Last Born Of The Desdemona

Chapter 91: Chapter 91: Évangile

Chapter 91 – Évangile

Emrys sat on the ground, cross-legged, his back resting against a door made of condensed purple-blue-red lightning that continuously rippled like a snarling snake.

Those lightning were strong enough to burn away any foolish Mortal Self rank who dared touch them carelessly, yet Emrys himself was completely unaffected.

Not because he was strong enough to endure them — though there was truth in that too — but simply because no lightning in the Stormblessed domain could hurt him in any way.

Well, that was, as long as the Elders of Heaven and his own father decided so.

Even so, none of those thoughts were on his mind at that moment.

Wearing a long-sleeved white shirt rolled up to the elbows — revealing for the first time the golden tattoos framing both forearms, inscribed with something none could decipher — and black trousers, Emrys’s blue eyes were faintly trembling, marked by obvious stress and fear.

Something no one would believe if they ever witnessed it.

Those same eyes were glued to his phone, its light reflecting on his face, where it sat open on a conversation between him and Anesthesia.

The last message read:

”>

Sent by Emrys himself. Two hours ago.

’What’s going on?’ He wondered, golden eyebrows knitted into a tight frown. ’Why isn’t she answering? Did something happen?’

In fact, since yesterday, Anesthesia had been responding slower and far less than usual. Even her normally enthusiastic replies had cooled down considerably. The only explanation she had given him was that Cassius had arrived in Vorn City.

’Did Desdemona cause her problems again?’ A flash of irritation crossed his eyes.

It was truly not the time for such childish things.

Soon enough, he would have to enter the room behind him and face her. But Emrys couldn’t bring himself to do it without his usual emotional and mental support from Anesthesia.

Her words steadied him. Her voice helped him feel grounded. And on rare occasions, her presence made him feel as though not even the heavens themselves could shake him — as if he were the heavens.

But she wasn’t here. And Emrys knew he couldn’t drag this out. His father was waiting.

So sighing with a shuddering heart, Emrys cursed under his breath and pushed himself to his feet. He turned gently to face the lightning door.

With his black-clothed sword in his right hand, he raised his left and pressed it flat against the door. Like a servant recognising its master, the lightning rippled outward, parting like a curtain being drawn, creating an entrance.

’Ah. Let’s just do it.’ He whispered, and stepped inside.

Behind him, the lightning stitched itself back together, sealing the door.

Inside the room, Emrys’s eyes ignored everything else and settled on the woman — if one could call her that — sitting on the bed.

She was extremely old-looking, with only half of her golden hair, now mixed with white, remaining. The other half had completely fallen away, leaving bald patches behind.

Her skin was like mangled cloth, pale to the point of translucency, fierce golden lightning veins coursing visibly through her body. Her face was set in perpetual pain, her blue eyes tainted, strained, marked by a dark malice that could shake grown men.

Emrys was used to it. But used to didn’t mean it hurt less.

Looking at her, he could only see the upper half of her body, the rest hidden beneath a heavy blanket. He was grateful for it.

At least this way he could maintain the illusion that there was still something beneath.

He knew the truth. He knew he was lying to himself.

”What... are you doing here again?” The woman spoke, her voice frail and weak, like the dying whisper of a man before passing through Vorn’s Gate.

”To see you... mother.” Emrys said, placing careful weight on the last word. And as expected, the woman — his own mother — twisted her face into deep disgust, hatred and resentment, all of it knotted together on her tongue before she spat the next words with the momentum of venomous rage.

”I am not your mother.” She growled, her blue eyes half-hidden beneath her drooping eyelids — a mercy for Emrys, because without it he would have seen the full depth of his mother’s hatred toward him in clearer detail.

Even so, what he saw was enough to make him recoil like a frightened animal. He wanted nothing more than to run.

But he couldn’t.

[Look at her.] The Golden Beggar whispered through his mind. [Look at your mother and remind yourself every single time why you must not fail.]

His god’s words made Emrys clench his jaw, his grip on his sword tightening until it creaked.

”I am sorry, mother.” Emrys whispered, saying the same thing he always said, his head low. ”I am sorry... I truly—!”

”What are you sorry for?” His mother interrupted, her face twisting into a sneer. ”For being born? Do you even regret it, monster? How could you regret it? How can you regret anything when you were born with the blessing of the heavens?”

’Ah... again. The same words. Again and again and again.’ Emrys thought, listening to his mother pour all her pain onto him once more.

It was unjust. It truly was, for he had done nothing except be born. And even then, he had never asked for it. And even then, he had never asked to be blessed with such talent.

But Emrys Stormblessed could understand his own mother.

After all, she had lost her power, her beauty, her lower body...she had practically lost her life and everything she had ever been passionate about, all because she had given birth to him.

It was no small feat to carry someone like Emrys Stormblessed. He had been born with too many blessings and peculiarities, making it a harrowing ordeal for any woman to bear the weight of his existence.

Yet Évangile had succeeded. But instead of glory, she had lost everything in the process.

Emrys had taken everything his mother had within her, absorbed it alongside his own blessings. He had left her with nothing.

Nothing but spite and hatred for all living things.

”Just be patient with me, mother.” Emrys said at last, head still lowered. ”I beg you. I will find the Ichor of the Immortal Tree and give it to you. I promise—!”

”Get out.” Évangile said, her voice cold, her eyes colder. ”Get out of my room. Or rather...” she smiled with intense anger, ”this prison. And tell your father, tell your bastard of a father—!”

”Mother! Don’t say—!”

”I SAY WHATEVER I WANT!” Évangile snapped. The golden lightning inside her body flared brighter at her outburst, her eyes widening before she coughed a mouthful of blood into her hand and blanket.

Her face turned paler. Her life draining.

Emrys instinctively moved to help her, but a single glare from Évangile halted him as if the space before him had become a prison.

”Are you—!”

”Tell your bastard of a father,” Évangile continued, stubborn beyond all reason, ”that if I die, I will be the ghost of this whole cursed family. I will kill you all. I will curse you all. For you used me as a vessel for a monster! You used me! And I shall not forgive this scheme even if my soul turns to ashes! I swear it on my very existence!”

She smiled, blood smearing her lips, while Emrys trembled, tears welling in his eyes.

”Now get out. And don’t ever show your face in front of me again.” She paused, coughed another thread of blood, then,

”Monster.”

Emrys looked at her for a long moment. It was not the first time. Yet it hurt as if it were.

He lowered his head, feeling the weight of the world come crashing down on him again, threatening to choke the breath out of him.

He didn’t know how he managed it, but Emrys bowed his head in respect toward his mother. She didn’t bother to acknowledge it. He walked out of the room.

Once outside, he drew in a deep breath, only realising then that he had forgotten to breathe the entire time.

He pressed a hand to his chest and slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor again, his back against it.

The surrounding servants said nothing, only watching him with pity and compassion, catching the wisp of tears at the edges of his eyes.

[Everything will resolve itself once you have the Ichor.] His god said, trying to reassure him. [Don’t be afraid, Emrys. You are not alone.]

Emrys heard the words but he couldn’t make himself care about them. The only person who could soothe his wounded heart at that moment was Anesthesia.

So he looked at his phone with desperate hope — the kind a child feels when needing its mother’s presence to fall asleep — and his face fell completely, darkened by thoughts too heavy to name, when he saw that Anesthesia had still not answered any of his messages.

Emrys’s heart turned cold. He closed his eyes and felt that coldness spread through his body, as if he were being slowly submerged in frosted water.

”Ah... fuck.”

A tear trickled down.

—End of Chapter 91—