Chapter 265: The Cold Truth

Chapter 265: The Cold Truth
Chase’s P.O.V

I opened my eyes, and the world looked different. The colors were sharper, the sounds more distinct, and the fear that had been clawing at my throat for the last hour was simply… gone.

In its place was a void of absolute, freezing clarity. If Lysander could see my reflection, he’d see a thin, predatory rim of crimson glowing around my irises—the mark of the survival instinct that had finally taken the wheel.

Lysander stumbled back, his boots scraping against the grit of the manor gardens. He watched, his face twisting from triumph to sheer confusion, as the jagged wounds on my shoulder and side began to knit themselves back together. The skin didn't just heal; it fused with a violent efficiency, pushing out the blood and debris in seconds.

I stood up slowly, rolling my shoulders. I felt lighter, stronger, and utterly detached. I looked at Lysander and let a smirk pull at my lips—not the hesitant smile of a prince, but the sinister grin of something that had forgotten how to be afraid.

"You thought you had me pinned, Lysander," I said, my voice sounding deeper, echoing with a coldness that seemed to vibrate in the air. "But the real battle? It just started."

I didn't wait for him to respond. I didn't need to. I reached deep into the core of my magic. It was still pure fae magic—the same ice and frost I’d always used—but for the first time in my life, I stopped fighting the current. I stopped worrying about the collateral damage. I stopped holding back.

I slammed my palm onto the earth.

A shockwave of absolute zero exploded from the point of impact. The ground of the Marshall gardens didn't just freeze; it shattered. A tidal wave of crystalline ice surged outward in a perfect circle, flash-freezing everything in its path.

The grass, the stone walkways, the ornamental hedges—all of it turned into jagged, frozen sculptures in a heartbeat.

The portal to the fae realm was anchored in the center of the great fountain, a swirling vortex of chaotic energy. I focused my will on the water, forcing the ice to climb the tiers of the fountain like a living thing. The water froze mid-spray, locking the portal in a tomb of reinforced ice. The shimmering rift vanished, sealed shut by a wall of frost so dense that not even a god could have cracked it.

"No!" Celia screamed, her voice cracking with desperation. She stepped forward, her blood-knife trembling in her hand. "Undo it, Chase! Undo the spell right now, or I swear to the Void I'll find everyone you love and slaughter them in their sleep!"

I looked at her, and for the first time, she looked small. Pathetic. I didn't feel the need to argue or plead. I just smiled—that same dark, hollow smile—and tilted my head.

"If you can reach them first," I whispered.

Before she could even blink, I flicked my wrist. The ice on the ground surged upward like a thousand needles. The remaining rebels, who had been preparing to charge, were suddenly frozen solid from the ankles up, trapped in place like insects in amber.

I didn't stop there. With a sharp, closing motion of my fist, I summoned a storm of ice shards from the atmosphere. They weren't just slivers of frost; they were surgical blades of frozen energy.

They rained down with a deafening whistle, impaling the rebels where they stood. I watched with a detached curiosity as the shards ripped through flesh and bone, shredding the rebels into a gory mess of red and white. There was no hesitation. No mercy. Just the cold, hard logic of elimination.

"Alex!" I called out, not turning around. "Get everyone back. Now. Unless you want to end up as a statue."

Alex didn't question me. He could tell by the tone of my voice that the person speaking wasn't the Chase he knew. He quickly scooped up Queen Varessa, who was still pale and shaking from Celia's attack, and moved her away from the frost-covered zone.

Landon, Dominic, and Daphne followed suit, retreating to the edge of the gardens, their eyes wide with a mixture of relief and horror.

Then, I turned my full attention to Lysander and Celia.

The fight that followed wasn't a duel; it was a slaughter. Lysander tried to conjure his blood-whips, but I was faster. I moved like a blur of winter wind, sliding across the ice I had created.

Every time he tried to solidify the blood, I shattered it with a pulse of frost. I didn't give him room to breathe, didn't give him a second to think. I hammered him with a barrage of ice spikes and concussive blasts of cold air that knocked the wind out of his lungs.

Celia tried to flank me, her blood-knife flashing, but I caught her wrist in a grip that felt like a vice of frozen steel. I squeezed until I heard the bone groan, then slammed her face-first into a frozen pillar.

Within minutes, it was over.

Lysander lay sprawled on the floor, his eyes rolled back in his head, unconscious and broken. Celia was slumped against the ice, coughing up thick clots of blood, her breathing ragged and shallow.

I stood over them, my hand glowing with a lethal, concentrated sphere of ice. I could feel Dark Chase humming in the back of my mind, urging me to finish it. End the line, the voice whispered. ‘Rip their hearts out and ensure they never breathe another word of betrayal.’

I raised my hand, the ice sphere humming with the intent to kill. I wanted them dead. I wanted the nightmare to end.

Suddenly, two strong arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me back. I stiffened, the ice sphere flickering.

"Stop, Chase. Please," Alex’s voice was a ragged whisper against my ear.

"Get off me, Alex," I spat, though the edge in my voice was starting to fray. "They deserve this. They killed the children. They killed my father. They tried to kill you. Why are you letting them live?"

Alex didn't let go. He held me tighter, his chest heaving against my back. "Because if you kill them now, while they're helpless... you're not saving anyone. You're just becoming another monster in this story. Killing your own blood, even blood as tainted as theirs, will make you no better than they are. I can't let you be on the same level as the people who murdered your father. You're better than that. We are better than that."

The words hit me harder than any of Lysander's spells. The red glow in my vision began to fade. The predatory hunger in my gut subsided, replaced by a crushing weight of exhaustion and grief.

Slowly, the ice sphere in my hand dissipated into a fine mist. I stopped fighting Alex and let my strength vanish, leaning back against his chest. I felt the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, and it acted like an anchor, pulling me back from the void.

Dark Chase didn't fight me this time. He simply receded, sliding back into the shadows of my subconscious, leaving me hollow and shaking.

"We won," I panted, my voice returning to its normal, fragile tone. "God, we actually won."

"Yeah," Alex whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "We did."

The adrenaline that had been keeping me upright evaporated. Together, we collapsed to the frozen ground, lying flat on our backs and staring up at the darkening sky. I was drained—not just magically, but spiritually. I felt like I had been scraped hollow.

But the silence didn't last.

A wet, hacking sound echoed through the garden. I bolted upright, my instincts still on high alert.

Celia had managed to push herself up. She looked like a ghost, her face smeared with blood and dirt, but her eyes were still burning with a manic, hateful light. In her hand, she gripped a blood-dagger she had managed to conjure from the gore on the ground.

With a guttural scream, she launched herself at me, the blade aimed straight for my throat. I was too exhausted to move, my magic flickering like a dying candle.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. The rebel leader. He had been hiding behind the ruins of the fountain, crouching like a coward, waiting for the right moment to strike while we were vulnerable.

I didn't have the energy for a full spell, but I still had the tether.

I reached out with my mind, grabbing the magical thread I had embedded in the rebel leader's soul a week ago. I didn't ask; I commanded. I yanked the tether with every ounce of will I had left, compelling his body to move against his will.

The rebel leader gasped, his eyes widening in terror as his own legs propelled him forward. He stumbled out from behind the fountain, his arm snapping upward in a violent, involuntary jerk.

Just as Celia leaped toward me, the rebel leader’s hand drove the blood-dagger deep into her chest.

Celia’s scream was cut short as the blade pierced her lung. The momentum of her jump carried her forward, and she slammed into the rebel leader, her own dagger sinking deep into his stomach in a reflexive, dying act of violence.

For a few seconds, they were locked in a gruesome embrace—two monsters killing each other in the ruins of a garden.

Then, the rebel leader went limp, his life draining out of him. Celia slumped over his body, the dagger still protruding from her chest. She let out a shuddering, bubbling breath, her eyes closing as she went limp.

I sank back down to the ground, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I looked at Alex, and he looked at me. There was no victory cheer, no celebration. Just the heavy, suffocating silence of the dead.