Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop
216 – The Sator Family Experience™

A fist connected against a table, rattling the dimly lit room. The force echoed through the hollow space, a sharp crack against the silence. His fingers curled further into a trembling fist, nails digging into his palm as his breath came ragged, seething through gritted teeth.

Vlad the Vampire Cardinal. Isaiah, the First Demon Lord’s son.

Two more formidable obstacles had appeared in Wilderwood Mansion. He had watched it all unfold, his gaze fixed on the flickering images before him, his fury growing with each passing second. He had planned for many variables, but this—this was an unwelcome complication.

But he couldn’t back down. No, not when the plan was already in motion.

A slow, bitter smile curled his lips. Blair was still his. The ace hidden up his sleeve, waiting for the right moment to strike. And no one—not Burn, not Morgan—knew of his plans to take Locan Inkor and Nahwu Reyrie. His base remained untouched, hidden away in a place no one would think to search. And his secret weapon… yes, it was still intact.

Let them feel secure. Let them think they had the upper hand.

By the time they realized the truth, it would be too late.

Morgan Le Fay, that cockroach-persistent, wretched woman—he would enjoy watching the light drain from her eyes. Let her struggle, let her fight. It would make her eventual fall all the more satisfying.

Even if they come too close, he had already taken another body. Shift into another skin. Reinvent himself yet again.

This game was far from over.

***

CLACK! CLACK-CLACK!

A cacophony of wooden swords clashing against each other rang through the air, mixed with the panicked yelps of three teenage boys fighting for their lives.

"AH!"

"BEHIND YOU!"

"DODGE!"

"DON’T DIEEEE, EVAAAANNN!"

SLAM!

A gust of wind sent Evan flying back, his wooden sword slipping from his grip as he rolled across the dirt like a ragdoll. Matthew and Alan, instead of rushing to his aid, took one look at their friend’s limp form and did the smart thing—panicked.

BLAAAAAAST!

“HIEEK!” Alan shrieked as he swung his weapon wildly, managing to hit nothing but air.

"AAAAAAAAH!" Matthew followed, swinging in the opposite direction with equal levels of desperation.

Their opponent? None other than Morgante di Sator—husband, father, and sadist master, judging by how much he was enjoying this.

“Kekekekekeke…”

"Mercy…!" Evan groaned from the ground, dramatically twitching.

"HE’S YOUR SON, SPARE HIM AAAA!" Alan tried, despite knowing full well that Morgante did not believe in favoritism.

BOOM!

The sheer force of Morgante’s next swing sent a shockwave, nearly sweeping Alan and Matthew off their feet. Evan, still recovering, flopped onto his back again.

On the sidelines, Vlad watched with mild amusement, chuckling as Nemo, perched on his lap, grabbed his wrinkled cheeks with both hands and squished. Her big blue eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"Hohoho, so energetic," the old vampire mused, unfazed by the chaos.

Meanwhile, Blair stood frozen, her jaw practically unhinged from watching this absolute slaughter unfold before her.

Alan was barely holding onto his sword, his knees wobbling like a newborn fawn. Matthew looked five seconds away from running for his life. And Evan? Poor Evan was still wheezing on the ground, questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment.

And Morgante? He hadn't even broken a sweat.

It wasn’t a spar. It was a lesson in despair.

Evan sucked in a sharp breath and rolled to the side just as Morgante’s sword slammed down where he had been lying. A gust of wind blasted from the impact, sending dirt flying. Too close.

Matthew and Alan took this brief opening to attack.

“Go left, I’ll go right!” Alan suggested with his eyes, circling behind Morgante while Matthew charged head-on. It was a classic pincer attack, overwhelming the opponent from two sides.

It might’ve worked. If their opponent had been literally anyone else.

Morgante sidestepped effortlessly, kicking Matthew leg, making him stumble past him—and right into Alan, who yelped as their heads collided.

CLUNK!

Both crumpled to the ground, groaning—but Evan, seeing his chance, lunged from behind them, atop, with a downward strike aimed at his father’s shoulder.

Morgante didn’t even look at him.

CRACK!

He parried with one hand, sending Evan’s sword flying—again.

And then, in a blur, Morgante pivoted, grabbed Evan by the front of his shirt, and yeeted him into Matthew and Alan.

THUD-THUD-THUD!

All three collapsed into a pile of limbs, groaning in defeat and existential regret.

Morgante exhaled, disappointed. “That was pathetic.”

Evan raised a trembling hand. “I think… my soul left my body halfway through.”

Matthew wheezed. “Did we… at least last longer than last time?”

Morgante hummed, considering. “Two seconds longer.”

Alan groaned into the dirt. “Kill me.”

“No, no, no!” Vlad chortled. “It was a good effort! At least you tried.”

Blair, still horrified, clapped politely. “Yay. You survived.”

Nemo, however, clapped enthusiastically. “AGAIN!”

The boys twitched. No. Never again.

Isaiah flourished his spear, its sharp edge glinting ominously under the sun. His seven-foot frame loomed over the battered trio like a final boss cutscene. “Thee art quite talented. Wilt thou test thy mettle 'gainst a medium-range warrior?”

Alan, Matthew, and Evan stared up at him, their souls barely hanging on after Morgante’s thrashing. “No thanks, Uncle Isaiah!” they blurted in unison, faster than a guilty dog avoiding eye contact.

The atmosphere plummeted. Dark clouds gathered around Isaiah’s massive frame, his already shadowy presence growing even more tragic. The man looked like a seven-foot-tall, medieval goose lizard that had just been rejected by its flock.

A sigh—long, melancholic, honking in its depth—escaped his lips. No one actually heard the honk, but they felt it deep in their souls.

The kids winced. Sure, Isaiah was terrifyingly massive and wielded a spear that could probably impale an elephant, but deep down… he was just a depressed, introverted goose.

“Don’t worry, Uncle! We’ll spar with you in the afternoon!” Alan said, panic-compensating.

“Yeah! We’re just… a bit beaten up right now…” Matthew added, nervously patting Evan’s shoulder.

“We’ll get ready for your lesson!” Evan nodded, doing his best not to let his legs shake.

Immediately, the gothic funeral clouds evaporated. Isaiah’s aura shifted to that of a majestic garden goose deity, as if flowers might start blooming around his feet at any moment.

“Truly, thou art the finest of lads,” he sighed, smiling radiantly. His elegance made it almost too easy to believe he was related to Madame Bunny. Long black hair? Check. Graceful, effortless beauty? Check. Unreasonable levels of power? Check.

“If only the whelps in my care bore such promise…” Isaiah lamented, recalling the three chaotic young dragons under his watch—Nayanika, Rinai, and Undagi. Those little menaces had made “arson” an art form.

But for now, he would cherish these polite, well-mannered children. At least they didn’t set things on fire just for fun.

"So, now it's finally our dear Princess' turn, yes?" Bunny reminded, rubbing Blair's head.

Blair lifted her head, only to be met with a smile so radiant it could blind lesser beings. The Madame—the most beautiful woman to ever exist, period, end of discussion—was smiling at her.

Her face ignited.

Forget the absurdly impressive uncle, the badass grandpa, the chaotic little sister, the drop-dead gorgeous mother, and the frighteningly intimidating father.

No—the real anomaly here was Evan.

The fact that this boy could sit there, utterly unfazed, as his family operated like a theatrical fever dream on steroids was nothing short of supernatural.

If she married into this family…

Blair’s brain short-circuited. M-Married?!

Her entire face exploded in red.

No way. NO WAY. Who did she think she was?!

She wasn’t even worthy of breathing the same air as these divine beings, let alone dreaming of being part of them. She wasn’t a princess—she was barely acknowledged as an illegitimate nobody!

And yet…

Everyone here is sooooo cool.

She wasn’t alone in that thought.

Alan and Matthew, sitting beside her, were also having their own existential crises.

This wasn’t just some random wealthy merchant family.

This was a clan of demigods in disguise, and they had walked straight into their domain.

“Let’s start with your favorite spell, Your Highness.”