didn’t matter what he thought. He was going to be a terrifying relic of history soon enough.

Daphne wasted no time. She quickly sprinted over to his side, syringe in her hand as her dress fell off her shoulders, revealing her soft armor underneath. Alistair could do nothing more than hiss and glare at her with fiery, bloodshot eyes as he realized that he had been fooled. His stupid sister had come prepared to deal with his abilities, almost like they had inside knowledge.

Daphne stabbed him in the neck with her syringe and slowly pushed down the piston to deliver the antidote into his body.

"What are you doing? This tiny thing won’t stop me!" Alistair declared, but Daphne caught sight of the fear in his eyes.

If he could twist his neck away, he would have. Instead, he was forced to watch helplessly at this strange fluid entering his bloodstream.

"It will. If it worked for Silas, it’ll work for you too," Daphne said confidently, watching the spidery veins on Alistair’s face gradually fade away to reveal his pale skin.

Alistair’s eyes widened when he caught sight of his hands — the claws that he used so expertly to incite fear and panic, the claws that he used to hunt down prey and feast on flesh — were rapidly shortening, reverting back to the thin spindly fingers of a weak human.

He stared down at his plain, ordinary, fingernails in horror.

"No! No! You can’t do this!" Alistair screamed into Daphne’s ear, trying to move his hands so he could wrap them around her neck. But Atticus’s powers held firm, and he could do nothing more than quiver in indignation. The red of his eyes was fading at a slower rate than Silas’s, but his fangs were long gone.

Daphne merely made shushing noises, as though he was a toddler throwing a tantrum. She patted him on his head, a parody of a loving mother.

This was as good as things could get; Sirona and Nathaniel had warned that the serum might not work as well for Alistair as it did Silas, since Alistair had consumed so much of Jean Nott’s concoctions and he had an active diet of human blood after.

Atticus strolled casually in their direction so that he could take a closer look at Alistair. Alistair seethed, but the worst he could do was to spit at his face.

Atticus, being Atticus, merely flung the spit back at Alistair’s own face without any hesitation before it could even hit him.

"He seems cheerful," Atticus said cheerily, waving a mocking hand in front of Alistair. Judging from the hatred in his eyes, his human self had regained some control. Excellent. It was fun to slay a bloodthirsty beast, but it was even more gratifying to destroy his enemies when they were with a clear mind.

"Hello, do you remember me?" Atticus asked tauntingly. "I must say, you look positively ghastly."

"Atticus, you bastard! You’ll pay for this!" Alistair roared, the pupils of his eyes vibrating with indignant rage as he focused on the person responsible for all his misfortunes. Everything started because King Atticus chopped off his hand. Daphne, his weak idiotic sister, would never have been able to usurp him otherwise. "Once I get out of this, I’ll―"

To his surprise, Daphne slapped him with the back of her hand, her wedding ring leaving a cut on his face.

The cut did not heal.

"Shut up, you murderous swine." Daphne glared coldly at him. Alistair had a long list of crimes he had to answer for, and this one backhand was barely enough for her to sate her anger. "You will pay for all you did."

This one man had ruined so many lives with his senseless greed and pride.

"You dare to hit me?!" Alistair yelled, enraged. "If you have the guts, get your husband to release me this instance! I’ll duke it out with you!"

Atticus laughed, "Of course I’m not doing that, the main point is for you to get hit. My dear, do you want to smack him again?"

Daphne balled her hands and rained blows all over Alistair’s face, feeling vindictive pleasure at the way he winced and flinched. She thought of Nereus, now with one remaining eye after being tortured. Her knuckles dug into his eye sockets, her palms struck his nose head-on.

She wanted him to hurt.

While her fights with Alistair tended to involve magic, there was something primal and satisfying about being able to smack the living daylights out of him now that he couldn’t retaliate. It wasn’t so much bullying the weak as it was punishing him for his crimes.

"Nice, Daphne. I think you’ve hit him so hard that your mother wouldn’t be able to recognize his face," Atticus said approvingly. He knew Jonah’s teachings in combat would be useful eventually.

Alistair still had the nerve to smirk, even with his bruises all over his face.

"Guess this is the most damage you can do to me, sweet sister," Alistair gloated. "Your powers have weakened."

"Atticus, it’s time," Daphne said, ignoring Alistair’s words. The dark veins were slowly returning. Atticus whistled and brandished his sword.

"Time for what? What are you do―" But Prince Alistair never got to complete his question, because Atticus swung his sword in one swift motion, lopping off Alistair’s head with as much ease as he did with his hand months ago.

Blood splattered all over the floor as Alistair’s head rolled sadly away. Daphne sighed and picked it up.

"Ha, you can’t kill me!" Alistair crowed, buoyed by his success. He simply needed to reach his body, and all would be well. "I will return and reign―"

Daphne lifted his head high above her own, and with a triumphant scream, smashed it against the ground with the weight of her entire body, as though she was a hunting bird trying to destroy the eggs of its enemies. Blood emerged from the back of his head.

Alistair’s head was now blessedly silent.

"Well, that’s effective," Atticus clapped, "I must applaud your ingenuity."

"If I had a cloth gag I would use it to shut him up," Daphne grumbled.

"You could’ve used your sock," Atticus pointedly said, which only caused Daphne to grimace in disgust.

"Either way, it won’t keep him quiet for long."

"Let’s get back to the palace then," Atticus said, throwing the body a further distance away. When it didn’t even twitch, he deemed it safe enough to be transported back to the palace. Sirona would have a field day with this gift― she would never be able to complain about her lack of birthday presents any longer.

"I can’t wait to show off our new prize."

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