Chapter 187: My hatred V

Alyssia's breath trembled as she stood frozen in place. The world around her was wrong. Utterly, horrifyingly wrong.

The air was thick with the scent of iron, a metallic stench that burned in her nostrils. The dim, hellish glow of an unseen source reflected off the endless ocean of blood beneath her feet, rippling outward in slow waves. The deep red liquid was warm—too warm, like fresh spillage from something still alive.

She dared not move at first. Every breath she took was shallow, like a fragile thing trying not to shatter in the face of the impossible. But then—drip.

A soft sound. A gentle, wet impact on her shoulder.

Alyssia gasped and snapped her head up.

That was her first mistake.

Above her stretched an expanse of darkness, but within it—countless eyes stared back at her. Hundreds. Thousands. Their sizes varied wildly, some bulging disgustingly, some thin and slitted like a serpent's, others far too human—but all of them shared one thing: they were wide, unblinking, and utterly mad.

Then came the laughter.

It started small, a chuckle, almost intimate, like someone standing right beside her ear. But then it grew—louder, deeper, crueler. A choir of deranged voices, overlapping, echoing, rising into a chorus of manic hysteria.

Alyssia's chest tightened. Her pulse pounded against her ribs, her throat, her skull. She tried to back away, but her feet wouldn't move.

The blood was pulling her in.

The rippling waves beneath her had grown hungry. Liquid arms, shaped from the blood itself, coiled upward like living tendrils. Some were smooth and dainty, others jagged and crude, as if sculpted for chaos. They reached. They grasped.

Alyssia's breath shattered into a scream as the first of them seized her bare ankle.

Slick. Cold. Writhing. Alive.

She thrashed, but more hands came. Dozens. Hundreds. They climbed her legs, her thighs, slithering over the thin silk of her white night robe. Blood-stained fingers clawed at her waist, her arms, her throat.

Her scream tore through the laughter, but it only seemed to make it worse. The eyes above her narrowed with delight, their irises shifting—spirals, slits. The voices now spoke, though she could not understand. An eldritch tongue, a wretched collection of whispers slithering through her ears like bugs burrowing into her skull.

She fought harder, struggling and kicking, but the blood was strong. It pulled her down inch by inch.

Up to her knees.

Up to her waist.

Up to her chest.

The warmth of it was suffocating, pressing against her ribs, filling her lungs with its scent. Her heartbeat was erratic, her vision blurred with terror.

The eyes grew closer. The laughter crescendoed.

Alyssia's mouth opened in a final scream, but—the blood surged forward.

It swallowed her.

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She sat up violently.

Her body convulsed, drenched in sweat, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

The room was silent. No laughter. No eyes. No blood.

Only the quiet flickering of an ornate golden lantern, casting warm, calming glow against the immaculate white silk of her bed.

Her hands clutched the sheets. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession, and for a moment—just a moment—she wasn't sure if she had truly escaped.

The room was enormous, a palace chamber of impossible luxury. Walls of polished white marble stretched outward, adorned with gold-trimmed tapestries. Towering columns framed her enormous bed, their surfaces carved with symbols of protection and divinity. It should have been comforting. It should have been familiar.

But Alyssia still felt it.

The weight of the eyes.

The faintest whisper of laughter, slithering at the edges of her mind.

And then—

A single drop of blood slid from her wrist.

Her breath caught. She did not move.

Another drop fell, soaking into the pristine white sheets.

Her trembling fingers slowly lifted her hand.

And there—etched into her perfect, flawless skin—was a faint red mark.

A handprint.

Alyssia's breath faltered. The sweat on her back turned cold.

The blood had touched her.

And it had not let go. 

She buried her face into her hands, her slick-white hair clinging to her neck. She took deep breaths. ("A nightmare... just a nightmare...") She mentally reasoned, even with the physical evidence ingrained onto her.

She felt defiled, as if her very purity had been stripped from her. She clutched her stomach; an uneasy feeling stirred within it. Not because of mere anxiousness, no, this was something else entirely. Shakily she threw the covers of her bed off of her. She sluggishly swung her legs out, her bare feet touching down onto the cold floor.

She attempted to stand; her legs wobbled beneath her as she fell back into the bed. "W-what?" She felt weak, much too weak. A lingering touch on her body that was all too evident, her breath hitched, "L-Lyra!"

A simple call and the effects were instantaneous. A glyph lit up onto the floor, further illuminating the room in a vast red glow. It died down quickly to reveal the familiar and comforting form of Lyra, and the court mage's eyes immediately fell on Alyssia. She took in her appearance; it was in complete disarray. Her hair wild and clinging to her sweat-soaked skin, much like her nightgown, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. Lyra all but shot towards the girl, "Alyssia!"

The young girl did not hesitate, throwing her arms around Lyra in a desperate engulfment of comfort. Pitiful whimpers escaped the young girl as she buried her face into Lyra; no words were exchanged. Lyra's hand soothingly ran through her head, "Deep breaths, Alyssia." Her soothing words quenched Alyssia's nerves, yet her body shook all the same.

Her eyes drifted to Alyssia's exposed hand, a red handprint imbedded into her flawless skin. It slowly but surely started to fade, revealing a mark. Spheres interlocking with a single eye at the center, seemingly glaring at her, ("T—the mark of Death!? This is-") She clutched Alyssia closer to her. "It's alright, Alyssia. Everything will be alright." Despite her soothing words, she clenched her teeth hard enough to cause a crack in her delicate set of teeth; her mana thickened with malevolent intent. ("The Bringer of Death cannot actively meddle in the affairs here...meaning someone who bears their power did this to Alyssia, Aelfric!")

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[Capital City of Zephyria, location: Outer Gates.]

The sun glared at all below, lighting the desert sand in a radiating scene. The enormous city gate loomed almost ominously overhead. Yet Lyra did not care for any of that; she regarded the prince before her. As ever, his guards flanked his side; he wore a regretful expression.

"Truly it is a pity that the princess has so suddenly fallen ill; she has merely been here for a day. It might be the sudden shift in temperature," Amun mused, shaking his head. "But worry not; we'll merely have to postpone. Zephyria shall continue to send troops to Verdantis in the meantime."

Lyra gave a slight bow. "You are too kind, your highness. Verdantis shall remember this for years to come." The prince bid her a smile as she turned on her heel, approaching the carriage provided. A sleek white in color, outlined with lines of gold, pulled by two serpentine Astrothians standing on their hind legs. Lyra climbed inside, her gaze raking over the form of Alyssia. The girl's head leaned against the carriage window, her eyes shut, shallow breaths escaping her. 

"The Bringer of Death has not visited her as of yet." The voice of Dante snapped her attention to him as she took a seat beside the princess. Adjusting the girl's position, her head now rested on her shoulder.

"Damn, we were ill prepared." Lyra cursed silently, her brows furrowed into a glare.

"Hm, I was not by the princess's side. It seems I had been forcefully transferred back to Verdantis; my journey to the palace was not long, but even so, the damage to her has long since been done." Dante folded his arms, his expression hidden as the carriage began to move. "To place the mark of Death upon someone... to think another Ancestor could hold such power."

"That piece of filth is cunning," Lyra heaved a heavy sigh. "The Keepers of Order forbade the Source of Life and Bringer of Death from interfering with this plane of existence. Yet even so, Aelfric managed to bargain with Death itself."

"The bargain of true immortality, I've heard tales of the implications." Dante finished, "The Bringer of Death can subjugate any to their end. It's not merely the concept of death, but the end of all things, living or not. 'That which lives and exists must too come to an end,' hm..."

"Yes, it was what gave birth to the fearsome dragon of the end, an avatar and loophole for the Bringer of Death." Lyra pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes unfocused. "The Bringer of Death can too choose to take away 'death.' Aelfric is not merely just immortal. He is a fixed point in this realm, the Gods, Dragons, Fate Walkers, and even my own kind... none have the power to truly expunge him from this world... and now this..." She gritted her teeth, casting an uneasy gaze at Alyssia.

"The mark of Death symbolizes a great sacrifice; Alyssia is an offering." Dante surmised, his tone grim. "Then our only option is to combat the Bringer of Death." At his words the court mage stared at him, appalled.

"Are you fucking insane?" A rare curse flew from the Ancestor woman's dignified lips, "Battling Death itself? That is not just an impossibility... it's something that can never occur. Something not even The Keepers of Order would have an easy time with; you're just a human, Dante."

"Nothing is set in stone, Lyra. I believe that fate is a hoax and destiny a lie. That which I choose to believe in is my own strength and nothing but that. As such, nothing in this world is absolute; I do not intend to merely defy Death but the Divine Principals as well. The Keepers of Order, themselves. Even should it cost me my life," Dante stated, his tone steady.

"That isn't conviction, you fool! It's insanity!" She shook her head; how could he keep so calm? When Death loomed so closely? 

"Calm yourself, Lyra. It is not yet over; the Bringer of Death will bargain." Dante stated, "Once we are back in Verdantis, I will have to command my troops, but I shall garner its attention all the same; meanwhile, look after the princess and be wary of Aelfric."

"How can you be so calm? We're both so old, yet you seem so more composed." She gave a bitter chuckle. "Yet my mind is already coming undone."

"That is to be expected," Dante simply stated. He pointed to Alyssia, "She is special to you, no? Your thoughts are muddled, your breath unsteady, and your throat dry. It's because you care for her. That is all there is to it; it is no shame, Lyra."

She stared at him in surprise as she turned back to Alyssia, the girl still fast asleep and leaning on her shoulder. She smiled softly, her fingers gently brushing away a strand of hair from Alyssia's face. "I-I suppose you're right. I just... I could not live with myself if anything were to happen to her." She pursed her lips.

"Then together let us assure the princess's survival."

"Yes, together."