THE VILLAIN'S POV

Chapter 928: The Beginning of the End (1)

darkness, confined inside his temporary prison. It was the sentence passed upon him after defying the Council and battling the Oracle’s guardians.

Ordinarily, such a crime warranted a far harsher punishment—one that could even end in execution. Yet because Frey had surrendered at the end of the battle, and because he was the son of the First Writer, his sentence was greatly reduced.

He spent most of his days in solitude.

Only Audrey came to visit him from time to time, though she was never permitted to stay for more than a few minutes.

Still, through her, Frey remained fully informed of everything happening in the outside world.

His days passed in silent contemplation.

From time to time, pain would surface across his face, a reminder of the wounds he had received during his battle against the former First Writer, Sandok, and the two Writers who had fought alongside him.

The battle had left injuries all over his body.

Most notably, the deep gash across his shoulder and the puncture wound near the right side of his abdomen.

"As expected of a former First Writer..."

Frey let out a long sigh.

"Dealing with someone like him is no simple matter."

His gaze drifted beyond the bars of his cell.

The Council’s prison resembled an enormous labyrinth—a city built solely to imprison every imaginable kind of creature.

Above that city...

High in the prison’s sky...

Frey could clearly see a gigantic eye watching everything without pause.

It was silver.

Radiating a strange and unique light.

So vast that merely looking at it left a bitter feeling within one’s heart.

Its very existence was a form of psychological torture.

Every prisoner knew they were being watched.

Frey naturally recognized the eye.

It belonged to the Writer who governed the entire prison.

A ruthless, uncompromising man...

And monstrously powerful as well.

He was the true reason behind Frey’s current condition.

The reason his wounds still tormented him.

"The injuries inflicted by the former First Writer are certainly severe..."

Frey wiped the blood from his shoulder.

Fresh crimson stained his fingers.

The wound continued bleeding as though it had been inflicted only a minute ago instead of several days earlier.

"As expected of the Lord of the Prison..."

"His abilities are anything but ordinary."

The Lord of the Prison was himself a Writer.

His Rune was unlike any other, allowing his aether to bind itself to its targets and make recovery utterly impossible.

Any wound he inflicted remained forever open, bleeding endlessly until the victim either died...

Or became too weak to continue fighting.

Every single day, Frey was forced to expend an enormous amount of strength simply to remain alive.

Simply to keep himself from bleeding to death.

Yet despite the countless pools of blood soaking the floor of his cell...

Neither his wounds...

Nor that colossal eye overhead...

Were what troubled him most.

There was something else entirely.

’Lea...’

’What kind of future did you show me...?’

Frey frowned deeply.

Before the battle had begun, he had asked the Oracle to reveal his own future.

Among the Writers...

Such a request was absolutely forbidden.

If even one person used the Oracle’s power to alter their own destiny, the consequences would ripple through the fates of everyone around them.

That was precisely why the Oracle and her prophecies were treated with such extraordinary caution.

The Writers used her visions solely to prepare themselves against approaching disasters.

Nothing more.

Frey had broken that rule.

He had seen his own future.

And no one had realized it.

Lea had never refused his request.

She trusted him completely.

While Frey occupied her guardians by fighting them, Lea had secretly transferred the visions of his future to him without anyone noticing.

The time required to complete the prophecy...

Was exactly the same amount of time his battle against the guards had lasted.

The moment he obtained what he came for...

He surrendered willingly.

His plan had succeeded.

Everything had unfolded exactly as he intended.

Everything...

Except for one thing.

"Lea..."

Frey broke into a cold sweat.

"What in the Creator’s name did you show me...?"

He shut his eyes tightly, forcing himself to relive the prophecy once more.

The Oracle had transmitted it as scattered fragments.

Some scenes were crystal clear.

Others were vague, distorted, and impossible to fully understand.

The greatest problem was not merely the contents of the prophecy...

But its timeline.

Frey had no idea which point in his future those visions belonged to.

Would they come to pass in a month?

A year?

Ten years?

How far into the future were they?

He had no answer.

All he could do was replay the visions again and again within his mind.

The second problem lay in their sheer number.

Lea had not shown him a single prophecy.

She had shown him several...

All at once.

After gathering his thoughts, Frey found himself once more reliving the first vision.

’I open both of my eyes...’

’And find myself walking through an endless sea of dense fog.’

’It dulls my senses.’

’Blinds my vision.’

’A mist more dangerous than anything I have ever faced.’

’Above me stretches a dark, lifeless sky.’

’Scattered stars shine across it.’

’Unlike the fog, the heavens remain perfectly clear.’

’They never confuse me.’

Each time he entered the vision, Frey walked along that same path.

Again.

And again.

Until he finally reached the heart of the fog.

The very pinnacle of devastation.

’The moment I step into its deepest reaches...’

’The mist begins to gather.’

’It condenses into a colossal figure.’

’A monster larger than anything I have ever witnessed.’

’Its body is so enormous that it reaches the dark heavens themselves.’

’The creature raises both of its massive arms...’

’Then seizes the sky... and embraces it.’

’The heavens resist.’

’The stars erupt with dazzling light, desperately striking the monster.’

’Yet the hands of mist tighten their grip.’

’Until, in the end...’

’The sky itself is imprisoned.’

’That beautiful star-filled night vanishes.’

’Even it is swallowed by the fog.’

From below, Frey watched the titanic struggle unfold.

Powerless.

Utterly insignificant.

Compared to those giants...

He was less than nothing.

How could a single individual compare to the heavens themselves?

Or to a monster vast enough to hold the sky within its hands?

’The instant it captures the sky...’

’The creature lowers its head.’

’Those dark golden eyes fall upon me.’

’Eyes so immense they dwarf entire planets.’

’I find myself incapable of moving.’

’All I can do is stand frozen...’

’As the giant of mist descends toward me.’

The vision ended there.

The moment the fog seized the heavens...

And turned its gaze upon Frey.

He had interpreted what he saw in countless different ways.

The symbolism of the mist was not difficult to understand.

It clearly represented the Lords of Mist.

"But a being of that scale..."

Frey murmured quietly.

"There is only one existence that could possibly possess such overwhelming presence..."

As much as he hated admitting it...

Only one being fit that description.

The Pale Devastation.