Blood of Immortals | Chapter 14

Chapter 14

It took a moment for their words to sink in.

I am the daughter of Selena.

The memories rushed back like a flood. The time I confronted Ruse about the blood—she’d brushed it off, saying I was just being jealous. A bold-faced lie.

And Alaric? When I confided in him, begging him to listen to my doubts, he dismissed them as nothing more than my delusions. He called it my obsession to be with him.

They were perfect for each other. Truly. They deserved the misery they’d inevitably bring upon themselves. The goblet I had seen...the blood it contained...it was mine. I had been right all along.

The Fates told me that if I wanted the truth about what happened when I was born, I needed to find my mother in the demon realm. The journey wouldn’t be simple. To reach the demon realm, I first had to locate the gates hidden within the land of the elves.

Two weeks into my travels, exhaustion weighed heavily on me. When I finally stumbled upon an inn, relief flooded me. A bed, a real bed, with blankets! For the first time, I could rest without the threat of danger lurking in every shadow.

“Welcome, sir,” one of the servers greeted as I stepped inside.

Sir.

The spell was working. Disguised as a lean young boy with black hair, I called myself Aaron. Traveling as a woman alone, demon or not, was reckless, especially with hair as striking as mine.

I chose a corner table and ordered my first real meal in weeks. “A bottle of beer, a bowl of soup, and a slab of well-cooked meat.”

As I waited, I observed the room. The inn welcomed all manner of creatures: demons, elves, wolves—even a group of orcs in one corner. I noticed an elf sharing a table with a wolf, laughing over mugs of ale. It was an unusual sight.

When my food arrived, I didn’t hesitate to dig in. The taste of the meat and the warmth of the soup felt like heaven itself.

But my peace was short-lived.

One by one, the customers began collapsing. It started subtly—a few slumped over their tables—but soon the entire inn was littered with unconscious bodies. The air turned icy as a sinister, feminine laugh echoed through the room.

A witch.

The room darkened as flashes of lightning illuminated a swarm of bats entering through the windows and doors.

I froze.

According to the ancient texts, witches—whether light or dark—were cunning and merciless. Dark witches, especially, thrived on chaos and despair. Their specialty was illusions, either cast as spells or hidden in potions. If this was a potion, the only way to save the victims would be to find the antidote.

I glanced around, searching for an escape, when I noticed a man sitting at the bar. Unlike everyone else, he appeared unaffected.

Annoyed, even.

He wore a bronze cape and armor, dirtied and worn but unable to conceal his regal features. He looked like he might be in his thirties, but I knew better. Wolves stopped aging at a certain point, and he could easily be a century old.

“Who the hell dares disturb my drinking session?” he growled.

Before anyone could answer, the bats swarmed him. He didn’t flinch. With an effortless motion, he reached into his cloak and began hurling knives. Each blade found its mark, dropping bats one by one.

The largest bat in the swarm charged straight at me. Panicking, I stumbled over one of the fallen customers and hit the ground. Just as I thought it was over, a knife sailed through the air and pierced the creature mid-flight.

The man saved me.

The remaining bats swarmed him, but he didn’t falter. His movements were precise, calculated. Each knife he threw struck true. Suddenly, he turned and hurled a blade at an owl perched high in the rafters.

A piercing shriek rang out, and the owl transformed into an old woman. The witch.

“Why?” she screamed. “Why can’t I cast my spells?”

The man approached her calmly. “Don’t bother trying. These knives are forged with bronze tempered in hellfire. Even gods struggle to heal from wounds they inflict.”

Her fear was palpable as he leaned closer. “If you value your life, you’ll hand over the antidote. Now.”

With trembling hands, the witch rummaged through her satchel and produced three vials of a glowing blue liquid.

“Here. Take them. Just… let me live!”

Satisfied, the man turned to me, his piercing gaze leaving no room for argument. “You. Distribute these to the victims.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I...I don’t know how—”

“Hurry,” he barked, “or they’ll go permanently mad.”

I wanted to protest, to insist he do it himself. But he’d saved me. I owed him that much. Silently, I grabbed the vials and began the task.

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