Chapter 50
Not a scream.
Not a cry.
A wet, crystalline crack—as if something sacred had been crushed between divine fingers.
Lugh's body jerked.
His crimson eyes widened for a fraction of a second—not in fear, but in surprise.
Denovan's arm was buried to the elbow in Lugh's chest.
Blood flowed backward, defying gravity, crawling up the Pope's sleeve as if eager to return to its source.
Lugh coughed.
Not air.
Not words.
Just blood.
It spilled from his lips in a dark cascade, splattering across Alexi's frozen vision.
"L–Lugh…?" Alexi whispered.
Denovan looked almost disappointed.
"So fragile," he murmured pleasantly.
His fingers tightened.
The heart burst.
Not exploded—collapsed, compressed into a pulpy ruin between his palm, divine pressure grinding flesh, muscle, and mana into nothing.
A pulse rippled outward.
The frozen world screamed.
Lugh's body went limp.
Denovan withdrew his arm slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the sensation. Strands of torn muscle and glowing mana snapped away reluctantly.
Lugh hovered there—suspended in the air—his clothes soaked crimson, blood dripping steadily from the hollow in his chest.
A puppet with its strings cut.
Alexi couldn't breathe.
Something inside him collapsed—silently.
Denovan flicked his wrist.
Lugh was thrown.
His body tore through the air like a discarded doll, slamming into the far edge of the arena with a thunderous impact. Stone shattered. Dust erupted.
He bounced once—twice—then skidded across broken ground, leaving a dark red trail behind him.
His vision blurred.
Colors smeared together.
The sky tilted.
The last thing he saw—dimly—was Denovan turning away.
As if he were already dead.
"No—!" Alexi shouted.
Denovan moved.
In a blur, he was suddenly before Alexi.
A hand like a vice clamped around the Hero's throat.
Alexi barely had time to gasp before the world twisted.
Space folded.
The Pope vanished—taking Alexi with him.
—
Pain snapped Alexi back into motion.
The world reformed violently around them, the air screaming as reality reasserted itself.
Rage detonated in Alexi's chest.
Before fear.
Before thought.
Instinct.
He moved.
Alexi drove his blade forward with everything he had—no technique, no hesitation—pure, animal fury screaming through steel.
The sword pierced Denovan's chest.
Straight through.
Blood splashed out behind him.
Alexi snarled, twisting the blade, forcing it deeper.
"You—!" His voice broke. "You took him—!"
He didn't even know what Lugh truly was to him.
Friend.
Savior.
Anchor.
Something close.
Something stolen.
Denovan looked down slowly.
At the blade.
At the blood soaking his white vestments.
Then—
He smiled.
It was wrong.
His blond hair was a mess—dull, greasy strands clinging to his sweat-slick forehead. His face was unremarkable to the point of revulsion: sagging skin, lifeless eyes, a mouth framed by disgusting, uneven facial hair clinging in patchy clumps to his jaw.
When he smiled, his lips peeled back to reveal crooked, yellowed teeth—crowded, malformed—gums dark and unhealthy.
A smile that belonged to rot.
"How touching," Denovan said softly.
Alexi felt the resistance vanish.
The Grand Blade dissolved, leaving only the hilt.
Not shattered.
Not broken.
It melted where it touched the Pope's blood—steel hissing, screaming, unraveling as if submerged in corrosive acid. Light bled from the blade in thin, dying strands before it disintegrated completely in Alexi's hands.
He staggered back, empty-handed.
The world peeled apart.
Reality tore like wet parchment.
The iron walls of the arena dissolved into nothingness, replaced by a vast, alien sky. Spiraling clouds twisted endlessly overhead, layered upon themselves like a celestial maelstrom. Massive islands floated freely within the storm, their undersides jagged, their surfaces fractured and ancient.
Mana here felt wrong.
Not violent.
Not calm.
Watchful.
Alexi's breath caught.
"W–Where…?"
His words vanished into the wind.
Denovan stood unbothered, hands clasped behind his back, white robes fluttering gently—as if this place obeyed him alone.
"This," the Pope said mildly, "is my consecrated dominion."
Alexi barely heard him.
Because his eyes had locked onto something else.
A wall rose at the edge of one floating isle—vast and unnatural. Not stone. Not ice.
Solidified cloud, compressed into an opaque, glacial mass shimmering faintly with divine runes.
And embedded within it—
Alexi's heart stopped.
A massive ice gem, taller than a man, cruelly beautiful.
Inside it—
A woman.
Her form was suspended within the crystal, preserved in perfect clarity. Pale skin. Green hair. Eyes closed. Unmatched beauty, her expression serene—
Too serene.
Alive.
Conscious.
Frozen.
Alexi's knees buckled.
"…No."
His voice cracked.
Memories slammed into him—letters filled with warmth, laughter echoing through marble halls, a gentle hand ruffling his hair.
"Sister…" he whispered.
Anger.
Grief.
Terror.
They crushed together, forming something raw and suffocating.
Denovan stepped beside him, his crooked smile widening.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" the Pope said casually.
"A miracle of preservation."
Alexi turned on him, eyes burning.
"You—!" His voice shook violently. "You said you wouldn't hurt her—!"
"She is safe," Denovan interrupted smoothly.
He leaned closer, breath foul, patchy facial hair brushing Alexi's cheek.
"As long as you obey."
Alexi's hands trembled.
"Two years," Denovan continued lightly. "Not a wrinkle. Not a breath wasted. A saint preserved in ice."
Then the Pope straightened, stepping away at last.
"This place," he said, spreading his arms as the stormed sky responded—clouds tightening, islands drifting closer—"is my Source Expansion."
The wind hushed.
The runes pulsed once, like a slow, deliberate heartbeat.
"A world born of my dreams," Denovan continued calmly. "Not fantasies. Not delusions. Dreams—the truest form of desire."
Alexi staggered forward.
"This is just another illusion," he snarled.
Denovan chuckled.
"No."
He tapped the cloud-ground with his heel.
The sound echoed endlessly.
"An illusion collapses when touched. This does not."
Alexi's gaze dragged back to the frozen woman.
To his sister.
Denovan's voice softened—almost reverent.
"Purity unmarred by corruption. Beauty untouched by time."
Alexi lunged.
He didn't even reach him.
A hand seized his collar and hurled him aside.
Alexi slammed into the rubble, skidding across the fractured ground before rolling to a stop.
He lay there, gasping.
Shaking.
Then he forced himself up.
His vision burned as he stared at the Pope.
"…It's you," Alexi rasped, horror dawning—not sudden, but creeping.
Denovan met his gaze.
And smiled.
"Alcium Galdr."