Omega Ascension System[BL]

Chapter 326: _We Break Together

Kyren’s POV

*****

What welcomed him after Amara’s manor ripped apart and sucked him into another dimension wasn’t a vast empty space. It wasn’t a space twisted my time or chaotic energies.

No.

It was somewhere familiar. Almost welcoming.

Red sands. Harsh desert winds. Sharp heat from the sun above. Ashen red clouds and skies.

"By Hades’ gates..." he mumbled, taking in the scenery.

This was supposed to be the middle of the Dark Lands.

Except it wasn’t.

"I must say, mother." He chuckled, clapping a couple times. "Your attention to detail is impeccable. Fascinating use of illusion magic."

He was no fool. He could easily sense that the whole thing was fake.

For several seconds he got no response.

Wherever he was in the "Dark Lands" right now, was vast and empty. There was nothing but red sand dunes and barrenness for miles.

Like that was supposed to be a restriction...

Flipping his cloak back, he moved, boots crunching hard on the sharp sand. The winds barely scathed his skin, eyes dimmed through the slowly rising winds.

Several minutes. He wasn’t exactly sure how long he walked for but he knew it must’ve been that long at least. Yet there were no signs of a city, portal gate, settlement or anything at all.

"Is this your plan?!" He yelled, raising his head. "Place me in an illusion where I wander aimlessly? What? Are you trying to recreate the time you abandoned me centuries ago?"

The thought was amusing. Whatever games his mother was playing, he wanted no part in it. He had Elian to get to and that curse to break.

Time was running out and—

One step. Just one misplaced step forward while his thoughts spun was all it took to make him stumble on the sand. He grunted, glancing behind his shoulder first.

When he whipped his head back, he froze, lips parting slightly.

In the blink of an eye, the scene ahead had changed completely. He was now standing in the middle of the Dark Lands capital city. Or—the illusion of it.

And other than the tall obsidian glass buildings and paved roads, he was surrounded by people. Rogue wolves, throwing what seemed to be a festival.

A plethora of delicacies whiffed into the air, reminding him of old times after he successfully overthrew a Rogue faction against his rule.

As for the people, they sang praises and cheered, many bringing down the red and black banners of the Dark Lands from the highest buildings.

The cheers rolled through the streets like thunder.

"KYREN!"

"HAIL THE ROGUE KING!"

"THE WAR IS OVER!"

They surged toward him in waves, hands raised, faces alight with relief and reverence.

Old banners bearing his sigil were unfurled from balconies, red and black fabric snapping proudly in the heated wind. Someone uncorked a bottle of dark liquor. Someone else laughed like they’d just survived the end of the world.

While he stood still. Watching. Listening.

The praise slid off him like water.

Illusions always overdid it. That was their first mistake—too much validation, too quickly earned. Victory without cost. Peace without blood still drying beneath the nails.

Amara was cunning but she didn’t seem to understood restraint.

Kyren exhaled slowly and pushed forward, parting the crowd with nothing but his presence. They made way instantly, bodies shifting as if instinctively aware of who he was—even in a lie.

That was when he saw them.

Farrell stood near the edge of the paved road, armor polished to a ceremonial gleam. Ishtar was beside him, alive, unscarred, eyes bright instead of hollowed by pain.

They bowed in perfect unison.

"My king," Farrell said warmly. "The Dark Lands are safe. You did it."

Ishtar smiled, stepping closer. "You should rest now. You’ve carried this burden long enough."

Kyren didn’t slow down or answer. He didn’t even blink, shoving past them.

Farrell’s illusion stumbled, confusion flashing across his face before he vanished into static like smoke tearing apart. Ishtar flickered—then dissolved entirely, her smile snapping out of existence.

The cheers faltered.

Kyren stopped walking.

His eyes narrowed.

That was new...

The air shifted, heat sharpening into something acrid. The soundscape warped, voices pitching lower and uglier.

The cheers curdled.

"COWARD." The word hit from behind him, making him turn slowly.

Faces twisted—mouths pulled into sneers, eyes narrowed with contempt instead of awe.

"You won’t choose."

"You never choose."

"That’s why you don’t deserve to rule."

Kyren’s lips curled, irritation flashing hot and fast. "Choose what?" he demanded, voice slicing clean through the crowd. "Say it clearly before I crush every last one of you and scatter what’s left across this sandbox of a dimension."

The ground trembled faintly beneath his boots.

Yet no one backed down.

Instead, the road ahead of him cleared.

At the very end of the long obsidian path—

He saw it. Saw him.

Elian.

Strapped to a wooden stake.

Bound at the wrists, head bowed and silver-streaked hair matted with ash. Dry timber piled at his feet, soaked dark with oil. Ready to burn.

Kyren froze.

And the realization hit him immediately.

This... this was the tell.

The first time the dimension had actually made him stop.

His fingers twitched.

Ah.

So this was a "trial" of sorts?

The crowd erupted again, voices overlapping in a grotesque chant.

"CHOOSE!"

"THE DARK LANDS OR HIM!"

"ONE OR THE OTHER!"

Behind Elian, the capital city began to scream.

Silver fire erupted from the earth itself, tearing through streets and buildings, consuming obsidian towers in violent arcs. The sky split with thunder as molten cracks spiderwebbed across the ground.

The Dark Lands were burning.

Kyren’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.

They weren’t real. None of this was real.

And yet—

Something inside him twisted anyway.

"Don’t," Farrell’s voice said quietly from beside him.

Kyren turned.

The illusion of his commander stood there again, expression grave. "This is why you were never meant to rule with someone beside you," Farrell said. "Attachment makes you hesitate. Makes you weak."

Kyren laughed—sharp and humorless. "You don’t get to lecture me."

"It’s the truth," Farrell pressed. "You survive because you choose efficiency. You choose the greater good. You don’t—"

"...care?" Kyren snapped. "Finish it."

Farrell didn’t flinch. "You don’t indulge."

The crowd took it up.

"HE’LL DESTROY US!"

"HE’LL SACRIFICE US FOR ONE OMEGA!"

Kyren snarled, crimson energy crackling along his arms. "Shut up. All of you."

The flames climbed higher just then.

Elian lifted his head, making their eyes meet.

And that—

That was the real cruelty.

Not fear. Not pressure.

Recognition.

Kyren’s chest tightened violently.

He hated that. Hated that this was what shook him.

"I don’t have to choose," he growled, more to himself than them. "That’s the lie, isn’t it? You’re all built on a premise I never agreed to."

The Farrell illusion stepped closer. "You always end up alone, Kyren. That’s the pattern. That’s what keeps you alive."

Kyren closed his eyes.

For a heartbeat, everything inside him roared.

Then—quiet. A cold, steady clarity.

"No," he said softly, opening his eyes.

"I will make hard decisions," Kyren continued, voice calm now, terrifyingly so. "My love for him means I will be forced to face consequences I never used to."

He looked at Elian again.

"But I reject your fucking ultimatum."

The crowd screamed at his words while the flames surged violently.

Elian burned right before his eyes. Yet Kyren didn’t move, yell or reach out.

He stood there, jaw locked, eyes blazing, as the illusion consumed everything it thought would break him.

And still he didn’t bend.

"Your mistake," Kyren said into the collapsing sky, "was thinking fear equals control."

The world shattered.

Red sand swallowed him whole.

Then—

Darkness itself faded away.

.

.

Kyren slammed hard onto cold marble, breath knocking from his lungs as reality snapped back into place. The smell of ozone and ancient magic filled his senses.

He rolled to his knees just in time to see Lucian drive his Alpha aura into an obsidian door, silver light cracking ancient runes carved deep into its surface.

Elian stood nearby, braced against the violent backlash of energy, eyes wide when Kyren appeared.

"You’re..." Elian exhaled sharply. "You made it."

Kyren pushed himself to his feet, cloak settling around him. "Unfortunately."

Lucian shot him a look. "You okay?"

Kyren shrugged. "Define ’okay’."

Elian studied him for a second, then asked quietly, "What did you see?"

Kyren looked away. He definitely couldn’t answer that.

"Later."

The door screamed as Lucian struck it again, fissures glowing white-hot along its edges.

Elian turned back to the structure, jaw tight. "The system and I thought this room was powering the illusion dimensions," he said. "But it’s not."

Kyren’s eyes narrowed.

"It’s the anchor," Elian continued. "The curse’s origin point. Amara didn’t just cast it here—she rooted it here."

The air beyond the door pulsed violently, chaotic energy blasting outward in waves that rattled the manor itself.

Kyren flexed his fingers, crimson runes already weaving themselves instinctively around his hands.

"Good," he murmured. "Then we’re exactly where we need to be."

He stepped forward, placing his palm against the fractured door, magic syncing with Lucian’s aura and Elian’s presence seamlessly.

Deep down, a thought stirred.

’Amara knows our fears. She knows where to hurt us.’ Kyren smiled thinly. ’But she underestimated one thing.’

He glanced back at them—at the impossible, volatile, unbreakable bonds standing beside him.

"We don’t break alone."

The runes flared.

And with a violent push, Kyren began to tear the curse apart.