Chapter 136: The Roar That Ended Silence
Axel didn't move.
His face remained pressed against his father's blood-soaked chest. His hands lay limp at his sides. The katana had fallen from his grip, lying forgotten on the burning floor.
Around him, Redhold collapsed. Beams cracked and groaned under the weight of flame. The ceiling above the corridor coughed plumes of black smoke and fiery ash, but Axel didn't flinch. He didn't shield himself.
He just sat there.
Still.
Silent.
While the world burned.
He didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
He didn't move.
Time became meaningless in that corridor of ash and death. The fire couldn't touch him—wouldn't touch him. It was as if the flames understood what sat at the center of the ruin, and they gave him space. Out of fear. Out of respect. Out of dread.
Then, finally, Axel opened his mouth.
He didn't speak.
He just breathed.
And a single tear fell from his eye, carving a clean path through the soot on his cheek. It dropped onto Michael's chest—onto the blood, onto the wound, onto the man who had haunted and shaped him his entire life.
That tear held the weight of a broken soul.
Axel had seen death before.
He'd seen his mother's lifeless face, throat slit, blood still warm.
He'd seen his brother, body mangled and cold,
He hadn't cried like this
Not once.
But this?
This was different.
His chest heaved once. Then again. Then again. His breath caught in his throat. His hands trembled. And finally, after years—years—of burying everything beneath steel and rage…
He cried.
Not like a man.
Not like a warrior.
But like a child.
Like a little boy who had just lost the only thing he had left.
The only family.
The only anchor in a world that never gave him love.
He cried so hard his tears turned to blood.
Literally.
The veins beneath his eyes pulsed red and black. His skin flushed. His body temperature rose. Something ancient and twisted inside him awoke—something not entirely human.
His tears hit the floor in crimson drops.
And then—his body began to shake.
Not with grief.
Not with pain.
Not with fear.
But with something far worse.
With wrath.
With pure, unfiltered, soul-consuming hatred.
It wasn't rage. Axel had felt rage before. Rage burned fast and bright. This was different.
This was cold.
This was ancient.
This was final.
The kind of hatred that doesn't scream.
It waits.
It learns.
And then it kills.
His eyes opened wide, now glowing faintly red in the smoke-dark room. The veins on his neck and arms bulged. His muscles tensed. And from deep within his chest, a sound began to rise.
It started as a growl.
Low. Animalistic.
The sound of something primal breaking free from a cage long locked.
Then it grew.
It twisted into a roar.
Not a cry of grief.
Not a scream of agony.
A call.
A warning.
A curse against the entire world.
The sound tore through the flames. It shook the walls. Glass shattered in rooms untouched by fire. Birds fled miles away. Beasts in the woods howled and collapsed. The very sky seemed to tremble as that roar climbed into the clouds like a storm given voice.
It wasn't a roar.
It was the end of silence.
It was the sound of judgment.
---
Far away—beneath a ruined cathedral, hidden deep underground—sat a circle of hooded figures.
Men in dark, blood-stained cloaks. Faces covered. Bodies still as statues.
This was The Ashen Circle.
And at the center of their ritual chamber, surrounded by symbols of death and fire, their leader sat upon a black throne. Hood drawn low, voice rarely used, always in control.
Until now.
The roar reached them.
Even here—buried in silence, protected by magic older than the continents—they heard it.
And more than that—they felt it.
The walls shook. Candles died out. The temperature dropped sharply. The air cracked.
The hooded leader's hand trembled.
His chest rose fast, then faster. His breathing grew uneven. A bead of sweat rolled down his brow beneath the hood.
The others turned to him. Silent. Waiting.
He gripped the edge of the throne.
And then, his body began to shake.
One of the hooded men stepped forward. "Sire?"
But the leader lifted a hand. Shaking.
"...We... we just awakened the monster."
His voice was a whisper.
A prayer.
A warning.
"He's not human. Not anymore. He never was."
The others looked at each other, unease creeping into their bones.
The leader slowly lifted his hood back to reveal his face.
It was pale.
Sweat poured from his temples.
His eyes were wide, full of something he had never shown before—not power, not pride.
Fear.
"Axel wasn't a weapon," he whispered.
"He was a bomb."
And now?
He had just gone off.
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