Hailab the Conqueror was considered the most boorish of men, even by the standards of Barbarians.
Even Barnar, a Berserker himself, wouldn't claim to match Hailab in terms of sheer "brutality." However, this wasn't exactly a trait to be proud of, nor was it something that deserved to be sung of in legends. More often than not, brutality simply meant a casual, reckless tendency to hurt everyone in one's vicinity.
Hailab's iron boot was currently buried deep in the Maiden of Lust's chest. Searing, viscous gore erupted from the wound, drenching him until he looked as though he had just crawled out of a fresh slaughter-pit. It was a revolting sight.
With his free hands, he seized the Maiden's severed arms and, with savage indifference, wrenched her upper body upward. With her chest still impaled on his leg, the scene resembled the horrific displays of torture found in Duriel's Lair—a sight designed to provoke visceral, psychological revulsion in anyone watching.
Yet Hailab showed no hint of regret. His expression remained as steady as stone. He hadn't been popular when he was alive, and death had done nothing to change that.
Having lived a life where he only respected the strong—barely remembering his own humanity in the process—Hailab possessed a profound, if twisted, understanding of cruelty.
"I fell for your tricks in the end," Hailab muttered, his voice grating. "But I'm still doing better than that idiot Korlic. At least I didn't die from being pleasured to death!"
The arcane energy within Hailab began to spiral out of control. Beneath his skin, it looked as though countless rats were scurrying to and fro—an unsettling, skin-crawling sight. Even so, he continued to voice his disdain for Korlic with total nonchalance.
He was likely the only Barbarian in existence who truly understood nothing of the word 'respect.'
"Your life... will merge with mine, Conqueror," the Maiden of Lust wheezed, a forced, agonizing smile flickering across her face. "In the end, it is I... who conquered you."
Hailab had shoved a warhammer down her throat only moments ago; it was a miracle she could speak at all. But at this stage, the question of who had won was academic. Both were bound for the grave.
Hailab had performed impressively, but only in the sense that a weapon performs well. Compared to Korlic, the Maiden found nothing to admire in him. A brutish, self-important man rarely wins the favor of a woman, no matter how much power he wields.
The Maiden of Lust was a succubus, yes, but she carried herself with the air of a noblewoman... even if most usually preferred the term 'bitch' to describe her.
"Men conquer the world, and women conquer men. That is the path I chose," she hissed, her voice laced with a deep-seated resentment. No one knew what horrors she had endured before she was twisted into a demon. "Your life belongs to me now."
"Conquer the world? Who would want such a thing?"
For the first time, a grin split Hailab's face, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. He began to apply pressure with his arms. Tearing a demon apart didn't weigh on his conscience, even if that demon might have once been human an eternity ago.
"The title 'Conqueror' was given to me by my enemies, simply because I broke them. I never cared for titles. It's just that 'conquest' happened to be the strongest of my many desires."
He stared down at her. "If you want something, work for it. Don't spend your life like a parasite, trying to suck the marrow from others. When you were draining the life out of Korlic, did that high-and-mighty fool not try to teach you any of his grand philosophies?"
As Hailab spoke, the Maiden's body began to emit the sickening sound of snapping bone. Under that colossal strength, her skeleton had finally reached its limit. Her physical resilience was high—it had to be, to endure Korlic's frenzy back in the day—but that was purely a matter of flesh. Her bones were merely meant to support her weight, not to withstand a siege.
Her consciousness began to drift. Faced with the Conqueror's savagery, she could only find solace in the fact that she had successfully claimed the life of another powerful Barbarian. Just as she had done on this very land so many years ago.
Hailab and Korlic had never gotten along.
In truth, Hailab didn't get along with any of the other Barbarians. He liked putting on airs; he liked grand entrances; he craved the shocked stares of others. Vanity was his true nature.
He couldn't understand Korlic's "warrior's mercy." He openly mocked the heavy-hearted compassion and righteous fury that Bul-Kathos carried for all things.
And yet, Hailab was the purest of them all. To him, force was the only language—the only guarantee that he would get everything he desired.
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