Aralyn's POV
My story began with love between Malleteagan and Larissa, my parents, which somehow evolved into a never-ending hatred and Malleteagan’s desire for death. Mine death and that of my mother. It is a dark, misty night. Mid-autumn rain sticks on my dirty and torn clothes, mixing with mud, leaves, and branches we picked up while grazing through the forest. Brushes, stems, and trees cut through my clothes and expose my skin even more. My lungs burn from exhaustion, and sweat breaks out in big lumps. I am out of breath and have difficulty picking up the pace with my mother. If she weren't holding my hand, I would fall behind. I would fall directly into the merciless jaws of our predator, Malleteagan. My mother was outsmarting him for years by running away from him and from his desire for our blood. We have been running since the day I was born. No, strike that, since the day I was conceived, as my mother told me. He was always on our tails, despite my mother being a demigod herself with few tricks up her sleeve too. Running from Malleteagan through different realms is something that I remember from my earliest childhood. He was hunting us to kill us both since the day I was born. Three days ago, he again found our hideout. We were in Amaaralva, my motherland, Soovaree’s subrealm of fallen Thessalian witches. Since then, he had been on the hunt. Now, it looks like we have come to our end. He will kill us. His neon silver eyes, cold as steel, were zoning on our hideout with pure and unmistakable hatred and fury. I think he found where we are. "Oh, Larissa!" he sang my mother's name with a peekaboo pitch of voice. Then, as he took his sweet time circling around our hideout, he laughed in maniacal fits which sent shivers down my spine: “Hey slag…you and that mistake-of-nature that clings to you will die today. It’s better to surrender peacefully!" he yelled with a sing-a-song voice that held so much grudge and menace as it rang out through desolate Amaralva. I was terrified just by the sound of his voice. I stepped on a twig in our hideout, enough to reveal our location. He was so close, and mother’s cloaking spell didn’t do much anymore as he was too powerful while she was too tired to muster the energy to reinforce the armour that cloaked us. That twig was enough for him to figure out where we were. My heart was at my feet. We started to run again. He is inches away from catching us. Then, I tripped over another twig again when I turned around to glance over to see how far is he. What an idiotic mistake I made! Why did I turn around? What is wrong with me and twigs today? At that point, not even my mother's hand that held mine managed to prevent me from stumbling and falling. That was enough for us to lose that slight advantage which we had. I saw my mother's horrified face, and I knew that meant he was there, getting closer. We fell together and started to crawl through mud and brush. We were sludgy grazed, and our clothes were ripped. My mother was crying and screaming at me while lifting me in panic and begging me to stand up and run. She then desperately shook me to stand up. And I… I just couldn't run anymore. My energy was drained. We were running away from this beast for three days and three nights. Somehow, he was always seconds away from catching us. Hell, we've been on the run since I remember. I was knackered, thirsty and famished. I have just given up. I don’t care anymore. Anything, even death, sounds better now than living as the haunted prey of a madman. "Tsk, tsk, tsk", he clicked with his tongue while cracking a demonic grin in the corner of his mouth as he approached us. The grin on his face disappeared in a split second and was replaced with disgust, rage and loathing. He looked dreadful, with no trace of humanity, mercy or pity, as he towered above us. He wanted us dead, and he will not give us quick and painless death. He wants us to suffer. That much is evident from his gaze, fuelled with hatred and disgust. My mother stood us up and pulled me behind her back to face the monster in front of herself. "I don't care what you will do to me, you cunt. But do not fucking dare to touch her!!!" He was getting closer as the threatening yell gritted through her teeth. I could smell his contempt for both of us. "She is your daughter, you twisted bastard. How can you?!" my mother screamed through tears. I was shocked and frozen in place by this revelation. I am his daughter. I am the daughter of the monster who wants to kill us. He made our lives a living nightmare, chasing and hunting us like animals. We were always on the run and frightened that he would find us. My father... He is ready to spend his last breath and beyond, if needed, to kill us both. My father hates me with every atom of his soul, as it looks like. What kind of father is that? Did I deserve that? What kind of person am I if I deserve this? What did I do to him? More importantly, what did my mother do to him to make him so full of hate and rage towards both of us? The look in his eyes tells it all-he is disgusted by us. He hates us. Why? Am I so disgusting and undeserving that even my father hates me? In mid of these dreary thoughts, his rage burst with a dreadful roar: "She is not my daughter, you trollop!!!” he snarled in one breath. “She is a misbegotten spawn. Who knows who fathered her, given that her mother is a slattern frolicker willing to spread the legs to everyone!!!” he roared with disgust written all over his face. “She is just an abomination and a reminder of how deceptive, cunning and vile your kind is. Even if she is of my flesh, she will never be my daughter as long as your putrid blood runs through her veins. And for that, I renounce her. Even if she is my blood, I will not accept this underworld mongrel of yours as my child. Ever. Do not dare to say, ever again, that this bastard spawn is mine because she is not.” he said with an indescribable amount of bile and contempt. “You know what, why am I even wasting my breath on you?” he scoffed. “Die! Both of you freaks will fucking die!” he snarled fiercely in an eerie, warlike tone. He pointed the finger at us and boomed in a bloodthirsty craze ridden roar: “You will be a reminder and warning to all those who think they can fuck around with me. Rot in hell, both of you", he rumbled as he launched himself, advancing towards us with an immeasurable speed. My mother quickly turned to me and knocked me to the chest, making me stumble again. I almost fell again whilst she whispered, with tears in her eyes, shaking and sniffling. She grabbed my head with both hands and cried, talking almost inaudibly: "Aralyn, run as fast as you can and don't look back. Promise?" I sniffled and nodded. And I ran. I could hear bones cracking in the background, and I knew he started shifting to his Lycan. Mother told me all about it. At the same time, my mother started to cast a spell to invoke the shadows from her Thessalian ancestors. I heard a thunderous clash before I ran away deep into the forest from the man for whom, to my dismay, I know now is my father. It sounded like heaven and hell were falling apart and crumbling away. It had a sound of utter and complete destruction of the world we know. Then I felt it before I heard it: earsplitting pandemonium and deafening clash, which sounded like all hell broke loose in my background.Elantra’s POV I was unable to bear this tension, danger and peril as I watched the cold steel of the blade pressed against Malie's skin and her life hanging on a thread, depending on the whim and mercy of mercurial vampiric Fae. With determination, I spoke out: "King Kandreah, I, Elantra Proserpina Morterey of Wengarthria, am hereby granting you permission to enter the main Macabantran encampment and any of the subrealms of Wengarthria, which are under my jurisdiction! I have done what you asked for, now leave my sister alone”. As I uttered those words, I heard Malie crying out a desperate “no” to me. I could see the relief, hope and determination surge in his eyes as he realised he had been invited. Without a shred of hesitation, he turned around with an obvious intention to leave both of us as if nothing happened, as we meant nothing to him. He obviously didn’t give a damn about us or about the mate bond. We were liter
Elantra’s POV What is your name, love?” he asked me with a palpable rage and an undertone of mockery in his voice. “Elantra,” I responded obediently as if I were the little girl in front of the executioner and not a daughter of the lord of Hell. I knew that the knife on Malie’s throat was a promise that he would kill her on the spot if I didn’t comply. Yes, Malie can be a handful, but she is my twin sister and soulmate, and it would break my heart if something happened to her. I love her, and I want her to live regardless of her being a bitch most of the time. "That is too long for my liking. Ella…darling, I wanted to share something with you and your sister…. Ooh, sorry love, I didn’t quite catch your name…” He smirked and turned his golden-eyed gaze to Malie. She told him to fuck off while struggling in his embrace, trying to set herself free. He whispered something to her ear so quickly and under his breath that I couldn’t even catch what he said despite my c
Elantra’s POV Malie nagged me to visit the battlefield for days, telling me she had found her mate. It was useless to remind her that we Mortereys have little to no chance of finding a mate. I have told her that she is delusional, but when she wants something, there is no way to set her mind off that. And now she had one goal - to visit Macabantrah and test the mate theory out, and for some reason, she is adamant that she want to go there with me. I don’t know what this all was really about: did she want to test the waters of mate bond? Did she want to convince me or herself that this is possible and that maybe she really found a mate? Whatever the reason, I could see that she was consumed and perhaps even excited with the idea. I mean, who could blame her; we spent eternity doing our “job” as dark celestials, daughters of rulers of Hell and Wengarthrian royals. I don’t blame her for wanting some sense of normalcy and to break this millennia old cycle of loneliness. But I als
Kandreah’s POV When I saw Hades’s twin daughters together, I finally understood what people think when they say they can’t see the difference between me and my brother. These two look like doppelgängers! They were as alike as two peas in a pod, and both looked exactly like the woman my warriors described to be seen during the Sanguineabbys and Konneyard battles. Both had ash blond hair smeared with subtle shimmers of lilac - as if they spent all day rolling and rubbing in the field of lavender in full bloom to achieve this hue in their hair. They had those same daunting eyes: one lilac eye like Noosha and one cobalt blue like Hades. Both were as slender as a whippet and had faces that could launch a thousand ships, but their aura stank worse than a fish market on a scorching summer's day. They radiated wickedness, danger, and spite like a pair of black cats crossing your path under a ladder, setting my skin crawling like someone tossed a bucket of spiders on me. To te
Kandreah’s POV While standing helplessly in front of the Macabantran gates, I went through all the stages of grief in the blink of an eye. I went through denial when I managed to work through my pain and drag myself while being pain-stricken with Thersar’s torment in front of the Macabantran gate. I was appalled with horror in front of my eyes. As Thersar’s demise-ridden pain wrecked through every nerve of my body, I watched his last moments with disbelief. Just when I thought that this was the final blow, which would be my undoing, the closeness of my soldiers who died in the battle started to shatter my body inside out, gnawing at my mind and soul. The death of every single soldier in my army was a new blow to my already broken body and heart. After initial shock, denial and disbelief, uncontrollable rage erupted from me. I screamed and tried many ways to break in and barge into the castle, but nothing worked. Even what it meant to be an attention-seeking roar of rage came
Kandreah’s POV We were passing through this infamous shortcut, which was more like a sewage-like labyrinth if you ask me, when I bent over and stumbled with an unwilling groan before I fell on my knees and stubbed my hands into the dirt and mud of Wengarthria. I felt so weak and dizzy, as if I was just seconds away from collapsing. The high-pitched, blaring sound grated through my ears, threatening to split my head in half. It reminded me of the ringing of life-supporting machines when someone dies, but as if someone put amplifiers on them. Beads of sweat protruded along with searing pain, the ache like no other which surged through me, piercing and rippling through my body. Every drop of blood in my body felt like it was scorching, sizzling, and as if it was about to combust in flames before turning to ashes. The agony was unbearable. It felt like I was dying. Only once before, I felt the pain like this, when I lost my soulmate. Regardless of the severed bond between
Erzelus’s POV But it looked like someone in the background had greater control over the forsaken Lycans than I did because drums rattled again in the next moment, along with a command rumbling to forsaken Lycans to attack. It overpowered and overrode the natural inclination of forsaken Lycans to submit to their Alpha. I am not their Alpha anymore. They do not answer to me anymore. They are not part of our pack anymore, and if there was even a smidgen of doubt in their logic, reasoning and where their loyalty now lies, it all became clear when they started attacking Lycan troops. My Lycans were over-excited with my comeback, and this idling is not something we can afford. This can cost us battles and lives; we have no time for this. Because, on the other side of the castle, dwarves, Fae, and witches were still in the ruckus of the battle against Wengarthrians. I stepped in while handholding Lev and roared: “Drop the fucking formalities! Lycans, regroup! Flank the Allies! Shield the
Erzelus’s POV The interior of the encampment was a vast, oval-shaped, dark and massive hall the size of a coliseum. Instead of walls, the encampment was enclosed with grand window-like structures, which seemed impenetrable. These window-like walls didn’t allow even a figment of light to protrude. Each window was adorned with vile and despicable frescoes depicting the destruction, apocalyptic violence and scenes from the underworld. In every corner of this eerie city-sized castle, there seemed to be an attempt at creating a macabre amphitheatre. It was as if a disturbed and malevolent architect had deliberately sought to challenge, mock, distort, and contrast every conventional thought, philosophy, aesthetic, and norms in rational thought, art, architecture, and culture, transforming them into something dark, ominous, and bizarre. This colossal castle seemed like an erratic response of a sinister rebel in architecture, a hub for defying the traditional building. Every corn
Erzelus’s POV Mark's contorted body serves as a testament to his tragic death and grim fate, symbolising just one of too many lives that have been and will continue to be lost in this relentless battle. The weight of lives lost became heavier as I scanned through limbless, scavenged, deformed and mutilated remnants of warriors from both sides, which hung from the ceilings. The cadavers blanketed the grotesque frescoes and icons of the Macabantran encampment. Bodies were strewn everywhere, suspended from ceilings and windows, littering the ground— that is the grave extent of casualties that this battle yielded. And many more are to yet die before the battle finishes. The windows were sprayed with blood and innards of diverse creatures who lost their lives, looking like someone had a paintball battle with leftovers of burnt shepherd pie. Corpses and bodies of soldiers from every walk of life were flailing across the Macabantran fort; mush and gore were everywhere, littering th