Chapter 238 Oasis Witch In Alaric’s Grasps

The immediate adrenaline rush of battle faded, replaced by the grim, methodical work of harvesting the aftermath. The Sunken Grotto, moments before a scene of chaotic violence, now echoed with the wet sounds of dissection and the faint hum of extracted magic cores.

Lyra and Cassandra efficiently directed the physical recovery, their Grand Martialist strength making light work of prying open thick carapaces or severing durable tendons to access internal organs and glands. Rosalind oversaw the delicate process of core extraction, ensuring the mages handled the potent energy sources carefully.

Kara and Ulriya, flushed from their first major, successful engagement, worked diligently, eager to prove their competence even in the cleanup. Ceanna and her clerics moved among the team, offering minor healing for cuts and scrapes, their presence a calming balm amidst the carnage.

Brita Kuusk worked silently, methodically, her movements precise as she extracted cores. Her eyes, however, kept flickering towards the massive, paralyzed form of Lord Volnaxx, still bound by her reinforced shadow tendrils near the grotto entrance. Alaric stood beside the subdued Sea Monster Lord, his expression contemplative, almost detached.

While his team looted the battlefield, Alaric began his own… interrogation. Though ‘interrogation’ implies questions, and Alaric wasn’t asking any.

He drew his sword – a finely crafted blade, but nothing inherently magical. He examined the paralyzed Volnaxx, whose multiple eyes darted frantically, filled with impotent rage and growing confusion. The creature was clearly conscious, aware, trapped within its immobile, powerless form by Alaric’s Sovereign’s Seal.

Without a word, Alaric drove the tip of his sword into one of Volnaxx’s smaller, subsidiary limbs – a thick, segmented appendage near its base. He twisted the blade slowly.

Volnaxx let out a gurgling, pressurized roar of pain, muffled by the paralysis affecting his vocal cords but clearly agonizing. His massive body twitched violently within Brita’s shadow binds.

Alaric withdrew the blade, wiped it clean on a nearby rock, and then targeted another spot – a joint in one of its massive pincers. He stabbed again, probing, twisting.

Another choked roar of agony. Volnaxx’s bioluminescent eyes flashed wildly. He clearly wanted to speak, to bargain, perhaps to threaten, but Alaric offered no opening.

‘Why isn’t he asking anything?’ Volnaxx thought, panic mixing with the searing pain. ‘Doesn’t he want information? Secrets? Surrender terms? Just… pain?’

He tried to force words out, a guttural click escaping his vertical maw. “Wait! Human! I can tell you—”

SHINK!

Alaric drove his sword point directly into Volnaxx’s mouth cavity, silencing him instantly, eliciting another strangled bellow of agony.

“Silence,” Alaric stated calmly, his voice devoid of emotion. “I didn’t ask you to speak.”

He withdrew the blade again. He wasn’t trying to kill the creature, not yet. He was systematically inflicting pain, breaking down its formidable Seventh Order will, establishing absolute dominance not through negotiation, but through pure, methodical torture. He wanted the creature terrified, compliant, ready to spill everything before he even asked.

The process continued. Alaric moved around the massive form, finding nerve clusters, sensitive membranes between armor plates, joints. Each deliberate stab, twist, or cut elicited choked roars and violent spasms. He worked with the detached precision of a biologist dissecting a specimen, his face calm, almost bored, yet his eyes held a cold, analytical intensity.

His team, busy with the harvest, occasionally glanced over. Lyra and Cassandra exchanged brief, knowing looks – Alaric had his methods. Rosalind shivered slightly, reminded of his capacity for cruelty, yet undeniably drawn to the power radiating from him. Kara and Ulriya averted their eyes, focusing on their tasks, unquestioning of their Master’s actions. Brita watched with a complex mix of fear and grudging fascination, recognizing the cold efficiency, wondering if this was how he broke her so thoroughly. Ceanna simply offered a silent prayer, trusting her Lord’s purpose, whatever it might be.

After what felt like an eternity to the agonized Volnaxx – perhaps twenty minutes in reality – Alaric paused. The Sea Monster Lord was trembling uncontrollably, its formidable aura reduced to a pathetic flicker, its eyes filled with sheer terror and incomprehension. It had tried to speak several more times, only to be silenced by another precise application of pain.

Now, Alaric finally knelt down slightly, bringing his face closer to one of Volnaxx’s main, terrified eyes.

“Now,” Alaric said softly, his voice a chilling contrast to the preceding violence. “Perhaps you have something you wish to share?”

Volnaxx shuddered, relief warring with terror. Finally, a chance to speak, to bargain, to stop the unbearable pain.

“Yes! Yes!” the pressure-voice croaked, weak and desperate. “Plans! Secrets! I know things! Spare me! I will tell you everything!”

Alaric simply waited, his expression unreadable.

Driven by pain and desperation, the words tumbled out of Volnaxx in a torrent, a confession born not of questioning, but of sheer terror seeking cessation.

“The Confederacy… weak! Already compromised!” Volnaxx gasped. “High ministers… councillors… they deal with us! In secret!”

Alaric raised an eyebrow slightly. ‘Internal betrayal? Predictable, but useful confirmation.’

“One of ours… the Siren Queen, Kyss’andra… her thralls,” Volnaxx continued frantically, eager to provide valuable information. “She charmed them weeks ago! Silver-tongued fools, swayed by promises of power, longevity… abyssal ‘gifts’!”

He described the insidious plot. How key ministers within the Confederacy High Council, seduced and controlled by the powerful Siren Queen (another Seventh Order entity specializing in mental domination and illusion), had agreed to sabotage their own capital city, Ziantha, from within.

“Next month’s highest tide!” Volnaxx revealed, his voice raspy. “The charmed ministers… they will disable the capital’s outer defenses! The Rune Cannons, the Sentinel Puppets… all silenced! Simultaneously, hidden channels, ancient waterways beneath the city known only to us and them… will be opened! My kin… Kyss’andra’s thralls… legions will pour into the city from below and through the deactivated gates!”

He shuddered, remembering the plan’s audacity. “Ziantha will fall within hours! A massacre!”

‘Clever,’ Alaric acknowledged silently. ‘Internal sabotage combined with overwhelming assault. Classic.’

“And then?” Alaric prompted quietly.

“Two months after Ziantha falls,” Volnaxx rushed on, “Lord Krýllos himself leads the final assault! Sunstone City! The heart of their sun magic! Their holiest site! We hit it from within – using Ziantha as a staging ground – and Krýllos crushes it from without! The Confederacy… extinguished! Utterly!”

He finished, panting, his multiple eyes pleading with Alaric. “That is the plan! All of it! Now… please… the pain…”

Alaric remained kneeling, studying the terrified Sea Monster Lord. The plan was comprehensive, devastating. Betrayal, infiltration, overwhelming force. Typical abyssal cunning mixed with brute strength.

He reached out, placing a hand gently on Volnaxx’s trembling carapace. Volnaxx flinched violently.

“A good plan,” Alaric commented thoughtfully. “Thorough.”

He didn’t say he would stop the torture. He didn’t offer mercy. He simply… stood up.

He looked down at the creature. ‘Still potentially useful. Perhaps as a living battery? Or maybe its knowledge of abyssal routes and other Lords could be valuable later.’ Killing it now seemed… premature. The core was secured, essentially, by the Sovereign’s Seal incapacitating it. Extraction could wait.

He turned away from Volnaxx, leaving the creature paralyzed, terrified, and utterly confused by the lack of promised relief.

Just as Alaric turned, Cassandra called out from the edge of the grotto. “Alaric! Someone approaching. Alone. Human female. Moving fast.”

Alaric glanced up. His enhanced senses picked her up moments later – a lone figure running across the desolate landscape towards them, moving with surprising speed, a faint aura of nature magic and something else… volatile, desperate… clinging to her.

‘Interesting timing.’

He gestured for his team to remain alert but non-hostile. They finished securing the last of the valuable cores and body parts, quickly organizing their loot.

The lone figure arrived at the edge of the grotto, panting, her eyes wild. It was Shaila Bloomwater.

She stopped dead, taking in the scene. The sheer scale of the carnage. Hundreds of dead sea monsters, many bearing familiar markings – Volnaxx’s brood. A group of incredibly powerful humans, calmly sorting through the corpses like seasoned hunters. And there, bound and paralyzed but undeniably alive, was the monstrous form of the creature that haunted her nightmares.

Her breath hitched. Her knuckles turned white as she clenched her fists. Rage, grief, and a burning desire for vengeance warred within her.

She forced herself to remain calm, projecting an air of cautious neutrality despite the turmoil inside. She approached the nearest figures – Rosalind and Ulriya, who were packing cores into specialized containers.

“Excuse me,” Shaila said, her voice slightly breathless but steady. “I tracked the energy surge. This slaughter… was this your doing?”

Rosalind looked up, assessing the newcomer. Strong presence, wild energy, likely the ‘Oasis Witch’ the fisherman mentioned. “We dealt with the infestation, yes.”

“The leader,” Shaila pressed, her eyes flicking towards the paralyzed Volnaxx. “The big one. Is he… dealt with?”

Before Rosalind could answer, Lyra stepped forward gracefully, intercepting Shaila’s intense gaze. “You seek the commander of these creatures?” Lyra asked calmly, her own formidable aura acting as a subtle buffer.

Shaila nodded curtly, her eyes locked on Volnaxx’s form. “I have unfinished business with that monster.”

Lyra studied her for a moment. The grief and rage were palpable beneath the surface calm. “My son is handling the… disposition of the leader. Come. I will take you to him.”

Leaving the others to finish the cleanup and remain vigilant, Lyra led Shaila towards the back of the grotto where Alaric stood near the paralyzed Volnaxx.

As they walked, Alaric turned. His gaze first swept over his mother, appreciating the powerful, elegant sway of her hips, the way her golden hair caught the light, the cool authority in her blue eyes. Then his attention shifted to the woman beside her.

‘Well now,’ Alaric thought, his predatory instincts stirring anew. ‘Who is this?’

Shaila Bloomwater was striking. Not conventionally beautiful in the soft, courtly way of Margaret or Josephine, but possessing a fierce, wild allure. Long, unruly brunette hair framed a face with high cheekbones, determined jaw, and piercing green eyes that currently blazed with barely suppressed hatred as she looked at Volnaxx. Her body, honed by a life in the harsh desert, was lean and athletic beneath practical, earth-toned clothing, yet undeniably feminine, with surprisingly full breasts straining the fabric of her tunic and hips that curved appealingly. She moved with the grace of a desert cat.

‘Large breasts, curvy hips, slender waist… fiery spirit,’ Alaric cataloged appreciatively, licking his lips almost imperceptibly. ‘Definitely my type. And conveniently delivered right to my doorstep.’

Shaila felt his gaze on her and stiffened slightly, tearing her eyes away from Volnaxx to look at the man Lyra was leading her towards. He was young, impossibly handsome, with eyes like chips of ruby that seemed to see right through her. He radiated an aura of power that was both attractive and deeply intimidating.

“My son, Alaric,” Lyra introduced simply. “This woman tracked the commotion. She has questions regarding the creature.” Lyra then tactfully stepped back, leaving them.

Shaila forced herself to offer a respectful nod, recognizing the power disparity instantly. “Greetings. I am Shaila Bloomwater. May I ask who you are? And what you’ve done to… this?” She gestured towards Volnaxx, her voice tight.

“Alaric Steele,” he replied smoothly, offering a polite, disarming smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Heir to the Steele Family, a noble house from the kingdom of Eloriath.”

Shaila’s eyes widened slightly. Eloriath? A noble? She had expected maybe a powerful mercenary captain, or a rogue Confederacy mage. Not foreign nobility. It changed the dynamic, required a different approach. She offered a more formal, respectful bow.

“Lord Steele,” she corrected herself. “Forgive my earlier abruptness. Your presence here is… unexpected. As is your victory against this… this monster.”

“Necessity dictates unusual actions in these times, wouldn’t you agree, Lady Shaila?” Alaric countered pleasantly.

He stepped closer, invading her personal space slightly, forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. He saw the hatred flare again as her gaze flicked back to Volnaxx.

“This beast,” Shaila stated, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. “It is the one. The one who led the attack on my home, the Whispering Reeds oasis. It poisoned the waters, crushed our homes… slaughtered my people. My family.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back fiercely. “I was away, gathering rare herbs. When I returned… only ruins. And tracks leading back to the sea. His tracks.”

She looked back at Alaric, her green eyes pleading. “Lord Steele. I tracked him for weeks, seeking vengeance. You have subdued him. I ask… no, I beg you… let me be the one to end its miserable existence. Let me avenge my people.”

Alaric listened, his expression shifting to one of deep sympathy. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on her arm. Shaila flinched slightly at the unexpected touch, but didn’t pull away. His touch felt… strangely calming, grounding, despite the circumstances.

“Lady Shaila,” Alaric murmured, his voice soft, soothing. “To lose everything… your home, your family… at the hands of such a creature. My deepest condolences. The cruelty of these monsters knows no bounds.”

His fingers tightened slightly on her arm, a gesture that felt both supportive and possessive. His innate charm, amplified by the System, began to work its subtle magic, bypassing her grief and rage, creating a connection, a sense of trust.

“Such pain,” he continued, stepping even closer, his other hand coming up to gently brush a stray strand of brunette hair from her face. “Such justifiable hatred. Vengeance… it is a powerful, necessary balm for wounds so deep.”

Shaila found herself leaning into his touch almost imperceptibly, drawn to his perceived empathy, his strength. He felt so solid, so powerful, a rock in the storm of her grief.

“I… I just want it dead,” she whispered, tears finally escaping, tracking paths through the grime on her cheeks. “For what it did.”

“And you shall have your vengeance, Shaila,” Alaric promised, his voice a hypnotic whisper. His hand slid from her arm, moving to her back, pulling her slightly closer, offering comfort that felt dangerously intimate. “I understand the need. I respect it.”

Shaila looked up at him, hope warring with caution. “Truly? You’ll let me kill it?”

“On two conditions,” Alaric stated gently but firmly, his ruby eyes holding hers. “First: the beast’s core belongs to me. It is a rare resource, vital for my family’s efforts against this darkness. The kill is yours; the spoils are mine. Agreed?”

Shaila hesitated only for a second. The core meant nothing to her compared to the act of vengeance itself. “Agreed, Lord Steele.”

“Second,” Alaric continued, his hand tightening slightly on her back, pulling her almost fully against his chest now. He could feel the soft yielding of her breasts against him, smell the scent of desert herbs and faint sweat clinging to her. “Such power as yours, Shaila – your knowledge of poisons, healing, your connection to this land – is valuable. Wasted, perhaps, roaming the deserts alone seeking revenge.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “After you have your justice, you will accompany me. Back to my territory. The Steele Family is always eager to welcome talented individuals into its service. Especially,” his voice dropped lower, huskier, “ones as… compelling… as yourself.”

Shaila froze, pressed against his hard body, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine. Join him? Go to Eloriath? Become part of his… family? It was completely unexpected. But his closeness, his charm, the sheer power radiating from him, combined with the promise of vengeance… it was an intoxicating, overwhelming combination. Her grief and rage felt muted, replaced by a strange, confusing warmth spreading through her.

She blushed deeply, acutely aware of their proximity, of his hand on her back, his thumb subtly stroking her side. She should pull away. She should assert her independence. But she found herself… unable. Unwilling.

“I… I would be honored… Lord Steele,” she stammered, the words feeling foreign yet right. The thought of safety, of purpose beyond vengeance, under the protection of this powerful, compelling man… it was suddenly intensely appealing.

Alaric smiled, a genuine smile this time, one of triumph. ‘Hook, line, and sinker.’

“Excellent,” he murmured, pulling back slightly, though his hand lingered possessively on her waist. “Then let us conclude this matter.”

He turned towards the bound, paralyzed Volnaxx. He drew his sword again. Not to kill, but to make a precise incision near the creature’s core location, weakening the surrounding tissue, making extraction easier for Shaila while ensuring the core itself remained undamaged for him.

“Here,” Alaric said, offering Shaila his sword, hilt first. “Deliver the final blow. Aim for the central nerve cluster just beneath the primary carapace ridge. It will be swift.”

Shaila took the sword, its weight unfamiliar but reassuring in her hand. She looked at Volnaxx, at the creature that had destroyed her world. The hatred surged back, cold and pure.

She stepped forward, raised the sword high, took aim, and with a visceral cry of rage and grief, plunged the blade deep into the indicated spot.

Volnaxx’s body gave one final, massive shudder, a silent scream echoing in the pressurized depths of its being, then stilled completely. The light in its multiple eyes extinguished forever.

Shaila stood panting, the sword still buried deep, tears streaming down her face. It was done. Vengeance, delivered.

Alaric stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It is finished, Shaila. You are free.”

He gently took the sword from her trembling hand. Then, with practiced ease, he reached into the wound he had prepared, bypassing Shaila’s fatal strike, and extracted the massive, pulsating Seventh Order core. It glowed with immense, cold, abyssal power.

He held it for a moment, admiring its potency, before storing it safely away.

He turned back to Shaila, offering her a clean cloth he produced from his ring. “Now,” he said softly, his voice once again hypnotic, compelling. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You have a new home, and a new Master, awaiting you.”

Shaila, emotionally drained, physically exhausted, and strangely susceptible to his overwhelming presence, could only nod numbly, allowing him to lead her away from the scene of her vengeance, towards an unknown future entirely under his control. The Oasis Witch had found her justice, and in doing so, had walked straight into Alaric Steele’s carefully laid trap.