Ruthlessness Is Mercy Upon Ourselves Novels & Stories

She angrily yelled at us. "You're right, I didn't deserve his loyalty. But I didn't ask for any of this either. It's easy to call someone a traitor when you don't know their story. You call me a traitor because I ran away but has any of you ever asked me why I ran away?" I asked her before looking at the rest of the women standing in my living room. "I'm a mother just like you, a sister and a wife, yet I've been treated like trash for trying to protect my daughter and brother like I couldn't protect my father from your mafia! And Christmas Eve was no different because everything I did was to protect Tiago. He was the only person willing to help me when I asked him to, and he got assaulted by

Pity. Sadness. The primal needs to protect and claim. Fifteen years had passed since I last felt those emotions. Then, two months ago, I saw her. And suddenly, the walls I had spent years constructing—layer upon layer of cold, hardened indifference began to crack. I had trained myself to feel nothing except anger and the relentless hunger for revenge. It had earned me my title. A monster. A devil. A ruthless bastard. And I wore it like a second skin.

Every vengeance she had buried under duty and guilt. “You were never weak,” the crowned version of herself said. “You only pretended to be. Because strength like mine scares you.” The void-figure did not move. It bowed low, as if this form was its true sovereign. Elthara felt her knees tremble. The ground itself seemed to remember her indecision, splintering beneath her feet with every doubt she’d ever clung to. “I chose mercy,” Elthara whispered, almost defensively. “And mercy chose me,” her other self replied with a smile that could gut galaxies. “But I refined it.”

"Not just physically. Mentally. Today when I drained those warriors....I enjoyed it. Enjoyed the power. And part of me is starting to think...maybe I should enjoy it. Maybe being ruthless is what I need to survive." "There's a difference between necessary ruthlessness and cruelty," Damian said carefully. "You can be ruthless in combat without being cruel in daily life." "Can I though?" Eve challenged. "Can I really separate combat-me from regular-me? What if the lines blur? What if I start treating everyone like potential opponents?" "That's why you have us," Silas said. "To remind you when you're crossing lines. To pull you back when you go too far." "What if I don't want to be pulled back?

she rolled her eyes looking uninterested. "Did he think about your feelings when he stabbed your son in your presence? Nor did he have mercy on your when you cried for one?" she paused staring at me. My eyes were not necessarily fixed on hers. "When you accumulate that word called 'mercy' you will end up having vulnerability that will kill you in future. If you want to stick to the vengeful part, then play the role to the fullest. There is nothing like mercy in the heart of Alphas or Luna." her words charged me. Her words arose my horns to fight. Her words reminded me of the last step that I took.

"Justice isn't a cage! Justice is the fact that we're still standing despite everything you did to us! My mother didn't die so I could be a prisoner! She died so I could be the Ending!" I flooded the Spire’s protocol with the sensation of Mercy. Not the mercy of a god, but the messy, difficult mercy of a human being who knows they aren't perfect. I showed the Echo the feeling of the 136th chapter—the joy of the twins’ laughter, the warmth of the sun on a scarred shoulder, the taste of bread shared in the mud. I showed it that a world that remembers its pain but chooses joy is more powerful than a world that is "Clean."

He’s like iron forged in fire—unbreakable, untouchable. But the voices keep going, spinning threads of doubt that dig under my skin. “It’s working,” the woman says bitterly. “You saw the way he tore into Leira for touching her. When has he ever shown that kind of mercy before?” A hollow silence follows before the man replies, “Never.” The truth of that single word rattles me more than the rest. I’ve seen Kael’s strength, his ruthlessness. The way he commands with a glance, a growl, a single deadly word. Mercy is not part of who he is.

And underneath that gentleness sat something immovable, something absolute, a message dressed up in kindness that left no room for negotiation at all. I stood there in the study, the crumpled letter still between us on the desk, and understood with sudden, sinking clarity that whatever version of Rhys had woken up gentle and searching in that hospital bed, this was the shape his devotion had actually been growing toward the entire time.

"I swear! When something bad happens to Ate and my nephews, I will make you pay for it!" "I-I didn't know something like this would happen! I didn't want them to perish, Audrey! I love my children! I love my family!" "Don't tell me that kind of bullshit! If you love them, why is it so easy for your girl? If you love them truly, you won't do anything that would hurt them!" "I just made a mistake but that doesn't mean I don't love them ..." "You made a mistake, yes! A sin you committed not just once but over and over again! If you were sane enough, you wouldn't do that! You mean, you are too shallow, you were easily shaken by temptations!"

Instead of weapon. "You deserve to exist. You deserve happiness. You deserve—all of it. Not because you earned it. Not because you atoned enough. But because you are human. And humans deserve dignity. Deserve chance. Deserve—grace. Especially humans who are trying. Who are fighting to be better. Who are using their pain to help others." "But what if I am fooling myself? What if I am not actually good? What if I am just—performing goodness to feel better about being evil? What if everything I do is selfish? Self-serving? Designed to earn forgiveness instead of actually helping?"