Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 412 - 406: End it.

Chapter 412: Chapter 406: End it.

Gabriel.

He turned, already moving, one hand against the carved frame of the nursery door as his other reached instinctively toward the mark burned into the side of his neck. Faint warmth bloomed under his fingers, and this time, finally, he felt it pulse back.

The bond didn’t scream or burn; it was calm like the presence of the other man. Like a single note strung across the abyss between them. It hadn’t done that since Gabriel left. Since the shard had swallowed him whole. Since the moment Damian had been forced to let go of his hand and walk out of the hospital without breaking.

Damian didn’t react.

He had learned the difference between hope and hallucination long before this. Knew what it meant to want something so badly the mind tried to recreate it. But this wasn’t that.

This wasn’t memory.

It was him.

He closed his eyes. The nursery blurred around the edges, the warm light, the soft rhythm of Arik’s breathing, the scent of lavender too faint to hold anything together. The crib was still beneath his palm, but the world narrowed.

Gabriel’s presence slipped through the bond like smoke through a crack in the wall, impossible to ignore. He wasn’t calling. Not quite. It was more of a press, a deliberate touch against boundaries that weren’t meant to be breached. Reaching past the rules. Bending them without breaking.

Typical.

Damian let out a breath, slow and sharp, one hand braced against the doorframe as the other hovered near the faint heat still coiled under his skin. He didn’t hesitate. Ceremony had never mattered between them.

"Your ring will have an ether limiter from now on."

The reply came without delay, dry as dust.

"Tyrant."

Damian didn’t dignify it with a smile.

"How much time?" Gabriel asked next, the words clipped, calculating.

"Twelve hours," Damian answered, the hum of the bond steady beneath his voice.

A pause. Just long enough for the weight of the answer to sink in.

"Fuck." The word landed heavy, frayed at the edges. "And how long until the shard is absorbed by the wards?"

"Three and a half days," Damian said. Then after a beat, quieter, more precise—"Maybe less."

"That means six days for this wretched world."

The bond pulsed once, faint, like a breath drawn between answers.

"Gabriel..." Damian’s voice sharpened slightly, the way it did only when the truth felt thinner than trust. "What the hell is going on? You flatlined. Twice."

It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t even fear, not in the ordinary sense. Just a quiet, lethal kind of fury braided with something far more fragile. Worn patience. Bone-deep exhaustion.

On the other side of the connection, Gabriel didn’t answer at first.

"Blame Olivier." The words came dry, offhand, as if naming him was enough to curse the air between them. "He left a few threads too loose. I’m just tugging them."

Damian’s hand flexed against the doorframe.

"You’re in his core script, aren’t you?" It wasn’t a question. Not really.

The silence that followed was all the confirmation he needed.

"What did you do?"

"Cut out a few ghosts," Gabriel said, in the same tone he used with Damian before the bond, before he trusted him. "One in particular. He won’t notice. Not unless he finally reads the consequences of his own arrogance."

"Gabriel..."

"I’m fine."

"You’re not."

Another pause. This time it was longer and laced with tension.

"Then hold me together a little longer," Gabriel said softly, almost a whisper through the bond. "Just until the world ends."

"Gabriel..."

Damian breathed the name again, but quieter this time.

The bond trembled once, from the sheer pressure of restraint of the man capable of burning kingdoms, forced to wait for his mate to return while he can’t do anything about it.

"Damian, I know," Gabriel said, softer now, something raw beneath the words. "I just... didn’t expect Olivier to have a backup plan after the first shard you removed."

Damian’s jaw clenched.

"You knew he was paranoid."

"I thought he was arrogant enough to rely on just one." A pause. "That’s how he always was, remember? Oversimplified brilliance. He builds masterpieces, then assumes the world will orbit around them forever."

"It almost did." Damian’s voice was flat. "You’ve been gone twelve hours, Gabe; make sure you get back."

There was silence on the bond again, the kind of silence that filled hospital rooms and war rooms.

"I will," Gabriel said finally, and it wasn’t for comfort. It was a vow.

The bond line crackled faintly, like static caught between realms, and then stopped.

Damian let out a shaky breath. His hand was still pressed to the nursery doorframe, but his fingers had gone white around the edge.

He didn’t move for a long moment. Just stood there, listening to the soft rise and fall of Arik’s breathing behind him and the way the blanket had fallen slightly off the edge of the crib. He reached out, fixed it, fingers lingering on the edge of the fabric like it might anchor him, and then turned.

He exited the room with measured steps, no hesitation, just the deliberate silence of someone who’d made a choice before the question was asked.

The nannies straightened as he passed, their eyes flicking toward the open nursery door. Damian didn’t speak. He just raised two fingers in a short, silent command. They moved instantly, taking their posts like they’d never been dismissed.

The hallway was quiet.

"Gregoris," he called.

The response came in less than a breath.

A ripple against the light. A folding of shadow that bent the air without disturbing it. The man stepped out of the darkness like he had always been there, eyes sharp, face unreadable.

"Your Majesty."

Damian didn’t look at him. His gaze was fixed ahead, toward the end of the corridor where the eastern wing met the main war floor.

"We don’t wait anymore."

Gregoris blinked once. That was all.

"Attack Donin. Tonight."

A pause, brief and loaded.

"No restraints?" the shadow asked, more out of protocol than disbelief.

Damian’s hand flexed at his side, the mark on his neck still faintly warm beneath the collar.

"None." His voice was quiet, final. "End it."