NOVEL NEXT Chapter 144: Take What Is Yours
Mika was, in a word, enjoying himself.
Usually, Maria was like a cat, a beautiful, sleek predator who kept her distance. She would allow him near, but only on her terms, and was far more likely to scratch him with her sharp, cutting words than to seek any kind of comfort.
But then there were moments like this. Rare, precious moments when the aloof cat would suddenly decide she wanted to be cuddly, shedding her prickly exterior to curl up against him without a hint of hesitation.
He didn't understand the mood swings that governed her, not in the slightest, but he certainly didn't mind them.
Especially not now. He was acutely aware of the soft press of her breasts against his side, a gentle weight that shifted with the steady rhythm of her breathing.
The faint, floral scent from Yelena's shampoo that she'd complained about was now just a subtle note mixed with her own, a combination he found unexpectedly pleasant. He was in a happy situation, a very happy situation indeed.
His focus also remained split—one part on the shifting, chaotic puzzle, the other on the warm, solid presence of the girl tucked securely in his arm.
One more. Just one more to hit five hundred. A nice, round number. A milestone. He was already forming the words in his head, a smug little comment to whisper to Maria about how close he was to finishing. His fingers closed around the final piece for the row.
But just as he was about to place the 500th piece, it happened.
It wasn't a sound, but a feeling. A sudden, violent lurch in the fabric of his mind. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, a frantic, painful rhythm that stole his breath.
His eyes went wide, the pupils shrinking to pinpricks as if he'd seen a ghost materialize from the floorboards. A chilling coldness washed over him, draining the blood from his face until it was a stark, pale mask of shock.
The puzzle piece, held so carefully between his fingers, slipped and clattered onto the board.
The one thing he didn't want to happen. The one thing he was always expecting, yet was never prepared for.
The voices appeared.
Not just voices. Her voice. A cascade of cryptic, feminine whispers slammed into his mind, sly and teasing, yet ancient and heavy with regal authority. It was a voice like venomous honey, dripping with promises of power and carnage.
My child...
The voice purred, echoing from a thousand different directions inside his skull.
It is time. The wait is over.
It is time for you to take over the other world. It is time for you to become the King.
Take every single woman on the other side as your queens, as your concubines. Impregnate them with your child. Make them bear your seed until the world overflows with your legacy.
It is time to kill every other man who opposes your way. Bring about a murder and massacre. Let their blood paint the path to your throne.
Rise, my child. Rise and take what is yours!
He faltered. The careful structure of his concentration, his calm, his very sense of self, shattered into a million pieces.
His arm, which had been holding Maria so securely, went slack and fell away. The dropped puzzle piece, the incorrect final move, caused the entire board to flash a brilliant, angry red before every single tile vanished, resetting his hours of progress to zero.
Maria, who had felt the sudden release, was already turning, a sharp retort on her lips about him ruining his own game. But the words died in her throat when she saw his face.
He leaned forward abruptly, his hands flying up to clutch both sides of his head, fingers digging into his hair as if trying to physically rip the thoughts out. A pained sound escaped his lips.
Concern instantly replaced her annoyance.
"Mika? What's wrong?" She asked, her voice low and urgent. "What happened? Why are you looking like that?"
But Mika couldn't hear her. Her voice was a distant muffle, drowned out by the thunderous roar in his mind.
Why resist, my child? You were born for this. The other world waits. You are its king.
Take her first. She's already yours.
The voice was repeating its mantra, over and over again, a seductive and terrifying litany urging him to kill, to conquer, to impregnate. It spoke to him as if he were an apostle of that other world, its chosen king, and his only purpose was to act, to take everything.
He was struggling to keep himself from looking at the boys in the class and seeing nothing but obstacles to be slaughtered. He was struggling to keep himself from looking at the girls, at Maria, and seeing nothing but vessels to be filled.
The voice had an influence on him, a terrifyingly deep-rooted power, and he was using every ounce of his will to hold it back. He was fighting for control, struggling to keep himself from killing every single person in this classroom.
This was the true, ugly price of the power he wielded. It wasn't just a single curse, but a war fought on two fronts within his own mind.
He was constantly besieged by two separate, powerful entities. One was the Will of the World itself, a fickle and overwhelming force that always bothered him from time to time. It was focused on him and him alone, an unpredictable god that might shower him with impossible fortune one day and crush him with horrible misfortune the next.
But this other entity, the voice in his head, was something else entirely. Something much more evil, much more horrible.
Unlike the world's will, which was impersonally chaotic, this voice had a clear, genocidal agenda. It wanted him to kill and murder every single person on this side of the world, to use his power not for himself, but as a tool for a war of utter annihilation.
And beyond that, it whispered poisonous ambitions into his ear, of becoming a king, a tyrannical ruler who would impregnate all the women on this side and make them bear his heirs.
Ever since he was a child, he would suffer these attacks. Back then, the voices were faint, manageable whispers he could push aside.
But as he grew, and as his innate power blossomed, the voice grew with him. It became stronger, its influence more potent, its presence a constant, suffocating weight on his soul. Now, he was always struggling to hold himself back.
Sometimes, the temptation was immense. The voice was so potent, its promises of power so seductive, that he really felt the urge to let go, to unleash the destruction it craved and watch the world burn.
But every time that dark thought surfaced, a dam holding back a bloody tide, he would immediately think of them.
His family. His loved ones.
The images of their faces flashed through his mind, Charlotte's earnest smile, Yelena's exasperated but fond sigh, even Maria's rare, genuine smirk and the others.
The thought of what they would go through, the horror and pain he would inflict upon them if he ever gave in, was like a wave of ice water dousing the fire in his head.
Just as he was now, he felt his frantic heartbeat begin to slow, the crushing pressure in his skull receding just enough for him to breathe. They were his anchor in this raging storm, the one thing that always kept him from being swept away.
He didn't know where these voices came from, not really. The only thing he knew for certain was that they originated from the 'other world,' and that they and the will of this world absolutely despised each other.
They were mortal enemies. Many times, the sultry, regal voice had warned him to ignore the world's will, whispering that it was trying to harm him, to trick him, to kill him. She presented herself as his only true guide, the one who would lead him down the right path to glory.
But he didn't care about any of them. He had his own path. And he especially didn't care for a voice that demanded genocide as the price of power.
This was also why he was so careful with his abilities. Every time he used them at a high level, he felt it, a faint but undeniable strengthening of the connection between him and that monstrous voice.
It was also the reason he never used the same spell twice. To cast a unique spell once was one thing, but to repeat it was like sending up a flare in the dark, a signal that pinpointed his exact location for the entity, making its attacks more frequent and more intense.
But it was an impossible situation; even if he abstained from using his powers entirely, the voice would still come, gnawing at the edges of his sanity.
And, of course, no one in his family knew. Not Yelena, not Charlotte. He kept it all to himself, like he always did. This was his problem, his burden, a battle against a foe whose nature he didn't even fully understand.
And so he fought, as he always did. Alone.