Shouldn't I be in hell??? [Rimuru x male Reader]

Chapter 37: Fated Rivals

The sky was crying, loud thunderous roars seconds after red lightning illuminated the clouds above. The forest seemed to have come to a stand still, the cool summer rain, felt like acid on his skin. His eyes burned with pain and hatred for every second longer he stared yet he couldn't avert his eyes. The cultists had long since falen, heads caved in, guts spilled open, many could barely be even called bodies anymore, reduced to mere red piles of mush and blood. His only regret was that he hadn't been the one that had caused this. The villagers gasped, but none cared for the cultists, neither did anyone care for the ritualistic circles and totem poles with burning goblins tied to their post, they didn't care for the elves that seemed to have been starved for days and had started nibbling on their own lips. They didn't care for any of that...they cared for the two at the centre.

*Whack*

Her body shook with each hit. The skin of her knuckles so worn out they had started showing the bone within, a thin layer of blood coated over it in a disgustingly warm embrace. A Viscous mixture of the life in her and the life she had taken away from her victim.

*Whack*

The villagers wished to stop her but none had the gall to stop the hornless monster. Why had she been allowed to even live? They had done their best to not fulfill their own prophecy, they had given her all the love she could have asked for, they had given her every bit of attention every other child in the village had gotten.

*Whack*

Tears started to flow down his face, masked only by the rain that seemed to slowly put out the love he once had for the child. Her dark blue kimono soaked in the blood and gore of the cultists, her dark hair, once a spitting image of her mother had turned a deep red, as though it had absorbes all th eblood and violence of the surroundings. He took one step forward, he took another step forward, and another. He was above her before he himself noticed, her arm held back and her fists tightened, she finally stopped when she felt the familiar presence behind her.

She looked up, her face spllattered in the blood of her older brother, the blood of the future chief of the ogres yet her face remained permanently neutral, her eyes apathetic to everything around her as she got up from her position above the boy. He felt his heart drop, he could see the necklace around his neck, the one made form the hair of his mother. All doubts in his mind went away as he kneeled down, the boys face had long since crossed the barrier of unrepairable as the girl stared down.

He felt his hands shake in fury as he turned to the girl.

She smiled.

Her eyes were narrow, she knew exactly what she had done, she knew exactly the nature of her actions, and it amused her. One hand on her hips while she lightly shook the other trying to shake off the bits and pieces of flesh still clinging to it. "Yo, old man."

He understood only then...Evil can't be nurtured away.

------------------------------

The chief of the ogres didn't understand this brief memory flashbacks as he glared at her tiny figure from his tower like tent. The fight had barely started yet he could feel himself at the edge of his seat.

"Cheif..." A purple haired ogre, with surprisingly clear assets sounded out from besides him "Will the young lady be okay..?" . His eyes rested on her briefly before focusing on the fight once again, they had been far to young to know what had happened back then...to them, his daughter wasn't a raging demon, to them she was the strongest ogre warrior of the village.

"Neither sword seems to be willing to yeild..." The blacksmith...a dark skinned ogre the shade of charkoal, he stared at the battle with equal intent and focus as the cheif. His eyes landed on him as well, he turned back to the fight again but chose to speak up this time. "I doubt the sword she is using is going to ever yeild." It had been a gift to the little girl by the blacksmith's father, a masterpiece he had built specifically for her for when she grew older and taller. Thank what ever deity that existed that the poor man had passed away before the incident. The blacksmith nodded nervously.