Chapter 216: Victory at Last—or So I Thought

The world was coming to an end once again. The air cracked open, and the park twisted into black smoke. The ground shattered beneath Camela’s feet, splitting into jagged glass and dirt that screamed out as they fractured.

“Vincent!” she shouted, reaching for him while he pulled her close. His claws pressed into her waist, gripping her tightly as if the world would swallow her if he released his hold.

The stranger’s grin widened and his shadow stretched longer. Behind that shadow, other faces appeared—the ghost, the first bride—all of them flickering in and out like memories fading away.

“You thought you could run,” the stranger said softly, his voice curling like smoke. “You thought the fox could hide in the real world. But the void never ends; it only waits.”

“Enough,” Vincent growled back. “You don’t belong here.”

The stranger tilted his head with a smile. “Don't I? I am every piece of you that refused to die.”

The park had completely melted away now. The grass turned to ash. The sky folded in on itself until all that remained was a dark field filled with whispering shadows.

Camela held onto Vincent’s arm tightly and muttered, “This can’t be real…it can’t be!”

Vincent’s eyes glowed gold as he spoke in a low voice, “No, it’s real enough. It’s the world that lies beneath everything…the place where truth hides.”

The stranger stepped closer, his face twisting—half ghost, half Vincent, and half something else entirely.

Camela gasped, “He looks like you,” she whispered.

Vincent's claws tightened again as he responded, “Because he was created out of me.”

The stranger laughed softly. "At last, you admit it. You ripped me out of yourself the moment you fell in love with her. You thought you could hide me away—the beast, the hunger, the hate. But I thrived in your silence."

Vincent roared and charged at him. Their claws clashed, sending sparks of red light flying from the collision.

Camela screamed as the world around them shattered once more.

The two Vincents fought like twin storms—one shimmering gold and the other black. Their movements were fast—too fast for Camela’s eyes to track. Each strike echoed with thunder.

"You stole her!" the stranger shouted. "She was meant for the void!"

"I freed her!" Vincent growled back. "You only chained her!"

Their claws clashed again, blood spraying into the air. The smell stung—part smoke, part sorrow.

Camela dropped to her knees, clutching her head as voices whispered all around her—hundreds of voices; brides, ghosts, lost souls—all crying out:

"He’s lying! They both are! Nothing ends!"

"Stop it!" she screamed. "Please stop!"

The stranger reached out his hand toward her, his claws brushing her hair. "Do you see now, little bride? He cannot protect you. Not from me. Not from yourself."

Vincent tackled him to the ground with a snarl. "You don’t get to speak her name!"

The stranger's laughter rang out even as Vincent's claws dug deep into his chest. "You can’t kill me, fox. I am you."

Vincent's golden eyes narrowed in determination as he responded, "Then I’ll die along with you."

He drove his claws deeper into the stranger’s chest. The stranger screamed—half man and half void, before dissolving into black dust.

The air became still and silent. For the first time in centuries, silence meant peace.

Camela's breath shook as she asked, “Vincent…is it over?”

He turned toward her, panting heavily. “It should be,” he replied.

But then a hum filled the air again—it sounded low, deep, and disturbing.

The dust from the stranger rose into the air, swirling into a shape she recognized—The ghost.

His face was thin, pale, and endless. His voice echoed from every direction at once.

“You killed one, but I am many,” the ghost whispered. “I am every fear you refused to confront and every truth you refused to speak.”

Vincent’s claws shook with tension as he spoke. “You don’t belong here either.”

The ghost smiled. “Neither do you.”

He raised his hand, and the sky tore open to reveal a red storm filled with faces—thousands of brides all screaming, with their mouths stitched shut.

Camela fell backward, clutching her chest and whispering in panic. “No, no, make it stop…”

Vincent grabbed her shoulders firmly, urging her. “Don’t look at them!”

But she couldn’t turn away. Among the screaming faces, she saw herself.

The ghost’s whisper filled the void. “You can’t destroy what you’re part of.”

Vincent stepped forward, his eyes blazing fiercely. “Then I’ll burn it all down,” he said.

Golden flames erupted from his claws and spread across the black field, reaching into the air and devouring the shadows.

The ghost screamed as his face twisted in fear. “You’ll destroy everything!”

“That’s exactly what I intend to do!” Vincent roared.

The ground split apart as lava poured through the cracks while the air hissed with the sound of chains breaking in the heat of battle.

Camela crawled toward him, tears streaming down her cheeks as she screamed, “Vincent! Stop! You’ll die too!”

He turned to her, his gaze gentle for the first time, and said, “I already did, the day I met you.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “No…don’t say that!” she cried out.

He smiled faintly, the firelight reflecting in his eyes as he spoke. “You wanted to live free, didn't you? This is what freedom costs.”

He stepped deeper into the fire. His fur caught flames. His claws began to melt. Yet, he kept walking.

The ghost lunged at him, shouting, “You can’t kill what’s eternal!”

Vincent wrapped his arms around the ghost and sternly said, “Just watch me.”

The fire consumed them both.

The world cried out in agony.

Then—

Silence returned.

Camela took a deep breath as the fire died down. She found herself standing alone in the middle of a vast white field.

The air felt calm—too calm.

Suddenly, a woman stepped out from the light. She had pale skin and empty eyes, wearing a torn wedding gown that trailed behind her like smoke.

Camela froze in place as she stuttered. “You…you’re the First Bride.”

The First Bride tilted her head slightly. “And you are the last,” her voice was almost soothing.

Camela swallowed hard as she asked, “Where’s Vincent?”

The First Bride’s eyes flickered momentarily. “He’s gone…burned away with his shadow. You should be grateful.”

Camela took a step back and responded, “You don’t sound grateful.”

The First Bride gave a faint smile. “Because I wanted to go with him too. But someone always has to stay behind; someone has to remember.”

She held out her hand, and in it was the journal—burned, blackened, and half destroyed.

Camela stared at it in disbelief and said, “I don’t want that.”

“You don’t get to choose,” the First Bride said gently. “Every world needs a keeper, and every story requires someone left behind.”

Camela’s voice trembled. “I just want to live. I just want to be normal again.”

The First Bride gave a sad smile. “Then forget everything and let it all go.”

She stepped closer and pressed the burned journal into Camela’s hands as she continued. “But if you forget him…you forget who you are.”

Tears flowed down Camela's cheeks and fell onto the journal's cover. As they hit the ash, the First Bride began to fade away.

“Wait…don’t leave!” Camela pleaded.

The First Bride’s voice drifted away like smoke. “He won, you know. Victory at last, but it was only because he chose to let go."

The First Bride vanished completely.

Camela found herself alone, trembling while she clutched the journal tightly.

The next breath she took—she inhaled real air. It was cold, alive, and filled with wind and the scent of rain.

She opened her eyes.

She was lying on the grass again—the park, the real park.

Children played in the distance, cars drove by; the world felt normal again.

She sat up slowly with the journal still resting on her lap. It was clean now and looked brand new—no blood, no ash, no writing at all.

“Vincent?” she called softly.

There was no reply.

She ran her fingers over the blank pages and held it close to her chest as tears fell quietly.

“Thank you,” she quietly said. “For letting me live.”

Days passed and turned into weeks.

Camela found a small apartment at the edge of town where she worked, ate, slept, and smiled more often than before. She learned how to wake up without fear each day. Sometimes she dreamed of him—gold eyes and flames. But when she woke up, she reminded herself it was only a memory.

She left the journal on her shelf and never opened it again. Until one night came along.

It was raining heavily outside, and the window trembled with thunder. Camela sat alone at her desk with a flickering candlelight nearby. Something about the silence felt odd to her.

She picked up the journal, but her fingers hesitated before she opened it.

The first page was still blank. The second one was blank as well. But on the third page—

Words began to form. They were faint and shaky, written in a familiar handwriting: “Camela.”

Her breath hitched as she whispered, “Vincent?”

The words continued to write themselves: “I burned the void. I killed him. The ghost is gone. The brides are free. But so am I…from you.”

Camela’s hand trembled as she read further with tears brimming in her eyes.

“This is my letter. It has no stamps and no address…just silence between us. You must live now. Don’t wait for me.”

Tears dripped onto the page as she cried out, “No, don’t leave me again.”

The ink shimmered once more, forming words: “Victory at last…or so I thought.”

Camela frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

The candlelight flickered, and the air grew cold. Suddenly, the journal flipped to its last page by itself, and a new sentence formed slowly:

“Someone followed me out.”

The lights in the room flickered, and then the window creaked open on its own.

Camela froze still as her heart raced. Outside in the rain stood a shadow under the streetlamp—tall, motionless, staring up at her window.

Her voice quivered as she called out, “Vincent?”

But the shadow didn't answer. Instead, it smiled at her.

And in the reflection of the window glass, behind her stood another figure with the same smile.

Suddenly, the candlelight went out, plunging her room into darkness.