Taming the Beast World with a Frying Pan-Chapter 128: A Serpent’s Murderous Intent

The morning sun hit Syris’ face like a physical slap.

It was rude. It was bright. And it was entirely too cheerful for a Snake King who was currently stuck to his own silk robes.

Syris groaned, his long, dark lashes fluttering open to reveal striking amethyst eyes. His body felt heavy, draped in the lethargy of deep satisfaction. His chest and the front of his open robe were a mess—stiff and sticky with the dried evidence of his release from the night before.

He remembered the feeling of Ren’s mouth on him, the way she had swallowed him whole, eager and enthusiastic. It had been the best release of his life.

He reached out an arm, his fingers seeking the warm, soft skin of his mate to pull her back for a lazy morning cuddle.

His hand hit cold dirt.

Syris’ amethyst eyes snapped open, the pupils constricting into razor-thin slits.

"Ren?"

He sat up abruptly, his long black hair cascading down his back like a waterfall of ink. He scanned the riverbank. The fire was dead, reduced to cold ash. Viper was still curled up in his giant snake form a few feet away, snoring softly.

But Ren was gone.

"Ren!" Syris called out, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

Viper jerked awake. His massive serpentine body shimmered and retracted, bones cracking and reshaping until he stood in his beastman form. He looked around wildly, blinking sleep from his eyes.

"My King? What is it? Is it an attack?"

"Where is she?" Syris hissed, scrambling to his feet, ignoring the dried fluids flaking on his chest.

Viper looked around the empty campsite, sniffing the air. "Maybe... maybe she went hunting? Females like to forage in the morning, right? Maybe she went to find breakfast?"

"Ren does not just wander off," Syris snapped, pacing the small clearing. "She knows this forest is death. She knows it is too dangerous for her to be alone for even a second."

He stopped. His gaze fell upon a pile of fabric near the water’s edge, draped neatly over a large rock.

Syris walked over to it. His heart dropped into his stomach.

It was her clothes.

"She is naked," Syris whispered, a tremor of panic entering his voice. "She is wandering the forest completely naked."

His mind raced. Why would she leave? Why would she strip and run into the dark?

Then, a dark, poisonous realization curled around his heart.

He looked down at his own chest, at the mess she had caused there.

’Last night... she was so willing. She initiated it. She took me into her mouth with such passion.’

Syris’ face twisted in agony.

"A farewell gift," he choked out.

The realization hit him like a physical blow. She hadn’t been making love to him. She hadn’t been claiming him. She was paying him off. She was giving him one last night of pleasure to soften the blow of her abandonment.

"She bribed me," Syris whispered, his voice trembling with rage. "She put me to sleep with pleasure so she could leave."

He scanned the ground frantically for tracks. That’s when he saw it.

Near the edge of the clearing, there was a sharp, jagged rock jutting out of the earth. And on the tip of it, glistening darkly in the morning sun, was a smear of dried blood.

Syris knelt. He picked up the rock.

The blood was already dry, crusted onto the stone. He brought it to his face, his nostrils flaring.

It was her scent. Sweet, iron, and undeniably Ren.

Slowly, almost in a trance, Syris brought the rock to his lips. He ran his tongue over the sharp edge, tasting the cold, metallic remnants of her pain.

It was Ren’s blood.

Something inside Syris snapped. It was a quiet snap, like a twig breaking in a dead forest, but the echo was deafening in his soul.

"She went to him," Syris whispered. The panic in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, dead void. "She went to the Tiger."

He stood up, clutching the sharp rock in his hand.

"She used me," he said, his voice eerily calm. "She used me to get through the swamp. She used me to get to the forest. And the moment we were close enough... she abandoned me."

His grip on the rock tightened.

Squelch.

The sharp edge sliced deep into his palm. Fresh, dark snake blood spilled out, mixing with the dried remnants of Ren’s blood, covering it completely. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.

"My King..." Viper took a step back, terrified. He had seen Syris angry. He had seen Syris cruel. But he had never seen this. This was a quiet implosion.

"I tried," Syris laughed, a dark, humorless sound. "I tried to be the diligent mate. I tried to be understanding. I shared. I compromised."

He looked at his bleeding hand, watching the red drops hit the dirt.

"But I was foolish because a snake does not share. A snake swallows its prey whole."

His face twisted. The mask of the elegant, noble King crumbled, revealing the obsessive monster underneath.

"She thinks she can leave? She thinks she can choose him?" His voice dropped to a whisper filled with pure malice. "I gave her the opportunity to love me. Now... I do not care if she hates me. As long as she is mine. As long as she never leaves my sight again."

Viper didn’t dare breathe. He made himself as small as possible.

Syris dropped the bloody rock. It landed with a dull thud.

"I declare The Rite of the Severed Fang," Syris stated coldly.

Viper gasped. "The... the death match? My King, that is ancient law! It is a fight to the death between Kings who claim the same mate!"

"Exactly," Syris smiled. It was a terrifying smile. It didn’t reach his amethyst eyes, which were now dark pits of obsession. "If the Tiger King wants her, he will have to pry her from my cold, dead coils. But I assure you... I will be the one wearing a tiger-skin cloak by sunset."

Syris turned to Viper. His face looked serene, almost holy, but his aura was suffocating.

"We are going to find my mate," he commanded softly. "And we are going to return home. Even if I have to break her legs to keep her there."

He turned toward the dense forest. He lifted his nose to the air.

To Viper, the forest smelled of pine and damp earth.

But to Syris, the faint, sweet scent of Ren’s blood lingered in the air like a beacon. It was faint—hours old—but his obsession sharpened his senses beyond what should be possible.

"I smell her," Syris murmured, his tongue flicking out to taste the air.

He began to march into the shadows of the trees, his bloody hand dripping a trail behind him.

Viper swallowed hard and hurried to follow his King into the forest.