My Three Beautiful Vampire Wives can hear my Inner Thoughts-Chapter 166: Terror of Blood tentacles 2/2

Cain did not rush.

He did not raise his hand or shout or make a grand display of power the way the Emperor had done moments ago. He simply stood there, his presence quiet and steady, his eyes fixed on the man floating above as if he were looking at nothing more than a stubborn insect that had yet to understand it was already caught.

Then—

The ground answered him again.

But this time, it was different.

The tendrils that rose were no longer testing.

They were no longer probing.

They came with intent.

With hunger.

With a kind of violence that did not bother to hide itself anymore.

The earth split open beneath the Emperor in a wide circle, the cracks spreading outward like veins as something far larger forced its way through. What emerged next dwarfed everything that had come before, a thick mass of dark flesh that burst upward with such force that the air itself seemed to ripple around it.

From that mass, the tentacles surged.

Not a dozen.

Not even a hundred.

They came in a flood.

Each one thicker, longer, more alive than before, writhing as they rose, their movements filled with purpose that felt almost intelligent, almost aware, as if every single one knew exactly what it was meant to do.

The Emperor’s body vanished again.

He reappeared far above, his figure small against the storm that churned around him.

"Do you think I will just stand here and die?"

His voice rang out, filled with fury.

Mana exploded from his body, spreading in all directions as he prepared another spell, something larger, something more desperate.

But the tentacles were already moving.

They did not wait for him to finish.

They did not allow him the space to think.

They chased him.

Relentless.

Unforgiving.

He teleported again.

And again.

His figure flickered across the sky, appearing and disappearing in rapid succession, each movement faster than the last, each reappearance placed carefully to avoid the strikes that followed him like shadows.

Yet the tentacles did not slow.

They adapted.

They curved in ways that broke all logic, bending through the air, rising from below, falling from above, reaching from angles that made it seem as if the entire battlefield had become their domain.

One grazed his arm.

His robe tore.

Another came from behind.

He twisted, barely escaping as it snapped shut where his body had been.

The air cracked with each movement.

The storm above roared louder.

Lightning flashed wildly, illuminating the scene in brief bursts of violent light.

"Enough!"

The Emperor roared.

His voice carried strain now, the calm authority from before breaking under the pressure.

He raised both hands.

Mana gathered faster than ever before, forming a massive circle behind him, layers upon layers of complex patterns spinning into existence as he poured everything into a single spell.

"If you think you can corner me—"

His voice rose.

"—then you are gravely mistaken!"

The spell ignited.

A beam of condensed mana shot downward, cutting through the air with overwhelming force, its power so dense that the space around it warped violently as it descended.

It struck the rising mass of tentacles.

For a moment—

It pushed through.

The tendrils twisted under the force, some tearing apart, others recoiling as the beam carved a path through them.

The Emperor’s eyes lit up.

"There!"

But that hope lasted only a breath.

Because the torn flesh did not remain broken.

It moved.

It pulled back together.

It healed.

Faster than the eye could follow.

The beam lost its momentum.

The tendrils closed in.

They wrapped around it.

They crushed it.

The light shattered.

Gone.

As if it had never existed.

The Emperor’s expression froze.

"...No..."

Before he could react—

They reached him.

One wrapped around his leg.

Another around his arm.

A third coiled around his waist.

He vanished.

Tried to escape.

But this time—

He did not fully disappear.

The space around him distorted violently, flickering as if struggling to complete the teleportation.

The tentacles tightened.

They held him in place.

They dragged him back.

"Let go!"

He roared, his voice filled with panic now, the calm gone, the control gone.

His mana flared wildly, exploding outward in bursts that shattered several tendrils, tearing them apart in violent sprays of dark matter.

But more came.

They replaced the ones that were lost.

They wrapped around him again.

Tighter.

Stronger.

They pulled him downward.

"No—!"

His body slammed against another tendril, the impact sending a shock through him as his breath caught.

He raised his hand again, trying to cast.

Trying to escape.

Trying anything.

But the movements of the tentacles became even more brutal.

They struck him.

Again.

And again.

Each hit carried weight.

Carried force.

His body jerked with every impact, his form no longer steady in the air but thrown around like something fragile, something that could break if pushed just a little further.

"Stop—!"

Another hit.

Blood spilled from his mouth.

Another.

His arm twisted at an unnatural angle before snapping back into place through sheer force of mana.

Another.

His ribs cracked.

The sound was clear.

Sharp.

Final.

The Moonshade family watched in silence.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Even Faith’s fury stilled.

Even Ivira’s cold gaze softened with shock.

Even Cornelia’s calm broke as her eyes fixed on the scene above.

An Emperor.

A being they had believed untouchable.

Was being beaten.

Not in a clash of equals.

Not in a battle of power.

But like prey.

Like something that had already lost the moment it entered the field.

"Impossible..."

Zenaya whispered.

"...this is impossible..."

Ancestor Ghurn’s old hands trembled.

"...that is an Emperor..."

Elder Rivik could not speak.

His throat felt dry.

His mind refused to accept what his eyes were showing him.

Above—

The Emperor’s movements slowed.

His body hung in the grasp of the tendrils, his strength fading as more wrapped around him, binding him completely, leaving no space for escape.

His breathing turned ragged.

"...I... will not..."

He forced the words out.

"...die here..."

Mana gathered again.

One last attempt.

One final spell.

A teleportation circle formed beneath him, larger than any he had used before, complex and dense, a long-range escape that would take him far beyond this battlefield.

The casting took time.

Too much time.

The tendrils did not give it to him.

They struck.

One pierced through the forming circle, distorting it.

Another wrapped around his neck.

Another tightened around his chest.

The circle flickered.

Unstable.

"...No..."

His eyes widened.

The spell broke.

And in that moment—

Everything changed.

The tentacles stilled.

For a breath.

Then—

They tightened.

Not to crush.

Not to strike.

But to consume.

Small openings formed along their surfaces.

Mouths.

Dark.

Endless.

They latched onto him.

His body jerked violently.

"...What—what is this—"

His voice broke into a scream.

They drank.

His blood.

His life.

His essence.

It flowed out of him, drawn into the tendrils in steady streams that did not stop, that did not slow, that did not give him a single moment of relief.

"No—!"

His voice weakened.

His struggles grew weaker.

His body shrank.

Not physically at first.

But in presence.

In vitality.

His skin lost color.

His eyes dimmed.

The powerful aura that had once filled the sky began to fade.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Until—

It was gone.

What remained was not the Emperor.

It was a husk.

Dry.

Empty.

A thin layer of skin stretched over bone.

Then even that collapsed.

What fell from the tendrils was nothing more than remains.

Lifeless.

Forgotten.

The battlefield fell into complete silence.

No one breathed.

No one moved.

The Moonshade family could not even bring themselves to speak.

Because there were no words that could describe what they had just witnessed.

Then—

It continued.

Below, the remaining soldiers trembled.

Their fear reached its peak.

"Run—!"

One tried to stand.

He did not make it.

The ground beneath them opened again.

The tendrils surged outward, faster than before, spreading across the battlefield like a wave that could not be stopped.

They reached the soldiers.

Wrapped around them.

Pulled them in.

Screams filled the air.

Short.

Cut off.

Swallowed.

The princesses struggled.

"No—!"

Aurelia cried out, her voice breaking as the tendrils closed in around them.

"Stay back—!"

But it did not matter.

They were caught.

One by one.

Wrapped.

Pulled.

Consumed.

Their voices disappeared.

Their presence vanished.

Until nothing remained.

Only silence.

Only the Moonshade family.

They stared.

Frozen.

"...It’s over..."

Someone whispered.

"...they’re all gone..."

Zenaya’s breath came out slowly.

"...but... who..."

Her eyes moved across the battlefield.

"...who did this..."

Ancestor Ghurn lowered his head.

"...who protected us..."

Elder Rivik clenched his fists.

"...who killed them..."

The question hung in the air.

Heavy.

Unanswered.

And then—

The space in front of them trembled.

Not the ground.

Not the air.

Space itself.

It twisted.

Pulled.

As if something on the other side was pressing against it.

Then—

A tear formed.

Slowly.

Silently.

Opening before their eyes.