CHAPTER 153

  THE WINTER’S REVENGE

  Another lab destroyed.

  Many burned to dust.

  She was holding their chief by the collar. “Where is Anfaleen’s son?”

  “Master Aelok? I don’t know.” The laboratory chief whimpered.

  “Then you outlived your use—Inferno.”

  The cries didn’t even reach their ears, and the live body turned to ashes.

  “Deli, you are turning ruthless as Hans. Need to calm down—”

  “Calm down… you seeing what I am seeing, Chris? These people inside these chambers. All looked like the infected people who came with us…he must have been here someday…you seen they have dug holes in their chests. These inhumane sick bastard—you are telling me to calm down. Screw hiding—I am burning the whole place down.”

  He looked around.

  The ones in the vials were discarded and dead products as the chief confirmed before turning to ashes.

  She didn’t have to hold back anymore, and she did not.

  A blast occurred amid the silent labs, straightening the elven ears.

  “What is happening—did they breach inside?”

  “Follow the protocol.”

  “Cover the research with memory stones and destroy everything.”

  The man in charge gave orders. His old bones rattling as he barely dragged his body.

  A communication rob lit in his hands.

  “The other nodes are coming…before they or the enemy get here.” The old mage commanded. “Convert everything and destroy it. Move the successful test subject to the lower region. Hurry, you money-sucking worms. To the nodestone..”

  As the man’s order fell. So is his head.

  A shriek echoed, not his, but the man following his orders.

  But instead of satisfaction. The darkness thickened ahead.

  Not shadows.

  Mana.

  “You’re past the wrong door,” a voice said calmly.

  Delimira stopped.

  The man stepped into view, wearing layered obsidian sigils, dark mana clinging to him like wet smoke.

  Powerful. More than hers at least.

  “He is Milard,” Chris said quietly. “He is closest to him.”

  The mage smiled. “Good. Saves me introductions.”

  His eyes flicked to the burned chamber behind them.

  “A beheaded…That was unnecessary.”

  Delimira didn’t answer.

  She felt the fire under her skin begin to boil.

  Milard noticed.

  Of course, he did.

  “You don’t even deny it,” he said mildly. “Interesting. Most people try.”

  Chris stepped half a pace forward, his blade loose at his side. His eyes never left Milard’s hands.

  “Sixth circle, Deli,” he said. “Dark mage. Suppression speciality.”

  “Seventh,” Milard corrected gently. “And refined.”

  The dark mana around him pulsed, spreading across the corridor like ink dropped in water. The air grew heavier. Sound dulled. Even the faint crackle of distant battle felt muted here.

  Delimira exhaled slowly.

  Her flames didn’t flare.

  They compressed.

  “You’re protecting Aelok,” she said.

  Milard smiled. “Of course, I am.”

  He tilted his head, studying her properly now. “You must be Zilong’s daughter.”

  Her jaw tightened.

  “Where were you till now?” he continued. “When we harvested hearts after hearts of your dear daddy.” He mocked her, and it was working.

  Chris moved first.

  Three figures burst from side corridors—robes, sigils, prepared spells.

  He met them head-on.

  Steel flashed.

  The corridor behind them erupted into chaos as he dragged the fight away without a word. He didn’t kill fast. He killed efficiently. Every strike positioned his body between Delimira and interference.

  The moment they were alone—

  Milard struck. NightClaw.

  Dark mana surged forward like grasping hands, clawing at Delimira’s limbs, trying to sink into her veins.

  That wasn’t enough. She answered with earth.

  The floor cracked as stone surged upward, anchoring her stance. The suppression hit—and slid off.

  Milard raised a brow. “Stabilising first? Sensible.”

  He twisted his fingers.

  The darkness condensed, forming blades of compressed void that screamed as they cut through the air.

  Delimira stepped sideways.

  WindShift.

  The blades curved, distorted, veering off course. One grazed her shoulder, eating through fabric and flesh alike.

  She didn’t slow.

  Fire followed.

  Not a wave. Not a blast.

  It wrapped around Milard’s leg and detonated.

  He vanished in a swirl of shadow, reappearing ten paces back, robes singed.

  “Elemental cycling,” he murmured. “You trained properly.”

  “Stop running, you rat,” Delimira cursed but didn’t wait.

  Water came next—condensed, pressurised, slamming into Milard’s chest like a battering ram.

  His barrier cracked audibly.

  Milard laughed.

  Nightmare. Dark mana flared outward, flooding the corridor with screaming faces—illusions clawing at memory, regret, guilt.

  “You left him,” the voices whispered.

  “You chose happiness.”

  Delimira froze.

  For half a heartbeat.

  Then fire consumed the illusions.

  Not wide. Focused. Ruthless.

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  Chris was the only ally here. Rest could burn in hell, of which she cared.

  Her eyes locked onto Milard.

  “You talk too much.”

  A fire consumed Demon. That’s how Milard saw her.

  Yet the fire didn’t claim him.

  His footing did.

  The ground beneath him collapsed.

  Swallowed his lower body.

  Stones locked around his legs, then his waist, grinding bone against bone as it tightened.

  Milard snarled, dark mana flaring wildly, eating at the restraints in jagged bursts.

  “Impressive,” he hissed, sweat streaking down his temple. “But you’re wasting time.”

  Delimira walked closer.

  Not rushed.

  Not angry.

  “You’re still casting,” she said. “That means you think this ends in your favour.”

  But it didn’t work. Something much more was overpowering at work here.

  He saw the eyes of the predators shining blue, standing above him looking down at him, like an ant.

  A sickening sound broke his stare. His bone crushed.

  He screamed.

  For the first time.

  Chris heard it from down the corridor and knew—this was no longer a fight.

  Milard thrashed, dark mana surging wildly, eating at the stone restraining him in a frenzy.

  “You wanted to study us,” she said calmly. “Our limits. Our breaking point. You should’ve taken the chance when you had it.”

  She raised her hand slightly.

  Water coiled around his throat—not crushing, just tight enough to remind him how fragile breath was.

  “You watched him,” she said quietly. “Didn’t you?”

  Milard’s eyes flickered.

  “My father,” Delimira continued. “Strapped. Measured. Reduced to notes.”

  She leaned closer.

  “And you stood here taking observations. Now, you dare mock me—”

  The water tightened.

  Not enough to kill.

  Enough to humiliate.

  Milard coughed, saliva spilling down his chin.

  “You don’t understand—” he rasped.

  “Oh, I do,” her voice grew calmer. “Where is Anfaleen’s bastard?” She asked.

  Milard’s eyes searched. His heart prayed. But none came to his rescue.

  His allies fell, cut, one by one before his eyes.

  “WHERE IS ANFALEEN’S BASTARD?” Her voice grew heavy. Her eyes akin gazing into the abyss.

  This was a call to his soul. The fear stopped the reasoning, and his mouth started speaking before his mind could put it to a stop.

  “—l-lower sector—” he sobbed. “Below the armoury. Specialised lab. Always guarded—”

  She released him.

  For one second.

  Hope surged across his face.

  He tried to cast.

  FlameSeverance took his arm.

  Not burned.

  Melted.

  He screamed as his casting hand slid to the floor like wax.

  Delimira crouched in front of him, eyes level.

  “Now,” she said calmly, “we’re done pretending.”

  She tilted her head.

  “Seventh circle? What a joke?” A faint smile touched her lips. “This is as far as supplements carry a rat like you.”

  His eyes emptied.

  Hope collapsed.

  He knew there was no bargain left.

  “Don’t make me ask, AGAIN,” she pressured.

  He broke. Gave in to the unknown force chilling his soul.

  Fully.

  He told her everything.

  Routes. Wards. Access seals. Emergency failsafes.

  When he finished, she stood.

  Milard looked up at her, eyes empty.

  “Please,” he whispered.

  Delimira didn’t answer.

  She raised her hand.

  Inferno.

  Milard didn’t turn to ash.

  Not immediately.

  Chris returned as the flames died, blood on his blade, breath steady.

  He didn’t look at what remained.

  “Aelok?” he asked.

  Delimira nodded. “We’re close.”

  Behind them, the lab alarms finally screamed.

  And far above, the Council Node shook as titans clashed.

  Delimira turned toward the lower levels, her expression cold and resolved.

  “This ends soon.”

  They didn’t move immediately.

  The corridor still burned.

  Not with flame—Delimira had already withdrawn it—but with residue. Mana scorched into the walls. Melted sigils dripping like wax. The smell of iron and something sweeter underneath, like ruined incense.

  Chris wiped his blade once against his sleeve.

  Then again.

  It came clean too easily.

  “Deli,” he said, not softly, not sharply either. Just enough to test whether she was still there.

  She didn’t answer.

  She was staring at her hand.

  Not shaking. Not clenched.

  Just… open.

  The skin was unmarked. No burns. No cuts.

  And yet the faint shimmer of elemental mana still crawled over her fingers, slow and patient, like it didn’t want to leave.

  She closed her fist.

  Nothing changed.

  Chris noticed then—she hadn’t looked back at Milard. Not once. Not at the screams. Not at the end.

  That scared him more than her anger had.

  “You’re bleeding,” he said.

  She glanced down. A thin line along her palm, reopened where she’d clenched too hard earlier.

  Blood welled, dark against pale skin.

  “So?” she replied.

  Chris stepped closer, lowered his voice. “You didn’t hesitate.”

  Delimira finally looked at him.

  Her eyes weren’t wild.

  They were clear.

  “That’s the problem, I am becoming like him.” she said.

  For a moment, the distant shockwaves from above rolled through the corridor—deep, thunderous, like giants tearing stone apart.

  The war was still raging.

  But something here had ended.

  She wiped her hand against her coat, smearing blood across ash.

  “I thought I’d feel something,” she continued. “Relief. Satisfaction. Even disgust.”

  She shook her head once. “There was nothing.”

  Chris didn’t try to fix that. Didn’t reach for her. Didn’t tell her it was okay.

  He simply stood where she could see him.

  “That means you chose,” he said. “Not reacted.”

  Her jaw tightened.

  “Choice doesn’t make it lighter.”

  “No,” Chris agreed. “It makes it yours.”

  She turned away, already moving.

  “Then let’s finish it,” she said. “Before I start wondering who I’m becoming.”

  They left Milard’s ash behind.

  The corridor dimmed as they descended.

  The lower levels were different.

  Not colder.

  Not darker.

  Quieter.

  The hum of the Council Node shifted shades as they crossed a mark Delimira hadn’t sensed before. Mana flowed here in regulated currents, precise and controlled, like veins feeding a heart.

  Chris slowed. “You feel that?”

  “Yes,” Delimira said. “He planned this place.”

  The walls here weren’t scorched or repaired.

  They were pristine.

  Runes etched with care. Reinforced seals layered with redundancy. No panic. No rushed defences.

  This wasn’t a retreat.

  It was preparation.

  They passed a sealed chamber. Inside, faint light pulsed—steady, unhurried.

  A memory stone activated as they walked by.

  Not a warning.

  A log.

  “Subject stability holding at acceptable variance.”

  “Emotional responses within projected tolerances.”

  “No intervention required.”

  Delimira stopped.

  Her breath caught—not sharply, not visibly—but something inside her shifted.

  “That’s recent,” Chris said.

  “Yes,” she replied. “And calm.”

  She reached out, brushed the surface of the stone.

  It responded.

  Not to her mana.

  To recognition.

  The system acknowledged a presence that wasn’t there.

  A master key without the master.

  Delimira withdrew her hand slowly.

  “Damn it! That bastard knows,” she said.

  Chris frowned. “Knows what?”

  “That we’re here,” she answered. “That Milard failed. That the labs are burning.”

  Her voice was steady, but something colder had settled into it now.

  He’s not running,” she added.

  Far below, monitoring sigils flared.

  Corridors dimmed even more.

  Wards rotated.

  Access paths shifted in silent geometry.

  The system did not behave like a fortress under siege.

  It behaved like a board being rearranged.

  Aelok tilted his head as luminous lines restructured across a suspended projection of the Node.

  “Third corridor compromised,” he murmured.

  An assistant stood rigid beside him, hands trembling.

  “Seal the fourth,” Aelok said gently. “Leave the fifth open.”

  “Master… that route leads toward—”

  “I know.” He panicked.

  The assistant swallowed.

  “…Yes, Master.”

  When he left, Aelok’s trembling ceased completely.

  He flexed his fingers once.

  Steady.

  “They’re coming,” he whispered, eyes gleaming faintly.

  Then, softer—

  “Finally some fun.”

  Above, wards adjusted again.

  Below, pathways narrowed deliberately.

  A mind was not defending.

  It was guiding.

  Delimira felt the shift before she understood it.

  The hum beneath the stone changed rhythm.

  Subtle.

  Calculated.

  She looked toward the descending corridor ahead.

  “Aelok isn’t prey,” she said quietly.

  Chris followed her gaze. “Then what is he?”

  She didn’t answer immediately.

  Because the shape of the answer unsettled her.

  Finally—

  “He became the predator.”

  The alarms above rose in pitch.

  The war escalated.

  And deep within the sealed lab at the Node’s core—

  Anfaleen noticed.