Chapter 114: My God Will Be Reborn!

"Alright..." 

A relieved sigh escaped Moulin's parted lips. His heart was impossibly pounding within his chest. There was nothing he could do to stop the never-ending dread, creeping inside the depth, hidden in secret as silver eyes slightly narrowed smilingly. Starting at the pair of golden eyes filled with reluctant doubt. The man's eyes had always shown most of what Hadrian felt deep inside. Showing emotions no one had ever known that the lord could feel. Only Moulin was silently understanding it. His pale fingers slowly slipped and weaved the lord's long fingers within his. Holding the large hand tightly and warmly.

Moulin was smiling. Lips exquisitely curved and inviting, something Hadrian could never resist pressing his own on it. Feeling the softness.

Moulin was smiling... but inside, cries of dread and screams of disbelief all noised simultaneously. Causing a destructive quake in his chest. Tightening and aching.

'I don't want to die'

'I don't want to die'

'I don't want to die'

Not Like This... 

Moulin swallowed concealing the arising tremble of his fingers. Snow whimpered before he reluctantly hopped off his master's lap. Understanding the space needed for his master.

Hadrian did not miss it. The look of fear in his beloved's eyes. He could sense it. Behind those beautiful silver pupils was a trembling soul fearing death. Golden eyes narrowed and brows knitted, "I will listen..." He lowered himself, planted a kiss on their interlocked hands, and let go of the pale hand. He slipped his hands under Moulin's knees and Moulin's waist, lifted, and carried the youth to the bed.

As he walked he was silent. Steps quiet but heavy. Moulin lowered his gaze breathing in the scent of the man carrying him. When they arrived at the foot of the bed, Moulin seated on Hadrian's lap as the man sat on the duvet.

Moulin fiddled with the hem of his tunic. His pale knees resting beside each other. He parted his mouth and began. Words escaped his mouth like an endless rolling river. From the ambush of the original Moulin's carriage, as the third young master ran through the woods and finally succumbing to the deadly cold of the glacial cave, to Moulin's soul transfer, resurrecting as the missing third young master of the Fraunces family. With shut eyes, Moulin described his second death. 

The merciless cold creeping into his flesh, freezing the running blood in his veins, locking his joints, shivering and drowsy. The confusion and disbelief overwhelming his mind. It was fast and painful. Moulin had felt as if his skin was pierced with needles, hopelessly dying. It was an unnatural death. It was instant demise. As if death's thievery had become more and more unreasonable.

"Waking up, I emerged as Moulin Sills of the Fraunces family. To take the role of the third young master, to receive the family I have deeply wanted and lived the life I wanted. There were questions I would keep in my chest." Moulin's gaze slightly narrowed, "I was doubtful of the gift of life given to me... Shouldn't I be punished for ending my own life? My suicide was inexcusable. I should have been punished instead of having to live again. Someone else would have deserved to be revived other than me. I did not believe I was worth it... " Moulin's eyes were hot. Salty tears prickled at the corner of his eyes. As he remembered those thoughts. 

"However, I chose to embrace this life... To live it as though it was mine..." Moulin's voice slowly softened into a whisper. "... To love truly, to be cherished... I have really become selfish..."

Hadrian lowered his head to lean on the youth's forehead with closed eyes. The worried crease on his forehead, visible. As Moulin stopped speaking, he leaned his head on the lord's shoulder. Both were silent, silently feeling each other within the stillness of the air and the quiet breeze swiftly entering the room from the open windows, welcoming the bright of day. The daylight showered beams throughout the room, reflected by the crystal glass of the panes. 

"You can be as selfish as you want..." 

A deep voice whispered above Moulin's ear. The words deeply engraving into his heart.

Moulin pressed his lips together.

"... I will be selfish with you," Hadrian spoke. "So... believe you can be with me until the end... Living healthy, long, to so all everything your heart have wished for... I will do it with you..."

Moulin brows lifted, his nervous fingers ceasing shortly as the words entered his heart. Prying his walls open and embracing the warmth of the words. Lifting a pale hand to the man's cheek, Moulin closed his eyes as he lifted his face to kiss the man's lips. It was a gentle passion. Filled with calm and soft affection. Hadrian responded with equal passion. Their lips, soft against each other. Slow, sweet, and delicate.

Not longer than half a minute later, they slowly pulled away from each other. Eyes still on each other.

Moulin released a breath as he spoke, "I have experienced one of the three deaths and was revived... Truly, I fear death as much as anyone could. I really do not want to die... so I will always be careful... You don't have to worry..."

"You will not die. Even if you are careful, I will be right beside you... " 

Moulin smiled faintly, his eyes fondly taking in the serious unfeeling expression on the man's face. Golden eyes filled with unyielding determination.

'I really do not want to leave everything behind...'

• • • • •

"Great Oracle!"

A loud voice boomed within the oracle's temporary quarters. Valcan looked around as the doors slammed shut behind him. The sounds he made were loud enough to make the people within the area flinch at his arrival. The room was less large and more vacant than the previous quarters of the oracle which was ruthlessly wrecked. There was still a heavy sense of oppressive energy lingering in the air of the room. No one really knows of the happenings inside, the sudden disappearance of the Archnoble Hercullio, and the abrupt appearance of the lord within the oracle's quarters. 

"Valcan..." Laphora kneaded his forehead, "... Lower your voice, you fool." Currently, a female elven servant was tending to his injures as he sat upon the bed with a book in one hand. He didn't need to face Valcan as he chided, "Wear your robes properly..."

Valcan shrugged as he abruptly squatted on the wooden floor with a thud. The contents of his bag spilled out. Countless scrolls and documents were scattered carelessly on the floor. At the sound, Laphora closed his book and he turned to face the man with a frown. He sighs, "What are you doing?..."

"The interrogation of the captive has come to its end. The torturers really have done a great job. Right now, I am connecting the clues altogether..." Valcan replied without lifting his head, scribbling on a paper while smudging the ink on the sides of his palms as he wrote hastily. "I heard you suddenly disappeared earlier? Where did you go?"

"..." Laphora did not respond. He remembered the young Aphrodite and his claim of the deaths in the vision. The oracle dismissed the thoughts. He only ignored the question and asked, "So you went to the torture chambers..."

"Jealous?" Valcan grinned. 

Laphora frowned, "Why should I, the god's messenger, be envious of such absurdity? You are over your head..."

Valcan slapped his lap as he laughed. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eyes, "Honestly, your prideful talks make me laugh! Such arrogance for a little elf..."

Laphora narrowed his eyes. If there was anyone who would not fear the gods or their punishment, it would the stupid fool squatting before Laphora's bed. "What did you find?" He asked while dismissing the servant from the room.

Valcan stopped. The smile on his face slowly fell as he gazed down at the scattered papers before him. "It is... Not good..."

"How?..." 

"..." The man creased his brows as he swallowed. He placed his pen down while he clasped his hands. "The captive was a devotee of the gods..."

Laphora felt like his stomach was drilled as he listened to the words. His eyes constricted as his limb froze. He stuttered, breathe hitching, "I-Impossible! How can such a vile murderer be a god's servant?!"

Valcan raised his head, eyes narrowing. "Vigal..."

Laphora froze. "What?"

"Vigal... " The man repeated as he picked up his pen and continued writing on the paper. "I heard the young Aphrodite was there when he said the name. How unfortunate..." Valcan shook his head, "The first level of interrogation was a failure. The captive was too willful and strong to resist physical torture. They plucked the nails of his fingers, toes, his teeth... He was persistent. The second level of torture was as well a disappointment. No matter how much they enhance his pain sensitivity, he was too stubborn. Nearly losing to unconsciousness. It was somewhat laughable. What is it that made him so difficult to break?" 

Valcan chuckled while writing making the oracle slightly wary of the man.

He continued, "However... At the third level, Our beloved Prince Nordehl presented himself before the restricted prisoner. With a tiny spell, his royal highness skimmed inside the man's memories forcefully. Can you imagine the pain of it? As a foreign being entered your mind ceaselessly ripping your mentality into shreds. Brutally, sifting the memories inside your mind, tearing away your soul. Even I had to excuse myself. I could not bear the laughable cries of that poor man. Indeed... It was humourous"

...

The oracle's brows furrowed. "The prince did?"

Valcan nodded, "I believe he was desperate... " He lifted the pen let the blunt end rub circles on his chin. "By the time, the prince was finished, His holiness turned to leave. It was then that the prisoner spoke... 'Sanctify be vigal!' He shouted in the air even though he could no longer hear nor see. He laughed like a crazed fool. His next words..." 

...

Valcan continued as his eyes darkened. He spoke of the sinister cackle from the captive, gurgling with the blood in his mouth as he spoke, leaking down his toothless mouth, gums marred with open gaps. Arms limped, legs tied. Bones broken. A puddle of crimson beneath the torture chair. 

It reeked of iron and piss. Valcan scrunched his nose as he dismissed the disgust in his stomach. The man's voice was echoing in the dark room of stone. 

'I have found him... My God's lost morsel! My offering!' He shook his head, blood and spit splattering on the ground. "Our salvation... has come. He will be reborn from the flesh of silver, the burning hair of the moon... His body will be... replenished...'

The prince scowled before he left the room, 'Cut off his tongue and burn him...' The elves all followed his command. One roughly held the prisoner's head still as his mouth was wrenched open. A hot scorching knife of metal, glowing with deathly heat, neared his gaping mouth.

However, he continued to speak, 'We are hungry... we are starving... dying... but he... will come... he will... return... '

When his bloodshot eyes had met Valcan's in a split second, Valcan shivered.

'... you will all pay-'

A screeching scream resounded. It rang in Valcan's ears almost piercing through his eardrums. 

When Valcan finished. The oracle turned silent...

...

"Vigal... " The elven oracle spoke with fearful eyes. 

"The sealed Demonic God... " Valcan muttered. "I never thought his resurrection would come..."

Suddenly, an ache pierced Laphora's head. A piece of the vision he had seen yesterday flashed in his memory. Arms. Hideously wounded and scarred. Smiling eyes of sickening red, glowing ominously. 

Laphora knitted his brows as he shut his eyes. A thought came to...

"Perhaps, it would not be long... "