Shifter Deathbound Curse のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

The bluish-grey fog rolled in, cold and alien, unlike any ley line energy Siron had ever felt. The silver-haired woman stood calm, her hands still raised, the dark gate behind her resembling a jagged wound in the air."The Order of the Closed Eye," Siron repeated, his voice hoarse. "We don't know who you are.""But we know you, Siron, the last Guardian of the Aethelford bloodline," the woman replied, a thin smile playing on her pale lips. "We have been watching from afar. Waiting for these ley lines to finally be purged of the old parasites. And now, the time has come for a new order."Elara stepped forward, though her body was still unsteady. "The ley lines don't belong to anyone to 'order.' They are the arteries of the world. Guardians only maintain the balance.""Balance?" The woman laughed, the sound like clinking crystal. "A balance that lets vengeful spirits roam free? That curses families for thousands of years? That isn't balance; it is negligence. We will co

The woman’s voice was piercing, cold, and laden with centuries of bitterness. A pair of smoldering blue eyes floated in the darkness, nothing more than two points of pale blue light burning with an unnatural intensity.Everyone stood frozen at the entrance of the newly opened basement. The smell of must, damp earth, and something sickly-sweet and rotting wafted out.“Who… who’s there?” Elara asked, her voice taut as she raised her dagger.“New Guardians…?” the voice hissed, sounding somewhat confused. “But there is Aethelford blood… and the blood of a traitor… a strange mixture.”“Show yourself!” Siron commanded, trying desperately to keep his legs from shaking.A short laugh, like the chime of a cracked bell, echoed from the darkness. “I cannot ‘show’ anything, young man. I am entombed. This coffin is my prison. The vibrations from your emergency ritual… weakened the seals for a moment.”Elara glanced at Siron. “She’s talking about your Pure Blood Call. It w

The toxic green light flared from the center of the temple ruins, bathing their weary faces in a sickly hue. The voice, deep, commanding, and very much alive, felt like a physical blow to Siron's chest. "Siron. My descendant. I have come to take what is my birthright." Out of the green radiance, a man stepped forth. He was tall, his long black hair tied back neatly, wearing clothes that were jarringly modern, a sharp black suit, yet his eyes burned with the same green light as the eruption. His face was handsome and sharp, bearing an undeniable resemblance to the portraits of Aethelford ancestors Siron had seen in books. This was Alaric, but not a vengeful spirit. This was a physical form, living and whole. "Alaric..." Siron muttered, his voice caught in his throat. "The original," the man replied with a thin, cold smile. "Not the spiritual fragment you defeated. I am Alaric, King of Aethelford, whose body and soul were preserved in the space-between, waiting for the moment the le

The shadowy figure wearing Morat’s face smiled, his purple eyes flickering softly. His voice was an exact replica of Morat’s, but there was a seductive undertone behind it that made the hair on the back of Siron’s neck stand up.“Don’t worry. I’m here to help you.”Siron took a step back, bumping into the edge of his mother’s hospital bed. “You aren’t Morat.”“Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to return?” The figure stepped closer, his shadow failing to reflect on the floor. “You miss me. I can feel it. My trace in that stone is vibrating with your longing.”“Shut up,” Siron hissed, gripping the blue stone in his pocket. It felt warm, but not as warm as before. It felt as if something was interfering with the connection.Elara was already poised with her dagger. “This is an illusion. Or perhaps a remnant of the Illusion Weaver that hasn't fully vanished.”Stefan stood between Siron and the shadow. “Don’t touch him.”But Kit suddenly spoke, his voice trem

Siron sat bolt upright in bed, his heart hammering against his ribs. He stared at the glowing sprout on the windowsill, then at his own shadow, which now stood independently on the wall, two points of silver light shining where there should have been only darkness. It felt as if he were still trapped in a dream, but the chill of the wooden floor beneath his feet was undeniably real."This... this is impossible," he whispered to himself.The shadow raised a hand, a hand made of darkness, and pointed toward the sprout. No sound came, but Siron felt a nudge in his mind: Take it."Who are you?" Siron asked his shadow, his voice trembling.The shadow only gave a slow shake of its head, then pointed at the sprout once more. The silver light in its eyes flickered like distant stars.Siron rose cautiously. He stepped toward the window, afraid his movements would trigger a reaction from the shadow. But the shadow simply followed him, staying fixed to the wall like a norma