Last Born Of The Desdemona

Chapter 131: Chapter 131: Ulrich Stormblessed

Chapter 131 – Ulrich Stormblessed

The destruction of the Fifth Elder’s personal realm did not go unnoticed.

Emrys’s attack extended beyond the reach and boundaries of the realm, slipping out into the world outside, causing the sky above Storm City to darken completely.

Not only darken. Roars of golden lightning began to boom across the horizon, echoing like the wrathful cries of gods, causing dark clouds to gather rapidly, and heavy rain to pour down over the city.

It was only morning.

A morning like any other, where the working class stepped out of their homes with grim determination, ready to work with everything they had just to survive one more day. Just one more.

But with the heavy rain and the dark clouds infused with lightning hanging over their heads as if the heavens themselves had been provoked, everything was ruined.

Shops closed, their owners afraid of what was unfolding. With the shops closed, customers had no reason to go out...and with no customers, the people working those shops would not work, and thus would not be paid.

With customers deciding to stay home, the carriage drivers of Storm City found themselves without work as well.

For what was nothing but a residual effect of Emrys Stormblessed’s attack, an entire city felt as though it had died.

And on that day, those who had expected the work ahead to give them and their families enough to fill their stomachs found themselves instead in a quiet, aching despair, looking up at the sky with sadness and eyes brimming with the feeling of deep unfairness, asking which unjust god had decided to act, stopping them from earning their own provisions.

Not begging. Earning.

And yet even that had been denied to them.

What the people of Storm City didn’t know, however, was that no god was responsible.

It was a man. A young man at Mortal Self rank, the true culprit behind all of it.

And as that scene unfolded outside, inside a room that reeked of prison and rot, the mother of that young man — her state desolate and pitiful to behold — cocked her head upward, looking at the ceiling of her prison as if sensing something greater was happening beyond her walls.

And indeed...

”Ah, the Fifth Elder is always so reckless.” A man’s voice echoed.

Évangile gritted her teeth in searing, hot anger, remembering he was here.

She reluctantly turned her head toward him and took in, once more, his appearance.

He was unfairly handsome. Golden hair shining like the rays of the sun itself, and eyes that blended both red and blue — mixing perfectly, yet still distinct enough to be told apart — giving him an enchanting, almost inhuman look.

He sat on a reclining chair, tall and slightly lean, wearing a black suit that fitted him perfectly. The mark of a lightning bolt was on his forehead, identifying him as the Head of the Stormblessed Family.

The father of Emrys himself.

Ulrich Stormblessed.

”What are you doing here?” Évangile asked, hatred and fear boiling inside her chest at the sight of this man...at the sight of her husband. ”Are you here to mock my state again?”

”That would be lovely. Unfortunately, I don’t have that much free time.” Ulrich said leisurely, looking at her with an indifferent stare laced with amusement. ”Yet here I am, paying my wife a visit or two.” He laughed faintly. ”The servants of the house and those worthless lesser nobles look at me and think of me as a noble man.”

He paused, then nodded. ”Which indeed I am. After all, who would bother keeping a crippled woman as a wife after so many years? Who except me?”

Évangile was shaking, her hands gripping the bedsheets so hard they turned bloodless white, doing everything she could to keep her composure and not give Ulrich what he wanted from her.

He enjoyed watching her struggle. He enjoyed seeing her angry and wrathful and helpless to do anything but shout and then cry. He enjoyed, in the deepest part of his wicked heart, the simple fact of watching her remain aware of everything she had lost.

She knew that. Yet Évangile could never stay silent, no matter how hard she tried.

”Do you really think you will get away with this?” She grated, looking at him with eyes dripping with loathing.

The hatred on her face could have frightened a monster.

Ulrich only grinned, shrugging. ”Yes.” He answered. ”Most definitely.”

There was no doubt in his voice. Only a certainty that seemed to shatter something deep inside Évangile. ”So there is no need to keep threatening me with retribution, Évangile. Have you become a fool after losing everything?” He mocked, shaking his head. ”There is no karma or retribution in this world. The strong rule and the weak bend their knees. There is no other way. Retribution only happens when, by some twisted joke of the gods, a weak being becomes strong enough to threaten the strong.”

”Then you had better drop to your knees and fervently pray that the gods never find themselves in a joking mood again, Ulrich.” Évangile scowled.

Ulrich smiled at her. ”You know very well, my dear, that it will never be your case. You are ruined. I know that more than anyone.” His smile widened. ”For I made you this way.”

She trembled. And if a look could kill, Ulrich would have been dead a billion times already.

He remained entirely unbothered.

He saw Évangile as nothing but a wretched being waiting for death to take her soul through Vorn’s Gate. But Ulrich would be damned if he ever let that happen.

”You will live, Évangile.” He said, now slowly rising to his full height. ”You will live because I need you. I need Emrys to see you. I need Emrys to wish with all his heart to save you. I need him to have the motivation to do whatever it takes to become powerful — and yet stay loyal to us — because even with that Ichor, only we can save you. For only we know what happened to you.”

”You are the devil.” Évangile spat, her voice thick with disgust. ”You are the devil, Ulrich! You! And the gods have cursed me for ever falling for you! The gods abandoned me, dropped me into your vile and base hands. And so I, Évangile, abandon them too! I abandon them all, and I shall curse this entire family every single second of my life until I die with that curse on my tongue!”

”How adorable.” Ulrich sneered. ”Curse all you want, my dear.” He continued, now fully upright. ”The curses of the wretched carry no weight and no significance. Only noise filtered out before it reaches any god worth listening.”

He smiled one last time and turned away, walking toward the door. ”So heed my advice, wretched. Accept your fate and perform your duty as a mother: be the reason our son reaches the height he is destined to reach. In other words, the very top of this world. Then you can be proud. Proud of having sacrificed your life for him. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Emrys can make you famous. Make you look like a holy being.” He chuckled. ”Which, quite frankly, you are not, my dear.”

Then Ulrich halted just before the door, turned his head to look at her over his left shoulder, and grinned.

”Ah...and one last thing.” He laughed freely. ”I have found your little sister. The one you so desperately wanted to hide from me. And oh...”

Évangile’s eyes went wide immediately, what remained of her heart slamming against her chest.

”...what a beauty she is, Évangile. Like an untouched and unsullied saint. And I admit...” another laugh ”...my heart is beating with blinding excitement at the mere thought of her.”

Not caring in the slightest about her reaction, he finally exited the room, leaving her completely alone.

Évangile sat there, eyes hazy and adrift in endless pain, her mind conjuring the memories of her sister the day she had left her behind. The girl had been a mere five years old at the time, frail and in desperate need of her only family.

And yet, because of a heart rotted by love, she had abandoned her without a second glance.

Eighteen years had passed. That young girl must now be twenty-three years old...and she had now become the prey of the devil.

All because of her.

At that realisation, for the first time in years, Évangile broke into hot tears, sobbing and wailing, her mind already conjuring the image of her sister broken and ruined by the beast that Ulrich was.

She cried, and cried, and cried again until she began to cough blood. Still she continued. She continued until she lost consciousness entirely.

Yet even in that state of unawareness, the nightmare never ended.

And Évangile feared that, indeed, it never would.

—End of Chapter 131—