Depraved Noble: Forced To Live The Debaucherous Life Of An Evil Noble!-Chapter 112: The Death Of Cassius Vindictus Holyfield

The words hit Rodrick like a physical blow, his breath catching as the sword trembled violently in his grasp, the tip dipping toward the floor.

He almost dropped it, his fingers slackening as his mind struggled to comprehend what he was hearing. His son—his demon, his nightmare—stood before him, drenched in the blood of others, offering his own life with a smile, as if it were a gift.

Wayne on the other hand staggered back a step, his hand flying to his mouth as he stared at Cassius, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Young Master...What...What are you saying?"

Rodrick also joined in the protest, his gaze darting between the sword and Cassius, his heart pounding as a storm of emotions raged within him—fear, fury, confusion, and something deeper, something he couldn't name.

"You're...You're mad." He finally rasped, his voice cracking as he clutched the weapon tighter, as if it could anchor him against the insanity of the moment. "This is a trick—a lie! You can't mean this!"

Cassius's eyes glinted as he shook his head slowly, his voice steady and resolute. "There's no lie in what I'm saying." He said, his tone carrying an unshakable certainty. "I just want to save the Sacred Guard—those who've taken sanctuary under me. And to do that, I'll do anything."

"...Even if it means giving up my own life."

Wayne's breath caught, his mind spinning as he stared at the Young Master.

Was Cassius truly mad enough to throw away his life for honor, or was this some elaborate bluff?

And before he could settle on an answer, Cassius's smile widened, stretching into something eerier, more unsettling, as he stepped closer to Rodrick.

"There's only a few minutes left until midnight." He said, his voice calm but edged with a chilling finality. "Until the deadline hits. So here's your choice, Father: slash me, kill me, take my head right now or...I'll do the same to you. I'll end you on the spot...So, what's it going to be?"

His smile broadened, his glowing eyes flaring brighter, a vivid red that seemed to burn through the dim room.

"...Take the life of the devil who killed your wife..."

"...or let that devil take yours instead..."

"...It's your choice."

His words landed like a hammer to his skull, and Rodrick's eyes widened, his breath catching as the ultimatum sank in. The room seemed to tilt, the flickering lamplight casting jagged shadows across the walls as the weight of the choice bore down on him.

His own life was on the line now—no more posturing, no more games. He couldn't afford to hesitate, couldn't risk waiting to see if this was another of Cassius's twisted ploys.

The devil stood before him, unflinching, daring him to act, and the ticking clock left no room for doubt.

Rodrick's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as a surge of raw, unfiltered hatred flared in his chest. He stared at Cassius—his son, his worst nightmare—with a look so venomous it could've curdled blood, his hands tightening around the sword until the hilt started vibrating.

And then finally, left with no other option, with a roar that tore through the study and echoed down the halls of the mansion, he shouted, "You bastard!" And heaved the sword upward, its blade catching the light in a wicked arc and then swung it down with all his might, aiming straight for Cassius's chest.

He was certain—certain—that Cassius would dodge, leap aside, or strike back at the last second.

Wayne thought the same, his heart leaping into his throat as he braced for the inevitable counterattack, his hand hovering uselessly near his own blade.

But to their utter shock and horror, Cassius didn't move.

He stood rooted in place, his smile unwavering, his arms loose at his sides as the sword...plunged into his chest with a wet, crunching thud.

Squelch!~

Blood erupted from the wound, spraying across the floor in a vivid crimson splash, the blade sinking deep into flesh and bone and Rodrick froze, his hands locked around the hilt, his breath hitching as the reality hit him like a sledgehammer.

Cassius wasn't lying...The devil had let him strike like he promised

Wayne stumbled back, a choked gasp escaping his lips as he clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide with terror. "No...No, Young Master..." He whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of blood dripping onto the rug.

But Rodrick's reaction was different.

A slow, eerie smile crept across his face, twisting his features into something manic, something unhinged.

His blue eyes gleamed with a wild, crazed light, as if the gods themselves had parted the heavens to grant him this moment.

The chance to finally bury his vengeance in his son's flesh.

"You're mine!" He snarled, yanking the sword free with a sickening squelch, blood gushing from the gaping wound and then immediately swung again, the blade slashing across Cassius's chest, tearing through muscle and cloth. "Die, you devil—die!"

His voice rose into a frenzied shout as he hacked and sliced, over and over, each strike more savage than the last.

Slice!~ Squelch!~

Slash!~ Splash!~

Blood poured out in torrents, splattering his face, his hands, the walls—chunks of flesh fell to the floor with wet thuds, but he didn't stop and continued to cut through him.

Slice!~ Squelch!~

Slash!~ Splash!~

Cassius's body became a training dummy under his relentless assault, the sword carving jagged lines through his chest as Rodrick laughed, a high, broken sound that bordered on hysteria.

"It feels so good—so damn good! I've waited for this years, years of waiting! Revenge at last—finally mine!"

Wayne watched in mute horror, his legs trembling as he sank against the desk, unable to tear his eyes away.

The room filled with the grisly symphony of ripping flesh and Rodrick's crazy cries, the Patriarch lost in a trance of vengeance...until finally Cassius's body swayed under the onslaught, then crumpled to the ground in a bloody, mangled heap, his chest a ruined mess of torn tissue and exposed bone.

Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the rug.

But Rodrick wasn't satisfied...Not yet.

With a guttural growl, he dropped to his knees, straddling Cassius's lifeless form and then to Wayne's mounting dread, he gripped the sword like a butcher's cleaver and drove it into Cassius's neck.

"Not enough! Not enough!"

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He bellowed, sawing at the flesh with frenzied, uneven strokes. Blood sprayed across his face, matting his blonde hair into a crimson tangle, but he kept going, slicing and cutting as if possessed.

"I'll take your head, you monster—I'll end you completely!"

His voice cracked with exertion, his hands slick with gore as the blade bit deeper, severing muscle and tendon until finally—with a wet, ripping pop—

...Cassius's head came free, rolling slightly before Rodrick snatched it up by the hair.

He then staggered to his feet, holding the severed head aloft like a conqueror, his chest heaving as he let out a triumphant, fanatical laugh.

"I-I've done it!" He shouted, his voice echoing through the study, raw and unhinged. "I've finally done it! The devil's dead—dead by my hands! I can rest now—rest in peace!"

"...My final wish, my vengeance!"

"...It's mine! Mine!"

He clutched the head tighter, blood dripping from its neck onto his boots, his eyes wild with a delirious relief as he ranted on.

"You're gone! Gone forever! Florence can smile down on me now!

"...I've avenged her, avenged everything!"

"...Hahahahaha!"

But just as his triumphant rant reached its peak, a voice cut through the air—casual, calm, and impossibly out of place.

"That's a relief." It said, light and casual, as if commenting on the weather. "I'm glad I could help you carry out your last wish, Father...I'm truly glad."

Rodrick's laughter choked off mid-breath, his body going rigid as a chill raced down his spine.

Wayne let out a strangled whimper, his hands trembling as he pressed himself against the desk, his heart pounding so hard it threatened to burst.

That voice—

It couldn't be—

It shouldn't be—

The air grew impossibly cold and suffocating, as both men finally slowly—dreadfully—turned their heads toward the sound, praying to every god they knew that it wasn't what they feared.

But there, in Rodrick's shaking grasp, was Cassius's severed head and its eyes, which should have been lifeless, dull, and closed, were wide open, glowing with that same vivid crimson light.

They stared directly at them, alive, aware, piercing through the dimness of the room.

Then the mouth, which should have been slack and silent, curved into a faint, knowing smile, blood still trickling from its edges.

"Didn't think it'd end that easily, did you, Father?"

The head said, its voice low and full of dreadful mischief, resonating from a throat that no longer existed.