"You are no different monster than I am"

The hilt of the silvery blade was colder than an icicle in Wolfram's hands, clattering soundly as he trembled like a dry twig in a blizzard.

Cyra floated past him, the rich blue train of his robes leaving a smear of darkening blood in the wake of his silent steps.

"Come look" He commanded; tone almost indulgent.

With his hands folded behind his back, the Western King observed the groaning figure lying in a pool of blood, as if she was a rare animal that he wanted Wolfram to see.

"Your majesty" The lady spoke gently once again, her breath fluttering against the translucent silk veil she was wearing. "His highness is in a state of great shock. His Divine Essence is unstable too. Let's proceed with the ritual first."

Wolfram heard them talking as if the noise was coming from above the water.

Wolfram followed his father's steps, his body seemingly moving on its own. His mind felt oddly still and silent, yet loud and clamorous at the same time. Part of him wanted to witness his sins and whispered that he was the lowest scum in the world for desiring to run away from his actions. The other wailed that once he saw what lies beyond, he would never be able to return to the child he once was.

Dragging the sword, heavier than his own weight behind him, Wolfram inched forward despite the overwhelming desire to stop. The lady said something, yet Wolfram could not process her words Barely finding his balance on the slippery marble he finally made it beside his father, who seemed too enticed to notice his presence.

At first, in the dimness of the shrine, Wolfram couldn't quite comprehend what he was looking at.

Being a prince, Wolfram rarely visited a kitchen. Thus, he had never seen raw ingredients his food was made from.

But if he were to guess, he thought this was what chopped beef looked like.

It was a groaning pile of flesh and bones, wrapped in gold.

Wolfram suddenly understood with clarity why his father seemed so amused to witness this horror. His mind, too, began searching. Desperately, for signs. Proof that this moaning heap was once human. Like him.

There were no traces of skin or hair. Human limbs could not bend at such angles unless their bones were made of wet mud. It had a face though, one made of pooling hot wax. The features seemed to be drooping off the skull, nose flattened, and the mouth stretched open, unhinged from jaws.

"Quite the work of art" Cyra chuckled softly, prodding the soft, gooey lump with the square of his boot.

"why?" Wolfram breathed out; gaze fixated on what seemed to be a tongue swollen to the size of a forearm. "Why is ..it..still alive?"

Cyra's pale gray eyes held a rare sparkle in them when he looked down at his son. "Miraculous, isn't it?"

There was a quavering moan in reply.

"If left alone she will continue to live like this for a long time." Cyra droned on as he gracefully wiped his boot on a corner of the golden robe. "She can't move. See. Hear. Taste."

He examined the boot and frowned. "Or Scream."

Wolfram gulped thickly, trying his level best to comprehend the misery of such an existence.

"She will be in excruciating pain with no relief" Cyra hovered over her, as if he was mockingly explaining her the fate she was going to suffer. "At all times of the day. She won't sleep."

Cyra inhaled deeply, savoring the acrid scent of blood as if it were a fine wine. "She will remain alive and aware until the day she is destined to die," he said, his tone laden with grim satisfaction.

Wolfram stared vacantly at his father's outstretched hand and his unsettlingly warm smile.

"Every moment of suffering stretches out into eternity. So, let's show some mercy and make that day today."

Wolfram's mind raced with a torrent of questions, teetering on the verge of completely crumbling apart. On the tip of tongue was the rancid taste of madness. Nothing made sense anymore.

Yet, his father was right, he thought, clenching the hilt of the sword.

With all the strength he could muster he raised the blade, his knees wobbling under its crushing weight. The monstrosity whimpered feebly; the sound tinged with a melancholic plea for relief.

A chill crept down his spine, as if winter itself had traced a cold finger along the back of his neck, freezing him in place. With the sword held high, his eyes widened in sudden, painful clarity.

He could kill her today.

But what about tomorrow?

What happens when the day comes when this grotesque, blood-stained horror is replaced by those he loves?

Seeing how Wolfram was hesitating, Cyra watched him silence, like a beast waiting for his prey to blunder.

Wolfram's mouth fell agape in a silent scream, breath coming out in short, ragged huffs. His vision overlapped with the faces of everyone he ever loved Kai, Einar and Narin. He thought about Einar being forced to live such a fate, bedridden and rotting from inside. Or Kai, with his limbs twisted in knots.

He thought of everyone who he would ever come to love. Of every innocent life he had accursed with his filthy presence so far and would continue to do so. All those innocent people whose only grave sin was to know him.

Hell seemed too nice of a place for a monster like him.

If there was anyone who deserved to live a life this wretched, it was himself.

Cyra quirked an eyebrow when Wolfram lowered the blade to his own throat but made no effort to stop him.

If he died here. Today. Right now. It will all stop.

The sword cut into his flesh, making his skin throb with pain. His eyes watered, feeling despicable. What right did he have to shed tears here, when he had ripped away that privilege from hundreds like a heartless devil?

A sudden warmth on his shoulder pulled him back to reality.

"Please don't be hasty, child" The lady in white consoled, softly taking the blade to her own hands. Amidst the blood, despair and the storm outside, she appeared like a goddess to the horrified child.

"If I-"Wolfram hiccupped, desperately trying to find the words to explain his torment " I can't – I'm-"

The lady patted his head, her warm fingers brushing through his blood-caked hair. "Poor child" she cooed. "I know you have a kind heart, but your death will not change anything"

Wolfram gazed at her big, brown eyes, feeling thunderstruck.

"It will not make up for all the suffering you have put others through" Her eyes crinkled, as if she was smiling as widely as she can under her veil.

Cyra scoffed behind her.

"How come you get to die a swift, painless death, when hundreds suffered unspeakable horrors at your hands?" She tucked a strand of stray hair behind his ear. "Not much of a repent, don't you think? It is almost as if you are taking the easiest way out."

Wolfram, not knowing what else to do, started crying once again.

"What should I do then?" He wailed, burying his face in his palms. "Someone please..please..please tell me what to do"

Child..

The minute Wolfram heard that disembodied voice in his head, he knew he had gone insane for real. It still made him stop sobbing and stare around dumbly to see what dead ancestor was calling out to him.

Your struggle is seen and understood, my beloved heir.

The voice was silky and smooth, sending chills down his spine.

He was not imagining it. There really was a voice in his head, echoing and reverberating. It was not the voice of his thoughts. Something more commanding. Someone more powerful.

Wolfram stared at his father then at the lady in white to see them both gazing back at him expectantly.

Is this..?

He had heard about this happening to descendants of his bloodline. The voice of God, speaking to them at their darkest hour.

The path to redemption is never simple, nor is it without cost.

Wolfram held his breath to his best capabilities, waiting for the voice to speak again.

Yet, it is within the realm of possibilities.

Wolfram felt his breath hitch in his throat.

His knees finally gave away, dragging his shivering body down with it. Wolfram crossed his hands across his chest, bowing with such enthusiasm that his forehead banged against marble floor with a sharp thud.

"I will do anything!" He screamed as loud as could, afraid that his voice wouldn't reach the heavens. The desperation in his high-pitched plea was humiliating, yet he screamed again.

"Please take away this power you gave me!" His head hit the floor again as he begged. "I don't want to hurt anyone! I don't want to kill anyone! Please! Please take it all away"

Wolfram didn't know if Gods could scoff, but the sound in his head sounded awfully lot like a snort.

Your desire to understand and to seek a righteous cause is noted, but know this: power itself is neither good nor evil—it is the heart that wields it that defines its purpose.

Wolfram's head snapped up, eyes bulging out of his sockets.

What does that mean? It was him that had been the problem all along and not his divine essence?

Wolfram felt his despair hitting the floor of his guts at the thought of it.

"Then take my flawed heart away!" He yelled before his mind could process anything. "Whatever the fault is, don't let me hurt anyone again! Kill me! Burn me down! Skin me alive! But don't let me shed another drop of blood in vein, lord!"

Your spirit is admirable.

The divine voice resonated with an ethereal calmness, as if it was echoing through the vast expanse of cosmos.

The fault lies in your character nor temperament but in your blood.

Wolfram's vision darkened at the edges as he glanced at his father thunderstruck.

His blood?

What was wrong with his blood?

Your root to divinity is tainted with the venom of the accursed.

What?

Wolfram had not a hint about what the divine voice was implying.

Despite the clamor of chaos and the demanding voice of God tugging at his brain, Wolfram still tried to understand the situation. Did this mean there was something wrong with his birth?

His father was the rightful heir to Western Crown. He was a man who possessed strong and stable divine essence. Though his brother struggled at first, since his powers woke, his abilities have been improving by leaps and bounds. He showed no signs of being unable to control his beasts either.

He racked his brain, trying to pinpoint what made him inherently different than the rest of his bloodline but couldn't come up with anything.

Your maternal lineage descends from a mortal who offended heavens greatly.

"My mother?"

Wolfram once again looked at his father. Though his expressionless façade was still impressively intact while watching his son grovel and rolling in blood, it seemed to crack the slightest at the mention of his late wife.

His mother passed a few weeks after giving birth to him. She was taken gravely ill and died a miserable death.

For some reason, all information about her was withheld from Wolfram for the longest time. Wolfram didn't know where she came from or her upbringings. He was told that she was an elegant and demure lady, who had dark hair and blue eyes. That was all Kai could remember about the late queen of West alongside the fact that she was very kind and kept to herself.

Wolfram's brows furrowed.

Although the gods were supposed to guide him through this turmoil, Wolfram only felt his confusion deepening with each word that thwacked him on the face.

All marriages were overseen by Gods themselves.

In other words, his father couldn't have married and had a child with someone from such a family line unless God themselves allowed it.

However, this was definitely not the time or place to question gods on their matchmaking failures.

The filth in your blood is keeping you from harnessing the true powers of the divinity the heavens bestowed upon you, bringing you grievances.

Wolfram nodded, despite having a belly full of questions.

There was a moment of contemplative silence before the god continued.

Your skepticism is warranted.

The child bowed deeply once more, half panicked, half scared.

"This lowly mortal dare not question heavens!" He was quick to straighten his errors, frightened that his chance to set things right would slip away through the gaps of his fingers like fine sand.

Fear not, for heavens are forgiving and kind.

The lady, who had been silent by his side this whole while rested draped a hand around his shoulders and helped him once more.

If you, my child, are willing to do as I bid, I shall provide you with the means to cleanse the poison from your heart.

Wolfram's eyes fell once more on the deformed figure lying at his feet.

It was still moaning, the sound more painful than a centipede crawling in his ear canal.

What did God want from him?

What could be the cost of putting this suffering to an end?

Wolfram fisted his palms tightly, a trail of sweat running down the side of his blood drenched temples. He screwed his eyes shut to tune out the voice echoing off the walls of his skull.

By accepting my guidance, you will not only regain control but also possess the means to correct your past mistakes and protect those you cherish.

Wolfram's mind ran thousand miles per second into past and halted on a certain winter evening, few weeks ago.

He was munching on a sweet pear, its sticky juices running down his chin and forearms as he watched Einar sharpening his sword on a moistened Wheatstone.

The world stilled as he recalled Einar's warm brown eyes narrowed to slits in concentration as he slowly dragged the gleaming sword back and forth on the stone with practiced precision. His nose would scrunch up with each pass, his expression illuminating as he watched the blade getting keener.

Kaizer sat by his feet, head lazily leaning against Einar's thigh. It was a crime punishable by death to let a heavenly heir sit lower than a commoner but neither of them seemed to care.

Kaizer would have a thick book on his lap, bookmarked with a silk ribbon as he gazed upon Einar with a small smile etched on his lips. His silver hair would drape over one shoulder like a river under moonlight, cheeks tinted with a rosy blush from the heat of the fireplace.

"Ei" Kaizer called, all ice thawed from his voice. "It's late now. Do that tomorrow, yes?"

Einar sternly shook his head. "What if something happens tonight?"

Kaizer seemed to find the idea amusing. "What could possibly happen?"

"I'd better be safe than sorry." Einar sighed deeply.

"Ei" Wolfram wiped his lips on his sleeve and "Say, if it ever comes down to it, who would you save? Me or Kai?"

The question was intended as a lighthearted joke, but the answer came within a blink, with grave certainty as well.

"Kai"

The room fell into the kind of silence only accompanied by death itself.

"Ouch" Wolfram chuckled, masking the bitterness that was seething into his heart. "How about a second of consi-"

"That is the only way I can save you both"

The two brothers looked up at the swordsmen with equally bewildered expressions.

"I'm only a normal mortal" He murmured, mostly to himself. "I can die protecting you, but there is not much I can protect you from."

He sighed once more, as if he had been laying awake for days pondering on this very question.

"That's not true" Kai scolded softly. "You have protected us a countless time"

"I'm just a man with a sword" Einar rested the blade on his lap and stared at Kaizer's pale eyes. "You both are much more. I can't challenge Gods, but they know I would tear the skies apart if it meant you both are safe."

Einar looked between two brothers and gulped. His face seemed to ripple with all the emotions he was trying to suppress. "So promise me, here, right now, Kai."

Kai seemed taken aback by how rattled Einar looked when he grabbed his forearm but nodded slowly.

"If the day ever comes you find yourself pointing a blade at Wolfram," he gripped Kai's flesh with an uncanny desperation. "Promise you would not bring it down."

"What are you talking about?"

"Both of you must stick together and protect each other. Always remember that in this world, in the end, you only have each other to lean on. Never forget this." Einar urged. "Promise me"

"Alright" Kaizer agreed with a smile "I promise, I would always protect Wolfram and you"

Einar's eyes widened for second, but he looked over at Wolfram, eagerly waiting for him to take an oath as well.

"I too" Wolfram grinned widely, "I will always, always protect Kai and you"

My beloved child

Wolfram was plunged back into the blood bath he was standing on with the authoritative voice in his head.

He had made a promise.

To protect Kai and Einar.

From everything that could harm them, bring them pain. Including himself.

Refuse, and you condemn yourself to be a spectator of your own failures, helpless to alter the course of events.

Accept, and you gain the chance to rewrite your destiny. Remember, every moment you hesitate, you prolong your suffering and the suffering of those around you.

Wolfram inhaled deeply, smelling blood.

"I accept"