Ascension Of The Villain

Chapter 183: Beyond Imagination

Hearing Wyatt closing in, Vyan was left with no choice. He skidded to a halt and exhaled a big puff of air.

With a swift motion, he turned and thrust his hand upward. Heat surged through his veins, pooling in his palm like molten iron. With a snarl, he unleashed a torrent of fire, blasting a hole in the ceiling behind him.

The stone groaned and cracked, crumbling in on itself with a deafening roar. Dust and rubble cascaded down, sealing the tunnel off in a thick wall of debris.

The dust and smoke burned Vyan's lungs, but he had no time to linger.He spun on his heel and took off again. The exit was still way off. He had a long way to go.

Behind him, he could hear Wyatt curse, his voice muffled by the freshly made barrier. Vyan hoped that would be enough to stop Wyatt from chasing him.

However, little did Vyan know that Wyatt was a different kind of beast who stopped at nothing.

Wyatt stared at the blockade with narrowed eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Fool. Do you think that is enough to stop me?" His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. He wasn't about to let the assailant slip away so easily.

With a low growl, he raised his blade and slashed at the debris almost at the speed of light. Sparks flew as steel met stone, and dust filled the air.

His arms worked with relentless precision, cutting away the blockage piece by piece.

But as the dust began to settle and Wyatt stepped on the other side of the rubble, a new realization set in—there were no more footsteps echoing ahead.

Silence.

Wyatt's brows furrowed, his eyes scanning the two different paths ahead—ones that led either Crystal or Ivory Palace. Both had exits out of the imperial grounds.

"Did that assailant reach the exit already?" he muttered under his breath, suspicion curling around his words like smoke. "No, I still have to check."

Wyatt picked up his pace again, his sharp eyes on the lookout for anything unusual. The assailant could be hiding anywhere.

Meanwhile, Vyan pressed his ear against the cold steel of the underground door, his breath labored. Sweat dripped down his temple as he strained to hear any sign of pursuit. Sure enough, the loud footsteps.

Vyan was grateful for the light that came into his view as he ran down the path under the Crystal Palace. Unexpectedly, he had found the staircase to the basement of that palace open and took it without a second thought. Wyatt hopefully did not hear the sound of the steel door closing due to all the rubble slashing.

For this, Vyan had to thank…

"Tia…" Vyan looked at the empty basement and sighed heavily. It had to be his aunt who must have left the entrance open. Celeste probably didn't know his exact plans, but she kept the door open anyway.

The last time Vyan had gone down this door, Celeste had betrayed him. And now that he had come up from this door, Celeste had been the one to save him.

Vyan didn't know how to feel about it.

But either way, he had no time to spare thinking about Celeste. All the entrances and exits to the imperial grounds were about to be closed.

———

"Welcome home, Master," Benedict greeted as Vyan stepped through the threshold of the manor.

Vyan's movements were swift, almost frantic. "Where is he?" he demanded, his voice crackling with a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and a fragile thread of hope. His eyes darted around, searching desperately for a spot of red amid the golden-white splendor of the hall. "Clyde did bring him home, right…?" Stay updated with m-v le-mpyr

A rare, genuine smile broke across Benedict's usually straight face. "Yes, he did. Lord Aster is resting. He might have fallen asleep by now."

"I need to see him." The corners of his lips twitched into an uncontrollable, eager smile.

Benedict chuckled softly, as if dealing with an overly enthusiastic child. "Master, you might want to clean up first. You are all covered in... what is it? Dust? Mud?

A bit of everything?"

"Oh, honestly, Benedict, you never miss a chance to nag," Vyan replied, waving his hand dismissively. He wouldn't be surprised if he were bleeding on the ground and Benedict's first concern was why he was not doing it gracefully. With a shimmer, his clothes transformed into a pristine new set. "There. Happy now?"

Benedict shook his head, half amused, half resigned. "You always find a way, don't you?"

"Also," Vyan added, his tone softening, "please address Ash as 'Master' too. He is, after all, the rightful heir to all of this." His grin was earnest, almost boyish in its sincerity.

Benedict's smile dimmed slightly, a flicker of sadness crossing his eyes. "I will keep that in mind."

"Good. Now, show me to Ash's room," Vyan urged, a sense of urgency returning to his voice.

Benedict led Vyan through the manor to a room on the ground floor. It was a practical choice, considering Aster's condition. But as they stopped in front of a modest room, Vyan's brows furrowed.

"Benedict, why here? Ash deserves a better room. We have a much larger one at the end of this—"

"He needs a room without sunlight," Benedict interjected gently. Vyan looked at him, confused. "You see, Master Aster cannot bear the sunlight for long. His body isn't used to it anymore. He will need some time adjusting to it gradually."

Realization crashed into Vyan like a wave, nearly knocking the air out of his lungs. In his relentless focus on finding his brother, on keeping his own sanity intact, he had pushed away thoughts of what Aster must have endured—both physically and mentally—to the back of his mind.

"Right," Vyan murmured, his voice suddenly unsteady. An icy ball of anxiety settled in his stomach, twisting tighter with every breath. "Benedict, could you... leave me alone here for a bit? I just... I need a moment."

"As you wish, Master," Benedict said with a respectful bow, retreating quietly.

Vyan placed a trembling hand over his chest, trying to steady his breathing. It felt like his heart might beat its way out of his ribcage. He stared at the door, willing himself to take another breath, then another, before he finally pushed it open.

The room was dim, the air thick with the faint scent of small candles burning low. The absence of windows was typical for the manor's interior rooms. It wrapped the space in a cocoon of stillness.

Vyan closed the door behind him with a soft click. His steps were slow as if he were approaching a fragile dream that might shatter if he moved too quickly. On the bed lay a man who was nothing but skin and bones, his long red hair like a splash of faded fire against the pillow.

Seeing Aster like this—a ghost of the bright, confident teenager Vyan remembered from portraits—was like a knife to the gut. The proud, undefeatable youth he once knew had been replaced by this broken, malnourished shell of a man.

Vyan's breath hitched as he noticed the scars. Ugly, jagged marks across Aster's forearms—raw reminders of a pain so deep that it had to be carved into flesh by himself. His gaze traveled up to similar scratch-like scars around Aster's neck.

Self-inflicted. Each one was a silent scream.

A tight knot of grief twisted in Vyan's throat, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.

What a cursed fate the two of them had drawn.

Born into privilege, but forced into misery that no noble's life should have touched. Then again, comparing his suffering to Aster's felt like comparing a scraped knee to a gaping wound.

He bit down on his bottom lip, fighting back a shaky sob that threatened to break free. With trembling hands, he reached out to pull the duvet back over Aster.

After covering Aster with it, Vyan kneeled by the bedside. His breath was shallow, each inhale trembling as his hand hovered just above Aster's. His fingers almost grazed his brother's skin, yearning to bridge the chasm that had formed between them.

But before he could make contact, Aster's eyes snapped open, wide and wild, like a hunted animal waking to the scent of danger.

A gasp tore from Aster's throat. It was a jagged sound that seemed to slice through the air.

He jolted upright in a frenzy, throwing himself back against the headboard with such force it rattled. His hands flew up to his face, shielding himself from a terror only he could see. His knees drew tight to his chest and his whole body shrunk inward. As if he could fold himself out of existence. As if the very touch of another human being would shatter him.

"Who..." The word clawed its way out, barely more than a rasp. His voice was dry and cracked, a sound that hadn't been used in years, rusty from neglect. He peeked through his fingers, darting around the room as if searching for an escape from this waking nightmare.

Vyan's hand froze in mid-air. The warmth that had almost been there was now a hollow ache in his palm. He knew his brother was fragile, but this... this was beyond anything he could have imagined.

The fear radiating off Aster was visceral, almost choking. It was the kind of fear born not just from confusion, but from deep, bone-chilling terror—the kind that made Aster want to vanish into the shadows and never be seen again.

For a moment, Vyan didn't know what to do or what to say. It made him wish their parents were still by his side to help him out.

But as fate would have it, it was an impossible wish. He was all alone to deal with Aster.

Out of wits, Vyan quickly forced a smile, one he hoped was soft enough to soothe but not break. "It's okay, Ash," he murmured, voice trembling but gentle. "I won't touch you if you don't want me to. It's just me... Vee, your little brother."

Aster once again peeked through his trembling fingers, eyes wide and brimming with terror. "No... You... you are not Vee."

A pang of sorrow shot through Vyan's chest. "But I am," he said, his voice cracking like thin ice. "Remember this?" He opened his palm, a small ball of flame flickering into existence, then closed his fist and reopened it to reveal a tiny star of fire. A trick Aster had taught him when they were children.

Aster's hands lowered slightly, his eyes reflecting a fleeting recognition. "But... Vee is... he is little."

"Yes, yes, I was little," Vyan pressed on, desperation seeping into his tone. "But it's been sixteen years, Ash. Sixteen years since you last saw me. I have grown."

Aster shook his head violently, his eyes scanning the room, searching for something—someone. Suddenly, a strange light flickered in his gaze. "There he is. There is Vee."