NOVEL NEXT Chapter 259: Snarl
The battle was over, but Damien had not won.
Not truly.
His feet barely touched the ground as Vel'kharn carried him across the shifting terrain, one massive claw cupped beneath Damien's torso like a cradle forged from thunder and bone.
The wind no longer whistled, it moaned. Every gust carried voices he couldn't silence, their tones familiar and foreign all at once. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blur from his vision, but it wasn't his eyes that had blurred, it was reality itself.
Faces flickered in the corners of his sight, not as illusions, but as lingering guilt, as memories warped by the sorrow-forged core now pulsing inside him.
One moment he saw Rage Monkey's laughing face, intact and full of life. The next, he saw it torn apart, teeth shattered, eyes pleading.
Then Jiang Xiao Yu, smiling with warmth that had once anchored him, but her lips were stitched shut now, her eyes hollow, her core shattered all over again.
He gasped, clawing at his chest, not from pain, but from confusion.
Was she here?
No.
She wasn't.
Not yet.
"Wait," Damien whispered, eyes glassy. "Wait for me."
"Who?" a voice murmured back.
He stiffened.
That hadn't been a memory.
"Stop whispering," he muttered, voice tightening.
Another voice, this one sharp and cruel, echoed across his skull. "You murdered me, necromancer. And you didn't even ask my name."
"Enough," he hissed, clutching his temples, but the voices bled through his fingers. Some wept. Some laughed. One began humming an old lullaby in a broken, trembling soprano. He tried to focus, tried to hold on to something real, something solid.
He turned his head.
Vel'kharn's wings were real.
Fluffy, what remained of him, still bore shape and fury. The beast moved silently, each step shaking the ruined realm with residual malice, crimson voidlight gleaming from his six eyes. But even Vel'kharn looked back once, concerned. His breath came slower now, as though he too felt the burden clinging to Damien's soul like leeches.
Not far behind, Lyrisa walked with her arms crossed tightly, her face pale, her steps quick to keep up. She said nothing at first, watching Damien with eyes that flickered between frustration and fear. Her scimitars remained sheathed, but her fingers tapped their hilts restlessly.
Nyxara brought up the rear.
Her cloak fluttered in silence, her expression unreadable, gaze sharp as ever. But the way she glanced at Damien—once, twice, then a third time—carried an unease she would not admit aloud.
The wind shifted as the ruins groaned under the weight of the plundered realm. Scorched stone gave off residual heat, and the air trembled faintly from the aftermath of too many high-grade spells detonated in too small a space. Their plundered luck shimmered like a pair of blazing stars overhead—beautiful, blinding, and utterly damning. No one could miss them. Not with that kind of glow.
And in the midst of it all, Damien knelt in silence, his head bowed, hands twitching faintly.
Blood ran from his eyes like tears of rust.
He wasn't breathing normally. His shoulders were jerking in strange, uneven spasms. His lips moved without sound. Muttering. Reacting. Talking to someone who wasn't there.
Lyrisa took a step forward. "He's getting worse."
Nyxara didn't answer. Her eyes scanned the distant hills. Her jaw tightened. "We knew he would."
"He's not just hearing them now." Lyrisa's voice cracked. "He's listening. He's... slipping."
"He made it through the Second Circle," Nyxara replied, her voice mechanical. "We all knew the cost."
"He gave everything to drag us out of hell!" Lyrisa turned sharply, eyes burning. "And now he's trapped inside his own!"
"He chose this," Nyxara said, quiet but cold. "And we're still alive because of it."
"He's gone, Nyx," Lyrisa whispered. "He's barely even here. Look at him."
Damien swayed.
A whisper tickled the back of his mind.
They left you. They always leave you. Let them burn. Let them rot.
Another voice slithered across his skull.
Why do you kneel like a beast? You could rule them all. You should have left them to die. You were better off alone. You were cleaner when you didn't care.
More voices. A cacophony. A thousand versions of himself, all whispering, screaming, laughing.
The ruins twisted. Stone faces blinked. Sky melted. Fire dripped from the stars.
Is this real? Was any of it real?
He reached out. His fingers touched something soft. Hair? Roots? Flesh?
Then he blinked and realized he was reaching for a sword that wasn't there. A grave marker. His own.
Lyrisa stepped closer and traced a trembling finger on the crown of control she had placed on damien's head previously.
"I'm sorry…" She whispered.
And then she activated it.
The pain hit like lightning made of knives.
Damien screamed.
The world shattered.
His body convulsed. Fire erupted through every nerve. A hammer crushed his thoughts flat. The voices shrieked and recoiled, burned by the surge of anchored will injected directly into his mind.
He couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.
But he could feel.
And that hurt more than anything.
The pain flayed through him, raw and ancient, bypassing physical resistance and slamming directly into the soul. His death energy buckled. His vision collapsed into a single point of white. His instincts took over—fight or die.
RUN!
His muscles exploded into motion.
But there was no enemy. No weapon. Only the pain.
He flailed once, struck a wall, vomited blood, and fell.
Still twitching.
Still burning.
But the whispers were gone.
For the first time in hours… silence.
Damien opened his eyes. Saw the cracked sky. Saw Lyrisa kneeling over him, tears spilling silently down her face, hands trembling.
"You came back," she said softly.
He couldn't speak. But he blinked once.
And that was enough.
"So you didn't die due to the pain." Nyxara said with a relieved smile.
Vel'kharn growled low, a sound like thunder cracking through a storm's throat. Nyxara blinked, then looked away, her lips twitching with amusement.
"That's right, Fluffy," Lyrisa said with a crooked smile. "Snarl at her."