To His Hell and Back

Chapter 532: It’s All Fragile-II

From the ground, Morpheus slowly pulled the small object from his palm. His fingers trembled as he loosened them, revealing what he had instinctively protected when his body struck the marbled floor beneath him which had cracked and now puddled with his own blood.

The ring had been trapped beneath him, pressed between stone and bone, nearly crushed by the impact of his fall.

Pain spread through his body in sharp, stinging pulses, aching in a burning pain. His ribs ached from where it had broken, his knees fractured and felt as though it had been ground to dust. His head throbbed violently where blood continued to spill down his temple, slipping into his eyes and staining his vision red. Yet none of it held his attention for long.

His gaze fixed on the ring.

For a moment, he simply stared at it, as though his mind had not yet caught up with what his eyes were seeing. He shifted it in his hand, turning it slowly, in such a delicate move that it felt odd coming from him- as if he was afraid that one careless movement might shatter what little certainty he still had.

It was Jullie’s ring.

He remembered it too clearly, the weight of it in his palm when he had first given it to her, the way her fingers had hesitated before accepting it. He remembered the night she left, the sharpness in her eyes, the way she had glared at the ring as if it the chain that had bound her down to Hell.

He had watched it disappear, convinced it was gone from his life along with her. Yet now it was here. Inside the castle. Inside his hand.

No, something was wrong.

He was certain Jullie had left with the ring still on her finger. And when her body had been brought back, how blue it had appeared and how... the ring had been missing. He had noticed it immediately. He had searched for it then, driven by a desperate need to find something, anything, that still belonged to her.

It had never been found.

So how did Arabella come to possess it?

Morpheus clenched his jaw, lifting the ring higher, angling it toward the pale moonlight above. His eyes narrowed as he examined the inner band, where an inscription should have been carved in familiar, careful lines.

At first, the words did not register.

Then his breath faltered.

His fingers stilled as his eyes traced the letters again, slower this time, as if hoping he had misread them. His pupils trembled, widening as the meaning settled heavily into his chest.

"She will never be yours."

The words burned.

He whispered them under his breath, disbelief seeping into his voice. Then he turned the ring again, checking every angle, every curve, as though the inscription might change if he looked hard enough.

"She will never be yours."

His hand tightened abruptly, knuckles whitening as anger began to surface, corrosive and sharp. The silver ring bit into his skin as his grip closed around it. His breathing grew uneven, each breath heavier than the last.

The night felt suffocating.

A low sound escaped his throat, somewhere between a growl and a breath torn loose by rage. Veins stood out along his neck and forehead as his emotions finally broke free of restraint.

"Arabella."

Her name was no longer spoken roared from the depth of this throat, echoing alongside the loud thunder that had screamed from above his head.

"You’ll pay for this," he snarled, his voice shaking with restrained fury.

"You’ll pay for this!"

Morpheus forced himself upright.

For a brief moment, his body betrayed him. He lurched forward, his balance faltering as pain surged up through his limbs in violent waves. A sharp, wet sound accompanied the movement, followed by a collective gasp from those nearby.

A white sliver of bone protruded grotesquely from his elbow, jutting through torn skin and shredded muscle. Blood ran freely down his arm, dripping from his fingers and staining the ground beneath him. The sight alone was enough to make several servants recoil in horror, their hands flying to their mouths.

His ankles fared no better. They trembled beneath his weight, swaying unsteadily as though they might collapse at any moment. Each step was uneven, his movements sluggish and forced, but he continued forward regardless.

As he walked, the damage to his body began to shift unnaturally. The torn flesh around his ankle twitched, knitting itself back together with sickening slowness. Bone slid back into place beneath the skin, bruises darkening rather than fading, leaving behind smeared traces of blood as the only proof that the injury had ever been there.

The bone at his elbow resisted longer.

It remained exposed, gleaming pale against crimson flesh, until gradually, almost reluctantly, it began to retreat. Muscle closed around it, skin dragging itself back into place even as blood continued to seep between his fingers. The wound sealed, but not cleanly, as though his body had chosen speed over mercy.

He staggered onward, dizziness could be seen shaking his whole self.

Step by step, Morpheus pushed deeper into the castle grounds, his boots tracking mud and blood across polished stone. Servants and sorcerers who had been gathered outside froze at the sight of him, their screams breaking the stillness of the night.

"Milord!"

"Call the physician!"

"Someone help him—"

"MOVE."

The word cracked through the air, heavy with power. With a sharp flick of his hand, Morpheus sent those closest to him sprawling out of his path. Bodies hit the ground hard, cries of pain mixing with fear, but he did not look back. Their concern meant nothing to him now.

The crowd parted instinctively, terror spreading like a contagious diesease as they stared.

This was not the pristine lord they had revered, the calm, immaculate figure who carried himself like divinity wrapped in silk and restraint. This was something else entirely.

Blood streaked his face. Mud clung to his clothes. His eyes burned with something feral and unrestrained, as though he had truly crawled out of Hell itself.

For the first time, doubt crept into their hearts.

The realization struck them all at once. The being they had followed so devoutly was not a savior, nor a messiah.

He was a monster.

"Milord..."

The voice was softer now.

Esme stood before him, frozen in place as she took in the state he was in. Fear twisted her chest, followed quickly by something far worse, regret. Guilt weighed heavily on her as she recalled her hesitation, her jealousy, the moment she had chosen to stand still instead of stopping him.

If she had known it would come to this... If she had understood... she wouldn’t just stand still and helped him. But in that moment it was jealousy she felt. Yet when seeing him in such a state that jealousy turns into pity.

Morpheus stopped in front of her.

Without a word, he reached out and placed something into her hands.

It was Jullie’s ring.

After all that fall, it was the only thing on him untouched by blood or dirt, gleaming faintly in her palms. Clean without a chip or spec of dirt. It was treated with such care that he had not even given to his own body.

Proof of how dearly it had been guarded.

His fingers lingered for half a second before withdrawing.

"Keep it," he said quietly.

And in that moment, Esme understood something she wished she hadn’t. That even broken, even enraged, even bleeding, there were still things Morpheus would protect above everything else.

It was all Jullie.

"You love her..." she whispered but Morpheus didn’t catch it. Instead he turned towards her snapping his gaze.

"Wear that ring and fix whatever she had destroyed inside of it. Now we need to start the ritual."

"Ritual?" Esme took a moment to frown, "You mean you want for us to open Hell’s gate now, milord?"

"What else am I saying then?" Morpheus snapped at her. He raised his hand and grabbed her by her wrists, tightening his hold. "The test has ended. I lost. She will not step out from this castle ground, not one bit and she will not partake in the ritual willingly. So why wait? Start the ritual and we will use her body and life. Wasn’t this what you had been wanting me to do? Once I have made up my mind, will you stop me now, Esme?"

Esme stared at his face that was looking back at her but in those green eyes she loves so much, something felt empty. He was in front of her. His eyes reflects her own face. Yet why was it still so empty? What was he looking at that he couldn’t really see anything in front of him?

"I’m near to achieving my dream," Morpheus said to her. The once anger on his face now replaced with desire and desperation. Desperation to control and rule everything on his hands. "And for me to achieve that dream, I need your help. Esme... didn’t you promise you would help me achieve my dream too? Or was that a lie?"