He caught Beth's head midair with practiced ease. Holding the infant in one arm, he examined the head as if admiring fine art.
"Miss Annabeth McKellen," he said, still smiling. "You have raised a great goddess." He turned slightly, glancing at the child in his arms. "If left to raise this one, the continent would have been anew." His smile faded. "But unfortunately, I was made a stepping stone for his growth. And I cannot accept that."
Turning to Mary, he raised his hand near her shattered body, casting a spell to burn the sight into memory.
"Watch."
Nonchalantly, yet with cruel intent, he dropped Beth's head into a pool of Mary's blood. The soft thud broke something in her. Mary began to weep—no sobs, just endless, silent tears, her soul screaming where her voice could not.
He grabbed her mangled body and swung with full force. The impact shattered bone and splashed fragments of blood and skull across Mary and the forest floor. It painted the scene in deeper, intimate horror—especially for Mary, who could not close her eyes, could not look away.
Sensing his intent and actions, the Beast Emperors surged forward—too late.
With surgical precision, their ligaments were severed, bodies paralyzed before they could touch him. Luke Timothy John stood among them, one hand holding the infant, the other gripping his blade. He sat atop the twitching body of the strongest Beast Emperor, eyes locked on Mary.
"Is this your grand hope, Mariannette Roseblade?" he whispered. "I expected more from the so-called Goddess of War."
Mary could only stare, her mind reeling, her body unresponsive.
Then he turned to the infant in his arms.
"Wake up, little one. I know you're aware, Mr. Reincarnator."
The baby's eyes opened—aware, terrified, knowing.
Luke's voice became a hiss.
"After everything you did to me across countless timelines, did you think I wouldn't recognize you? It's only fitting I return the favor."
He extended his hand, casting a spell the Reincarnator had once used in a previous life: Copy and Paste—a dark magic that didn't transfer pain, but replicated it and sent it tenfold to another target.
Mary and the fallen Beast Emperors writhed as agony bloomed anew.
The infant screamed. Not from injury, but from the unbearable flood of pain copied directly into his soul.
Luke leaned close to Mary.
"Feel it? Your pain, their pain, all his now. This is your gift to the world."
Mary's psyche shattered—her guilt, grief, and horror exploding inwards like a collapsing star.
But Luke wasn't finished.
He healed her. Reversed time to mend her flesh. Then strengthened her mind to make it unbreakable.
The torture had only just begun.