Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL) -
Chapter 409 - 403: Shattering world (1)
Chapter 409: Chapter 403: Shattering world (1)
The palace doors closed behind him with a deep, echoing thud, the kind that carried through stone and bone alike. Gabriel descended the steps at a measured pace, the night air heavy with the faint hum of wards and the subtle ozone‑bite of concentrated ether. The convoy waited where the lanterns pooled their light on polished marble, sleek, black ether-cars lined up like predators at rest.
An attendant stepped forward, opening the door with a silent bow. Gabriel slid into the back seat, the door sealing shut with a soft hiss as the vehicle’s crystal core purred to life. For a long moment, the hum of the engine was the only sound, vibrating faintly through the seat beneath him, steady as a heartbeat.
The car pulled away, gliding down the long avenue that cut through the heart of Olivier’s false city. The palace loomed behind, a monolith of white and gold fading into shadow as they turned a corner. Gabriel leaned slightly against the window, eyes scanning the horizon, every line of his body calm but coiled with thought.
At first, everything seemed as it should, lanterns swaying, streets stretching, and statues carved from flawless marble. But the further they drove, the thinner the illusion became.
Houses lost their edges, shapes softening into smudges of light. Streets petered out into black stretches where the ether lanterns flickered once, twice, and died. The sky itself began to fracture, stars blinking out until the horizon was nothing but a dull smear.
Gabriel’s hand tightened on his knee, knuckles whitening. ’So I was right... he can’t hold it all.’
The car passed an intersection, and on the far side, where there should have been markets and courtyards, there was only... nothing. A yawning absence. The road simply dissolved into a pale mist that refused to resolve into anything real.
The razor-edge of understanding sent shivers down his spine. Olivier’s shard only holds what he controls. The rest... gone.
The driver didn’t react, hands steady on the controls, eyes forward like clockwork. Gabriel tore his gaze from the void outside and let his thoughts sharpen. ’If the world is incomplete, then so might be its people. Damian...’
The memory of the mark at his nape burned faintly, the phantom pulse of something deeper than this false place. He had sent word through the channels he could reach, fragments hidden in codes only Damian’s Shadows would understand. But here? In this brittle construct?
’Did he get the message? Or did he vanish with everything else Olivier couldn’t hold?’
When Gabriel opened his eyes again, the car had slowed to a crawl, the soft hum of its crystal core dimming as lantern light swept across the familiar gates of the von Jaunez manor.
The place looked wrong in the same way the streets had, still grand, still standing, but dulled around the edges, like an old painting left too long in the sunlight. The wrought‑iron gates groaned as they opened, revealing a courtyard choked with silence. The fountains still trickled, but the sound was thin, echoing too far, as though water fell into a hollow rather than a pool.
The car glided to a stop beneath the arch of the front portico. Gabriel opened the door himself before the driver could rise, stepping out into the cool night air. His shoes struck the stone with sharp, deliberate taps, and the echo followed him too long, too far.
No welcoming staff lined the entrance. No familiar voices. Just one attendant standing stiffly by the door and another further back, bowing low as Gabriel passed. Their movements were precise, mechanical, less like servants, more like placeholders in a world already fading.
Inside, the manor’s grand hall was lit but empty. The tall windows framed only darkness beyond, and the polished floors reflected Gabriel’s lone figure as though mocking him. A faint tremor ran through the shard again, an almost imperceptible shift.
He moved deeper into the manor, each step measured, senses stretched thin. His own breathing was the loudest sound.
It’s holding together... barely.
A faint rustle ahead drew his attention, footsteps, then the low creak of a door. He followed the sound down the corridor lined with portraits, each face staring back at him with painted stillness, and came to the study.
The door was ajar. Warm lamplight spilled out into the hall, and with it came a voice, smooth, sharp, and far too familiar.
"Late again," the voice said, carrying that quiet authority Gabriel had hated since childhood. "I thought I taught you better than to make a man wait."
Gabriel pushed the door open.
Peter Blackwater sat behind the great desk as though the years had never touched him, his back straight, his silver‑streaked hair immaculate, his dark suit as sharp as the angles of his face. The lamplight made the medals on his chest glint like small, cold stars. His quill stilled in his hand as his eyes lifted, pinning Gabriel where he stood.
"Close the door," Peter said softly. Not a request.
Gabriel stepped inside, easing the door shut with a muted click. The study smelled of ink and cedar and the faint sting of ether woven into the very walls.
Peter’s smile grew into that wide, thin grin Gabriel had learned to despise.
"You’ve learned to bite," he murmured, voice smooth as velvet over steel, "but you still don’t know where the teeth should go."
The air shifted.
Gabriel felt it before he saw it: cold ether flowing across his skin like invisible wires. The grip on his neck came out of nowhere, an unseen hand tightening just enough to remind him whose domain this was. Then, without warning, it released, and a new surge of pressure wrapped around his chest, his arms, his ribs, a crushing force that left no mark. The wall behind him vibrated with the hum of charged wards, the faint ozone bite crawling through the air.
Peter stepped out from behind the desk, calm, detached, watching him like a man pruning a tree.
"You’re lucky today," he said softly, almost kindly, as if that could disguise the invisible fist tightening around Gabriel’s lungs. "Olivier has sent for you. But you dare to refuse for your measly piece of work?"
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