Chapter 131: Emptiness
Roman watched Thorne from a distance, his gaze drawn to the dark, silent figure on the balcony. Thorne stood alone, overlooking the capital as it descended into chaos, the flames consuming homes and lives, the desperate screams echoing through the night. Yet Thorne appeared disturbingly detached, his posture rigid, his expression hollow. The man who once commanded armies with fierce loyalty and unwavering resolve was now just a shadow—a ghost of the person he once was.
Thorne was more devil than human now, Roman thought with a shiver, unable to tear his eyes away. This Thorne, the one standing coldly above the destruction, was a shell, emptied and hollowed out by grief and rage. And with each day that passed without any trace of Noelle, Roman could see him slipping further into that darkness, sinking deeper into the void that no one seemed able to pull him from.
The sentinels didn’t dare approach him anymore. The man they had once respected and followed with admiration was gone, replaced by someone they could barely recognize, someone they could not understand. Victor, the ex-vice commander and Thorne’s trusted subordinate, was the only one brave—or perhaps foolish—enough to try. Victor had always had an uncanny way of grounding Thorne, pulling him back to reality even in his darkest moments. He’d been the one person who could speak to him with the bluntness and honesty Thorne required. But even Victor had failed this time.
Roman remembered that day with painful clarity. It was etched into his memory, a day that would haunt him for as long as he lived.
By the time it was over, Victor lay on the ground, his face bloodied, a jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw, his arm twisted and broken. He’d looked up at Thorne with something close to shock in his eyes, but there was no apology in Thorne’s gaze. No recognition, no remorse. Only a cold, unyielding rage that seemed to consume every part of him.
Now, as Roman stood there, watching Thorne on that balcony, he felt a chill settle over him. Thorne’s transformation was complete. The Thorne they’d all admired was gone, replaced by a man who no longer saw reason, who cared nothing for the destruction he wrought. He was a devil in human skin, a being of pure, consuming fury. And Roman knew, deep in his heart, that there was no saving him now.
-A Year Ago-
Roman stood among the sentinels, the air thick with tension as Victor confronted Thorne. "Thorne, that’s enough blood! Millions of people have died in the Three Kingdoms!" Victor’s voice was filled with desperation, cutting through the silence that had settled over the room.
Roman cast a glance at Raul, the large, scarred man who had receded into the shadows, clearly not wanting a part of this. Leona, the assassin, was absent, her orders to find Noelle keeping her away from the rest of them. In her absence, the omega Felix, had taken charge of Thorne’s dark machinations, conducting torturous experiments that blurred the lines between science and horror. He had unleashed a plague on Bodin, poisoning their water supply and unleashing untold suffering. When Victor spoke of millions dead, he was not exaggerating. The weight of it sat heavily in the room, suffocating them all. Roman felt a chill of dread at the thought of what would come next if Noelle remained unfound.
"The life of your omega is not worth more than others!" Victor shouted, a mix of bravery and madness in his words. Roman’s heart raced, and he instinctively stepped back into the shadows, feeling the dread coil tighter in his chest. His hands trembled at his sides, but he couldn’t turn away.
Thorne slowly turned to face Victor, his blue eyes gleaming with a cold detachment that sent a shiver down Roman’s spine. Thorne moved with the cane—a relic from a happier time, a birthday gift from Noelle.
"Well, well, well, if it isn’t Victor the mad dog, vice commander of the horrible, evil Crimson General. I think you have something mistaken," Thorne said, stepping dangerously close to Victor, his presence oppressive and foreboding. The tension was palpable; if Victor had any sense of self-preservation, this was the moment to kneel and beg for mercy.