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Chapter 153: Borrow My Strength
Last Updated:
2025-08-23 20:43:08
Latest chapter
Luna’s Rebellion Chapter 175: The First War Cry
Kael I don’t remember leaving the throne hall. One moment, she’s there—my Elara, but not my Elara—wrapped in fire and godblood, smiling like the world’s hers to break. The next— I’m running. Running through ruins that used to be a kingdom. Every breath burns. Every step’s knives. Every shadow feels like it has teeth. And behind me— I hear them. Not soldiers. Not men. Things. Things that didn’t exist yesterday. The sound they make—gods—it’s wrong. Like bones grinding in a furnace, like something old clawing its way back into the skin of the world. They call themselves the Godspawn. But I know what they really are. Elara’s lies made flesh. The first one lands in front of me. It doesn’t sound like a man when it hits the ground. It sounds like the earth breaking its own spine. Dust shatters into the air. Rocks crack. The smell of sulfur slams into me like a fist. And gods— It’s smiling. Its skin glows with lines of molten gold, like veins carved by a blade dipped in
Luna’s Rebellion Chapter 174: The Throne Of Ash
Kael When I wake, the world is red. Not like blood. Blood fades. Blood dries. Blood belongs to life, to endings that can be mourned, cleaned, buried. This— This is a red that never ends. Like the sky is bleeding. Like the sun’s a wound that will never close. And I know why. Because she’s on the throne. It wasn’t a throne yesterday. It was stone. Black. Broken. The ruin of a temple where gods came to die. Now— It’s fire. It’s light. It’s her. I taste smoke before I taste breath. My lungs are razors, dragging air that burns. My body doesn’t feel like mine. Every inch of me aches, torn, stitched together with agony. My ribs protest when I move, but I move anyway—because I have to see her. “Elara.” Her name tastes like ash in my mouth. And she hears it. Gods—she always hears me. She turns, slow, like the world’s a dream she hasn’t woken from yet. Her hair moves like it’s underwater—like gravity forgot her. Like gravity forgot all of us. Her eyes— They’re not her
Luna’s Rebellion Chapter 173: The Last Lie
Kael Silence. The kind you don’t hear. The kind you feel. Like a weight pressing on your bones, on your soul, like the air’s been ripped out of the world and nothing remembers how to breathe. The god is gone. And so is the sky. Above me, there’s nothing. No stars. No sun. No endless black. Just… nothing. A hole where the world used to be. And if I stare too long, I think I’ll fall into it and never stop. “Elara?” My voice is a ghost. It echoes in the ruin like a name carved into stone long after the body’s dust. No answer. My hands—gods—my hands are still clutching the hilt of the blade, or what’s left of it. It’s not light anymore. It’s not fire. It’s not even steel. Just shards. Like glass burned black. And blood. Mine. Hers. The god’s. All the same now. “Elara,” I say again, softer this time, because if I shout— If I shout, the silence might break, and I don’t think I can live through one more breaking. Then— A sound. Not a roar. Not a scream. Jus
Luna’s Rebellion Chapter 172: When Gods Beg
Fire should hurt. Shadow should choke. Light should blind. But when you’ve lost enough, when the world has taken everything and left you with nothing but a name and a wound— You stop fearing the burn. You let it eat you. I thought I knew what it meant to hurt. I thought I knew what it meant to fight. I was wrong. The blade isn’t steel anymore. It’s a sun turned inside out, a god screaming in the shape of a weapon, and it’s inside me, burning me from marrow to soul— And I don’t let go. Not now. Not ever. Elara’s eyes find mine through the blaze— Gods, those eyes. Once full of storms, then shadows, then nothing but cold. Now— Everything. And for one impossible breath— She looks like her again. “Kael,” she whispers. And the sound of my name in her mouth is enough to break me and build me all at once. But I don’t answer. I can’t. Because every breath, every heartbeat, every ragged shred of me left is going into holding this thing down, chaining it inside me before
Luna’s Rebellion Chapter 171: The Price Of Becoming
Power feels nothing like the stories. They tell you it burns, blinds, consumes. They don’t tell you it feels good. Like silk unraveling under your skin, like fire that doesn’t hurt, like a voice whispering, you were always this, you were always mine. And I believed it. Gods help me— I believed it. The blade wasn’t a blade anymore. It was a vein cut through the world, bleeding light and shadow in the same breath, a thread pulling me apart and stitching me into something else, something not human, something— Perfect. Every beat of my heart was a war drum. Every breath, a storm tearing the sky in half. The ground didn’t hold me anymore; I held it. The sky didn’t cage me; I caged it. And when the god looked at me— When it looked at me— It stopped laughing. “Elara.” Kael’s voice again, behind me, broken and raw and trembling like he already knew what I’d done—what I’d become— And still, he said my name like it mattered. Like I mattered. But I didn’t turn. Couldn’t. N
Luna’s Rebellion Chapter 170: The God That Knelt
The world wasn’t broken. It was ending. The sky had no color anymore—just white fire ripping through the black like torn silk, bleeding stars that burned and died in the same breath. Mountains weren’t mountains; they were teeth breaking through the skin of the earth, jagged and glowing, vomiting rivers of molten stone that devoured forests and cities in a heartbeat. And at the center of it all— The god. Not Kael. Not the Warlord. Not anymore. It wore his bones like ornaments. Wore his blood like jewels. Its skin was smoke and night and knives. Its eyes— Gods. Its eyes were holes cut through the world, and behind them was nothing but hunger. Hunger and laughter. And Kael— Kael was on his knees in the ash, head bowed like he’d already accepted the truth: That this wasn’t a fight anymore. It was an execution. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Veyra’s voice was silk on glass, soft and cruel as she stepped to my side, her gown trailing like oil through the ruin. “The end of a rotte
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