Dark Moon Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 228. Resurrection I (Patreon)

Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 228. Resurrection I

A male voice, calm and commanding, cut through the tension-laden air like a sharp blade.

"Prince Artheur is right. Ilex... You shouldn't seduce someone else's wife in front of her husband," Angel's voice resounded through the hall, his words a warning wrapped in an icy veil of authority.

All eyes turned to its source, and there he was—Angel, sitting nonchalantly upon the throne, a sinister smile playing upon his lips. Clad in his black military uniform, he exuded an air of power and confidence that had been momentarily masked during the chaos that had unfolded.

The hall erupted into a cacophony of gasps, screams, and astonished murmurs as the guests recoiled in terror from the surreal scene unfolding before them. Ilex's composure wavered, his eyes locked on Angel before he turned to the lifeless body lying rigidly on the floor. His voice trembled with disbelief and fear as he struggled to comprehend the impossible.

"How's that possible... You are dead... I have beheaded you..." Ilex's words were a mixture of denial and horror, his hands trembling as he pointed a shaking finger toward Angel on the throne.

Unperturbed by the chaos around him, Angel stepped down from the throne with unhurried grace, his sinister smile never leaving his lips. The hall fell into an eerie silence as all eyes were drawn to the enigmatic figure who stood before them—seemingly unscathed as if the events of his demise were mere illusions.

Walking with casual confidence towards the center of the hall, Angel reached down and picked up his own severed head, an unsettling display of the grotesque and the supernatural. The guests stared in awe and terror, unable to comprehend the spectacle that unfolded before them.

"Ilex, you don't know how long it took me to create this illusion," Angel's voice was calm and measured, his gaze fixed on the severed head in his hand. "You really thought you had destroyed me, didn't you? But you merely shattered a facade, a puppet created to play the role."

As he spoke, the severed head in his hand underwent a macabre transformation. The features twisted and morphed into a swirling vortex of dark aura, dissipating into thin air like tendrils of smoke. The illusion had served its purpose, but the truth was now laid bare for all to see—the cunning machinations of a man who had orchestrated his own death.

"Get up," Angel's voice held an air of authority that brooked no resistance. The lifeless body, no longer lifeless, obeyed his command, sending shivers down the spines of those who bore witness to this eerie display.

The guests watched in sheer disbelief as the headless body, now animated by an unseen force, rose from the floor as if by some dark sorcery. Fear gripped the hearts of those present, their screams of terror echoing throughout the hall. All eyes were fixated on the surreal scene playing out before them—Angel commanding a lifeless vessel to obey his will.

With a deft movement, Angel removed the badge from the collar and affixed it to his own. The sight was a macabre testament to his mastery over the darkest of arts. It was an unsettling display of power, one that sent a clear message to all who bore witness—that Angel had embraced a path of darkness and wielded forces that transcended the realm of the living.

The eerie silence that followed was broken only by the soft sound of fabric rustling against the floor as the clothes of the lifeless vessel fell, revealing the emptiness within. The dark aura that had given it life receded, returning to its master like a shadow that had found its rightful place. In its wake, it left Angel's beloved black sword—the embodiment of his strength and resolve, Nightmare.

Angel's eyes bore into Ilex's, a mixture of triumph and malice swirling within their depths. For a fleeting moment, Ilex's mask of arrogance wavered, revealing a glimmer of shock at the sight of his once-deceased adversary standing before him with newfound power. But the shock quickly gave way to an unsettling smile—the smile of a man who reveled in darkness, who embraced chaos and reveled in the despair of others.

"Playtime is over," Angel's voice dripped with a chilling finality. The words were an ominous prelude to the malevolent storm that was about to descend upon the hall. His command was cold, devoid of any hint of mercy or remorse.