Chapter 159: Rebirth and shattered tears

"Elara!"

Ronan’s broken scream ripped straight from his chest, raw and scraping against his vocal cords. He watched in total horror as another Pale Mother creepily materialized out of the shadows, stepping right out from behind Elara’s bleeding back.

The version of the goddess that had fallen into the pool let out a loud, mocking cackle before her form dissolved into wet mist. The real one inside the clear orb didn't wait. She wrapped her pale, clawed hand tightly around Elara’s neck, lifting her slightly. The deity leaned in close, inhaling deeply, taking in Elara’s scent.

She licked her lips, her eyes flashing with a nasty, hungry light. "At last," she whispered, her voice echoing inside the bubble. "My hour of rebirth has come."

"Get away from her!" Ronan roared. He threw his massive Lycan body against the clear orb, punching and clawing at the barrier, but his hands just bounced off the solid magic.

Draven launched himself forward too, slamming his shoulders into the invisible wall, his face twisted in pure rage. "You monster! How dare you?!"

Morrigan stood a few feet back, her mind racing as she stared at the scene. Her witch instincts were screaming. "How the hell had the Pale Mother gotten inside that protective orb when Ronan, a whole Lycan King, couldn't even leave a scratch on it? It made absolutely no sense."

As if she could hear Morrigan’s frantic thoughts, the Pale Mother rested her other hand heavily on Elara’s shaking shoulder. Fresh blood was already trickling down the corner of Elara’s mouth, staining her chin dark red.

The goddess sneered, looking through the clear glass right at Draven. "You want to know how I got in? You can thank the precious crown that Draven so foolishly placed on her head. Because of that little toy, her defenses were already open to me. He gave me the key to hasten my rebirth."

Elara spat out a mouthful of blood, her teeth completely stained red. She glared up at the deity, her body trembling from the blade still stuck in her chest, but her voice was pure steel through the gritted teeth. "I will never... allow you to win."

The Pale Mother snickerered, a high, irritating sound. "Oh, my dear child. Look around you. I already won."

The moment the words left her mouth, the goddess tightened her grip on Elara’s neck and began to suck in all of Elara’s core essence.

The air in the cave turned completely toxic. It was pure, unadulterated torture, not just for Elara, but for Ronan too. Because of their twin flame bond, every single bit of agony ripping through Elara’s soul shot directly into Ronan’s chest like white-hot needles. Ronan fell to his knees, clutching his heart, screaming as the shared pain burned through his veins.

As the deity drank her fill, Elara’s skin slowly began to lose its color, turning a dull, lifeless gray.

Draven stood completely frozen on the steps. His hands dropped to his sides, his eyes wide as the truth hit him. The crown. It was his fault. He staggered backward, his boots clicking weakly against the stone. "It's all my fault," he whispered, his voice cracking. "It was me. It's my fault."

Morrigan hissed under her breath, her eyes darting around the dark cave. She needed to think, she needed a counter-spell, she needed something to stop this from escalating before everyone in this room ended up dead.

Ronan was writhing on the gritty floor, his fingers digging into the dirt as he fought the blinding pain of the bond. Up on the dais, Elara couldn't even scream anymore. Silent tears ran down her pale, graying cheeks, mixing with the blood on her chin.

When the Pale Mother finally stopped draining her, she let out a long, satisfied breath. "Oh, that felt good," she breathed, her voice echoing with a weird, terrifying power.

Suddenly, a massive shockwave exploded out from her body, tearing through the Spire and shooting straight up into the ceiling.

The world outside completely broke. Across all the realms simultaneously, the sky instantly turned a nasty, suffocating ash-gray. The sun vanished behind a thick layer of dead soot. In the palace hallways and across the borders, every single living being that had been bit or scratched by the Nosferatu stopped fighting. They let out choked gasps as their bodies dried up from the inside out, turning into piles of gray ash that scattered in the wind. The entire world was turning into an apocalyptic graveyard in a matter of seconds.

The pale mother cackled loudly, her physical body slowly levitating above the iron altar, her hands outstretched as the dead magic swirled around her.

Elara, now almost completely drained and lifeless, went limp. The goddess dropped her, and she fell forward like a broken doll. Ronan, fighting through the fading pain of the bond, scrambled up the steps the second the clear orb started to fizzle out. He caught her right before her face hit the hard stone floor, pulling her small, cold body into his arms.

"I'm so sorry, Elara," Ronan choked out, cradling her head against his chest. His hands were trembling, covered in dirt and her blood. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Elara’s eyes fluttered open weakly, her mind still desperately trying to figure out how to end this nightmare, even as her body failed her.

A few feet away, Draven was still lost in his own guilt trip, staring at his hands like they were covered in poison. But the sudden shift in the air finally snapped him out of it. He turned his head, facing Morrigan with a desperate, frantic look in his eyes. "Is there anything else I can do?" he yelled over the sound of the wind. "How do I stop the killing?! Tell me what to do!"

Morrigan looked at him, her face twisting into a weird, angry glare. "Now you want to help?" she snapped, her voice full of pure venom. "It is entirely your fault that Lady Elara is in this condition! It is your fault that the demon mother is standing right there, fully resurrected! And now you're trying to act like a righteous person? How dare you?!"

"I am not trying to act righteous!" Draven yelled back, his face flushing red as he took a step toward her. "I'm trying to make up for it! I'm trying to fix what I broke! I don't want to see Elara get hurt again!"

Ronan didn't even look up from the floor. "She's already hurt, Draven," he said, his voice dead and quiet.

Elara weakly lifted her hand, her cold fingers resting against Ronan's cheek. She shook her head slightly, her voice barely a whisper through the mindlink. “It's fine, Ronan... I can still heal.”

"No," Ronan shook his head violently, a tear dropping onto her cheek. "Don't say that. That's not how it's looking."

Up in the air, the pale mother looked down at them, her red-streaked hair floating around her face. "Oh, look at you two," she mocked, letting out a soft laugh. "Acting like these are your last moments together. How sweet. Go ahead and enjoy it, because it actually is your last moment. I'm going to end you both once and for all."

She stretched her pale hand toward the steps, using raw telepathy to yank Elara straight out of Ronan's arms.

"No!" Ronan screamed, lunging forward, but the force lifted Elara high into the chilly air, her throat caught in an invisible grip. The pale mother began to strangle her from a distance, watching her choke.

"Let her go!" Ronan roared, his Lycan teeth baring as he tried to jump.

The demon mother sneered down at him, her eyes wide and manic. "Oh, and what are you going to do about it, little king? Are you going to call your precious Moon Goddess? Go ahead. Cry for her."

She casually waved her hand, releasing the tight grip on Elara’s neck. Elara didn't fall; she remained hanging in the air, suspended by the dark magic, her head slumped as blood continued to drip from the wound in her chest, splatting loudly against the dusty stones below.

The deity closed her fist, floating slowly down until her boots hovered just inches above the floor. "But thinking about it, isn't it funny? You're supposed to be the chosen one. The favorite boy of the moon. And look at you now. Your goddess completely abandoned you when you needed her the most."

She drifted closer to Ronan, her long, bloody fingers reaching out to lightly caress his jawline. "Ah, let's just strike a deal, shall we? I can be generous. I'll spare your life, Ronan. I'll let you live. But only if you decide to be my fool. Kneel, serve me, and you get to keep breathing."