Chapter 349

Blood burst from her lips, and a strangled cry tore from her throat. She doubled over, one hand clutching her side, blood staining the front of her robes. Daemonikai's pulse thundered in his ears.

Slowly, he rose from his throne, as did Ottai, but no one interrupted. Dead silence filled the hall. The Oracle straightened, shaking. Her pale eyes met Daemonikai's.

“It was never young Alvin, but dark magic planted in his mind,” she said hoarsely. “Our people fell beneath the blades of humans, yes—but it was one of ours who brought them here.” Another sharp cry escaped her as she clutched her chest, staggering. “One of ours stole the Chalice… so our people would be weak… defenseless,” she gasped.

Daemonikai could not breathe. Or perhaps he was breathing too fast. He was uncertain. His lungs burned as though deprived of air, yet the harsh rasp of his own breathing filled his ears. This was not real. This could not be real.

These thoughts echoed in his mind like a chant as he met Vladya's eyes, then Ottai's, then the stunned, pale faces of his people. And then… the bleeding Oracle before them all.

The bleeding Oracle, who would not bleed if she spoke falsely. The bleeding Oracle, who never interfered, never crossed the boundary of her sacred oath. And yet, here she stood, willing to risk everything—her vows, her life—to deliver a truth that seemed unreal. But it was.

Outside, the commotion raged. The sounds of combat faintly reached the great hall: the clash of steel, the snarls of beasts, the shouts of men. The battle intensified.

“I cannot go into details,” the Oracle panted, gripping her staff with a shaking hand, the wood slick with blood. “Already… my life drains away, so I will use what little remains to give you the names of those responsible. The mastermind who betrayed his own kind.”

A loud bang split the air, jolting everyone toward the grand entrance. The thick doors shuddered. The iron drawbars groaned under the impact. Another bang followed, louder this time. The doors trembled. The third was a brutal, deafening crash that splintered the heavy wood, scattering planks across the floor.

“Who dares do this!?” Daemonikai roared. “Stop this at once!”

A beast stomped through the broken doorway, snarling as it shifted. Bones cracked, muscle shrank, and a man stood in its place. Somehow, Daemonikai knew. From the force of the commotion and the audacity of the intrusion—even when ordered not to—he knew it was Zaiper.

“Do not believe the lies of that withered hag!” Zaiper barked, stalking forward, fury blazing in his eyes.

“Zaiper, what is the meaning of this?” Vladya growled.

Daemonikai glanced at him. Fear, not confusion or outrage, was in Vladya’s eyes. The same bone-deep fear he felt himself. Because the Oracle's words were coalescing. And they made sense.

“She dares to slander the Dragaslov name!” Zaiper thundered, drawing his blade, stepping toward the Oracle in open threat. “I will not stand for this!”

In a blur of speed, Vladya positioned himself between them, pushing the shaking Oracle behind him.

“The Dragaslov name?” High Chief Yazaro of the northern clans rose slowly, his brow furrowed. “But… she has not mentioned any names yet.”

Zaiper stopped. Blinked. “She has not?”

Yazaro shook his head, his face pale. “What exactly is going on here?”

The silence was suffocating, cold. Was it truly chilly, or was it the ice forming in his gut? Daemonikai remained rooted to the spot.

Zaiper seemed to realize his actions, stepping back slowly, lifting his hands placatingly. “It seems I misunderstood. I’m not certain what is happening here, and that’s my mistake.” His smile was strained. “But in any case, I will be taking the Oracle away now. If you will excuse me.”

The Oracle doubled over, shuddering and coughing aggressively. Daemonikai forced his frozen limbs to move. In a heartbeat, he was beside Vladya, his hand closing around the Oracle’s frail shoulders. Together, they guided her back to the dais, supporting her failing body.

There were so many questions he needed to ask, so many truths he needed to hear. Gripping her shoulders, Daemonikai held her upright as her weight sagged. He brought his face close to hers, locking eyes with the ancient gold, ringed in black, dimming fast.

“I need to hear you say it.” His furious voice shook. “Give me their names.”

“He is… responsible for everything…” the Oracle’s face reflected a great, unseen physical pain. “The females in heat… disappearing.” A cough sprayed blood over Daemonikai’s hands. “The assassin… who tried to kill you… while you fought soul-sickness.” Another splatter of blood. “The current state… of your mind.”

Tears blurred Daemonikai’s vision as the Oracle fell into his arms. He had to hold back. Information first, breakdown later. He shook her. “His name, Oracle!”

Zaiper’s voice cracked across the hall. “Do not believe anything that—!”

“Silence!” Daemonikai roared, suppressing his pheromones. Even the slightest release would affect the dying female, and not beneficially. “His Name! Shout it for all to hear!”

“Grand Lord Zaiper!” The Oracle shouted, followed by a wailing cry of such excruciating pain it would forever be etched in the minds of all present. “He was the mastermind behind everything. Joined forces with—”

The coughing fit intensified, becoming unending. The carved glyphs on her staff began to glow and sparkle. Then, at last, the Oracle’s eyes closed, and her body went limp. The staff slipped from her fingers, clattering against the floor.

Daemonikai gently lowered her to the ground, laying her out respectfully. He knelt beside her for a moment, then rose to his feet and, like everyone else, turned to Zaiper.

It was him. Not the humans. Not his son. Him.