Chapter 110 Displodo
Ophelia knew the truth was bound to come out. As the days trickled by, Janette slowly cheered Ophelia up, but nothing remained the same between the star-crossed couple. They shared every meal together, but unlike the soldier's halls, their dining room was quiet. The clink of silver on porcelain. The quiet chewing and occasional slurp. Nothing seemed amissed.
Each night, Ophelia went to bed first. She spoke nothing to her husband. In the morning, he'd kiss her forehead goodbye and leave. Their routine fell into mundane silence, until one day, Ophelia realized his brooding gaze grew impatient. Everytime he stared, he waited for her to say something. Anything.
Ophelia didn't know what to tell him. She heard Layla was released and in solitary confinement for at least a week. No human interaction. Wand confiscated. Layla was all alone in a tower of magicians. Ophelia never felt more lonely.
"Is this our future?" Killorn finally had enough. He tossed down his silver, tired of using this damn utensil to eat a chicken thigh when he could just lift it by the bone. That was how his men ate. That was how he usually behaved. He was tired of the aristocracy that they forced upon the brute werewolves.
Ophelia quietly raised her head from her food.
"Are we going to resent each other in silence?" Killorn demanded.
Ophelia raised her fork to her mouth and ate. She couldn't find the energy to open her mouth, despite her trembling lips.
"You're going to tell me the truth," Killorn slowly said. "That night at the ball, why were you in Elena's room?"
Ophelia swallowed the chicken without chewing. She forced herself to choke, so she could gulp down tea and cut the conversation short. Her plan backfired. Killorn rose to his feet from the other end of the table and approached her. He violently plopped down on the seat beside her with a narrowed glare. With his large palm, he patted her back until she could finally breathe again.
"Where were you?" Killorn harshly asked. "I gave you what you wanted. Layla is spared, but now, I want the truth."
"I—"
"And nothing, but the full truth," Killorn finished. The full truth. Words weighed Ophelia down more than her jeweled necklace. She slowly settled her fork onto her plate. He was going to hate her. She could already see it.
"I was with Elena because—"
Suddenly, loud, gigantic horns blew in the distance. Killorn let out a string of wretched curses that sent her flinching. He stormed to his feet in time for men to come clamoring into the dining hall. The soldiers were hastily dressed, their helmets a bit crooked, but their eyes sharp, and their swords pointy.
"At your command, Alpha!" They greeted with a salute. "Monster breech, I know," Killorn responded. "Get into formation. I want one third of our squadron by the castle walls, the other surrounding the castle, and the rest spreading out. Grab the vampire knights and send half of them into the village. Man the gates!"
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Ophelia had seen her husband in action before. He belonged on the battlefield. He belonged in fights to the death. The kind of man that'd command a hundred thousand people without flinching. He was in his element. This was his battle. And she had no part in it.
Ophelia's palms burned. She saw purple mist flicker from her fingertips. She curled her hand into fists, hiding the magic from within. He must never know. She blanked out as people grabbed her and hurriedly escorted her to the shelter.
This time, Ophelia went without a fuss. She let herself be dragged by the werewolves, until she suddenly heard a loud shout from behind.
"What the hell?!" one of the werewolves shouted as a group of men stopped them in their path.
Ophelia's heart began to race. She had never seen such thirsty men before. She staggered back, just as Mavez werewolves surrounded her front and back. They refused to go down without a fight. She saw for certain a large key resting on a man's belt. She narrowed her eyes, trying to get a better look. Wasn't that the gatekeeper? As in, the man that commanded over the gates leading to the forest?!
Ophelia swallowed.
"We don't want any werewolf spilling blood," one of the men said.
Ophelia recognized him. She saw him at the ball before. She tensed as one of her husband's soldiers tightened his grip on the sword. When their gaze met, he flickered over his shoulders. He wanted her to run.
"There is no need for our own kind to murder each other in cold blood for a pesky human," another from the group stated.
Alphas. Vampire Heads.
They were all leaders with one goal in mind—the Direct Descendant.
Ophelia's mind began to short-circuit. She turned, ready to flee, but then forced herself to stop. Was she going to let her husband's men die in vain for her? Her fingers twitched. She knew what they wanted from her.
Ophelia wasn't stupid. She heard the war councils weren't going well. The nation would plunder into endless fights over a woman they worship as the Direct Descendant of the Moon Goddess. And they think it was her.
"I'm not who you believe I am," Ophelia stood her ground. "Certainly, you will receive something from my spilled blood."
"Oh?"
"My husband will gift your heads to your loved ones," Ophelia spat out. She dug her fingers into her palm to stop her nervous trembling. She was hidden behind her guards, as the monster horns sounded in the distance.
Suddenly, the hallways rang with laughter. Taunting. Mocking. She knew there was no turning back from here. The Alphas glanced at each other as their Vampire Heads acquaintance nearly rolled over with humor. The werewolves knew Alpha Mavez with a sword was more threatneing than bloodsucking monsters.
"Cowards," Ophelia whispered under her breath. "All of you."
Was it their idea? To distract her husband, the strongest man in all of the lands? To kidnap her when her husband was off defending their people? They made her sick to her stomach. Killorn pledged loyalty to the crown, sworn protection upon the people, and they paid him back by attacking his wife.
"If we must sacrifice a few pups for our cause, then so be it," one of the Alpha snarled.
Ophelia swallowed. A single second passed. "What are you waiting for?" a vampire head shouted, his eyes bright red. Blood lust. "Grab her!"
Pure chaos plunged the hallways. Her husband's men drew their weapons. The Alphas lunged. Her people stood no chance. The Mavez men were skilled fighters under one of the strictest and strongest Commanders. Even so, there were at least ten Alphas present over her meager five men. Alphas led their packs for a reason.
Alphas won the right, often through heritage but also brute power. They were the toughest in their pack. The Vampire Heads lunged forward, fangs exposed, with speed that the human eyes could never see. "RUN LUNA!" one of the men roared amidst her frozen state. He shoved her back, causing her to stumble, but he was jumped on by two Alphas.
Ophelia's blood chilled. She let out a scream, but didn't stand a chance. She turned to call for help, but hissed in pain. Someone grabbed her by the hair, yanking her in their direction.
"No!" she shrieked, clawing and struggling. "You smell so damn sweet," the man groaned, nose pressed upon her writhing neck. She shoved at him, but then froze.
Warmth splattered upon her face. Her eyes grew wide, showing more white than pupil. She let out a sharp gasp. Blood. Not hers—but her knights. She watched in horror as their lives flashed in front of her. She met the eyes of one of the men before his heart was taken out.
Plop.
It fell at her feet.
Ophelia didn't want to remember what happened afterward. Her ears rang. Her vision blurred. In the distance, she heard her dress being torn. She was yanked to the floor. Hands grabbed and tore at her from every direction.
"We're not supposed to take a bite out of her right now!" a man roared, shoving at the greedy vampires. "We're supposed to kidnap her into our territory!"
Something within Ophelia snapped. Her patience, thin as ice. Her sanity unraveled. She closed her mind. Breathed in, felt claws at her ankles, men reaching in between her thighs. She could feel the prick of their extended fngs.
These werewolves intended to feast on her. The vampires could gather the blood from the ground if they wished. As a human girl, she was always warned about the savage werewolves and the bloodthirsty vampires. She just never thought it'd happen to her.
They say when you die, your life plays out like a performance. She remembered something on the day her sister was attacked and the vampires spared her.
"Not her."
Ophelia was under the Werewolf and Vampire Overlords' protection. Yet, their commands were tossed away in a moment of urgency. Greed corrupted men. Ophelia intended to make them pay. Her fingers glowed, her eyes rolled back, and her hair began to burn. "Displodo."
A single word. The language of the gods. She spoke it like it was her native tongue. Suddenly, a shrill filled the air.
Thundering footsteps rushed around the corridor. Nothing would've prepared them for what happened next.
A vampire exploded. It was as if he inhaled dynamite. His flesh and blood splattered onto the floor, dropping in guts and tissues. People froze, unable to believe their eyes. The blood of their own was now splashed upon their clothes.
"Displodo."
A man screamed. He glanced down, feeling as if air was gathering inside of his body. He was all muscle and skin, but grew as bloated as an overfed dog. Without warning, his own body gave out, the skin unable to withstand the growing pressure from within. He blew up, his internal guts bursting to the surface, leaving behind nothing but shattered bones and skin.
People scrambled back, running for their life, but it was impossible. Right in front of them stood Alpha Killorn Mavez—out for blood.
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