Fate To Fake: Loved by the Fallen; Fated to Kill the Divine
Chapter 93: Something worse woke up!

Chapter 93: Something worse woke up!

Inside the depths of the dark castle,

Thud!

Ophis collapsed hard onto the cold stone floor, her breath catching in her throat as her father’s towering figure loomed above her. His crimson eyes glowed with an otherworldly rage, pulsing like embers ready to ignite.

Her throat tightened. Her heart pounded painfully inside her chest as she stared up at him.

Ophis gulped, once... twice... choking on the panic rising in her chest. He wasn’t just angry. He was furious.

"F-Father, I-I didn’t mean—"

"Shut up!"

His voice erupted through the chamber like a thunderclap. The very walls of the ancient castle trembled from the sheer force of his tone.

Ophis flinched, her legs trembling as she instinctively backed away on all fours. Her eyes shimmered with tears that welled up uncontrollably.

"Look at you... pathetic," he hissed, venom dripping from every word. "Crawling like a worthless insect..."

Dracula’s lip curled in disgust as he stared down at his daughter, the sight of her trembling and crying twisting something unpleasant in his gut.

Not empathy... just revulsion.

"You are not worthy to carry my blood in your veins anymore."

She raised her arms, shielding her face as if bracing for a strike. Her entire body shrank under his gaze, small and fragile.

Dracula let out a cold snort, stepping closer. "So pitiful... You not only failed the mission, but you dared to defile your bloodline by mingling with a human? You think you can toy with filth and return unpunished?"

His hand lashed out, gripping her by one of her small twin tails and yanking her up with a sharp jerk.

"Arghhh!"

Pain exploded across her scalp, shooting down her spine like lightning. Her feet dangled helplessly.

"Oi? What’s that sound supposed to be?" he mocked, his face inches from hers, voice devoid of any warmth.

"Arr—" She bit down on her own lip, stifling her cries. Tears slipped down her cheeks anyway, silent but bitter.

"That’s better..." Dracula gave a slow nod.

With no warning, his other hand moved. Fingernails sharpened like blades dragged across her cheek, slicing her soft skin like a knife cutting butter.

Blood oozed from the wound, thin streams trailing down her face.

Her wide eyes quivered, filled with terror and stinging pain, but she held her breath, desperately fighting the scream clawing in her throat.

Dracula’s expression soured with disinterest as he released her. She hit the floor again, limbs crumpling awkwardly, as if she were nothing but a broken doll.

"Go... prepare for the ceremony."

Those words cut deeper than the wounds.

Ophis froze. Her whole body turned cold... The air around her felt suddenly too thin.

"F-Father, please... Please, just give me one more chance. I-I promise, I’ll fix everything, I swear—"

BOOM!!

His boot connected with her stomach like a battering ram.

She flew backwards, crashing into the wall. The stone cracked behind her from the impact, webbing out like shattered glass. A thick splatter of blood burst from her mouth as she fell to the floor again.

"Did that mongrel teach you to talk back to me?"

His voice was eerily calm now as he approached her broken form.

He crouched beside her and seized a fistful of her hair again, yanking her battered face toward his. Bruises had already started to darken her skin, and blood painted her mouth and jaw.

His eyes met hers—unblinking, lifeless.

"Go. And. Prepare. For. The. Ceremony."

He enunciated every word like a blade sliding into flesh.

"Got it?"

Ophis, lips trembling and painted red, gave a weak nod. Her voice was gone, swallowed by pain and fear.

Dracula rose to his feet, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his palm like he had touched something filthy and diseased.

"I’m not heartless," he muttered dryly, already turning his back.

"Go talk to your mother if you must. Tomorrow night... You better be ready."

He disappeared into the shadows without glancing back.

"T-Thank you... for your mercy... Father..."

Her voice cracked, fading into silence as blood spilt from the corner of her lips.

She looked down, her hands clutching her gut where a deep dent slowly mended itself. The healing was slow, but the pain was immediate.

She groaned softly, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the crimson across her pale skin.

Dragging herself forward, her arms trembling, she began to move again.

The corridor stretched out before her, long and dimly lit. The night outside shimmered through the stained-glass windows—calm, beautiful, and painfully distant from the suffering in her chest.

Her lips curled weakly into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

She whispered to the shadows, "I-I hope you make it to the end... Little Boy."

Her fingers clenched tightly, as if squeezing an invisible hand, someone who was no longer there.

Patting her cheeks with numb fingers, she murmured to herself, "I’m happy... I’m happy..."

She repeated it like a chant, like a lie she desperately wanted to believe.

Step by step, she walked deeper into the hallway.

Finally, she stopped in front of a door. Her hand lingered on the handle. She took a shaky breath, then pushed it open.

"Mom!" she called out, her voice forced smile yet a corner of her eyes was teary.

Meanwhile, in Dracula’s private chamber... A place reeking of blood, soot, and old silence—

Dracula sat still on a tall-backed chair, staring at the book’s cover that looked like a dark black door with numerous skulls on it, holding the door.

His fingers slowly brushed over the black cover.

"I didn’t expect the darkness would take root so quickly..."

His eyes narrowed, his voice low and troubled.

"To think even the strongest gods stood no chance against it... and now..."

He turned his palm, inspecting the mark once symbolising his connection with the champion.

It was broken... No longer pulsing... Just a dead symbol on his skin.

"I’ve lost control over him... That means the Fallen side has claimed his mind. And if that’s true, then..."

"...Either he’ll come for me... or for the relic."

He opened the book.

The pages began turning on their own, blown by a wind that didn’t exist.

"Tell me," he whispered into the void, "what is my former champion’s true goal?"

Blue light sparked over the parchment as the pages turned faster and faster—until one stopped.

Black ink bled across the centre in thin, graceful strokes, forming words only his eyes could read.

Dracula’s expression tensed. Then relaxed. Then turned into a slow, toothy grin.

"...So it’s the relic after all."

He chuckled softly,

"Interesting. Maybe... just maybe, I can still use him after the ceremony is done."

He thought deeply, a cunning idea flickering to life in his mind. Just as he was about to close the ancient book, something important suddenly resurfaced in his memory.

He froze mid-motion and frowned.

"How come... the Fated One is still alive? Wasn’t he supposed to die during the first war? That was his destined end, wasn’t it?"

As if in response, the book’s pages began to flip again—this time with alarming speed.

The breeze from the motion blew back Dracula’s long white hair, whipping it gently behind him.

He narrowed his eyes.

"What’s going on here...?" he muttered, watching as the pages flipped and flipped—faster and faster... until they reached the very last one.

Then, slowly... jagged letters began to appear at the corner of the page end, flickering into form in dark, ink-like stains:

"He is... Dead?"

Dracula’s brows furrowed in confusion and rising irritation.

"Then what did I see?! That presence... it was him, I know it!" he muttered, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

Suddenly, the black ink on the page began to twist unnaturally, bleeding into a deep, reddish-black hue.

New words scrawled themselves across the page:

"Yet... It chose him—"

Before he could make sense of it, the words erupted across the page like a flock of birds scattering in terror. The letters distorted, screeched across the parchment, and bled outward.

The entire page was overtaken by a dreadful dark-red ink, as if something alive had spilled itself across it.

Thud!

The book slipped from Dracula’s fingers and fell to the floor.

For the first time in centuries... he flinched.

A strange chill ran down his spine. He placed a hand over his chest—his heart had just skipped a beat.

Fear....?

He felt fear.

"What... What was that?" he whispered to himself.

He slowly picked up the book again. His hands trembled slightly as he turned it back to the last page.

It was now completely blank... Pure white.

Dracula scowled.

"What happened? Who... chose him?"

He asked, voice laced with unease. But the book didn’t react. No more pages flipped. No new words appeared.

No answer.

Dracula stared at the unresponsive pages, his voice growing more forceful.

"Tell me about Leo! The Fated One!"

Still nothing.

The book wasn’t broken—he could feel its energy. It was working perfectly fine. But it refused to answer any questions regarding Leo.

That could only mean one thing.

Leo... was truly dead.

But if so... then why this heavy, unsettling weight in his chest?

Why did it feel like something was wrong?

Why did fear still linger in his bones?

Dracula clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening. A dangerous glint returned to his eyes.

"It seems... I made a foolish mistake in letting him live"

He bared his teeth in a wicked grin.

"No matter. The Fated One will die—if not by fate, then by my own hands. That’s the future carved in stone.

And once I complete the ceremony..."

He tilted his head toward the open window, gazing at the moon hanging high in the sky.

"I will deal with him myself."

****

Meanwhile...

Beneath the city, in the damp, rotting maze of underground sewers—

A tunnel carried thick sewage water deeper and deeper, past the bricks, past the steel, into forgotten places where light no longer dared to touch.

The air was thick with the stench of rot, piss, and decay. Rats and cockroaches moved in packs, their eyes glimmering hungrily in the dark.

Some of them had grown large—too large.

It was hard to say whether the sewage made them monsters... or something else did.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t natural.

Around one of the slimy, mold-covered corners—

"P-Please! Let me go!!—"

Chucckk!

A scream echoed down the tunnel.

One of the sewer rats flinched and scampered toward the source... only to pause.

A trail of blood trickled across the floor.

There, amidst a pile of mangled corpses, stood two figures—Camazotz and Nergal.

Their bodies were in shambles, barely clinging to life.

Camazotz, still half-covered in black blood, munched on the severed head of the woman who had just screamed moments ago. His green eyes glowed eerily as he swallowed her skull whole, his throat bulging grotesquely until the shape disappeared into his gut.

The moment it settled inside him, a faint glow pulsed through his veins. His wounds slowly began to mend.

Nergal stood nearby, holding a twisted human leg with visible disgust on his face.

Camazotz chuckled, voice raspy.

"Come on, man. Just eat. We need a lot more if we want to recover. Otherwise, we’ll rot in these tunnels."

Nergal grimaced. The memory of Envy’s last attack flashed in his mind.

They had barely survived.

Their healing abilities—normally strong—had all but shut down. Even Nergal’s unique energy-draining skill wasn’t helping anymore.

If he tried using it again, it might kill him.

They had no choice.

Consume humans... or die.

He wasn’t a monster like Camazotz, but survival demanded compromise.

With a deep, sickened breath, Nergal took a bite from the leg, chewing with a face twisted in revulsion.

Camazotz grinned in satisfaction.

"Once we recover... we begin the hunt for the Relic."

Nergal nodded reluctantly.

"Yeah. We can’t keep eating these pitiful humans forever. We need a real source... and the only one is to make our wish to the Relic."

But then his brow furrowed. He looked at Camazotz, still chewing on a bone.

"How do we even find it? We are no longer connected to the relic to sense it.."

Camazotz smirked, wiping his mouth.

"Don’t worry... I know someone who has book—"

Crack!

He stopped.

Both of them froze.

The entire drainage tunnel turned deathly silent. Not a single rat scurried. Not a single cockroach moved.

Every living creature scattered, fleeing as if something even worse than Camazotz and Nergal had entered.

Their heads turned slowly, almost unwillingly.

There, standing in the darkness...

A humanoid figure, its entire body covered in black, oozing sludge.

Thick, sticky shadows clung to it like tar.

A red spark flickered at its chest—cracked open and glowing—like a heartbeat made of molten lava.

The figure didn’t move. It simply... cracked.

The light beneath it intensified.

Camazotz gulped, his grin trembling.

"I-It’s waking up..."

And for the first time, his smile came with fear.

Nergal instinctively stepped back, ready to flee—

But Camazotz’s claw held him firm.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them dared.

Something worse than death had opened its eyes.