Hatred will destroy every first-born of Endymion’s blood

Aralyn's POV

-Two months after the battle-

"Marcellus Riggs, I hate you! Have you heard me, you motherfucker?! I hope you will live for eternity and watch everything you hold dear rot in Hell in slow and excruciating pain. You twisted piece of shit." I screamed at the top of my lungs while his face remained dreadfully expressionless.

My memories drifted away back to the day of battle between Sentaya and Malleteagan and to the feeling of relief that rippled through me when Lycans were defeated, and they started to retreat.

But…sense of urgency and horror replaced the relief momentarily when Hades' army started to surge into the battlefield. A whiff of massacred Lycans wafted to Hades himself. He wanted strong Lycan servants in his army, the ones of souls untouched and untainted by Sentaya and Denexus, so he could have them malleable and under his thumb with no leverage, nuisance or obstructions.

And under the pecking order of Soovare underworld, Wengarthria, as the centre of hell, has priority in picking and choosing the souls over Oribus. Sentaya found that very annoying, but she could not dispute Lord of Hell or his son Marcellus, who was also his right hand.

That means that the souls of Lycans would be taken in Wengarthria as leverage. Lycans, new Wengarthrian servants, will be blackmailed to do Hell’s most sinister and perverse errands in a bid to get their souls back. Sentaya's serene face with a barely noticeable smirk is now long gone. She went berserk, although she tried to mask this. She knew confrontation with Hades would not be as swift and smooth as with Malleteagan. It would be futile. They are fighting with the same weapons and forces. They are fighting with the dark magic, necromancy and energy of forsaken souls. At the same time, Malleteagan has no dark magic in him but only white magic. Also, Malleteagan fights with physical brutality and strength, rarely with magic.

However, only dark magic can affect Sentaya and her forsaken in the battle, not brute force. Yet, her predicament underlies in the fact that Hades had the same black necromancing magic of forsaken souls of the underworld as she did. But he had a significant advantage on his side-he was the lord of the underworld realm.

With a grunt and groan, she had to let his minions harvest the Lycans to the deepest pits of his inferno.

Malleteagan‘s POV

-Back to the present, two days after the battle.-

Odium perdet Endymionis primogenitum sanguineum. Hora mortis eius non cognoscetur donec amor deiectus ex cinere non resurgat et radicem eius frangat, sanguis odii sanguinem quaerit et manu amoris ductus effunditur.

I woke up from my worst nightmare with the loudest gasp and scream that felt like I was taking the last breaths to pump into my lungs. I dreamt about fucking Aralyn and prophecy again. Her deceased whore of a mother that I strangled with my bare hands, then bit her head off with my teeth and ripped her heart out, was repeating those fucking words in my head. She scribbled them with her bloody finger on the wall of some fucking cell, and Aralyn was lying in there shackled and lifeless. Fucking Larissa looked as if I had not killed her at all, apart from fingers that oozed her blood and magic as she scribbled on the cell wall. She turned around and looked at me with her signature annoying smirk on her face. Five years since I squeezed the fucking life out of her. For five fucking years, she has been haunting me in my dreams. Every fucking night. Bloody nightmares became even more vivid after Larissa’s death.

The nightmares I had before while I was chasing Larissa and Aralyn for 13 fucking years now seem like a rom-com. I have asked for answers to this fucking riddle. I went across the realms and sought the best mages and prophets. I have been looking for an explanation for over 18 years now. More than 18 fucking years have passed since I spent that one dammed night with that fucking bitch Larissa. That night, I thought I had met my destined mate, and I just submitted to her…with my body and soul. I mated with her, overstepping my own boundaries and rules that I set for my Lycans. Since the last battle of Amaralva, between the Thessalian and Aeolian tribes, no Lycan was allowed to mate with anyone else apart from Lycans. Those who wish to be mated with non-Lycans must turn their mates to Lycans, or they will be banished.

And, yet, I fell under the spell of Larrissa, the damned Thesalian witch, the bastard child of Noosha. She rejected me when I asked her to allow me to turn her into a Lycan.

Still, I had nevertheless mated with her in the hope that she would allow me to mark her sooner or later. Little did I know that this would be the beginning of my end. I woke up next to the Goddess of ethereal beauty. But I was frazzled. While slut slept peacefully, I was lifted in the air and struck by a black thunder of magic that struck my eyes. It slivered, rippled and sifted into me, causing the blood-shattering and all-encompassing pain. It choked me, and I gasped for air. The cacophony of demonic voices whispered: “Don’t worry, firstborn of Selene and Endymion, you will not die so soon. Our master would never allow it, not before you have served your punishment for this sacrilegious theft.” the voice then cackled, and soon everything fell silent.

The only sounds I could hear were rhythmic breaths of my fated mate, who was still sleeping and the sound of my joints shattering and dislocating while fur spurted across my skin.

But beneath the fur, an inscription of the curse rippled across my arms, illuminated in moonlight haze. My teeth elongated, and my fingers morphed into paws, now decorated with massive talons. Atrocious pain echoed through my body, and this magic that surged in me forced the shift of my Lycan. It ached worse than when I shifted for the first time over a millennia ago. I don’t know why, but this shifting hurt as fuck. Is it because this shift was sort of magic craft ridden or what? Did she do this to me? I turned around and looked at her.

Larissa was still asleep, but she whispered those Ill-fated words of the curse on repeat. She is the one who made me a beast, while I wanted to give her the world. I lunged towards her and was about to tear her apart before she gasped loudly, grasping the air. She robotically opened her eyes, but her eyes looked nothing like they did a few hours ago. Her emerald eyes were obsidian black fog. I have seen this already somewhere. This reminds me of someone, but I can’t seem to remember whom. She looked absentmindedly with these dreadful eyes to an undefined point on the ceiling. Before I managed to rip her apart for casting a curse on me, she vanished in the thick black fog. I was left alone in this beast-like state.

Since then, I have gone through thick and thin and across the world looking for an answer on how to break the curse.

I was explained that those cursed words translated to:

The hatred will destroy the bloodline of Endymion’s firstborn. Its death hour will not be known until wilted love does not rise from ashes, and until it is not shattered to its root, blood seeks blood, and blood of hatred is to be spilt.

I was told that the curse would be broken once I spill the blood of Larissa and her firstborn-Aralyn.

And I have been chasing this little bitch for five years now, since slaughtering that slut of her mother. "I hate this bitch. Will I ever get my claws to rip her bloody heart from her body". I murmured under my breath, still trying to regain control after the bloody nightmare. Same shit every night.

Back to reality. I turned around just to find some insignificant woman next to me. I looked at the nameless bitch from last night, who was still sleeping, tangled around my waist like a fucking snake. "Get the fuck out of here" I punched her in the ribs, and she woke up knocked out of bed with a loud gasp that mimicked mine from a few minutes ago. Her stupid eyes were filled with pain, fright and surprise. She made her fucking ass scarce in a split second and scrammed, sauntering through pain, hopefully with few ribs broken, just as a reminder to not get her hopes up that she is anything else but a current plaything. I am certainly not making the mistake that I did with Larisa. Ever again. “Well, slut, you were just a bed warmer and cum bucket. Now get the fuck out.” I yelled after that no-named nobody. I scoffed. What does she think, that I will marry her…or what, I thought to myself with a chuckle.

But forget about that. The whore from last night is irrelevant. I must focus on what matters. I must get rid of the whores spawn. I need to extinguish the life of that little bastard child and quickly. She is haunting me the same way her gut-wrenching mother did. We are on our way back to Nerzelis, my piece of peace under the sun, where I can let this beast locked in me loiter freely. I hate him. Erzelus, my Lycan, is a constant reminder of how this Thessalian wix from Lapiths fucked me up. Erzelus was somewhat tameable before she tainted him with her magic. If that night of weakness hadn't happened, I would not be in this plight now.

So many of my people gave their lives yesterday. They died because this witch fucked me up years ago. It was just one night that I submitted to her seduction.

Oh my God, that pussy was so sweet, as a fucking nectar, I just couldn't resist. And now what? I am cursed to be a beast for eternity. People are dying because I was too weak to resist dipping my bloody wick in the illegitimate daughter of Noosha and Arcanus. Arcanus is more or less harmless. He is a warlock king from the Thessalian tribe of Lapiths in Larissa.

However, I am the grandson of Calice and Vendelle, a royal couple of Aeolian warlocks. So Arcanus is not a serious rival, but Hades' wife Noosha, now that is the force you don't mess with. And I have messed with her fucking daughter, and now I am paying the price. Fucking Noosha and her curse. Or is it Noosha’s curse? Fuck, the Thessalian bitch is dead, and she is still haunting me. I punched and tossed the tray with different crap they brought me for breakfast and got up.

I went out of the tent to see my army, to assess the damage from the clash with fucking Sentaya.

"Omar, debrief", I commanded.

"326 Lycans dead and left at Oribus, my king, 29 from elite warriors team, others from A team of warriors. 98 Lycans from different teams are wounded, four critically. Healers are dealing with them. They say that they will be able to heal them, but it will take a while for them to recover. Healers are unsure if there would be any permanent consequences to their health, though. Beta, Gamma and Delta are not wounded, Sir." Omar said.

"Thank you, Omar. Keep me posted on critically wounded," I said.

"Will do, Alpha", he said and left me alone in the camp.

Two more days to get back to Nerzelis, and we will regroup and re-strategise. I need to find a way to get a hold of that fucking bitch of my daughter and squeeze the living shit out of her. I need to break this curse.