parentshiftbook Chapter 197 Punishment
Chapter 197 Punishment
Chapter 197 Punishment
He dared not look at the photograph, his gaze fixed on the intricate family crest embroidery on the bedspread, his voice shrill and distorted with utter terror: "Draco—he's a clever boy, Your Excellency! Very clever!"
He almost instinctively defended himself, but the words "Hogwarts," "diary," and "death" collided wildly in his mind, creating a jarring roar.
In that instant, countless possibilities he had deliberately ignored swept over him: Draco bumping into the monster in the corridor; Draco screaming in terror and despair; Draco collapsing silently onto the cold castle floor like a discarded, tattered rag doll—
This immense fear nearly broke him.
He could only cling desperately to that initial, now incredibly fragile belief: "He—he knows how to protect himself—he knows how to assess risk—the Malfoy bloodline will protect him—he will be alright—"
I believe he'll be alright!
The last few words almost turned into a desperate lament.
Lucius's unconditional trust in his son, and the unconscious sense of superiority that clearly distinguished his own bloodline from ordinary lives, sounded particularly jarring and absurd to Lynch.
The executioner remained silent, showing no emotion, but simply gently placed the picture frame back in its place. The silver base made a soft "click" as it touched the wooden tabletop. This sound was amplified infinitely by Lucius's overly tense hearing, like the tolling of a death knell, making his eardrums buzz.
A cold silence descended once more, heavier than before.
Lucius held his breath, unsure of what judgment awaited him.
He could only lie frozen on the bed like a stone statue, waiting for the hangman to pronounce his fate, his heart filled with desperate regret—not regret for his own actions, but regret for why he had been discovered and why he had attracted this terrible demon.
The hangman silently gazed at Lucius, who lay paralyzed on the bed, his face deathly pale. The metal bird-beak mask concealed all his expressions, and only his calm, breathtaking voice slowly emanated from him: "I am satisfied, Lucius. Your confession saved me a lot of verification work. And you have consistently performed very well."
Lucius's tense nerves seemed to relax slightly, and a faint, unrealistic hope was just beginning to sprout in his heart.
Perhaps... this time, I can still get away safely?
However, the next second, the hollow voice continued, the tone unchanged, but the content took a sharp turn, carrying a cold and detached feeling, as if observing a pile of filth: "But your behavior, and the attitude of no remorse for the danger you have released, and the almost contemptuous indifference to life other than your son, disgust me."
"I have seen too many souls who are addicted to black magic, whether for power, fear, or pure malice—but every time, the excuses they find for their crimes, their mentality of seeing others as ants, still make me feel—physiologically uncomfortable."
The moment the words fell, the hangman's right hand, gloved in black, casually and very slightly twisted clockwise in the air.
There was no incantation, no light, and not even any intense magical fluctuations.
But Lucius, who had just relaxed slightly because of that slight "satisfaction" while lying in bed, suddenly opened his eyes wide, his eyeballs instantly becoming bloodshot and almost bulging out of their sockets. His mouth opened into a twisted arc, but no sound came out; the intense pain choked all his screams deep in his throat.
His right arm, from shoulder to fingertips, began to twist and rotate violently on its own in a way that completely defied biological structure! The bones emitted a teeth-grinding, dense "crackling" sound, and the skin and muscles were forcibly twisted by enormous force, presenting a bizarre spiral pattern like an oil-soaked hemp rope. The broken tips of the arm bones even pierced the skin of the elbow, exposing it to the cold air with beads of blood.
Intense, indescribable pain overwhelmed his consciousness like a tsunami.
Lucius's body jerked violently like a fish out of water, then everything went black and he lost consciousness completely.
But this coma was brief and almost cruel.
Almost the next second after his consciousness sank into darkness, an even more intense pain, like a red-hot iron, scalded him awake from the void!
He gasped sharply, a strange "hoarse" sound like a bellows breaking coming from his throat. The intense pain caused all the muscles in his body to spasm uncontrollably, and sweat and blood instantly soaked through his expensive silk pajamas.
His right arm had become a strangely shaped, limp "object," hanging limply on the bed. Only the excruciating, wave after wave of pain clearly reminded him that it had once been his arm.
The hangman remained seated quietly in his chair, as if he had merely dusted off non-existent dust from his sleeves.
He looked at Lucius, who was curled up in pain on the bed, tears streaming down his face, and said clearly, word by word, in his consistently calm tone: "You gave that item away with this hand, so I only need one hand."
"Do your best, Lucius."
"Don't give me another chance to punish you."
Each word was like an icicle, piercing Lucius's chaotic and painful consciousness.
With that, the hangman snapped his fingers, and the gushing blood from Lucius's arm subsided.
Lucius lowered his head and bit his lip hard until it bled and he tasted blood, barely managing to suppress another wave of wailing that was about to burst out.
He trembled, pressing his still-living left hand tightly against the gruesome remains of his right arm, struggling to lift his head, wanting to say something more, to express his submission and pleading.
But the high-backed armchair at the foot of the bed was empty.
Lucius, his vision blurred by tears and sweat, futilely scanned the empty room, trying to confirm whether the terrifying figure had truly left.
The bedroom was eerily quiet, save for his own heavy, painful breathing and Narcissa's steady, sweet breathing beside him. She remained fast asleep, completely oblivious to the cruel punishment that had just taken place so close to her.
Lucius lay sprawled on the messy bed, waves of intense pain reminding him that this was not a nightmare.
He stared intently at the empty chair, then abruptly turned his head to look at the gently swaying curtains—that person was really gone.
The moment he confirmed he was safe, extreme fear and the exhaustion of surviving a catastrophe intertwined, causing him to begin sobbing uncontrollably. In this territory that belonged to him but had just been utterly trampled upon, he curled up like a wounded beast, silently lamenting his destroyed pride and his mutilated arm.