"Will they... even devour a soul who does not belong to them in the first place?... A stolen soul from another plane?"

Lividness trickling in his words as well as a drop of hopefulness concealed by fear. It was a mere thought but perhaps it held hope. Moulin would risk the chance. The oracle before him looked overly devoted to his 'heavenly' gods. He could either be lying or telling the truth. Moulin did not know how to trust his words.

The elf's silence only sparked confidence. Moulin slightly lowered his gaze. He will never let anyone decide his face. Be it gods or devils, no one shall write his destiny for him.

Laphora silently shook his head. The youth's words were true. Slightly lifting his head, he gave an intrigued smile. "Quite sharp, you are, Your Piousness. Never have I heard of the divine deities consume a soul never brought about from their hands... How ominously intriguing... " He brought a finger to his chin, rubbing thoughtfully. Indeed, it is strange...

"Do your gods know about this?" Moulin asked, breathing out.

"I..." Laphora's expression tightened. The pendant on his forehead shifted, gleaming under the light of the room as his forehead wrinkled. "Admittedly... No... "

Moulin parted his lips as he stared down at his pale tender hands. He recalled the child... The sweet tender voice whispering in his sleep. Telling him to hurry. His fingers curled as he clenched his hands. Fingernails digging deeply in his palms as the blue veins appeared beneath the pale skin. He cannot speak about it... He cannot speak about it... He could never speak about it to anyone... But...

Perhaps...

Moulin briefly closed his eyes as he lifted his chin. The white strands on his forehead parted to reveal his rigid eyes. His gaze fixed on the man before him.

Laphora faced him. Seeing through the youth. Reading him. He had eyes for the spirit. For the soul, Moulin's soul. Behind those eyes there was a secret kept, he foresaw. But before he could look deeper and delve into the depths of the young man, he hesitantly spoke, "Do you want me to look?" His voice was coaxing. However, there was a slight reluctance. He reached out an open palm towards the youth.

Moulin was already waiting for those words. With a narrowed gaze and his lips pressed in a thin line, he gave a nod. He knew the elf would examine his soul and dig out the deepest secrets inside. It would hurt. But he should at least try...

He lifted a hand and held the elf's hand offered to him.

As soon as their finger's touched, Laphora abruptly held the youth's and. His grip, tight and unyielding. As if in those scrawny fingers lies a strength so great, it could crush the youth. However, Moulin only narrowed his eyes as he clenched around the man's grip with equal ferocity.

Then like an electric shock, Moulin felt needles piercing his skin. Knives stabbing his insides. The harrowing pain tearing his flesh into pieces. His fingers trembled violently as his breath shook.

Crack!

The disguising pendant underneath his shirt broke, a dreadful crack appearing across the grey gem. Laphora gasped, eyes gaping strangely. His head was tossed back. Underneath the thick cloth which blinded the oracle, two round glimmering light gradually glowed from where the two eyes were located. Silver beams seeped through the fabric. Shuddering, the oracle tightened his grip around Moulin as he unconsciously stood. His mouth uttering a language no one would be as able to understand.

Moulin clenched his teeth as his shoulder shook. Face paling, cheeks lifted, eyes squeezed shut, teeth bared. It felt like a thousand swords had impaled his body. Limbs ripped off, bones scraped, blood drained. Those lips were shivering, chests heaving rapidly. It was painful. Moulin once again brought fear into his heart. He felt like he was dying...

The lurking ambiance of death penetrates his skin. Crawling like worms into his inside. Leeches sucking out the vitality. Moulin clenched his teeth. Then he struggled to rip off his and from his connection with the elven oracle.

When the excruciating pain reached his head, he let out a cry. At the same time, bursting from his body, a wave of man in threads of silver exploded throughout the area. A frigid breeze accompanied its roaring ferocity. It swept through the walls of the elven's quarters, to the vacant halls, gliding across the courtyards. Every living thing that obstructed its way was struck with a deathly cold. From the dinners of the night, a visible mist-like ambiance could be seen spreading out and then disappearing like smoke.

The jovial banquet within the elven ballroom was abruptly interrupted. As the cold breeze overtook them, they stopped in alarm. Frantic voices questioning. The guest of the banquet likewise ceased his movements, his perfect visage disappearing as his golden eyes narrowed in terror. He knew very well who owned the mana that brushed past him. Golden sparks mercilessly crackled in his fingers. The goblet in his hand shattered into pieces.

Something had happened to Moulin...

Rowan who was wearing a shocked expression shifted his attention to his lord who suddenly disappeared with a flash.

•••••

Simultaneously, within the oracle's quarters. Moulin's throat turned hoarse. He felt parched. A scorching heat began to burn inside him. It was merciless.

Within Laphora's mind, he saw a vision. A dreadful one...

There the scent of blood and fire.

A bitter cold within the mudded darkness.

The dead earth and a thieving plague, taking away the lives of millions.

Bitter tears dripping across his lips as a hand desperately holds another.

The lush green of the world turning into dust.

The earth opens and people fell not the jaws of darkness.

Three deaths.

From the biting cold, flesh freezing.

From the hungry depths, body falling.

From black steel, piercing a heart

The red eyes of a man with scarred arms. A temple of thorns.

'Find me... Hurry...'

The pitiful voice of a child... filled with desperation.

Suddenly, a large hand grabbed the oracle's hand and tore off its grip on Moulin. With a crash, the poor elf was flung to the shelves with a loud crash. Splinters flying and dust fluttering. The creak of bones could be heard before silence engulfed the area.

As soon as the connection was interrupted, Moulin fell down his seat and unto a warm chest. The scent that was similar to his entered his nose. His hand is held warmly by large ones. His shivering breath gradually steadied and his trembling fingers clutched into the furred collar of the man embracing him.

Golden eyes were filled with wrath. A growl vibrating from his throat as he fixed his eyes on the limped man within the pile of wooden debris. The little fox was whimpering slowly moving towards his master sluggishly. Falling down the seat with a roll. Snow climbed on his master's lap. Moulin's eyes were heavy-lidded as he opened his eyes with difficulty, to look into the face of his lover. However, he did not have the strength. Silently, he leaned with slow breaths as a hand stroked his cheek.

"Are you alright?" A deep voice filled with concern spoke. Moulin smiled faintly and nodded while feeling a strange ache in his head.

With veins pulsing in his neck, he turned to the thrashed elf with a clenched jaw. Who dared to hurt his person?!

Fury overcame him. A fresh swell of rage rose from his smoldering eyes of gold. Electricity, violently crackling around him.

A pale hand held his shoulder. The Lord felt the laboring squeeze. Urging him to stop what he was about to do. With restraint, Hadrian stopped, gazing down on his lover's pale frame. Moulin had opened his eyes. Silver eyes unhidden. The pendant was broken from the strain of the oracles' doing.

The sound of wood scraping each other and fallen books caught Moulin's attention. Silver eyes watched as a thin man emerged from the pile of rubble. Dust settling around him. The blue robes were torn, revealing the white inner robes of the man, and the veil was removed and shredded because of the impact. However, he was unscathed. Moulin's eyes widened when he saw the white cloth wrapped around the man's eyes. It fell and hanged on the elf's nose, revealing the eyes that had been hidden for a full century.

Red, like the eyes of th devil. Bloodshot and crazed. It looked sinister as it fixed its eyes on Moulin...

Moulin unconsciously clutched tighter on Hadrian.

The elf grinned. Eyes turning into crescents. "How beautiful you are..."

At the sound of the voice, Hadrian instantly conjured a protective barrier around them. The extraordinary oppression of the voice made gravity stronger. Glass and porcelain shattered, and wood broke. Everything sounded like an explosion in Moulin's ears. Only within the barrier, the pair and the fox were untouched. Hadrian narrowed his eyes.

Moulin flinched when he heard a voice. It was ominously menacing. As if it belonged to a serpent writhing within the scorching flames of hell. Hissing wildly. He knew it was not the voice of the oracle. He did not recognize that voice...

The oracle stood bearing the aura of a God. As if possessed, driven with corruption and immorality. His supposedly blind eyes glowed brightly. Staring at none other than the youth with dazzling silver eyes.

He grinned. Sharp teeth revealing, eyes turning into slits. A grin, so wide it could tear the flesh between the corners of the lips. Moulin's heart thundered when he heard 'it' spoke.

"Hurry... And... Succumb... Child... "