The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 550: Isabella would not want this. Please stop
The insult hovered in the air like smoke.
It drifted.
It settled.
It burned.
Zyran’s mockery was already rotten, already poisonous, already too much for any man to swallow, but when he stepped lower, dragging Cyrus’ unborn children into his smirk, something inside Cyrus snapped.
Not gently.
Not slowly.
Not quietly.
It snapped like a bone twisted out of place.
The sound of it was not heard, but everyone felt it. A shiver crawled along the dirt. The wooden beams of the half-built cradle vibrated. Even the wind outside the small village paused, sensing a spiritual shift.
Ophelia gasped, covering her mouth.
Valen’s eyes widened.
The villagers gathering nearby froze mid-step.
Cyrus’ pupils dilated until his eyes looked like bottomless red pools, glowing faintly with an ancient energy he rarely ever used.
His voice dropped, low and guttural.
"What," he said, "did you say."
Zyran held his stare without fear.
Zyran had never known fear.
Zyran was the fear in other men.
So he leaned in.
He smirked wider.
His sharp canines gleamed.
And he repeated it.
Slowly.
Cruelly.
Purposefully.
"I said... what makes you think Isabella will want your offspring too."
The rest of the world went silent.
Cyrus did not breathe.
Then his transformation erupted like a violent storm.
His lower body split into glowing scales as a massive red serpent tail burst out, slamming into the ground with enough force to shake dust from the rooftops. The impact made the villagers stumble backward in terror.
But that was not the part that made everyone scream.
Cyrus’ hair flared, each strand twisting, shifting, glowing, then splitting into dozens of thin serpents. They lifted their heads, hissed in unison, alive with fury. The air thickened with old magic, the kind that made mortals want to bow or run.
This was no gentle boy.
This was no soft, quiet man.
This was a serpent prince, awakened.
Valen instinctively pushed Ophelia behind him.
"Cyrus," Valen warned. "Calm down."
But Cyrus was beyond calm.
He lunged.
His massive tail whipped through the air with terrifying speed and struck Zyran across the chest. The sound cracked through the village like thunder.
Zyran flew.
Actually flew.
He hit the packed dirt so hard the ground dented beneath him. A gush of blood splattered across the soil as he coughed violently, silenced by the force.
Ophelia screamed, "Stop it, stop it, please."
But Cyrus did not stop.
He did not even blink.
He slithered forward with frightening speed, grabbed Zyran by the throat, and lifted him easily off the ground with one hand. The snakes in Cyrus’ hair hissed, fangs bared.
Zyran coughed blood and laughed through it.
He actually laughed.
"You are angry. Good," he rasped. "It means she still matters to you."
Cyrus slammed him into the ground with enough power to make dust explode upward in a cloud.
Zyran’s back hit so hard the earth cracked beneath him.
But Zyran only grinned more, delirious in fury and heartbreak.
"You hate me, right," Zyran spat, blood dripping from his lips. "Then kill me. Go on. Kill me, Cyrus. You already took her from me. Might as well take my life."
Cyrus grabbed him again.
His expression was not human anymore.
His pupils were slitted like a snake preparing to strike.
"You do not speak about her," Cyrus growled, his voice deeper than anything heard before. "You do not speak about my children. You do not speak about my mate!"
Zyran barked out another bloody laugh.
"So they are really yours. I suspected it. Isabella carries your blood. How funny. How pathetic. Tell me, Cyrus, does she run to you with joy or does she hate your face too."
Cyrus roared.
He slammed Zyran again.
And again.
And again.
The ground shook each time, dirt flying, Ophelia screaming, villagers hiding behind huts and barrels. No one dared get close. Even Valen bristled, but the danger was too high.
This was not two beastmen fighting.
This was a serpent deity unleashing centuries worth of instincts.
Zyran, despite being battered, refused to fight back.
He took every blow.
Every slam.
Every violent crack of bone and muscle.
Because beneath his grin, beneath his taunting, beneath his insanity, he was in agony too.
His heart was breaking in real time.
Isabella, the woman he adored, the woman he claimed, the woman he believed fate owed to him, carried another man’s child.
He had always known, deep inside his gut, the moment he smelled her shift. The moment her scent changed.
But knowing and accepting were not the same.
So he provoked Cyrus.
Provoked him until Cyrus snapped.
Until Cyrus lost control.
Until the world felt the explosion of the serpent prince’s rage.
It was pain speaking inside both of them.
Cyrus’ hair-snakes hissed louder.
Zyran coughed out more blood, staining the dirt.
Valen stood ready to protect Ophelia if Cyrus lost control completely.
Still, neither man backed down.
It was madness.
It was grief.
It was two rivals drowning in their own love for the same woman.
Ophelia finally broke.
She rushed forward, pushing Valen’s hands away, tears streaming down her face.
"STOP IT," she screamed. "STOP IT RIGHT NOW. Isabella will be disappointed in both of you. Especially you, Cyrus."
The village fell silent.
Cyrus froze.
His grip loosened.
His hair slowly stopped writhing.
The snakes retreated, one by one.
His eyes softened from glowing red to their normal warm shade.
He stared at Ophelia.
Her trembling form.
Her tears.
Her fear.
Cyrus’ heart twisted painfully.
He lowered Zyran to the ground without a word.
His serpent tail remained, but his aura dimmed, calming little by little.
Ophelia sniffed, wiping her tears roughly. "Isabella would not want this. Please stop."
Cyrus swallowed hard.
Guilt washed over him. Heavy. Thick. Painful.
His voice cracked. "I am sorry."
He did not wait for anyone to speak.
He did not turn toward Zyran again.
He did not look back.
He slithered away from the village silently, disappearing into the forest shadows, leaving a long trail in the dirt.
Zyran lay on the ground in blood, breathing heavily, his body bruised and battered. Valen approached him.
"You should stop provoking him," Valen said quietly. "You are hurting yourself. And you are hurting Ophelia too."
Zyran wiped blood from his mouth and chuckled, hollow and low.
"Hurt myself," he muttered. "I am already hurting."
Valen gave him a long look.
Then he picked Ophelia up and carried her away, leaving Zyran alone.
When they were finally gone, Zyran dug his fingers into the dirt, shaking from rage, heartbreak, and humiliation.
He tilted his head back.
Opened his mouth.
And screamed.
A long, raw, agonized scream that ripped through the entire village.
A scream of a man who wanted someone he could never have.
A scream of a beast whose heart was breaking and breaking and breaking.
When the scream ended, Zyran fell flat on his back.
Breathing.
Bleeding.
Laughing quietly in despair.
