I Was Born With A Bloodline That Ended The World-Chapter 116: The Quietest Poison

"But then if you deserved to be here... and you know it... why do you still pretend you’re worthy?"

The voice circled her thoughts like it had always been part of her, just waiting.

"Is it your crippled mother? Perhaps," it said, calmly. "Is it the need to never end up like your parents? Maybe. But that’s already guaranteed, isn’t it? You’re worse than them."

Nia gritted her teeth, but her body still wouldn’t move. The darkness wasn’t just a lack of light anymore, it felt shaped, like something was inside it.

"Both of those are interesting bones to chew on," the voice added. "But I can feel it... they don’t really fuel you, do they?"

Silence followed, just long enough for her to hear her own heartbeat skip.

"Is it... love?"

The word rang like a soft crack through the quiet.

"Ahhh... love," the voice sighed, almost delighted. "Now that is a drug. Especially the kind you never get back. The unreconciled kind. The kind that leaves you waiting for a message that never comes... or crying when you see their name."

The dark twisted again. The room wasn’t a room anymore, it was just space and pressure and her own breath trying to stay steady.

"Love turns warriors into beggars. Turns strength into shame. That’s what you’ve been feeding on, isn’t it?"

Nia’s hands were shaking. But it wasn’t fear.

It was anger.

But the voice wasn’t finished.

"Tell me... when he didn’t answer back, when he didn’t come... did it hurt more than the loss?"

The pressure around her tightened. And something inside her finally snapped.

Before she could say anything, the voice cut her off.

"But wait–you’re the one who didn’t answer him... hahahahahahahahahahah!"

The laugh echoed like nails dragging through her chest. It was loud, cruel, and too real.

"What do you want?!" she yelled, her voice raw and cracking.

The laughter stopped.

Silence fell.

For a moment, the darkness around her didn’t twist or shift. It just listened.

Then the voice returned, quieter now. Slower.

"Who I am... or what I want... isn’t important. You can’t help me. Not yet."

Nia swallowed hard. Her fists clenched on the bedsheets, and her jaw trembled.

"The—"

"But I know what you want," it said, cutting her off again.

The weight of the words dropped like a hammer in her stomach.

And then... nothing. No answer. No sound. Just those last words hanging in her ears, circling in her mind like a trap.

"I could give you what you want."

The voice slithered back in, softer now. Almost kind.

"In fact... I could give you more than you want."

Nia shook her head where she sat, eyes darting around the room. "You’re not real," she whispered. "You’re just my mind messing with me."

The voice chuckled low.

"Isn’t that exactly where all your fears live? Inside that head of yours. Twisting. Breaking. Pulling you down."

She gritted her teeth. "Shut up."

"You think that boy, Rhian, would really stay with you if he knew what you are? What you’ve done? What you carry?"

"I said shut up!"

"You didn’t even pick up his call."

Nia flinched.

"You’re not strong. You’re not stable. And worst of all... you’re not enough. Not for them. Not for yourself."

She stood up, trying to reach for the light switch again, but her hand trembled halfway there and dropped. Her legs felt like they were sinking into the floor.

"But I see you," the voice went on, gentler now, like a whisper to a dying flame. "I see the part of you that wants to be more. Stronger. Untouchable. Loved. Respected. Remembered."

Nia shook her head, though slower this time. Her chest rose with shallow breaths.

"You’re lying."

"Am I? You know what your limits are, Nia. You’ve felt them. Hit them. And still, you want to break past them. Why? For what?"

She didn’t answer.

The voice continued, softer than before. "For him?"

Her knees buckled slightly, but she stayed standing, gripping the bedpost for support.

"You don’t need to ask for power," the voice said. "You just need to stop saying no."

There was a pause.

"Let me help you, Nia. Let me give you what you were meant to have."

The room stayed dark. Her thoughts weren’t.

"Only then," the voice whispered, smooth as oil in her ears, "can you get his attention."

Nia’s grip tightened on the bedpost.

"And only then... maybe you can help your mother."

The moment the words landed, her breath hitched.

Her legs gave out.

She collapsed to her knees beside the bed, her fingers shaking as they clawed into the sheets.

Her throat burned, but no sound came out. Her face crumpled. It wasn’t rage, or even fear.

She tried to breathe but choked instead. Her vision blurred again.

That was the one thing she couldn’t push away the thought of her mother, sitting in that chair, always tired, always pretending to be strong. And Nia, always helpless to do anything.

Her head dropped. Her arms wrapped around her stomach. She bent forward on the floor and finally let it break.

The sob that escaped wasn’t loud. It was raw, gutted, and full of every moment she tried to be strong for someone else.

She cried because she hated this feeling.

She cried because part of her believed the voice.

And that, more than anything, terrified her.

Her throat tightened. Her eyes burned. The silence in her room felt colder now.

"Do you really think he’ll keep looking your way when he realizes what you are? Someone broken. Weak. Replaceable."

Her lips parted but nothing came out. Her chest rose with sharp, uneven breaths.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t fight. Her shoulders slumped forward.

And in a shaking voice that barely made it out—

"...help me."

The room stayed dark.

"Help me..." she whispered again, quieter now.

Suddenly, Nia’s eyes lit up with a deep, radiant gold. It wasn’t like before, it felt stronger and expandable.

Her brown skin shimmered with small, bright sparks, gold flickers dancing across her arms and neck like static trying to escape.

The air around her changed. It felt heavy and charged.

Her hands, which were trembling a second ago, now clenched into fists. Light crackled faintly between her knuckles.