Chapter 144: The Day Fate... Was Bound (2)
After the Apostles seized Jovian, their grip never slackened, yet from the bruising pressure, he could tell they were taking care not actually to kill him.
And Lane, the High Apostle, didn’t need to give direct orders— it was more as if the Apostles understood her will—they escorted him straight to their stronghold, perched high in the atmosphere above the World of Noxara.
And... he was expected to arrive intact—well, mostly.
---
Currently, they dragged him through the stronghold’s hanging corridors, and the soles of his boots scraped against black stone with every forced step.
’Tsk, who would have thought I’d be in the position so early on,’ he thought, letting sarcasm bubble beneath the ache in his arms.
His pulse wouldn’t settle, holding steady in his stubbornness.
The uncertainty of what lay ahead gnawed at him more than any bruise ever could.
He had long mastered the role of the fool, but deep down, he knew there was nothing remotely lighthearted about the cold precision with which these dark elves operated.
One of the Apostles leaned in, his voice smooth as venom.
"Enjoy the walk, little hero. You’ll be longing for it soon."
The other chuckled. "You know... there’s one way out of this. Maybe beg? We do enjoy it when they beg."
"Tsk, you bastards, try your worst," he said with a cough, rolling his eyes beneath the blindfold.
’Crazy fools... I’ll summon Lord Dream the moment I’m in a cell,’ he thought, having no intention of staying in this place for long.
Still, the pain pulsing through his body was real.
And that was just the tip of the iceberg—there was something wrong about the place itself.
It was too quiet—no footsteps ahead, only the hiss of his own breath and the faint clink of chains.
They kept going down, each step bringing colder air and heavier chains, until the chill sank deep into his bones.
----
The corridor finally opened into a cavernous chamber, the air unmoving and heavy with the smell of rot and rust.
And the moment they arrived... he could see the flicker of torchlight glinting off bars and the faint outlines of doors.
He tried to count the cells, listening for the shuffle of movement, but all he heard was silence...
And... at a glance at his surroundings... he knew instantly what this place was—a graveyard for the.... dead.
’Yeah.... I definitely can’t stay here long,’ he thought, as he didn’t even want to imagine how the previous captives reached this state.
The smell here was so strong it felt like it... came from himself.
Bones were scattered throughout the cells, some positioned as if the skeletons had made desperate attempts to squeeze through the bars.
Others lay crumpled in corners, slouched against rusted restraints, or strewn across the floor in grim arrangements that made it clear the Black Thorn hadn’t cared to keep their prisoners whole.
At the far end, where the shadows piled deepest, an empty cell waited—no bones, just darkness.
----
HUMMMM!!!!
They shoved him inside, the door slamming shut behind with a deep, final thud that seemed to echo in the air.
As the chains rattled and clinked, their metal links came alive with glowing blue runes as they wound themselves even more around his wrists and ankles, completely sealing his Divinity and power.
He gave them a hard yank, testing for even a hint of give, but they held firm without so much as a tremor.
"Pfft, congratulations to myself once agai—"
[Shadow Affinity]
BANGGGG!!!!
COUGHHHH!!!!
However... The words never finished.
A fist formed from shifting darkness surged through the bars with a sharp, fluid motion, the impact driving straight into his stomach.
The force of the casual manipulation was so strong that it folded him forward as a harsh cough tore out of him.
The sound bounced off the stone walls while a spray of red splattered across the floor from the violent contraction of his lungs.
Even so, he raised his head, determined not to let them see him break.
"You know," he rasped, forcing a crooked smile as blood trickled from his lip, "I always wondered what the inside of a fantasy cell looked like. But... this isn’t exactly five-star accommodations, is it?"
BANGGGG!!!!
Pain flared across his jaw as another blow snapped his head to the side, warm breath brushing against his ear.
"Look... talking’s over. Keep quiet until the High Apostle gets here," one of them hissed.
Jovian stifled a laugh, and instead of letting it land him in deeper trouble, he let his thoughts drift beyond the ache, reaching for the one thing they hadn’t taken from him—his fragile link to the Dreamer’s Drift.
Technically, he shouldn’t have been able to access the starship, not with his divinity sealed and the item locked away in his divine ring.
But that link was still there, and one of the ship’s functions meant he could contact its owner whenever he wanted.
Akasha had planned it that way from the start... but what he didn’t plan was for Jovian to summon him in a situation like this.
And without much thinking about it, Jovian went for it—because he had no intention of becoming just another skeleton rotting in this place.
’Come on, Lord Dream... save your fellow rival~’
However, the moment he sent the plea, the chamber door creaked open, and both Apostles’ attention snapped away from him.
High Apostle Lane entered, and the room seemed to freeze around her.
Without wasting any time, she gave orders... not to the Apostles, but to the shadows themselves.
"Strip him. Take everything."
HUMMMM!!!!
In that moment, the darkness around Jovian’s cell thickened, stretching upward like it was given purpose.
Fingers took shape—long, smooth, and unsettlingly tender—as they moved over his clothes, unfastening, peeling, and lifting them away.
The divine ring slipped into the darkness, gone without a trace. His blindfold unraveled, dissolving like smoke caught in a sudden breeze.
Then his eyes—impossible, calm, and carrying a dangerous depth—slowly opened.
In that moment, Lane froze mid-step... as it felt like she was being watched.
Though she wasn’t startled, nor was she afraid—it was something colder, like the unsettling sense of being studied by the very thing she would soon have.
Her breath caught, just for an instant, before she let a small smile curve across her lips.
A slow, knowing curve of the lips that made Jovian’s stomach drop.
He didn’t like that smile one bit.
He kept his expression neutral, but inside, a single thought pulsed like a heartbeat.
’Oh hell no.... Lord of Dreams, any moment now would be great!’
Lane resumed her approach, each footfall echoing like a countdown.
"So, Human... who are you, really?" Her tone was silk wrapped around steel.
Hearing her voice, Jovian just smiled, leaning back as if the whole thing were mildly amusing, and said nothing.
When he stayed silent, Lane waved her hand and settled into a simple shadow throne in front of his cell. Her words came steady and unyielding.
"I don’t mind... take your time. In five years, you’ll be hollowed out anyway..." She said as she leaned back with a smile.
"Then... we’ll know and have everything, eventually."
At those words... a shiver crawled down his spine, but he forced a crooked smile.
He let his head rest against the wall, letting the ache in his body fade for a breath while hope flickered, stubborn and bright—maybe, just maybe, Akasha would come before there was nothing left of him to save.