CHAPTER TEN: WORDS OF WOMAN AND GIRLS
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The system message echoed in Chronifer’s mind like a cold dagger. It wasn’t merely a notification; it was a reminder that his former life – his existence as John – had been real. It wasn’t a dream or a forgotten fragment of a distant past. That life was part of him, and now, it was clawing its way into his present. He could feel it in the very air: a suffocating pressure, an unbearable weight that made his heartbeat thunder. The rhythm grew frantic, pumping, surging, as if trying to answer a call he didn't yet understand.
Around him, his parents stood motionless. For the first time, they seemed caught off guard, their usual composure shattered as the world itself seemed to hold its breath. The air thickened, spiralling into a moment so tense it felt like reality might crack.
System Announcement!
A New Universe has been successfully integrated. Rejoice!
New Universe Sealed down from outsiders.
Duration: 36,525 Days, 24 Hours, 59 minutes, 59 seconds
Seal Negated by Incursion challenge under system rules.
Event for Incursion permits will be held in twelve years.
Be prepared!
Qualifications: Rank 1 to Rank 2
The words reverberated through Chronifer's body like a seismic shock. But his attention was drawn elsewhere to the change in the room.
For a week, Nyte had shared a few stories about his parents and Dante, recounting feats that sounded larger than life. He'd described Cipher, the man who had annihilated a whole planet's population without moving an inch. Slora, whose very name was a terror, whispered among those with secrets to hide. And Dante, the Darling of Death, whose enemies fled in droves, as though even Death itself refused to claim him.
Until now, these tales had been nothing more than words, vivid but intangible, only hinted at by moments of extraordinary feats. But now, Chronifer felt the truth of them.
Like a tsunami cresting the horizon, an almost visible force indescribable was unleashed from them in their shocked states.
It was overwhelming, a power so vast it defied comprehension. It filled the air like a storm of spurs, coursing through his veins like molten sap, invading his neurons with roots that sought to rewrite his very being.
It wasn't just one power; it was many. He couldn't distinguish them, only endure their combined force. One reverberated through his heart, making each beat echo as though it searched to fill a void. Another pressed against his thoughts, leaving them unmoored and untethered, drifting in an empty expanse.
It felt like standing before something infinite -unchallenged, boundless, and waiting. A storm of contradictions tore through his mind, body, and spirit, breaking down every barrier of understanding.
Chronifer collapsed to his knees, trembling as though his body were being rewritten at its core. His head struck the cold floor, and in that moment, through blurred vision, he caught a glimpse of Nyte. The boy was crumpled beside him, blood streaming from his nose, his eyes red and unfocused. His body was drenched in crimson, and Chronifer wasn't sure if it was his own or another's.
Then the darkness came.
It lasted less than two seconds, but it might as well have been an eternity. For the first time, Chronifer and Nyte had felt the full weight of powers that transcended mortality -powers that encroached upon realms reserved for gods.
The two boys didn't wake for weeks. But even as they opened their eyes again, the memory of that moment lingered, etched into their very bones.
Chronifer woke to the sound of fierce whistling, as though the wind had found a voice and now roared with unnatural fury. The cold was a living thing, creeping into his bones and stealing his breath. His teeth clenched against the chill, and his body was drenched in a cold sweat that clung to every crevice – his armpits, his palms, even the small of his back.
The room was dim and quiet aside from the relentless wind. A faint glow came from a fire that had long since dwindled to embers, its warmth barely reaching the center of the space. Frost traced intricate patterns along the edges of the dark wooden walls, the carvings of beasts and warriors seeming to shimmer with icy breath. The floor creaked faintly under the weight of winter’s chill, and the air was sharp, each inhalation cutting like glass in his throat.
His eyes snapped open, and there she was. A woman–no, a goddess at first glance–sat beside his bed. Her beauty was an overwhelming force, a radiance that almost blinded him. But as his senses returned, the illusion began to unravel. That purity in her features, that perfection, twisted into something darker. Her dark eyes held no warmth, only a deep, primal unease, her obsidian horns casting her away from human comfort. Her smile, curved and seemingly gentle, shifted into something sharper, more predatory. She wasn’t a goddess.
She was Oniihino, his father’s first general and the Queen of Strife.
The mistress of torment and ruin, loomed beside him. She was terrifying, yet her presence carried a familiarity that pierced through his fear, one developed from hearing his father tales of her over practice and tea. Still, Chronifer couldn’t stop himself from shrinking deeper into his sheets. The memory of the pressure his parents had exuded earlier gripped him again–the weight of it, the way it made him feel insignificant, like an ant dreaming of being a sun.
Standing beside him was another monster with such overwhelming power, he had seen her statue in the mansion before and knew of her stories told by Cipher himself.
“Darling, don’t tell me you’re afraid of this innocent young lady?” Oniihino teased, her voice dripping with playful exaggeration. Each word was accompanied by a flourish of her hands, her tone theatrical as though she were putting on a performance. She reached for a porcelain cup and saucer from a small table near the bed, handing it to him with a flourish.
Chronifer accepted it, his hands trembling, his heart hammering faster with each passing second. He couldn’t look away from her.
“As you may know, I am Oniihino, the one and only,” she continued with a dramatic flair, her words lilting like the opening lines of a grand speech. “The most beautiful in all the worlds, universes, and dear I include the pocket realms and more. And you may call me Aunty.” She moved gracefully, her robes trailing behind her as she crossed from the foot of the bed to sit beside him.
Her clothing, though casual compared to her infamous grandeur, carried an unmistakable air of timelessness. She wore a flowing robe of muted scarlet, its hem embroidered with swirling patterns reminiscent of smoke and clouds, outlined in pale gold thread. The sleeves were wide and draped gracefully as she moved, and a loose sash of dark jade cinched her waist, tied with a careless elegance. Her hair, dark as midnight, was swept into an unkempt bun secured with long pins that gleamed like polished bone. Strands of hair fell around her face, softening her sharp, otherworldly features, yet peaking from her hair were two dark horns. Despite the casualness of her attire, it carried the weight of something ancient, a style born in an age long forgotten, but still holding power and prestige.
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She placed a hand on his shoulder, startlingly light and delicate. “Won’t you introduce yourself to Aunty, darling?” she asked, her voice softening to an almost maternal tone.
Chronifer opened his mouth, but no sound came. His hands trembled, his breathing hitched, and tears welled in his eyes without warning. The room felt distant, his body heavier than he could bear. He could hear his sobs, faint and far away, as though they weren’t his own. He felt hollow, like his very being had been severed from the moment.
Oniihino’s teasing smile faltered, replaced with a flicker of distress. Her amber eyes darted around the room, searching for something unseen, her composure cracking. It was as if empathy itself was an alien concept to her. Her hands hesitated before gently cradling his face, her expression softening as she spoke again.
“Take a deep breath, darling. You’ll be fine,” she murmured, her tone shifting to one of quiet sincerity. “It’ll heal over time. I’m so sorry you had to experience this. Truly, I am. But don’t worry. Your Aunt will be here for you.”
Her words, spoken with what seemed to be uncharacteristic empathy, wrapped around him like a blanket against the winter cold. Slowly, the sharp edges of his terror dulled. A strange calm seeped into him, softening the rigid grip of fear. His body relaxed against the sheets, and his mind surrendered to the pull of sleep once more. Oniihino’s hand lingered on his shoulder as his consciousness faded, her whispered words the last thing he heard.
The wind outside howled louder, rattling the frost-kissed window panes, but within the room, a fragile, unfamiliar warmth settled.
When Chronifer awoke once more, the room was silent and Oniihino wasn't there by his side, his mother was nowhere to be seen as was his father and even Dante. He tried to move his hand. It obeyed there was no stiffness to it, then he tried to move his legs, he felt heavier than anything he had ever lifted. He pushed himself into a sitting position and remembered that the last time he had awoken, there was a constant whistling of the wind, he turned to look at the window and it was blurted out with thick layers of ice, whose cold seeped into the room.
Chronifer tried to speak. “Mother…” his voice was cracked and deeper than it should have been, it was husky Like his mother, it reverberated but still it was light and small like a child's voice.
There was no answer to his Small call.
He rolled off the bed and tried to stand, his legs hurt, but holding his bed he managed. He looked Around Nyte was nowhere to be seen.
His mind flashed back to his birthday, the moment that had left him bedridden and he found the memory a blur, the pain a distant memory, there but insubstantial, ugh, he turned away from the memories with a winch from a sudden violent headache like a clearer glimpse of the memories, he decided to keep away from them for the time being.
Slowly. painfully. He walked out of the room and into a hallway red and gold, covered with paintings of different beautiful women all clad in red and cold, their dressing light and enchanting. Are these all witches?
He continued walking along the hall, choosing random paths as he descended. Along the way, he found a clear window, and what he saw froze him to the core.
Chronifer had known the mansion was only a fragment of the Montcroix-Wythe clan’s vast domain. He was aware of the intricate sigildry workings–though not fully understanding them, the wards that cloaked the mansion, shielding it from weather and harm. Yet seeing the winter beyond the perimeter now, he realized he had been living in paradise.
He’d glimpsed the edges of the estate once, where towering spires of black and walls of night-dark metal stretched up into the clouds. He knew those imposing structures marked the Montcroix-Wythe family compound. Yet even that, vast as it was, had been nothing compared to what lay beyond.
Now, for the first time, Chronifer beheld Onyx Thorn – the city of the Montcroix-Wythe.
The buildings rose like ancient sentinels, towering pavilions interwoven with massive trees of dark, alien wood. The layout was immaculate, a blend of natural and unnatural that felt otherworldly. But it wasn’t the architecture that arrested him. It was the suffocating embrace of winter.
The streets were buried under an ocean of snow, shimmering in a desolate, ghostly white. Spikes of jagged ice jutted from buildings, encasing walls and roofs like grotesque adornments. The cold radiated even through the glass, and not a single soul moved through the frozen expanse.
Chronifer stared at the scene, a shiver running through him. This was Onyx Thorn – a city as harsh and unyielding as the family that ruled it.
Chronifer shivered at the unnatural sight of the city he had only heard from his mother's stories
How do people survive such a winter? Chronifer wandered.
He soon moved on, however, as even the immaculate sight of the snowstorm could not hold him. As he struggled down the hallways, muffled voices began to reach his ears.
“She didn’t mean any harm, Mistress Wombessa,” came a younger voice, soft yet tinged with defiance.
“Shut up, child,” replied a stern, low-pitched feminine voice, cutting her off sharply.
Chronifer froze, pressing himself against the cold wall, straining to hear.
“Mistress Womb…” another voice stammered, trailing off with a sharp intake of breath, as if in fear.
Silence hung in the air, heavy and oppressive, before the chilling voice returned.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Shully?”
“I…” The girl’s voice faltered, her words drowned out as the first speaker jumped in again.
“Mistress Wombessa, it wasn’t her fault—”
A sharp cracking sound interrupted her defense. A slap? Chronifer wondered, his brow furrowing.
“You do not, ever, interrupt me,” Wombessa said, her voice deliberate and slow, each word a blade cutting through the air. “Now, Shully?”
Soft sobs reached Chronifer’s ears, faint and muffled.
“Tensasa… she was using Ruhira,” Shully’s shaky voice continued, trembling but steady enough to make her point.
“How does that concern you?” Wombessa snapped, her tone icy and unforgiving.
“It does,” Shully cut in again, her voice firmer this time.
Another sharp sound echoed – a second slap, yet the girl did not falter. “I… I, why don’t you and Oniihino protect her more? She’s the kindest person here, and you…”
“Enough.” Wombessa’s voice dropped, low and menacing. “You will go to the west tower and apologize to Lucene for assaulting her pupil.” A pause lingered, as heavy as the silence before a storm. “Now.”
Hurried footsteps echoed through the hallway, fading into the distance.
Chronifer’s breath hitched as Wombessa addressed one of the remaining girls. “Tensasa, why do you feel you can order Ruhira around? Is it because of her kindness? Because she doesn’t know when someone’s requests are out of hand?”
Though the question was directed at Tensasa, Chronifer had the distinct feeling the reprimand was meant for Ruhira, if she indeed was the first girl to speak, but Chronifer was only guessing.
“Do not answer,” Wombessa commanded, cutting through any attempt at a reply. “Now, get lost.”
The faint sobs of the girl were swallowed by the sound of retreating footsteps.
Chronifer began creeping forward again, careful to avoid detection.
“Go and find your mistress,” Wombessa said suddenly to the remaining girl, her voice carrying a sinister edge. “And pick up her visitor. Let no one see him.”
A door slammed shut, leaving Chronifer with a racing heart.
Had she seen me? he wondered.