𝐍 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄

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CHAPTER 09 | MEMORIES THAT HAUNT
"Blood boils hotter when you know why."
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YOU

Memories, like spectral wraiths, did taint my slumber, haunting my repose with shadowed recollections of a past I could scarce escape. Was it a nightmare? Perchance. Yet it was no mere fevered dream—it was the unrelenting sting of trauma, seeping deep into my very being, clawing mercilessly at my spirit. The rain outside did descend with a ceaseless fury, the drops striking the windowpane with a melancholy yet curiously comforting rhythm.

The downpour this night was a veritable deluge, as though the heavens themselves wept for the sins below. I still recall, with an iron taste upon my tongue, the foul mingling of mud, blood, and rainwater. The flavour was brine—like the tears of innocent souls, or perhaps those of the earth itself, lamenting its endless plight. It cried out, as if the very world begged for the cessation of war. I closed mine eyes, endeavouring to shut out the relentless sounds of the tempest's fury upon the glass. Yet, try as I might, the visions returned unbidden—haunting, insistent, a tapestry woven from the darkest recesses of my mind.

How long had I stared at the blank, unyielding wall? An age, it seemed—though time itself had become an abstraction. Perhaps mere minutes, or perhaps hours. Yet, such matters troubled me not. What truly gnawed at my mind was the realisation that Axel, that wretched and vile tyrant, was indeed triumphing in this infernal war.

"We shall win this war!" His voice rang with maddening clarity in my thoughts. "For Hearth and Home!"

A hollow, bitter laugh escaped my lips as I turned the words over in my mind. "For Hearth and Home?" I scoffed in whispered derision. "What a vile jest."

I looked down at my hands, palms facing me, and felt the weight of them sink into my chest. They were heavy—tooheavy. My skin was slick, sticky with blood. The blood of vampires. The blood of wolves. I didn't even know which was which anymore. All of it was the same now—foul, staining my skin like a permanent mark I couldn't scrub away. Every slash of the blade, every scream I silenced, it all bled into me, and I could feel it. The weight of the death I'd dealt, the destruction I couldn't escape. War rages on in every direction, but it's the war inside me that's worse. It eats me from the inside out, bit by slow, agonizing bit. I'm losing myself, and I don't even know if I care anymore.

No victories. None. There never were any. I should've known that. I always knew that. It was the only thing I could count on—failure. Failure's the one thing that doesn't disappoint. It's the one thing I can trust. And yet, here I am, running from it. Running from the past, running from the pain of what I've done. Running from the truth.

Maybe that's why I'm so fucking angry. Maybe that's why I can't control it anymore. My mind is still stuck in the past, replaying every decision, every mistake, every goddamn misstep. It's like a never-ending loop of regret and rage.

Then that voice. Axel's voice. It slithered into my head, twisting like a knife, sending jolts of pain through my skull, his words echoing like they were meant to haunt me forever.

~

Back at Magnus, Axel had a vision, a sick obsession with eradicating every other race. He was a fucking monster, a genocidal maniac wrapped in a mask of delusion. I was just thirteen when I first held a real sword, a cold weight in my hands, the smell of blood already clinging to me like a second skin. But that was nothing compared to what came next.

I stood at the back, hidden in the shadows, as Axel ascended the stage. His presence was suffocating, like he was drawing every ounce of light from the room, and his eyes—his eyes gleamed with a twisted hunger. He looked down at the hunters of Rorikstead like they were his chosen ones, ready to carry out his madness. The way he smiled, the way he spoke—his words, dripping with venom, made my skin crawl.

The Blood of Fate ✧ min yoongi ✓Where stories live. Discover now