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Home / Werewolf / BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA / Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

All Chapters of BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

190 Chapters

Episode 141

He was just there. The Warden. A figure in a suit the color of a dead channel, standing where the air was clearest, untouched by the creeping crystal. His face was a study in calm indifference, but his eyes… they were fixed on the statue. Not with fear. With appraisal. A collector evaluating a new acquisition.“Fascifying,” he said, his voice a dry rustle, devoid of inflection. “The primordial source. I had theorized its existence, but to witness its manifestation… exquisite.”Arthur took a step forward, his hands curling into fists. “Get out.”The Warden’s gaze slid over him as if he were an interesting piece of furniture. “That is no longer an option. Your function has evolved. You are no longer simple Anchors. You are conduits. A refinery.” He lifted a hand. In it was a device of dull, grey metal, utterly simple, utterly alien. It had no buttons, no screens. Just a single, dark orifice that seemed to drink the light around it. “You will process the resource. I will harvest it.”He d

Last Updated : 2025-09-11

Episode 142

One second I’m on my knees on the cold floor, Arthur’s hand in mine, the ghost of the First Regret’s scream still echoing in the hollows of my bones. The next, the floor is gone. I’m taller. The air hits my face from a different angle. My—his—heart is a slower, heavier drum against ribs that aren’t mine. A deep, throbbing ache blooms in a limb that doesn’t exist, a phantom fire licking up from a hand that was never mine to lose. His corrupted arm. I feel the echo of its loss like a fresh amputation.Arthur.The thought is my own, but it rings in a foreign skull. I look down and see his hands, the familiar scars, the broader palms, clenched white-knuckled on the floor. I try to move them, to unclench the fists, and for a terrifying second, nothing happens. They are his. They are mine. They are not listening.Then the floor rushes up again, or I fall into it. The perspective lurches, dizzying, nauseating. I’m back in my own body, smaller, my own heartbeat a frantic bird against my ribs.

Last Updated : 2025-09-12

Episode 143

I turned, and the statue was no longer stone. Its surface had softened, shimmering, becoming a pool of liquid obsidian. A mirror. But it didn’t show my reflection. Not even close.It showed sunlight. Dappled, golden, falling through the leaves of a tree I’ve never seen. A porch swing creaks softly. And there I am. But not me. A me with laugh lines instead of worry lines etched around my eyes. My hair is longer, streaked with plain old grey, not the silver of the Graft. I’m holding a book, but I’m not reading it. I’m smiling at someone off to the side.He steps into view. Arthur.My breath catches. It’s him, but it isn’t. His hands are just hands. No scars, no corrupted metal lurking under the skin. They’re holding two mugs of coffee. He’s softer around the edges, his shoulders not carrying the weight of a thousand regrets. He says something, his voice a warm, indistinct rumble, and the other me laughs. A real laugh, one that starts in the belly and ends in a snort. He leans down, kiss

Last Updated : 2025-09-13

Episode 144

They step out from between the crystallized leaves, from the shadows the weeping statue casts. Not soldiers. Not an army. A funeral procession. Ghosts of Kin we couldn’t save, their forms shimmering with the memory of being consumed. Council guards we fought, their armor still scorched from Arthur’s corrupted fire. Pale, twisted things that might have once been people, failed experiments the Warden discarded and we never even knew existed. The forgotten. The passed-over. The collateral damage of our fight to just be us And at their head, the Warden.He is transformed. The logical god is gone. The being scarred by his own regret is gone. In his place is something… focused. His suit is still grey, but it seems to drink the light now, a void in the shape of a man. The shame we scarred him with has been refined, weaponized. It burns in his eyes, a cold, collective fire.“You built a world for two,” his voice rasps, but it’s not just his. It’s a chorus, a thousand whispered grievances spe

Last Updated : 2025-09-14

Episode 145

The Crown is a cold, permanent weight on my skull. Not metal, not stone. Solidified understanding. I am a monument to every pain we ever caused, and the silence in our garden is my court. Arthur moves around me like I’m a holy object, something fragile and terrible. He brings me water. His fingers brush mine and I feel the connection between us, a bright, frayed cable of shared history, and it’s all I can do not to flinch.I see them now. The strings.Not with my eyes. With whatever the Crown has opened up inside me. Every living thing is a web of connections, a constellation of loves and loyalties and hatreds. The rose bush has a thin, persistent thread of longing for the sun. Arthur is a sun himself, radiating filaments of care—a thick, pained cord stretching to me, a thinner, hopeful one toward the city, a dozen brittle, broken ones trailing off into nothing for the Kin we lost.It’s beautiful. It’s horrifying.The first raider comes at dusk. Scavenger, probably. Desperate. He cras

Last Updated : 2025-09-15

Episode 146

He’s been watching us. Our Prodigal. The one who had to stitch our souls back together and now has to watch them petrify. I see it in the set of his jaw, the new hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He looks from me, a statue of grief, to Arthur, a man haunted by his own reflection, to the weeping monument of the First Regret. He looks at our entire, miserable, pain-soaked history.And he decides to end it.He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t attack. He just turns away from us and raises his hands to the sky. Not to us. To the Cage itself. To the very fabric of this reality we’ve all been trapped in for so long.His power is a purer form of my own. Where I see the strings and can choose to sever or forge, he sees the weave. The fundamental pattern. And he begins to unpick it.The air doesn’t scream. It sighs. A long, slow, unraveling breath. The crystallized trees at the edge of our garden begin to waver, becoming translucent, insubstantial. The sky pales, not to blue, but to an un

Last Updated : 2025-09-16

Episode 147

It doesn’t tear. It simply… parts. Like curtains drawn aside. There is no sound. No grand entrance. It is just there. The Harvester.It has no shape I can understand. My eyes slide off it, my brain refusing to parse its form. It is a suggestion of angles, a confluence of shadows that shouldn’t touch. It doesn’t feel malevolent. It doesn’t feel anything. Its gaze—because it is looking at us—is a physical pressure. A cold, curious scrutiny that’s worse than any hunger. It’s the feeling of being a rare insect pinned to a board.It doesn’t want to destroy. It doesn’t want to rule. It collects.The offer forms in my mind, not as words, but as pure, chilling concept. A transaction. This new reality is… fresh. Interesting. I will leave it be. For a price. Give me the most unique thing you possess.Our son. It wants our son. The concept flays me open. I throw myself in front of him, a useless, instinctive gesture. Arthur is there too, his body a shield. The Harvester’s gaze lingers on him, on

Last Updated : 2025-09-17

Episode 148

It’s not the silence of the room. It’s the silence in my head. For years, there was a low hum, the psychic warmth of another consciousness just there, a constant, reassuring pressure at the edge of my own. Arthur. Now, there’s nothing. A void. My own thoughts echo in the emptiness, loud and terrifyingly alone.He sleeps beside me. I can feel the heat of his body, hear the soft, steady rhythm of his breath. I know this man. I know the scar on his shoulder from a fight he had centuries before we met. I know the precise way his mind works, the logical, ticking-clock of it. I have felt his joy and his despair as if they were my own. I died for him. More than once.And lying here now, in the dark, he is a stranger.The knowledge is all there, a library of a life shared. But the feeling… the feeling is gone. The Graft didn’t just connect us, it blended us. It sanded down our rough edges, smoothed over the petty irritations and deep-seated fears with a constant, reassuring flow of us. Now, t

Last Updated : 2025-09-18

Episode 149

The Harvester doesn’t move like a thing. It moves like a thought you didn’t mean to have. One second it’s a shimmer by the weeping statue, the next it’s just… in the room with us. The air doesn’t displace. It just goes still, holding its breath.Arthur is on his feet instantly. A useless gesture. I just sit on the edge of our bed, the bed that feels too big now, too cold. I’m so tired.The observation is complete, the concept forms in my mind, cool and smooth as a river stone. The data is sufficient. The specimen is documented.A weird, hollow feeling opens up in my chest. It’s over. The watching. The constant, clinical gaze. It’s going to leave.But it isn’t finished.To finalize the collection, the specimen must be tagged. Its form seems to sharpen, to focus. For clarity. Purity. The memory of the connective mechanism will be excised. From all points. Across all iterations of reality. It will be as it never was.The words don’t make sense at first. They’re too big, too clean for the

Last Updated : 2025-09-19

Episode 150

The Harvester’s work is complete. At least that’s what Arthur says when the silence between us swells too heavy and threatens to split the ceiling. Complete. A word with edges, a word that sounds like finality, but tastes like ashes. No one remembers. Not the Warden, not our son, not even Eos who once knew me too well. They see us as partners, allies. Nothing more. Not the bleeding, not the binding, not the way we were soldered together like two broken wires sparking in the dark.Only I remember. Only him.And remembering is a kind of prison.The boy—no, not a boy, he’s taller than Arthur now, his shadow stretches long across the marble floor—he said it so lightly. “You two always seemed so fiercely independent.” A joke, tossed like a coin in the air. He laughed. Arthur smiled. I thought my ribs would snap under the weight of it. Independent. As if I’d ever lived a day apart from Arthur after the Graft. As if I hadn’t breathed his breath inside my own lungs, felt his heart’s missteps

Last Updated : 2025-09-20

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