Chapter 127

Unbelieving and terrified, Admetos spins on the floor—even slicing himself with his own claws. No matter how much it will hurt, he does everything to break free from that abominable, repulsive form.

"No, no, no!" he repeats in despair. "Please... please, no...! Father!"

He still recalls the mutilated body and the pool of blood that surrounded it. A horrified face—this was all that remained. He was so young, yet he had to witness that scene: his father's blood being used as ink to paint a door by none other than his very own mother.

"No, she isn’t... can’t be...! No!"

His doubts take shape and his fears hit him hard. His mother had assured him otherwise, but the uncertainty about the child she cradles lingers—questions over whose blood truly runs in that little one.

"She’s my sister, I know... It has to be...!"

Rumors whispered through the city—everyone, with their heightened senses, knew that such words never truly faded into the dark.