Surrendered To The Lord Of Sin-Chapter 28: Where is my wife?

A few moments ago...

The unending growls of beasts rattled the empty woods, sending heavy thuds in the earth. Vaeron fought against them all, swinging his sword to avoid the hit, while targeting their most vital parts. Shadows lunged from every direction; from the right, another from the left, and two more behind him. The more he took one down, the more they kept increasing. Their claws shimmered with unnatural energy as their jaws dripped with ink-dark ichor that steamed against the cold air.

Vaeron’s sword arced in a fluid slash, cutting through a beast’s throat. The creature collapsed but dissolved into smoke before its body even touched the ground. However, as usual, another one materialized in its place.

Shit.

He took cover before one almost got him. The faster he killed, the thicker their numbers surged, as though the woods themselves vomited them out of some cursed well.

A snarl tore from a creature at his flank. Vaeron bent backward, feeling its claws graze a strand of his hair before he severed its forearm and drove his blade into its skull. A second beast vaulted over the first. Vaeron pivoted, ducked, and slammed his heel into its chest with enough force to crack ribs.

A lesser man would have been torn apart.

Even a trained soldier would have been buried under their weight but Vaeron was something else entirely, which made him more than capable of taking down these creatures.

Another beast lunged for his throat and he ducked, slamming his elbow into its jaw, and severed its skull cleanly. Right after, another barreled from behind—he spun, flashing his sword and split it open from sternum to spine. Whatever he did, they came and multiplied, but he killed them all.

His hazel eyes darkened in irritation, hardening those lifeless features to something unrecognizable. Even his mask wasn’t enough to hide the way his jaw ticked whenever he annihilated one. The creatures multiplied stronger and fiercer, like being drawn from an unknown source. He knew that no matter how many he cut down, they would only rise again, pulled back into existence by something unseen.

Even with their advantage, he knew where to strike and take down the creatures, making it easier to kill them. They were known as Umbrathralls, half-beasts and half-shadow creatures that lived far east.

For centuries, they kept to the Bleak Reaches around the east, bound by dusk-magic that birthed them. Back then when all tribes waged war against themselves, they did so with something far worse than each other, causing the endless nights that swallowed whole villages. To survive, the eastern tribe elders fused the spirits of fallen warriors with the shadows that prowled at the world’s edge, creating creatures meant to patrol the dark and keep it at bay— but the magic twisted over time.

What began as guardians slowly evolved into predators, with their minds hollowing until only death instinct remained. Without the elders alive to command them, the Umbrathralls reverted to what they were half-shaped from: living shadow, drawn to fear, death, magic, and places where the veil between worlds thinned — which was enough reason why they never came north. The old wards didn’t just keep them contained, but kept everyone else safe from what the creatures had evolved into.

But surprisingly, they had breached the wards and gained leverage into what was supposed to kill them, and rather turned them stronger, multiplying their bodies with more shadows the more they perished.

The rage in his eyes was palpable as he drove his sword into the eye of one, letting the painful howl rattle the empty woods. He pulled the blade, slamming it against the creature’s neck, before jumping over another, taking its spine.

Even with the beasts closing in, Vaeron still caught the familiar rhythm of her heartbeat in the distance. It rose sharply with fear, then steadied in a desperate attempt at control. That single sound cut through the chaos, and all he could think of was her.

Again, that pull resurrected. After he’d tasted her blood, his senses heightened drastically towards her—he could hear the pump of her heartbeat and the intoxicating scent of rosewater clinging faintly in the air corrupted by the heavy stench of magic. He could feel her fear, terror, panic, determination, uncertainty, and so on, shedding something inside of him.

Sensing his distraction, a beast lunged for his throat and Vaeron ducked, slammed his elbow into its jaw, and severed its skull cleanly. In an instant, it transformed into smoke, raising shadows from below which altered into another beast.

They only seemed to return the more he killed them.

With a grunt, he slammed his sword into the stomach of the one behind, and spun, taking the head of another closed by. And as usual, they dissolved into smoke, raising more shadows.

As time went by, reality sank deep that there was no escape, and he was trapped. But Vaeron had never been a creature easily swayed by death.

He was tempted to handle this the mortal’s way, but the desperate pump of a heartbeat kept distracting him. He could tell his little wolf was scared, which should’ve amused him but it only made him infuriated.

As if the pull wasn’t enough, he could sense the immense terror, delaying the rate of her heartbeat.

Something was wrong. But he couldn’t risk their safety by giving the Umbrathralls leverage. The only way was to handle this quicker.

Fuck.

Somewhere beneath the violence, pressure swelled inside him, in a thick, burning, and merciless heat at his command. It coiled in his ribs, contorting every bone and muscle in his body before ripping through his veins like wildfire. The growling ceased as the beasts stood motionless, their jaws half-open and their limbs rigid as if some unseen puppeteer had frozen the strings mid-pull.

In the middle of the chaos, Vaeron caught the familiar scent of sandalwood. He didn’t need to look to know who it was, watching his silhouette approach the carnage. It seemed like they got the message sooner than he had expected. But before he drew closer, "Get her out of here," he ordered with an almost unrecognizable voice. It was soulless and dark, causing the atmosphere to curl in his command.

For the first time, the brown-haired didn’t argue and left, dragging his feet towards the carriage crumpled somewhere at a distance.

Vaeron stood motionless as though absorbing power while awaiting a sign to proceed. His hazel eyes darkened, one drowning fully, completely, unnaturally into solid black. Only when he felt their absence and the faint pump of her heartbeat, his breath shifted in a slow— at first— then heavy and deep pace as power burst out through him.

Piercing screams ripped through the clearing as the beasts’ bodies exploded in arcs of black mist. One slash, then another, then another—too fast to see and definitely too swift to track as the ground cracked beneath the force of each movement, drawing out life from the forest.

Seconds—perhaps less—passed and then there was nothing. No more growls, no more beasts, and no movement... but the heavy silence of slaughter, which came after their disappearance. Vaeron stood among the carnage, breathing in a hard yet controlled pace with a single black eye still simmering with the remnants of darkness.

The forest dared not whisper, seemingly drained out of life caused by the creature standing proud and deadly like Lucifer in robes. Despite his silence, the power that surged through him could be felt in the air in a dark palpating manner.

At last, footsteps broke the eerie silence in the air as his men burst through the trees and froze. The first man had a strong jaw and a thick scar slicing diagonally across his cheek. His dark hair was tied back, though strands stuck to his sweat-damp forehead from the sprint. His armor bore fresh dents, and his grip on his spear was white-knuckled as his eyes darted over the carnage.

The other was lean and sharp-featured, pale from exhaustion, and wearing spectacles cracked at the corner. His ash-blond hair fell messily over his brow, and his hands trembled slightly from the mage-marks along his wrists burning faintly, which was proof he’d exhausted his magic getting there.

The last one was younger than the others, but with the hardened look of someone who’d buried innocence long ago. Short black curls clung to his scalp, and a streak of dried blood crossed his temple. His sword was already drawn, body angled protectively forward, though his eyes widened at the slaughter Vaeron left behind.

Their pupils dilated at the massacre and life drawn out of the forest, but they said nothing. They knew better than to speak a word. They had seen what happened when Vaeron invoked that power. He could kill a thousand without blinking an eyelid, take life away from a soul without laying a single finger, and kill a man without offering death. Just like he was known as Lucifer’s Bone— and with that, silence clung to them.

Vaeron didn’t turn even after he sensed their presence and instead, walked away, materializing into another space in the forest. His nose twitched as he sniffed the environment, noticing the faint scent of rosewater. The three men came after him immediately he left, following his lead.

They remained silent all through, awaiting the command of their master. Vaeron’s eyes skimmed through the empty forest, noticing the trees blanketed with snow, the atmosphere covered in mist, and the ground carrying heavy footprints—one large, another small— before totally disappearing, leaving the snow untouched.

His eyes darkened. Something was off. He could feel it, much stronger this time. Seconds turned to minutes, as time passed until his voice came low and razor-sharp, "Where’s Lorcan?"

The three men stiffened like hunted deer at the frost in his tone, sending a shiver down their spines.

The first one named Darian recovered first and cleared his throat before answering. "We believed he was with you, My Lord,"

The silence that followed next was dark and unsettling, making the forest seem smaller than a huge expanse. For the first time, he looked onto his shoulder, "He was," and replied tightly. "That’s before I sent him with my wife,"

A dead pause ensued next.

They exchanged glances first, letting the shock and surprise at the word ’wife’. It was one thing to build a union, and another thing to acknowledge what it weighed. All those while they’ve served him loyally, never did they imagine their master acknowledging someone as his... wife. He was the Lord of Sin, popularly known for his mischievousness as well as being a womanizer. Why did the word ’wife’ sound so odd coming from him?

Instead of the usual callousness and mischief in the tone of his voice, they caught the deadly seriousness in it.

The younger one named Soren shook his head slowly, breaking off from his reverie. "Lorcan never arrived, My Lord," he exchanged glances with Dorain. "We haven’t seen him since dawn. We felt dark fluctuations and came as fast as possible,"

Vaeron’s hand stopped mid-motion and his breath halted. Those eyes had finally returned to hazel, but that didn’t lessen the darkness in them as they sharpened when he turned. "What did you just say?"

That was it, he thought amidst the chaos in his mind. That was the ’something else’ he felt off, but was too carried away by the carnage to investigate properly. The thought he’d let someone kidnap his little wolf drove him to the edge of rage.

A darker part of him pictured her screaming for help, those innocent eyes filled with terror and pain as they inflicted bruises and scars on her porcelain skin. Only he was permitted to do so. Only he was meant to inflict those emotions.

Vaeron clenched his teeth and balled his fist in pure rage. He would cut off any hand that touched even a strand of her hair, rip off their heart, feed it to his hounds, and drink their blood until nothing was left but a dead body to be feasted by the ravens.

Eryndor, the second man, swallowed hard at the danger emanating from the creature before them. "Commander Lorcan hasn’t been with us. We have not crossed paths with him at all today. We believed he was with— oh, there he is,"

The silence that followed was unsettling. Lorcan emerged from the forest with an irritated expression. His face was covered in blood and soot, including his armor which didn’t survive the ugly fate, and a sword dripping with blood at his right hand. Despite the untold chaos that marred his features, his beauty couldn’t be matched, as those brown eyes—once warm, now cold—scanned the perimeters warily.

However, before he closed the distance, Vaeron materialized before him at inhuman speed and grabbed him by the neck, slamming his body to the ground.

With a voice born out of darkness and eyes as black as hell, "Where is my wife?"