CHAPTER 604: I’M HOME BROTHER!

The highlands of Grigor suffered significant damage during the outbreak of Mephisto’s cultists and his possession, which encouraged knights and bandits to ravage the land, killing and burning villages mercilessly.

Beautiful flowers and forests burned to ashes, never to grow again.

"Ugh... where am I?"

A handsome young male with long, messy blonde hair and a scar across his right eye staggered through the muddy lands of southern Grigor. He wore a black cap and epaulettes, along with a padded leather jacket and pants.

He slammed into a broken stone wall and slid down the small hill. In the distance, a pile of charcoal and burned buildings came into sight.

"Ugh.... eh? Wait... isn’t this Linne Village? What happened here?"

His elegant voice echoed as he covered his forehead.

An intense migraine assaulted his mind the moment he tried to understand the situation.

The man staggered forward, clutching his head as if his skull were about to split in half. His boots squelched in the black mud, slippery with ash and blood that refused to wash away even after the rains. The wind carried the pungent stench of burned wood, and something worse—flesh.

He turned his eyes from the corpses, hollow shadows scattered among the ruins of Linne. His vision swam, and yet the landscape carved in his memory looked completely different. "This... this was the village where we stayed on the way to Baltimore." He bit his lip, sinking his teeth further until iron filled his mouth. "What the hell happened here?"

The migraine intensified. Fragments flickered in the man’s mind; voices, laughter and screams flashed through his mind like a shattered kaleidoscope, and then he fell to his knees, gasping, clawing at the dirt.

"Stop it... stop... Mephisto!" Alan’s voice cracked as he called out the name that lingered on the tip of his tongue. The more he tried to recall, the more violently his body and mind rejected it as though something or someone was forcing the memories deeper and locking them in shadow.

Alan knelt in silence.

He understood what happened here.

The people became strange, and with his knights, he burned it down to prevent what they presumed to be some kind of disease.

"I killed them all..."

Frustrated and confused, he gripped the mushy grass and clenched both hands.

He lifted his head, sweat plastering his hair to his face, blue eyes burning faintly with the desire for justice, a light he once lost but now regained. In his chest, something pulsed several times before it faded, warm and familiar.

"What... was that?"

However, he received no answer.

Alan forced himself upright because he couldn’t afford to linger. The dead were beyond saving, but the living... his wife. His brother. He needed to reach the capital. Needed to see them, to prove this wasn’t some nightmare.

"Aria.... Brother.... what about Ryuji?!"

He pulled himself up and staggered onward, down the ruined road. Every few paces, he found himself muttering names under his breath, villagers, soldiers, friends long past. Half of them he didn’t even remember consciously until his mouth spoke them. Each time, his chest clenched.

Minutes became hours, and hours blurred into days.

Alan closed his eyes, the villages and small towns damaged beyond his imagination.

How long have I been walking?

The southern gates of Grigor came into view, a familiar and nostalgic sight. The capital of Grigor stood tall with beautiful white walls, and the grand castle still stood.

"Good, there’s no fire or ash..."

The guards stiffened at the sight of him.

One lowered his spear; the other blinked as if seeing a ghost.

"Your Grace!?"

"Duke!?"

Alan stopped. His throat felt dry, his legs throbbed with a dull ache, and his face looked dirty, like a beggar’s. "Yeah... its me."

The guards looked at each other, confused, while whispering.

"Wasn’t he supposed to be in Baltimore?"

"I don’t know... You ask him!"

"Maybe I was," Alan muttered, walking past them without stopping, and he didn’t look back.

The city still suffered from the demon attack, with many houses and inner walls still damaged. It was quiet, and maybe a little too calm for what Alan remembered.

Markets were half-empty, stalls abandoned. Children clung to their mothers’ skirts, wide-eyed, while men carried rubble from broken homes. Every face he passed followed him with silent recognition. Some with hope. Others with fear.

Alan’s steps slowed, and more memories and images flooded his head.

What’s happening to me!?

He forced his feet to move, trying to endure.

Finally, he found himself at the castle; a beautiful palace rose into the sky, still proud though scarred by war and battles. He hesitated only once, before pressing against his temple as the migraine returned like a hammer.

Memories teased him at the edges of his mind... naked women, countless numbers, but none of them were his wife, and a strange burst of power gathered in his abdomen, dark and twisted, nothing like his divine and holy powers.

Alan gritted his teeth. "Not now."

The guards outside the palace doors saluted, one nearly dropping his halberd.

"His highness has returned!"

A large stir occurred as the guards rushed off into the castle, and Alan leaned against the wall, trying to endure and overcome his current pain.

After a short while, the grand doors opened with a low rumble.

Alan’s head snapped to the gate.

He saw a woman, her hips wide, face glowing, with long black hair tied in neat buns... someone he recognised.

His wife.

But in her arms were a small boy with golden hair and a girl with black hair; at least this was Alan’s instinct; he could tell who they were.

"A-Aria!?"

He almost lost his breath upon seeing her, then, without stopping, he rushed towards her, nearly falling twice, before taking the three people in his arms. "Aria.... Aria...!"

Aria froze upon seeing him.

The moment he hugged her, she leaned against Alan’s chest. Her eyes glistening like the moon, lips parted in a whisper. "Alan..."

He caught her, clinging as if he’d never let go again.

But beneath the joy, Alan felt something coil in his chest, a hunger... something dark and aggressive; it made him desire her body, to push her down like a beast.

Damn it!

And as he buried his face in her shoulder, one of his eyes shone with a murky green, the other remaining ocean blue.

***

The pair embraced each other for a while.

Alan didn’t want to release her. Every part of him screamed to hold her longer, to anchor himself in this warmth before Mephisto ripped it away again. Aria’s tears soaked through his jacket as her hands trembled across his shoulders and chest, as though confirming he was real.

"I thought.... you were gone, Ryuji sent letters," she whispered between gasps. "There was no word about you for so long. Alan... I prayed every night."

"Eh?"

He froze, knowing that Aria didn’t believe in God.

She hated that kind of thing, and yet she prayed for his return. It made his chest tighten.

Alan swallowed.

His throat felt tight, and he wanted to answer, but what could he say? I don’t remember what happened. I don’t know if I even survived it myself.

Instead, he pulled her tighter. "I’m here now. That’s all that matter, I won’t leave you again. I swear it!"

A voice cleared its throat behind them.

"Brother."

Alan turned around to find a tall figure wearing a regal black and crimson regalia who stood a few steps away, crown resting on his fluffy head, his brother... King Avandar of Grigor.

"You look so healthy..."

"Alan."

It wasn’t suspicious, but not overly warm either.

Alan straightened himself instinctively, bowing beside Aria. "Your Majesty.... brother."

Avandar’s gaze softened, and he took a deep breath before smiling. "I thought I’d lost you as well."

The King descended the steps and clasped Alan’s forearm. The strength in his grip was real, grounding. "Come. We have much to speak of. The council has questions only you may answer."

Alan hesitated for a moment because the migraine pulsed again.

However, he wanted to speak, to learn. He wasn’t sure of everything, but maybe the King carried the answers to his questions. So he followed, with his hands cupping his children’s cheeks as Aria leaned against his shoulder.

The palace halls were quieter than he remembered.

Alan followed his brother and observed the knights lining either side of the wall, silently guarding the throne without a single peep.

They reached the council chamber, and he found several people already waiting inside, from the archmage to the nobles with whom Alan clashed from time to time.

The only difference was that they looked happy to see him.

"The Hero returns."

"Your Grace, it’s good to see you safe."

He observed the nobles’ faces, listened to their words while his brother sat on the throne and closed his eyes, about to speak. But... A voice whispered beside Alan’s ear, and the world became dark, light vanished, Aria and his brother vanished.

And for the first time, Alan felt it.

A whisper, smooth and mocking, that twisted in the depths of his mind.

You’re awake at last... my vessel.

Alan froze.

The voice was not his own, but he knew this voice... he detested this voice!

MEPHISTO!