A QUEST OF DEATH : Dawning Darkness

19 | Talisman(edited)

If one would have listened to it closely they would have heard the noise of his heart shattering echoing in the sickening crash when the glass of Devil's Snarl in Devereaux's hand met the unforgiving floor. It splintered into a thousand fragments, the sound slicing through the air like a knife. The crimson liquid slithered across the floor in twisted tendrils, staining the pristine surface with its dark hue.

A scream, a primal wail of anguish and despair pierced the silence. It echoed off the walls, a haunting melody of grief and loss. The world seemed to be frozen in a tableau of regression and heartache.

Devereaux slowly sank to his knees, the weight of his anguish pressing him down harder than the gravity pulling his fragile form. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks, each drop a testament to the agony that gripped his heart. The shattered glass lay upon the floor like a graveyard of memories, each shard a painful reminder of what once was. Jagged edges gleamed in the dim light, casting ominous shadows upon the scene.

He saw his own reflection, distorted and fractured, mirroring the devastation that lay within. Reddened, bloody lips quivered with unspoken agony, the weight of his grief too much to bear. His intense amber eyes burned with a fiery rage, fueled by seething resentment and regret. The air was heavy with the scent of alcohol and despair, suffocating in its intensity.

For days and nights, he had cried himself to sleep, drowning his sorrows in the Devil's version of sherry, neglecting his duties and responsibilities. Through the haze of his agony, he caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure, a silent sentinel watching over him with unwavering loyalty. He could tell by the constant presence of that ivory coat and worry in honey eyes how restless he must be feeling, but the Dark Lord chose to ignore it, consumed by his own misery.

He had lost the only person who could see through his facade, who cared for him, the only person that saw past his veil, saw him more than just Death: the doom. He had missed his chance, consumed by fear and doubt, and now there was nothing left but regret. The image of Ada's confession to Gan replayed in his mind, tormenting him with its painful clarity. She had chosen another, and with each passing moment, the realisation cut deeper, carving a wound that seemed impossible to heal. She was officially Gan's now, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

Sudden shift in the air around him alerted Devereaux of a presence in his territory, and a figure materialised from the shadows, a haunting presence cloaked in silver moonlight. With each step, the soft whisper of silk echoed in the silence, a chilling melody that sent shivers down his spine.

"You wanted to see me, Dark Lord?"

Devereaux's heart clenched at the sound, his gaze meeting the piercing green eyes that gleamed like emeralds in the dim light. The figure's silver hair cascaded around them, a stark contrast to the darkness that enveloped them.

A shadow passed across the vast hall like an arrow, and the next thing Gan Gagagore knew was his breath cut off as vicious fingers curled into a tight grip around his neck. His muscles tensed instinctively, but he maintained his composure, facing Devereaux without so much as a flinch. Veins bulged on Devereaux's forehead, his eyes blazing with anger as he snarled.

"You fucking bastard!"

Gan had anticipated the move. Despite the chokehold, he held back, meeting Devereaux's fiery gaze with a cool, intense stare of his own. "I'm not the bastard here," he countered, his voice steady and unwavering.

Devereaux's howl echoed through the hall, eerie and hoarse, rasping like a chorus of unforgiven souls screaming in unison. Suddenly, the curtains covering the windows caught fire, the flames roaring to life with a fierce intensity. Gan's gaze flickered to the inferno, then back to Devereaux. He could feel the pressure around his neck increase, but he made no move to break free. Instead, he locked eyes with Devereaux, his expression unreadable yet filled with underlying tension.