Chapter 17
The ground was burning. My bare feet cannot endure the heat. I run to escape the scorched earth, but there is no escape.
Everything on the horizon is dark—bleak.
“Giving up yet?” A voice whispers from behind.
I swivel around, my eyes widening in shock.
Red, viscous liquid covers her from head to toe. The only way I can tell it’s a she is because of the contours of her body. She’s not wearing any clothes. The scarlet liquid drapes her form, emphasizing her femininity.
She’s not abashed by her nudeness either. She has a lopsided smile on her face, her eyes watching me with great interest.
“Who… Who are you?”
“Who do you think I am, Nykander?”
Her voice is familiar, but I cannot remember where I heard it before.
“How do you know me?” I ask timidly.
Her laughter echos in the land of nothingness. Maniacal. Psychotic.
Then her features become solemn, her gaze piercing as she stares at me.
“Shall I perhaps call you, the Harbinger of Death?”
The moniker my mother had given me. The moniker that decided my wretched fate.
“Didn’t I tell you?” She smiles. “If you thought you’ve suffered until now… I have news for you.”
She comes closer—so close the red liquid dribbles down on me.
“You’re cursed. But it’s not by birth. No.” She shakes her head. “You’re cursed of your own making. And I will enjoy watching you suffer. For all eternity.”
“W-who are you? I didn’t do anything,” I cry out.
“Not yet. But you will. You can’t help it. Your kind can’t help it. Selfishness is in your blood, Nykander.”
I shake my head at her words. It’s not true. It can’t be true.
“There will come a time when you will have a choice to make. And you will make the wrong one. You always make the wrong choice…”
Her voice becomes distant, like a faraway whisper.
“You always make the wrong choice.”
I wake up gasping for air. The words resound in my mind.
What was that?
Did I make it up? Was it some type of psychological aftereffect left behind by seeing that individual’s true form?
Or is there something more to it?
I gulp down uneasily as I get out of bed and head to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. My body is heavy, hot.
As if the experience from the dream had been real.
Was it real? Was that female real?
If so, who was she? What did she mean by the fact that I always make the wrong choice?
I slam the glass on the table, clenching my hand around it until it breaks. Shards of glass tear at my flesh, making me grimace in pain. Yet my mind doesn’t perceive it as such: it’s still too wrapped up in that dream sequence.
The female was similar to the vision I saw at the Lake, before the fight with the individual.
I shake my head, confused.
Was it truly real, or am I just traumatized?
Methodically, I take out a kitchen towel and clean up the blood, then the shards of glass. From my medicine cabinet I take out some gauze and cleaning solution.
Going back to my bed, I carefully extract the leftover shards from my skin. The pain slams into me tenfold now, almost as if my body remembered it’s alive—that it feels pain.
I clean the wound and wrap my hand in gauze—calmly, steadily. Even I am shocked at the clinical way I’m approaching this when any other time I would have been freaking out about it.
But my mind is still not all there. Something is not right, and I don’t know what.
It takes me a few hours to calm myself, and when I do, it’s already noon. Since I promised Miss Moe I’d come to the restaurant earlier, I get dressed and head out the door.
The weather is slowly starting to warm up, to the point that I no longer need my thick coat. A pair of pants, a long-sleeved shirt and a light long coat are perfect.
Although still unsettled by that dream, the thought of seeing Miss Moe again and spending time with her quickly lifts my spirits.
Last night, as I was falling asleep, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d touched and hugged me, and unsurprisingly, I experienced another bout of excitement.
This time, though, in the privacy of my home, I dared to do something about it. The books only spoke of a certain motion that activates a male’s seed, but they weren’t too detailed. I had to figure it out on my own through trial and error, but in the end…
Warmth spreads up my neck as I remember the exact moment I spilled my seed for the first time. Her face, her smile, her touch, her scent—all of it captivated my mind until yearning turned to blinding pleasure.
The books certainly did not do it justice. But no matter how powerful that bout of pleasure was, I can’t help thinking that if I were to share such a moment with Miss Moe, if she were to put her hands on me…
I stop, my hand covering my mouth in shock at my own thoughts.
I’m such a lecher!
Miss Moe never gave me leave to have such thoughts and here I am, imagining her touching me, stroking me.
By the Seven! What is wrong with me?
I straighten my back and attempt to dispel those forbidden thoughts—at least for now. I won’t be able to face Miss Moe if I continue on like this.
Soon I’m in the Mortal District. As I reach the restaurant, however, I notice the doors are closed. Usually, they’re wide open to indicate it’s open, with people going in and out of the establishment.
I reach to open the door, but it’s locked.
Frowning, I lean in and try to look through the window. The glass is foggy but I can tell there’s no movement inside.
Odd. Miss Moe had not mentioned anything of the sort. In fact, she’d asked me whether I would come today. She wouldn’t have extended the invitation had she known the restaurant would be closed.
I walk around the restaurant, searching for another window to peek inside.
“It’s closed,” someone calls out from behind.
I turn and see an older woman working at a food stall by the street.
“Do you know why? I thought it was open today.”
“If you’re hungry, I have steamed buns,” she offers.
I shake my head with a smile. “I was hoping to talk with the family who owns the restaurant,” I explain.
“Oh.” She nods. “You should come back another day then. They left early in the morning.”
At that, I frown. “Do you know why?”
She shrugs, as if minding her own business, but I can tell she knows something.
“I’ll have one steamed bun please.”
She gives me a smile, fishes out a steamed bun from inside the stall and wraps it for me. I pay for it and continue to probe, “It’s unusual for them to leave on a business day, no?
“Not that unusual if you know their situation,” she bristles.
“Their situation?”
She leans in, “They’re up to their necks in debt. The restaurant is running on borrowed money, and Mr. Denos was bound to cash in at some point.”
“Mr. Denos? Who is that?”
“You don’t know about Mr. Denos? Everyone knows about him!” She exclaims. “He’s the richest man in the neighborhood.”
“And you think they went to this Mr. Denos to pay off their debts?”
“Pft!” She rolls her eyes. “As if they had the money to pay back. Once you borrow from Mr. Denos, you owe him for life.”
“I see. But why would they close down the restaurant? Their kids could have run it while they were away.”
She waves her hand. “The kids went with them, too. If you ask me…” she pauses and lowers her voice. “That daughter of theirs is the only thing they might have to offer Mr. Denos. I hear he likes them pretty. Though she’s not that young anymore…”
My eyes widen.
“You think…”
“I don’t know! Who can know! But here’s a piece of advice, young man. Don’t get involved with that Mr. Denos. He’s pure evil.”
With a nod and a strained smile, I thank her for the bun and leave.
But I can’t stop thinking about what she said, that Mr. Denos might want to harm Miss Moe.
Walking around the area for a while, I ask someone for directions to Mr. Denos’ house. To my surprise, everyone knows where he lives.
“It’s the big red house at the end of the boulevard,” someone tells me.
With no plan in mind other than pure worry for Miss Moe, I head there.
At the end of the boulevard, the red house mentioned stands out among the others. Not only is it the size of a palace, which makes the other houses around look small and puny, but it also has a tall metal fence to rival government institutions.
In all my time spent in the Mortal District, I’ve never seen such a sumptuous building, which confirms Mr. Denos’ status as the richest man in the neighborhood.
Perhaps it’s my own folly and ignorance of the world that drives me forward, but as I reach the main gate, where four armed guards are stationed, I simply smile up at them and ask, “Hello, I am looking for—” I stop, realizing I don’t even know Miss Moe’s last name.
Wracking my brain, I simply say, “I’m looking for the family who owns the Fated Encounter restaurant. ”
One of the guards, a stocky man of about forty human years, with a thick beard and balding head glares at me.
“This is not a teahouse where you can come in as you like! Scram!”
“You misunderstand me,” I stammer. “I just want to—”
“Even if that family is here, no one enters or exits without Mr. Denos’ approval,” he continues. “You’re not welcome. Leave.”
“Is there no way I can—”
Without letting me finish, the guard steps menacingly toward me, his hand on the hilt of his sword. I take a few steps back and raise my arms in a placating gesture.
“I’ll leave,” I mumble. He scoffs at me and whispers something to his mates.
I step away far enough to be out of sight of the guards while I think of a better approach. I should have expected a mansion of this status to have armed guards just as I should have expected they would not welcome me with open arms.
“Damn it,” I mutter to myself.
Based on the way this place is guarded, this Mr. Denos feels quite dangerous. I can’t not do anything. What if Miss Moe is in danger? What if she needs help?
Since the direct approach did not work, I will have to find an indirect one.
I circle around the mansion and make note of all the armed guards. They are typically stationed every hundred or so steps, so I just have to find a blind spot and…climb the fence.
Not that I’m the best athlete, but if the situation requires it, then I will give my best.
Once I have some understanding of the surveillance, I manage to find a spot that isn’t as easily visible from each side where the guards are stationed. Tall trees and foliage are intertwined between the fence walls, obstructing the view.
I slip between the foliage, making sure I’m not visible, and I start climbing. Although the fence is tall, there are enough nooks and crannies to hang onto as I make my way up. Soon, I’m at the top.
Swallowing hard, I jump down.
For a moment, I’m frozen to the spot, waiting for all the guards to come rushing towards me with their swords. When that doesn’t happen, I sigh in relief and continue my way forward.
Avoiding all the open paths, I walk toward the house. The courtyard is as big as the main home, with rare plants, small ponds and pebbled roads gracing the grounds. It speaks to the affluence of Mr. Denos.
Halfway to the house, I hear footsteps. Quickly hiding behind a statue, I wait for them to pass.
From the corner of my eye, I see three females carrying clothes and other feminine toiletries walking down the pebbled path. And as they pass by me, their voices reach my ears.
“Isn’t she a little too old for Mr. Denos? He usually likes them under the age of twenty?” One of the servants whispers to another.
“Shh. It’s not our place to question our master. Besides, he’ll probably use her once and discard her like he’s done to the others.”
My heart stills in my chest.
Use her once and discard her?
They’re talking about my Miss Moe?
No, no. That cannot happen! I won’t let it.
As soon as they’re gone, I hurry after them toward the house. There is no one guarding the entrance to the house, so I grab onto the door handle to pull it open. But I barely touch it when a strong gust of energy blasts me away.
What? Magical runes? Since when do mortals have access to such runes?
I fall to the ground, pain erupting all over my body. Slow to get up, I barely realize that an alarm had been sounded by my mere touch of the door and rushing steps thud toward me.
Looking wildly around, I see at least ten armed guards running toward me.
“Catch the intruder!” A voice echoes.
I scramble to my feet with difficulty. My back hurts, as does my hand where I touched the rune-affected door.
I run as fast as I can from the incoming mob, but to my luck, I end up face to face with other guards coming from the opposite direction.
Damn!
Glancing around, I don’t see a way out of this. Just as I change my direction toward the fence, one of the guards grabs my coat, pulling me back.
I elbow him in the stomach, but my blow barely does anything. One punch from him and I already see stars. I wobble on my feet, disoriented, until I see the other guard reach for his sword.
He swings it at me and I narrowly dodge to avoid lethal damage. But it still cuts my arm from my shoulder to my elbow. I hiss in pain.
He doesn’t give me any time to regroup, swinging his sword again. I dodge, but once more, the tip of the blade pricks my leg.
The other guard draws his weapon too, and in a matter of seconds, the ten other guards will be here, too.
If I don’t do something soon, I’m dead. Then I won’t be able to help Miss Moe, and that is just unacceptable.
She cannot be hurt! Not while I’m still breathing!
Just as one of the swords lunges toward me, I reach for it, grabbing it with my already hurt hand. The blade slashes through my skin, blood pouring onto the ground. The other sword strikes too, and I use my other hand to block it.
The pain is so intense, my mind becomes foggy with it.
But instead of surrendering to it, I decide to use it as a push—the one I need to get out of here.
With all the strength I have left, I pull onto the swords toward me, and with them the guards follow.
Right when they’re a little wobbly on their feet, I kick at their knees and release the swords, making one last dash out of here.
My hands are a bleeding mess. My entire body aches and hurts. With nothing more but my determination, I scale the fence to jump on the other side, the guards still hot on my trail.
And when my feet land on the ground again, I run at full speed.
Only when I’m sure I’ve lost them do I take a break to catch my breath.
I cannot leave Miss Moe there for that Mr. Denos to do unspeakable things to her. No, over my dead body!
With no time to spare, I do the only thing left for me to do. I return home, douse my wounds in disinfectant and grab the blue vial.
With a nervous gulp, I don’t even think of the potential consequences as I unscrew the cap and drink it all in one go.