The silence that followed Kheris's disappearance spread like a heavy shroud. Lusian remained reclined, breathing with difficulty, his body still pulsing with the divine mana now dwelling within him. Every fiber of his being was charged with a power he had never imagined—yet also with pain and resentment.
A creak of wood and the thud of boots against the floor shattered the stillness. The door swung open, and Elizabeth was the first to appear. Her face carried a mix of anger and concern.
"Lusian!" she shouted, rushing toward him. "What the hell happened to you?!" Her eyes filled with tears. "What the hell happened to you…?" Her voice broke. "Look at you!"
Lusian blinked, barely turning his head, letting Elizabeth's voice crash against the anger he kept contained.
"I sent you away," he said, his voice a rough, exhausted whisper. "I didn't want you to get hurt."
Elizabeth stepped closer, until she could feel his breath. Fury and fear tangled together, her voice trembling.
"Too far?!" she snapped. "Look at you—you're bruised, wounded… and you dare call this 'protecting me'?" Her words rang through the room.
Lusian exhaled slowly, struggling for breath. He had a thousand answers, a thousand apologies—but none felt enough. Even without fighting, Elizabeth radiated strength and resolve. Her reproach struck him like a hammer.
Behind her, Emily appeared—the Heroine of Light. Her face was pale, almost ghostly, her hands trembling faintly. Lusian immediately noticed something wrong: her once radiant aura now flickered weakly, fragmented, as if on the verge of extinction. The Goddess of Light had withdrawn her blessing, leaving her marked. A curse ran through her like a thread of ice beneath her skin, coiling through her veins with silent hunger.
"Emily… what happened to you?" Lusian asked, his voice heavy with concern and fatigue.
She lowered her gaze, trembling.
"The goddess… cursed me," she whispered, barely audible. "For not killing you…" Her voice broke as her eyes searched his.
Lusian closed his eyes for a moment, clenching his fists with anger and guilt. This is my fault… he thought. Every thread of the curse spoke of his failure—of lives shaped and scarred by his existence and his choices.
He inhaled deeply, letting his new awareness flow through him. With the divinity he had inherited, he could now perceive the curse as never before: a distorted stream of divine energy, a cold, dark thread weaving through Emily's veins, devouring her life force. Each heartbeat sent pulses of danger that could kill her if left unchecked.
He reached out.
His mana flowed into her, merging with the curse's energy. He could not tear it out, could not erase it… but he could restrain it—halt its advance, holding back the dark thread that sought to consume her.
"I won't let you die," he said firmly. "Not while I can still do something."
The thread of the curse shuddered beneath his touch, as if recognizing the power of the mortal who was now a demigod. Emily let out a soft gasp, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, her breathing steadied. The threat remained—latent—but contained… for now.
Lusian closed his eyes briefly, feeling the weight of each heroine, each life caught in the chain of gods and heroes.
Then Kara entered.
Her steps rang like hammer strikes. There was no fear in her—only restrained respect. The blessing of her god—strength itself—remained intact. The Goddess of Strength acknowledged her power and had not abandoned her. Lusian noticed the contrast: while Emily seemed withered and cursed, Kara stood firm, her muscles and aura unbroken, strength radiating confidence and defiance.
"What happened?" Kara asked, crossing her arms. "They pushed you to your limit, Lusian. But I'm glad to see you're still standing." Her tone was steady, protective—almost warm in its contrast. "Not all gods are… unjust."
The next to arrive was Adela. War had left her exhausted, but her anger was unmistakable. Lusian had fought alone while she organized troops, coordinated the rear lines, safeguarded everyone. Now she saw him wounded—and guilt and fury consumed her.
"Damn it!" she shouted. "I was holding everything together while you threw yourself into the abyss! How can you look like this?!" Her eyes burned with anger and worry. "You have no idea how terrified I was thinking… thinking you wouldn't come back!"
Lusian attempted a strained, sarcastic smile, but Adela didn't yield. Her anger was both protective and accusatory, the intensity of their bond shining through every word.
At that moment, Isabella entered.
Her face showed equal parts panic and relief. She wasn't a warrior—never fought on the front lines—but her bond with Lusian ran deep. Without hesitation, she rushed to him and embraced him tightly, as if she could share her warmth, shield him from everything he had endured.
"Don't do that," she whispered against his shoulder. "Don't ever make me worry like that again…" The tremor in her voice betrayed how hard she fought to stay composed.
Lusian closed his eyes, feeling that pure affection amid the chaos. He couldn't respond with words—not yet. But the contact gave him a thread of humanity he desperately needed.
Then the atmosphere shifted.
A presence slipped along the edge of the room—silent, lethal.
Dayana appeared.
The vampire's eyes gleamed with subtle hunger, dark pleasure flickering as she sensed Lusian's newfound divinity. Her gaze locked onto him, and for a moment, everything else faded.
"Interesting…" she murmured, her voice like poisoned velvet. "They've given you something more… something stronger."
Her tongue brushed her lips, a dangerous smile forming. I'd like a taste… of your blood… she thought, savoring the idea with predatory instinct. But a second later, she felt the power within him—a sharp edge that could not be ignored.
He could crush me in seconds, she realized, anticipation mixing with a near-fearful respect.
Lusian remained still, sensing the tension emanating from her. She wasn't here to attack—yet—but the energy she radiated was pure predator instinct: curiosity and desire intertwined.
This time, the balance had shifted.
Lusian was no longer the hunted.
The air trembled. Each of these women looked upon the newly born demigod with respect, fear, love, and defiance. Lusian inhaled deeply, his shadows moving around him, dancing with a will of their own. His power was no longer just his—it was Kheris's mark, the inheritance of a fallen god, a sharpened edge capable of defying any divine design.
And Dayana knew it.
"This is going to be… fun," she whispered, letting the shadow of her desire and danger seep into the room.
Lusian lifted his gaze, his yellow eyes burning with supernatural intensity. Every muscle taut, every shadow shifting around him, made one thing clear:
The game was far from over.
The hunt had only just begun.
And this time—
he would be the one setting the rules.