thief of fate-Chapter 105: Axel

Axel stood amidst a throne of liquid bones,

with shards whirling around him.

The ground beneath his feet moved, as if it were a living creature breathing...

And in the air, ancient curses howled with the voices of laughing and crying children—all at once.

Above it all...

She was waiting.

The Mother of Curses.

Not a queen.

Not a goddess.

Not a being describable or measurable.

She was... the primal root of ruin.

She stood upon a platform of black, pulsating flesh, her body covered in a living veil that slithered like serpents.

And her eyes... those eyes... they didn’t look at Axel. They pierced through him, reading a sin he had not yet committed.

The Mother of Curses was not pleased.

Her voice shattered the void.

"Have you brought me failure, O heir of the reversed path?"

Axel lowered his head slightly, bowing, as if every atom in his being understood the weight of the crime he had committed.

"It wasn’t failure, my lady. It was a tactical withdrawal. A miscalculation, nothing more..."

She laughed.

She laughed.

A laugh devoid of mockery—pure contempt.

A laugh that stripped all meaning from everything around it.

"Tactic?" she said, then took a single step forward.

And with that step,

the earth beneath him exploded.

Dozens of black arms erupted from below—covered in eyes and inverted mouths—

and suddenly dragged him upward, hanging him upside down.

The arms began pressing into his skin, piercing slowly, delivering a pain beyond comprehension.

"I granted you chaos, the gate of time, and allowed you to draw endlessly from my power...

And in return, I asked for something simple:

Total ruin. Absolute death. Eternal terror."

Axel screamed—but not in a human voice.

His scream echoed back in twisted forms...

a crying child...

an old man laughing while choking.

"You don’t understand! We’re not ready yet! Irkalos himself interfered without permission, and those—"

"Silence."

She said it, and the arms slithered deeper, as if trying to reshape him from the inside out.

"I gave you the unthinkable, and you return to me with petty explanations?

Have you forgotten who I am?"

Suddenly, everything stopped.

The arms vanished.

Axel dropped to the ground, charred, gasping for air.

She approached him.

She whispered in a voice only his soul could hear:

"Next time...

I will not be merciful."

Then she turned, walking back toward her pulsing platform.

But before she departed, she raised her hand—

And from nothing, a deformed body of energy appeared.

She was crafting something...

a curse, a virus, a new kind of seed.

Her hand dug into the fabric of reality, shaping...

something that resembled life... and hated it.

She spoke as her voice merged with screams and death itself:

"If you cannot tear them apart...

then let them tear themselves apart from within.

Into this blend, I will place my first curse...

a curse that blossoms pain that never dies."

Axel asked in a broken voice:

"For whom...?"

She looked at him.

Smiled.

"You may choose...

from those you’ve loved."

And she left him there,

among smoke and shadows,

suspended between agony and decision.

He knew... this punishment was only the prelude.

As he stared into the evil that dwelled within the Mother of Curses—

like a child watching his favorite toy shatter.

His eyes were nearly extinguished, but inside—he boiled.

It wasn’t fear that consumed him.

Nor anger.

But... mockery.

He smirked—half a smile—and whispered:

"How simple you are, Lady of Ruin...

You think mere threats, pain, and some grotesque arms are enough to shake my will?

That you can lead a man who’s lived, seen, and wandered every corner of this world...

As if you’re the only one who sees?"

He turned his head toward the void, as if speaking to someone:

"Everything you do... is expected.

Cruel? Yes.

Terrifying? Perhaps.

But real? No."

He raised his hand. His skin still burned slowly—

as if she wanted to leave a reminder...

But even that mark was no more than a child’s tattoo on a veteran’s hand.

"If only you knew...

You’re not the one steering this game."

Suddenly...

the red screen manifested before him.

Its color wasn’t just red—

It was blood, screams, wars yet to be fought.

[Mission Activated: "Purify the Chosen"]

Objective: Kill three Chosen. Time limit: None.

Do you accept the mission?

[Yes] [No]

Axel stared at the screen.

Smiled, then read the names...

The first: Unknown.

The second: A familiar one... "Ethan."

The third...

He stopped.

The last name made him go silent.

"Khajoura...?"

"Is that even a name?"

He pressed [Yes].

And everything vanished.

...

Moments later,

he was walking through shadows, ascending the Abyss toward the surface.

On the way, he was thinking—

"Nothing here is real.

Not the Mother of Curses, not the kings, not the war, not even the Chosen...

Only I am real.

And those who thought they understood me... only saw my reflection."

...

He stood before Irkalos.

That giant—his massive slender form,

his stench humid and thick.

"I’ve been watching you...

Your work was chaotic. But effective.

You killed many, sowed fear, spread terror as needed.

Well done."

Irkalos nodded, his voice sounding like thousands of worms speaking in unison:

"Are you with us now, Axel?

Are you one of us?"

Axel turned his head slowly, then approached,

until he was a breath away,

and looked at him with an expression unlike anything else:

"Me? One of you?"

He laughed.

A quiet, cold laugh.

"No, Irkalos.

I am not one of you, nor one of them, nor anyone.

I am something else."

He continued, his eyes glowing with something unnamed:

"You create ruin because you know nothing else...

But me?

I create meaning from ruin itself.

I see the thread connecting fire to music... death to birth."

He stepped back.

Irkalos was silent for a moment, then asked:

"Then... who do you serve?"

Axel replied:

"I serve my own allegiance."

And he turned away, leaving the creature of destruction frozen—

as the walls themselves seemed to shrink,

as if aware they were in the presence of something that could not be defined...

nor contained.

"The silence around him was like an extended scream.

Even the air whispered with the voices of the dead,

And the ground—if it could still be called that—throbbed with the hatred of creatures yet to be born.

But Axel?

He smiled.

He smiled as if nothing around him was worth acknowledging.

He stood tall, shoulders squared, eyes half-lidded,

Then spoke aloud, as if addressing the entity itself:

’Do you see me?

I... am not a part of this place.

And I never will be.’

He gestured toward the endless void:

’The shadows that bow to you?

The souls that scream so you may keep them alive?

The blood that spills to quench your darkness?

All of it... will dry.’

He stepped forward, and though the ground cracked beneath him as if trying to swallow him whole,

He did not retreat.

’I am not one of your servants, Abyss.

Not a blade forged in your name.

I am not a piece in the chessboard of chaos.

I... am the hand that will flip the entire board.’

The Abyss responded in silence.

But the ripples began to grow.

The screams of unborn children echoed,

And the voices of the Ascended whispered of heresy, betrayal, death...

Still, he did not waver.

’Even Serathzi, the one you consider a creator or savior,

The one who brought me back from the edge of nothingness,

Sees me as a puppet in his dark play.

And maybe he, too... is just a bigger puppet.

Who knows?’

He lowered his gaze for a moment.

Smiled to himself.

As if something had finally settled inside him.

’But... no matter how long time stretches, no matter how tangled the threads become,

No matter how many masks I wear...

The moment will come.’

He raised his right hand and traced his finger through the air as if cutting an invisible string:

’The moment when the puppet breaks free.

And slaughters the one who thought he was the master.’

In that moment,

The Abyss trembled.

Not in rage... but in fear.

For ancient entities do not usually fear.

But they remember.

They remember those who once spoke such words,

Those who were never broken... but instead, the world itself broke to contain them.

...

Axel sat upon a rock floating in nothingness,

Eyes closed, hands resting on his knees,

His voice whispering without sound:

’Freedom... is not a decision.

It is a moment, exploding from within.

And when it comes... no one will save you.’

And despite it all... he felt nothing anymore.

Madness here was not a moment, but a law.

Deviation wasn’t a flaw, but a nature.

And amidst this wreckage... he was the only still mind that thought.

He lowered his head slightly and muttered softly:

’What kind of hell have I been condemned to live in?’

He slowly raised his gaze, staring at a scene before him where twisted creatures fought over a chunk of flesh that had emerged from nowhere, tearing each other apart with knife-like teeth, for no real reason other than the animalistic lust for destruction.

’Pathetic...’

He whispered it like a prayer.

Then continued, his tone hardening:

’To live among beings who know nothing but instinct,

To witness bodies that walk without minds,

To call this pile of blood and wailing a "race" or a "species"... is the greatest insult to reason itself.’

His voice dripped with disgust.

’Is this all you’ve achieved?

Thousands of years, and all you know is fighting, devouring, licking, screaming, birthing from corruption, and dying in filth?’

He curled his lips in a mocking smile.

’Even animals in higher realms know order.

They know their herd. They know their place.

But here?

Nothing but hunger, screaming, and endless repetition.’

He rose slowly, stepping over a crawling creature with four eyes begging for mercy.

He crushed it without even looking.

’To be here, among these abominations?

Is a disgrace to every part of my being.

But... not forever.’

He looked around.

One of the creatures—a grotesque fusion of a flesh-tree and a wolf—screamed at him, trying to charge.

He severed its head with a glance.

The creature disintegrated like ash in the air of the Abyss.

’I am not one of you, and I never will be.

And I will never forgive you for bringing me here.

But I will rise, and I will rise on your backs, on your skulls, on your very madness.’

He walked through the chaos, like a god in the land of disorder,

His eyes as calm as the sky before a storm.

’You think screaming is power? That chaos is life?

That instincts elevate you?’

He paused for a moment, then said with unwavering certainty:

’You are nothing but failed animals.’