He walked through the rain, drenched. His long hair clung to his body with every movement, occasionally whipped by the cold wind.
Behind him, a dark figure lurked, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
As Ren stepped closer, it burst from the bushes, pushing him to the ground.
Ren looked at it. He had already activated his powers. He couldn’t discern its color, but its shape was unmistakably inhuman. Then he felt the creature drop onto him, its head pressing against the nape of his neck.
The rain pounded harder, mixing with the scent of blood and wet earth. Ren moved, his dagger a silver blur in the dim light.
Each strike was precise, lethal; the monsters never saw it coming. They lunged with jagged claws, snarling with rage, but he was faster. Twisting, ducking, and spinning, Ren turned their attacks against them. A swipe of his blade, and another fell. A kick sent one crashing into a tree, snapping its neck.
Their numbers were relentless, yet his movements were calmer, almost graceful, as if the forest itself bent to his will. Like here, he was the king.
Rain soaked his clothes, his hair clinging to his skin, but he barely noticed, eyes fixed on the scene around him.
Occasionally, one managed to land a scratch or a sting, but he barely flinched. Each wound was nothing compared to the thrill—the power coursing through his veins, feeding his senses, sharpening his reflexes.
Some monsters hesitated, sensing the death surrounding them. Fear spread among the weaker ones. And when Ren’s blade sliced through another, the survivors scattered, retreating into the dark underbrush.
He stood in the center, with only large trees around him, panting slightly, dagger dripping with black-stained liquid. Ren’s laugh returned, low and hollow, echoing through the trees.
He had survived. For now. But why was he even trying?
"I want you to live. Find happiness. Be free.
"I hate you too," He muttered, tears mixing with the rainwater. Some slipped in his mouth, the taste salty.
No monsters dared approach him during his journey, as if they instinctively knew they stood no chance. The scent of his blood was sweet, irresistible, yet none dared approach. It was as if the forest itself recognized the predator he had become. Every rustle, every whisper of wind seemed to warn: stay away.
Zayden sank deeper into his chair, staring at the reports from the investigation.
"Attendant, read this," he ordered.
Paul stammered, nerves tightening in his chest. He had never been assigned to such an important task—serving as the General’s personal attendant. For the past four days, it had been pure hell. No matter what he did, nothing seemed to satisfy the General. Zayden had grown even grumpier, and Paul couldn’t help but wonder how Ren had managed to put up with him.
Paul cleared his throat, hands trembling slightly as he held the report. Every word he read aloud seemed to weigh heavier in the air, the General’s sharp gaze fixed on him like a blade.
"—The perimeter near the northern forest was checked. No unusual activity detected. Witnesses report hearing screams, but none could identify the source. Security measures have been increased," Paul read, his voice wavering.
Zayden’s fingers drummed against the armrest, eyes narrowing at the details.
"And the second witness?" he asked, tone low, yet sharp.
"They—uh—they stated the same, Sir. No one approached the scene while the body remained. Only... only the General’s presence could have... deterred them," Paul added hesitantly, hoping he had phrased it correctly.
The weight of Zayden’s stare pressed on him, making his chest tight. Paul swallowed, heart racing rapidly. Every time he worked for the General, he felt this way—a mixture of fear and awe, but now, after Ren’s departure, it had escalated.
Finally, Zayden spoke, breaking the heavy silence that felt like a death sentence to Paul.
"Bring me a cup of tea," he said, glaring at the man, leaving Paul trembling.
"Yes, Sir," Paul replied, bowing quickly. He could feel the sharp edge of the General’s wrath—even in mere words—and he knew he had to tread carefully. With quick steps, he exited the room, closing the door behind him. A sigh of relief escaped him despite himself.
Alone, Zayden reviewed the reports once again, ensuring that Paul had stated everything correctly. He used to read better... to remain composed. Just to state whatever was written with calm, precise tones.
He paused, thoughts drifting. Over the past few days, he found himself constantly comparing Paul to Ren, as if Ren had been the perfect attendant—the one who never faltered, who moved with flawless precision.
And then, as always, his mind wandered. He imagined Ren standing behind him, as he often had—watching the papers, not him. Or sometimes outside, eyes drawn to the forest, where he truly belonged.
"I must’ve been bewitched," Zayden muttered, the report crumpling under his grip. He slammed it onto the table, his jaw tight, before abruptly rising to his feet. The only one who could help him now was the physician. The man knew ways to purge black magic—or whatever curse it was that kept forcing Ren into his thoughts.
With a loud thud, his chair toppled as he strode out, his boots echoing against the polished floors. Servants flinched and scattered at the sight of him, whispering once he passed.
Lately, their master had been acting peculiar. He no longer smiled. His once calm expression had hardened into a constant frown, his sharp gaze turning on them for reasons none could comprehend. Was something troubling him? Was he ill? No one knew. They were left to worry—and to fear. His behavior had grown unpredictable, his wrath closer to the surface.
And yet, around the young master, he still smiled.
He swung the door open, finding the elderly man seated at his table.
"My Lord? What brings you here? Are you unwell?"
Zayden didn’t answer. He turned, closing the door behind him.
He sat in front of the physician, hands clasped together, resting on the table. He thought for a moment before speaking.
"I think... I’ve been bewitched by an omega."
His gaze was steady, serious.
However, the physician burst into laughter, as if he’d heard a joke. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novelꞁire.net
"I am serious! How do you explain that I keep thinking about an omega nonstop? I must have been bewitched!"