[First Person PoV]
After having been tended to by the staff of Circe's resort and finally getting a proper shower and bath, everyone felt almost human again. The exhaustion from days at sea was washed away by warm water, soft towels, and the faint scent of lotus perfume that lingered throughout the marble halls. Fresh clothes had been provided, along with provisions and other essentials for their continued voyage.
Now, everyone was gathered outside Circe's resort—everyone except for Lucian.
Circe looked around the group, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, before her eyes fell upon Scylla, who was glaring at her with an intensity that could cut through steel.
"What is it?" Circe asked, arching a brow in mild confusion. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Wha—You mean you don't remember me!?" Scylla screeched indignantly, her voice echoing off. Her eyes twitched erratically, the corners of her lips curling as if barely containing years of rage.
Circe blinked, glancing around in genuine bewilderment. "Should I have? Listen, lady, I've tended to a lot of guests in my resorts over the years. You can't honestly expect me to remember every single face that walks through my doors."
"I'm not one of your stupid guests!" Scylla roared, her voice trembling with emotion. "You poisoned me and turned me into a monster! Perhaps that will ring a bell!"
Circe's lips pressed together as she tilted her head. She blinked twice, processing the claim.
Scylla's expression hardened, her tone falling to an icy monotone. "You still don't remember me… do you?"
Circe gave an apologetic shrug. "You have to understand lady—I've transformed a lot of people into a lot of things over the centuries. You saying that doesn't exactly narrow it down, if anything it just makes the guessing harder."
"My name isn't 'lady,'" Scylla hissed, her teeth grinding audibly. "It's Scylla."
Circe blinked. "Like the sea monster?"
"I am the sea monster!" Scylla's scream tore through the air. Her hair rose charged with her power, and tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. "That monster is what you turned me into! It's been more than a millennium since you poisoned me!"
Circe frowned, pressing a finger to her temple as if flipping through a mental filing cabinet of forgotten transformations. Then her eyes lit up, and she snapped her fingers. "Oh! That Scylla! Wow, that was ages ago. Honestly, I'd almost forgotten about that incident. Wait—I was actually the one that created the Scylla? As in, the Scylla?"
A slow grin crept across her face as she let out a soft whistle. "Look at me go. I really outdid myself that time."
Something inside Scylla broke at that very moment.
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[POV: Lucian Blacksheart]
I couldn't feel much of anything—except for my head, which throbbed like it had been split open… because it probably had.
The world felt distant, muffled, as though I were hearing everything from beneath a layer of water. I tried to move, but nothing responded. I could barely blink, barely even swallow. All I could do was lie there on the cold tile floor of the resort bathroom, watching as the once-pristine white tiles slowly darkened beneath the pool of blood spreading out from under me.
At first, I'd tried to hold it in, to swallow back the iron taste burning my throat. But the blood had kept rising, choking me, threatening to spill out. So I'd slipped away from the others, searching for some quiet corner to let it all out, to hide the weakness clawing through me.
Disgusting. That's the only word for it.
I thought I had more time. I thought the transformation hadn't taken that much out of me. But I was wrong—so very wrong. My body was already at its limit. I'd pushed it too far, too fast. Reckless… always reckless.
The moment my legs gave out, it was like the floor vanished beneath me. I didn't even have time to catch myself. One second I was fine, and the next the world tilted. My legs gave out beneath me, and I went crashing headfirst into the sink. There was a sharp sound—bone, porcelain, maybe both—and then… nothing.
Now, all I could do was stare blankly ahead as my blood crept outward in a dark, ever-growing halo. My limbs were heavy, useless. My breath came shallow, ragged. I
I was dying—alone—in a bathroom of all places.
It was pathetic. Sad, even. There was no other word for it.
At least the last time I died… I had a little dignity left.
If this—this right here—was what the prophecy had been referring to, then I swear on every divine being in existence, I was going to sue everyone.
The sink, the resort, the gods, the Fates, destiny itself, even my father—just for the hell of it. If my grand heroic journey was meant to end face-first in a bathroom puddle of my own blood, then the universe clearly had a twisted sense of humor.
My eyelids felt like they weighed a ton, each blink slower than the last. A creeping chill was crawling up my body, starting at my toes and moving higher. The sensation wasn't unfamiliar—it was the same numb, creeping cold that came right before death. My vision blurred at the edges, and my thoughts began to slow, dull, like someone was turning the volume down on my consciousness.
But beneath all that fading sensation, I felt it—movement. My shadows were stirring restlessly, writhing beneath me like living ink. They were trying to help, searching for a way to stop the bleeding, to keep me tethered here. It was. thoughtful of them.
The floor was starting to drift away out of nowhere, the tiles blurring together into a vague patchwork of white and black blood. I could see the pool of blood I'd created, spreading wide like a dark flower blooming on marble. For a brief second, I thought it looked… artistic. It looked like something straight out of a crime scene.
Then my head shifted slightly—no, it was moved. I could suddenly see two figures beside me. Beatrice and Edna. Their shapes flickered between shadow and substance, their forms trembling with panic. I thought I could see tears—actual tears—sliding down their faces. I didn't even know shadows could cry.
Their mouths were moving, desperately trying to speak to me, but all I heard was a faint ringing, like I was underwater. I wanted to answer, to tell them I was fine, but my body didn't obey. I couldn't move, couldn't speak.
Then I saw it—Beatrice holding up a small glass vial filled with shimmering golden liquid. It took my sluggish brain a moment to realize what it was: the golden elixir. The one we'd made from the golden apples.
Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. Beatrice and Edna exchanged a glance, uncorked the bottle, and brought the glowing nectar to my lips. I could feel the warmth of it even before it touched me. But when they tried to feed it to me, it barely trickled into my mouth—I couldn't swallow. My throat refused to work, my body still trapped in paralysis.
Beatrice's expression hardened with determination. Without hesitation, she took a sip of the elixir herself.
And that's when it hit me what she was about to do.
If this is going where I think it's going, I'm absolutely giving this resort five stars on Yelp.
Beatrice leaned forward and pressed her lips against mine, forcing the divine liquid into me mouth-to-mouth.
Five stars, Five stars, Five stars.
Her mouth was warm and cold at the same time, like frost and flame dancing together. It was an inexplicable sensation—pleasant, soothing, dangerously intimate. My brain chose now of all times to realize just how good that felt.
Here I was, dying on the bathroom floor, while they were both crying their hearts out over me—and my last coherent thought was how nice her mouth felt. I'm more perverted than I realized.
But then… I felt it.
The elixir worked like molten sunlight running through my veins. It burned at first—searing away the weakness—then soothed me, like slipping into a hot bath on a cold morning. My vision cleared, my thoughts snapped back into focus, and I could feel my head wound sealing itself shut. The blood stopped flowing. The pain dulled, then vanished entirely.
I took a breath. A real one.
"Boss!" Edna's voice came out in a shaky hiss, her eyes glistening with tears.
"We felt our connection to you fading," Beatrice said through uneven breaths, her face still wet. "We dropped everything and came running. How are you feeling?"
I stared up at them for a long moment, my mind catching up with everything that had just happened. Then, with all the grace and dignity of a man reborn in a puddle of his own blood, I groaned and said, "...Like banging my head against the sink again if it means getting fed like that by you again."
Beatrice's face flushed crimson. Edna blinked once, then groaned and wiped her face with both hands.
Despite my bad joke, the two of them let out sighs of relief. Their shoulders relaxed, their forms steadied, and for the first time since waking, I could feel the bond between us stabilize again. I was alive—somehow. The elixir had restored me, body and mind.
Well, almost.
I looked down and realized that while the rest of me was back to full strength, my legs still refused to move, the miasma was still corroding my body beyond repair.
"Great," I muttered under my breath, half amused, half annoyed. "Back to top shape—except the bottom half."
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