Author's Note: This chapter is like a rendition of the 200K chapter. Some words were rearranged, but most descriptions remained the same. For those who read the 200K special, think of this chapter as a re-cap. For those who skipped the 200K special, enjoy!
Thanks for reading 🙏🏻
*****
The dense thickets of smoke clogged the air, as billowing black clouds desperately climbed up the cerulean skies, then dissipated into nothing.
Lucilline remembered the white blinding cross seared across his sight. His teeth gnashed in anger, a pot of fire scalding his heart. His chest hammered in madness—He could feel his eyes stinging in pain, red bloodied veins popping, and a sea of blood tarnishing over the pupils.
"Holy Church...!" His nails dug into the ground, as if Lucilline became some sort of a dog. For once, the great nobleman Lucilline Rubius could not hold back the madness plummeting my heart into the depths of fire.
*****
When the fire was put out and Lucilline ventured back in the tattered manor, two dried bodies were found. Their mahogany red hair was only left of a few burned strands, revealing only a bald skull. The pungent scent of rotten flesh permeated in the place—disgusting.
The two bodies were drained of fat—the hollow ribs were visible on their sucked dry bones. Their dresses had long since dwindled into ashes, not a trace insight.
"...B-brother," Lucilline looked at a body, tall and slender, yet broken into a pile of tattered bones. Not a single surface of skin remained intact, all scalded into charcoal. The skin wrinkled like a wilted flower, rough to the touch, and unfamiliar to the senses.
Beside was a shorter but still slender body. Soot coated every single crevice, leaving no corners untouched in burns and wounds. Not even a droplet of blood remained—having evaporated into the fray of fire. The flesh rotted, a nauseous scent drifting from its body.
Two empty eye sockets were left, the hollow tunnels staring at the black-haired nobleman. Without knowing, his eyes began to water.
"No... you're not my brother or sister..." These two rotten corpses didn't look anything like Zephyratt nor Scarletta. The corpses looked so ugly, with maggots squirming in the already putrid black flesh, making a nest out of the deceased.
It was impossible. It was impossible...
Beside them laid an old ragged piece of cloth. Surprisingly, to Lucilline's dismay, the cloth was not burned to ashes like the rest of the fabrics. Instead, it was cleanly fresh, as if it was placed in here after the fire was put out. It shone a pearly white, almost like a star illuminating the midnight skies bright.
But the sight of it seared into the black-haired nobleman's golden eyes—a definite cross.
The two siblings had not even left with a rag to hide their indecent structures. Their bodies must have been snapped like a twig, until not even their silhouettes can capture their once humane appearance.
"Holy Church..." a crackle of realization dawned on Lucilline.
He snatched the remaining white cloth of a cross, crumpling it in his fists. "I'll kill every last one of you..." If I've lost everything, then anger is all I had left. He tore through the cross, wild and violent. Lucilline was an animal—no, less humane than an animal, only knowing to bare fangs and claws, to roar and gnaw at prey until nothing is left.
"You'll fucking pay...! You will pay!" I will kill every last single one of those murderers. I will make them suffer, to make them feel the pain of being burned alive! His heart was tearing at his chest, lurching out and trying to separate. Adrenaline surged through him, the intent to kill.
How dare they! How dare they trample through my territory and kill my—
"Young Master, you can't!" A pair of warm hands wrapped around him. It jolted the nobleman back awake. How indecent. Willow snuffed her cheek against his back, her warmth infusing in the coldest depths of the winter. A vein popped out from Lucilline's forehead. How dare a servant touch me?
Willow cried, tears sliding down her cheeks, soaking into my shirt.
Lucilline stared at her, his face aghast as if he'd seen a ghost.
How dare you cry. His heart thumped. It's not your home that has been burned down. It's not your brother and sister who've been killed. It's not your turn to cry.
The mangled corpses in front of them did not share a single similarity to Zephyratt or Scarletta. But I know—these mutilated and cinder-like bodies are them.
"Think about it rationally, Young Master." Willow's dolce voice have never been so irritating to the ears as they are now, as if they are steel scratching on bricks, hissing no fiercer than wild cats. "How could it be the Holy Church? Sure, their cross symbol is here... but..."
"You don't understand anything!" A loud scream roared, throwing Willow's body off of the black-haired nobleman.
A cloud of black mist purged over Lucilline's mind, and countless words he didn't mean to say had fled out. "You aren't of noble blood—you aren't related to me either. Why couldn't you have been the one to die? Why did brother and sister... why did father have to—!"
Willow was stunned soundless.
Her amethyst purple eyes widened. The maidservant recoiled back in shock.
Lucilline's hands trembled, the knuckles burning white. What am I saying?
Apologize now. His subconscious roared like an untamed beast, but another force clogged his mind. Why should I apologize? I didn't say anything wrong.
"Young Master..." Willow couldn't hold back her gasp, "Your eyes... are red."
The cross cloth in the Young Master's hand fell out.
Willow pulled out a small makeup mirror, handing it to Lucilline's palms, and the sharp gaze of crimson red eyes looked back at him in the mirror.
Those pair of red eyes resembled a bloody hue, the rouge sizzling against skin, as if a piece of hot iron sautéed pupils into a sea of roses. Lucilline almost dropped the makeup mirror, His black gloves having holes in them from the fire. More blemishes were added to his already scarred hand.
Why must this happen to me? When have I ever offended the gods?
Lucilline stood up from the already dilapidated floorboards. "Where are you going, Young Master?" Willow's desperate cries could be heard from behind.
I am going to get revenge. "Don't follow me."
In the end, Willow could only helplessly follow, running around like a pitiful puppy. Why is she still at it? Why won't she stop? Why is she so annoying?
How can you act like you're the one who lost everything? I am the one who lost everything! All my family's riches and properties were burned down. My father is dead from the illness, and my two siblings are murdered by the Holy Church. You're just a maid I took in—how dare you cry in front of me?
Lucilline's chest felt like it was defiled from an endless pang of pain. Torrents of currents flooded his anguish cries, sinking him below the lapping waves.
The red in his eyes glared brighter.
Maybe I am a demon.
The Capital City of Lydia Kingdom has never appeared so desolate before. All the compiled dust in every nook and cranny could be spotted. The world was so dirty—all the colours were drained of the city. Now, it was practically unrecognizable.
*****
Morning had come, and Lydia Kingdom was in an uproar about the deaths of Scarletta, Zephyratt, Rachelle (only to the public), and Anderson Rubius.
When news came out that Lucilline Rubius was the only survivor, only gazes of disappointment could be seen.
A battered and weak figure walked past the streets. On the cobblestone pathway, the crowds of nobles and commoners split to make way for the figure. Instead of honor and delight upon their faces, a murky emotion of anger and regret wandered around like a wrathful spirit. The only person who dared to stand by the figure was a silver-haired maid.
Lucilline had gone for an entire day without food.
The black-haired nobleman was declared as the heir of House Rubius by default. However, not a single person was joyful at the news.
"If only Duke Rubius survived the fire."
"I would have preferred even the eldest sister rather than the third child. At least the Strongest Soldier in Lydia could protect us—even if she was a woman."
"Why did he have to survive?"
Those malicious eyes glued to the black-haired nobleman's back. They seemed to burn his flesh, with the familiar scent of clogging smoke infiltrating his nose. It made Lucilline sick—sick of everyone... and sick of himself.
"Why did the incompetent one survive?"
"Could it be that... he was the one who lit the fire?"
"Killing his family for the title... ugh, thinking about it makes me sick."
The arsonist in charge of the fire was not caught. Nobody knew who had lit the fire on the Rubius manor, and thus, suspicion fell onto the only survivor of the House. None of the noble families or Grand Duke Houses dared to take in the lone survivor. They looked upon Lucilline Rubius with pity, but also with lingering suspicions in their hearts.
Their fingers pointed at the small slender figure, his disheveled hair and clothes making him appear nothing short of a beggar.
"They suspect you." The mind demon whispered to the black-haired nobleman. Lucilline frowned. I already know that.
He rolled his eyes. You were awfully quiet during the fire.
The mind demon fell silent, before suggesting, "This will be the last time I tell you this. As long as you borrow my powers, you can shut the mouths of anyone you desire. It is a good offering. When you have my power, nobody in the world will be able to stop you. Nobody would badmouth you, accuse you of murdering your family, or go against your wishes."
"Doesn't that just sound lovely?"
It was true. He was nothing more than a sorry nobleman who hadn't even become of age. His family had all disintegrated into ashes, their pale malignant bones crumbling to the cascades of time. If only he'd died instead... if only he didn't survive... then he wouldn't have to suffer from the overwhelming suffocation. If only—
Lucilline stilled, frozen on the spot.
The image of a cross resurfaced in his mind. If he remembered correctly, the man in a white cloak which he killed last night had worn a cross. The Holy Church. Three words danced in his mind. The black-haired nobleman could hear the mind demon's cackle ring across his ears, as if telling him that he was right on the money.
Willow also stopped, "Young Master? What is wrong?"
Her Young Master did not respond. Only a small smile danced upon his lips. He seemed to have decided something—something subverting his dear maidservant's expectations.
*****
"I need a weapon..." In the cold, a pitiful black-haired figure curled at the back of an alleyway. "I can find a knife if I sneak in a house. The kitchen... yes, the kitchen..." His limbs were frozen, knuckles battered and bruised. However, the thought of seething a blade into those bastard priests' flesh had kept Lucilline's adrenaline going.
Surely, anyone would allow me to borrow their knife if they understood my situation, right?
Willow firmly opposed her Young Master. Her amethyst purple eyes reminded Lucilline of a man named Azalea... She and him were one in the same. They only care about justice and not about me. People like them are the worst, they disgust me.
The black mist hazing over Lucilline's mind seemed to grow thicker—but the one affected could hardly care.
In the end, Lucilline didn't get a knife.
He could see from the corner of his eyes Willow's relieved sigh.
Lucilline's throat bobbed up and down, his neck bulging. In the corner, he let loose, allowing waste to spill from his parched lips. The vomit was left rotting in the alleyway—just like the corpses of his siblings and family.
Just thinking about them made my throat bob in disgust.
That night, he made sure to feign sleeping. From the perceptive corner of his ears, Lucilline was able to hear Willow's stomach rumbling and her soft groans. She must've been hungry, for she quickly stood up from the cobblestone alleyway, leaving behind Lucilline and the rotten scent he oozed off. It was perfect for him—her departure ensured that he could sneak in the Holy Church.
However, the young nobleman couldn't stop himself from cursing her out. "In the end, all commoners are the same. Despite trailing after me like a dog, you wouldn't hesitate to leave and find a better thigh to hug."
That night, the moonlight appeared especially hazy, as if something was obscuring its delightful gaze from the lands below. Bathing in the mournful silver light was a cross, standing solitarily at the top of the church building. Silhouettes paved a path for demons to mingle, their bodies blending in the unceasing darkness.
Lucilline snuck into the Holy Church, with the shadows concealing his every trace.
Ever since borrowing the mind demon's power, he found himself having characteristics of a demon. He was able to transform into a shadow, thus sneaking beneath the doors and travelling inside the church.
A long silver blade was clenched in his gloved hands.
At that night, all the crosses were stained with blood, their purity going down the drain.
A little boy jumped out from the corner, his pleas for help very evident in the hollow church. Upon seeing Lucilline, he did not run, but tried to befriend instead.
"M-My name is Hugo. P-Please don't h-hurt me. W-we can b-be friends instead. I have an o-older brother! He is a powerful mage and heals my wounds when I'm hurt. We can all be friends together—" The sight of a cross hanging down his collar burned in Lucilline's retinas, with a violent colour of red purging them.
The blade in his hands seemed to gain conscious, guiding him to frolic past the bodies and deliver a blow to the small boy.
The copper bell hung around Lucilline's wrist rung once, then fell quiet. Perhaps it had been clogged by the spurting blood, for it could no longer sound, no matter how hard Lucilline shook it. All things break—and before we know, it could be too late to repair them.
"Y-Young Master!" A cry alerted the young nobleman's attention.
Willow was a deer caught in headlights, her amethyst purple eyes clashing with repulsive red. Her hair shone like the shining moon, pure and clean—unlike the nobleman's blood-stained and dark-festering self. The more Lucilline looked at her, the clearer he could see the line in between.
"...what have you done?" She let out a muffled sob.
Why is she crying again? It's not her who is stained in all the virgin blood—it's me. It's not her who has to carry a blade and jump into battle—it's me.
"Don't I look like a demon to you?" Lucilline cackled. His crazed voice rung violently across the Holy Church, resounding off of the glass pane walls. "My eyes have turned red, I can turn into a shadow, and more importantly..." The black-haired nobleman walked forwards. "I can tell what you are thinking."
Willow flinched.
"You are thinking..." a gloved hand outstretched forwards, with a finger twirling like a ballerina. "This is not my Young Master. A demon must have possessed him."
A frown danced upon the young nobleman's lips. "I am disappointed, Willow."
The white-haired frail woman never looked so frightful before.
Perhaps she was wondering how to get Lucilline to submit. Instead, her Young Master laughed at her mockingly, "I would appreciate it if you would do me one last favour."
The seeping blood in the Holy Church gurgled.
"Bring justice to me."
Willow's amethyst purple eyes teared up, her nose reddening like the fire that set the Rubius manor down in shambles. She cried, her eyes crinkling into thin lines. Maybe she was too afraid to see her Young Master properly one last time. In the end, she released an ugly sob. "Understood, Young Master."