Lord Reaper and His 'Wife' [BL]

Chapter 4: Underworld

Chapter 4: Underworld

The cold place couldn’t be any lonelier for him as he walked empty-handed into the empty alleyways he specifically chose while trying to find his way towards the place he was eyeing earlier that time: the tallest tower in the underworld. A place he could possibly find in order to get back to his former world… at least.

He hissed, irritated by the feeling on the balls of his feet as he looked at the cut made by the tree trunks he’s fallen off to when he jumped off from the second floor of that lord reaper’s mansion. The blood still dripped no matter how many times he wiped it with his robe although it’s only a small portion of his skin. Rechecking himself if anymore scratch started bleeding from his body, he pulled his wide sleeve to show the full of his arm finding another scratch and bruise from his elbow, another cut from his neck, a sting on his left cheek, from his knuckles, his knees and legs. Now he wondered how he got that many scratch. Were the branches and shrubs sharp enough to do this to his skin? Or why was he even breathing? Wasn’t he supposed to be dead?

Wiping the sweat that dripped off from his temples, he proceeded walking. Almost clueless that shadows from the alleys hid monsters who have smelt the extent of his human blood. Extents of slithering creatures appearing and disappearing from sight of the windows and shades.

***

Twenty- six seats dividedly aligned itself on both side of the throne to create an alley while a man—the king to be more precise, sat on his prestigious seat, not a crown on his head but a horn, tall as his head curled up to create his own authority. Scars all over his face and surely, more are hidden inside the cloak of his victorious streak in war in the underworld.

As the first lightning exploded into the dark room, the lightning hit the high chandelier creating little explosion as to create a light in the candles, eternal as so it seems as it never ends no matter how many centuries it’s been in use. The dim and dull structure illuminated, contrasting into the shadows between the evening night and the fire of candles itself. On all the corners of the room bears a statue of women molded in gold and copper. Different faces yet protruded the same demeanor of ideals that all of them leaned forward, one hand outreached into the direction of the light the chandelier was emitting in the center of the room.

The second lightning aimed to all torches placed in a hundred thick-round pillars creating a brighter am bience to the surrounding room. Albeit, still creating a dark gothic atmosphere of generations. The stronghold built invincible in the corpse of thousand soldiers’ sacrifices. The halls now could be clearly seen. The candlesticks and torches sufficed the light to devour the rooms darkness, entrapping the moths that soon gathered to burn their own wings.

The third light now struck the center floor of the room. A flash that stronger than the first and second light that in a quick second had brightened up the room thus brought twenty-six individuals standing on each corresponding chairs aligned on both sides of the majestic throne. All who possessed silver hair mixed in both golden and sea blue eyes, nurtured with the beauty and intimidating demeanor the king have despite diverse physical features due to different mothers.

“Sons and daughters.” The kings voice rang into each corners of the room. A thankful thought that his anger has retreated through his calm cold call for if not, his children would end up turning deaf once his shout booms into the whole room.

Everyone deliberately and similarly bowed to their majesty. “Father.” all chorused with equally soft and respectful voices. After this simple greeting, everyone took their own seats, started with the oldest to youngest of his thirteen sons and thirteen daughters.

“My King, father.” The third daughter and the fourth child of the king , Vanessa, stood again at her chair, carefully pulling the hem of her dress that dropped gracefully into the floor. Her silver locks of silky curled hair bounced softly like a spring of rubber to her waist, holding her hand together before she spoke. “I grieve that your likeliness, the twenty-four wouldn’t be as lucky to give you an heir.” She started. A tease that would always make both Victor’s brothers and sisters turn to him.