It's not necessary. He said in his heart. You lost. Just admit it.
But Daemon couldn't hear the voice in his heart.
Daemon Can't hear anyone's voice anymore.
The only thing left in his world was the spear, the thing that pinned him, the thing that stopped him from standing up, stopping him from escaping, and stopping him from continuing to do Daemon·Targaryen.
Just pull it out and everything will be fine.
As long as he pulls it out, he will still be the king of Stepstones, the same Dragon King who rides on the back of a dragon and overlooks all living beings, and will still be the existence that everyone must look up to.
Just pull it out.
His left hand slipped on the spear shaft again.
The skin on the palm of the hand has been torn beyond recognition, revealing the dark red muscle tissue underneath that is still beating slightly.
Blood gushes out from the wound and quickly solidifies under the attack of cold air, forming a new, thicker layer of ice between his palm and the spear shaft.
His fingers could no longer bend, the joints were frozen, and the tendons had lost their elasticity in the low temperature. Only the palm of his hand could barely hold it tightly, and he used the weight of his entire hand and the remaining friction to pull it up step by step.
"Ah--"
He finally let out a complete, unsuppressed roar.
The sound was squeezed out of his chest, and through the squeeze of his throat and the resonance of his mouth, it turned into a sharp and almost harsh sound between a roar and a wail.
The sound echoed on the empty beach, startling a few white seabirds that were perched in the ruins in the distance. They flapped their wings and flew into the sky in the morning light, making panicked and shrill calls.
Redd looked at this scene, the corners of his mouth raised slightly.
He finally walked over.
The boots made a rustling sound on the beach.
Every step was neither fast nor slow, and every step was taken extremely calmly, as if he were walking on the beach, not walking towards a captive who was nailed to the ground and struggling wildly.
King Ghidorah followed behind him, with three heads lowered and six golden eyes staring at Daemon, as if they were watching how long a mouse held down by a cat could continue to flutter.
Daemon heard footsteps.
His roar stopped abruptly, and his head turned sharply in the direction of the footsteps. A complex expression of fear and hatred appeared on his twisted face.
He saw Redd - the man wearing the tattered leather armor ripped off from his men, his hair and eyebrows burned, but still unscathed.
The man who ruined everything for him. The man he tried so hard to kill but couldn't even hurt a hair on his head.
"You--"Daemon opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but his voice got stuck in his throat, and he only came out with a vague, phlegm-like syllable.
Redd ignored him. He walked to Daemon and looked down at the once arrogant "King of Stepstones" who was nailed to the beach.
His eyes scanned from top to bottom - from Daemon's distorted face, to his left hand that was frozen and bloody, to his right shoulder that was pierced by a spear, and then to his legs that were still kicking.
He looked very carefully and seriously, as if he was checking the quality of a product.
Then he raised his right foot and stepped on Daemon's chest.
Instead of stepping on the center of the chest, he stepped on the position below the left clavicle - there was no wound there, and it would not be more painful if he stepped on it. At the same time, it could firmly fix Daemon's entire upper body to the ground, preventing him from continuing to struggle.
The texture of the soles of the boots pressed into the gaps in the leather armor and into the muscles of Daemon's chest. The force was not too big or too small, just enough to prevent Daemon from getting up without making him breathless.
Daemon's body suddenly froze under that step.
It's not because of the pain - Redd stepped on it very lightly - but because of the feeling of being completely suppressed, the feeling of powerlessness that no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't shake the opponent at all, like a bucket of ice water poured on his burning anger.
Redd's left hand reached down and grasped the spear shaft of Ice Spear.
The breath of Ice flowed between his fingers, and ice crystals condensed between his palms and the spear shaft, but those ice crystals melted quickly after contacting his skin - not because of his high body temperature, but because the special nature of his physique gave him far greater resistance to Ice Magic than ordinary people.
His fingers tightened on the spear shaft, feeling that the spear tip was stuck tightly in the hard soil beneath the sand. It felt like pulling out a deeply embedded iron nail from a huge rock.
"Hiss--"
Redd pulled the spear out of Daemon's shoulder.
Not pulling out slowly and carefully, but pulling out cleanly and neatly in one breath and one movement.
The moment Ice Spear withdrew from Daemon's right shoulder, there was a harsh sound, like ice breaking - it was the sound of the flesh and blood frozen on the spear shaft being torn and torn apart when it was separated from the wound.
The body of the spear was covered with dark red fragments of flesh and blood that had been frozen stiff. Some of those fragments still retained the shape of blood vessels, while others were small irregular particles, like broken ruby shards, densely adhered to the body of the spear.
Daemon's pupils dilated to the limit at that moment.
He opened his mouth and wanted to scream, but the severe pain came so quickly and fiercely that before his brain had time to convert the pain signal into sound, his body had already made the most instinctive reaction - fainting.
His eyeballs turned upward and whitened, his eyelids closed suddenly, and after a violent and uncontrollable spasm, his whole body suddenly relaxed, as if someone had pulled a plug.
His head tilted to one side, his mouth was slightly open, his breathing became extremely weak, and he completely lost consciousness.
Redd looked at the Ice Spear that was covered in pieces of flesh and blood in his hand, and frowned slightly.
It's not that it's disgusting - although he doesn't like this kind of sticky stuff, it's not to the point of being disgusting - but that it's troublesome.
It takes a lot of effort to clean up the frozen meat on the spear.
He rubbed the spear on the beach a few times, rubbing off most of the flesh and blood fragments, and then casually put it back into the system space.
The moment the spear disappeared from his palm, the chill in the surrounding air significantly decreased, and the temperature on the beach seemed to rise by one or two degrees when the sun shone on it.
Redd looked down at the unconscious Daemon, with the corners of his mouth raised slightly.
"It won't work if you faint." He seemed to be talking to himself, or to Dawg Lars beside him, "I haven't had enough fun yet."
He bent down and pulled out the bone knife from his waist with his right hand.
The aqua blue light danced on the blade, glowing with a cold luster in the morning light.
He held the handle of the knife tightly and pointed the blade at Daemon's right shoulder - the wound that had just been penetrated by Ice Spear and was still oozing blood.