[Volume 1] Nebula: Villainess of Never-ending Beyond

11. Deathbringer's Visit (1)

"An exceptional mess. She excels at taking things to the extreme. With embers scattered, there's no denying the annihilating force that engulfs everyone. It's no surprise Roze chose her. I consider myself fortunate not to confront her alone."

The enigmatic figure, shrouded in a hooded cloak filled with darkness, murmured to himself while gazing upon the desolate prison situated in the ocean's core. Water filled a crater-like depression, encircled by towering walls, resembling a solitary dam. Only small fragments of the destroyed buildings popped out of the water.

The cloaked man raised the highest-bounty criminal's head, Nebula, and asked, "Did she leave any bodies for Roze? Or maybe not? Either way, Karma will soon punish me." He inserted her head in a space-like inventory and went down to explore more bodies.

He walks on water like he doesn't weigh mass. Even the scythe he's carrying seems to be heavier than his own body, but his buoyancy remains a mystery.

"As anticipated, not a crumb left behind. Surprisingly, this place surpasses the grandeur of my former mansion. If I were still residing there, I would be the one submerged beneath these ocean depths. Quimora may be the one laughing at me now. Or is she still alive if that's the case? Hmph... A pointless question... since Saori never dies."

Amidst the rugged cliffs and crashing waves, the ladder, ancient, weathered, and stretched upward like a desperate plea to the heavens. Its rungs, worn smooth by countless hands, whispered secrets of forgotten journeys.

The island lay just beyond, a tantalizing mirage in the mist. Its shores promised sanctuary, yet danger lurked in the shadows. For there, amidst the craggy rocks, echoed the anguished cries of two souls—a symphony of sorrow that tugged at his heart.

The stronger woman, her voice raw and primal and her body covered in blood, knelt on the rocky ground. Her tears flowed freely, carving rivulets in two stones. She mourned loss—the kind that leaves scars on the soul, etching pain into memory. Her grief was a tempest, raging against the unforgiving landscape.

Beside her stood the other woman, a fragile pillar of empathy. Her touch was gentle, fingers tracing patterns of solace on the weeping woman's back. Yet her own eyes mirrored the anguish—the shared burden of sorrow. She, too, had loved fiercely, lost irrevocably.

"Why now, Macy? Just when she will experience real freedom, the hands of judgment take her soul," Hera cried. "Even Eleazar won't forgive this absurdness!"

"It's over, Hera... There's nothing we can do."

Their pain intertwined, a bittersweet dance of vulnerability. The wind carried their cries across the chasm, binding them in a fragile communion. And he, the silent witness, wondered if he could bridge the divide. Could he offer solace to these broken souls? No way a Deathbringer would do that to the living, he thought.

But the island remained distant, its allure tempered by the abyss below. The ladder whispered warnings—of sacrifice, of irreversible choices. And so, he lingered on the precipice, caught between compassion and fear. The cries echoed, haunting and beautiful, as if the very cliffs wept alongside them.

Before he approached, another body came up the water toward the two. She also suffered a deep wound in a critical part between her shoulder and chest. When Hera noticed her, she stopped her tears and readied her stance. "You insensitive primordial beast! I'm in no mood to accept your dark motives, Gelly," Hera shouted.

However, Gelly slowly raised her trembling hands as she hissed out the pain. She quickly covered her wounded area with her hand while she groaned. "I'm also in no state to receive that mood... What happened to the kind girl and the whistleblower?"