Odyssey Of Survival-Chapter 154 - Blood Of The Last II

Nate moved.

Lightning flickered in his veins as his foot slammed forward, and in an instant, he dashed toward the altar, his speed tearing through the thick air of the chamber. The world blurred, the kings, the guards, the stone-carved walls—they all faded into streaks of motion. His only focus was the raised stake in the king's hand, the sharp tip gleaming with the blood of fallen beasts, descending toward Sera's chest.

Then—

A black portal split open behind him.

Faster than thought, faster than even his instincts could react—

Something reached through.

A ghastly hand.

Clawed fingers, elongated and warped, wrapped in black mist that flickered with jagged streaks of lightning. It latched onto his throat.

And then—

It pulled him in.

Nate had never felt such overwhelming powerlessness.

One second, he was rushing forward, his mind set, his body ready to intercept the strike—

And the next, he was being dragged into a realm that defied all understanding.

Darkness.

Swirling, endless black mist.

Lightning crackled through the void, illuminating jagged edges of shifting space, as if the very fabric of existence had been torn open. The pressure around him was suffocating—his muscles locked in place, his lungs refused to expand, his body no longer obeyed him.

He couldn't even move his eyeballs.

He could only stare straight ahead, suspended in the abyss.

His mind screamed.

What is this power?

The words echoed in the void, not from his lips, but inside his very consciousness, reverberating like a whisper from something unseen. Something vast.

Then—

Another portal opened in front of him.

But unlike the one that had seized him, this one didn't reach out for him.

Instead—

It showed him.

Through the swirling darkness, he saw the tunnel. The altar. The kings. The glowing Niyx crystals illuminating the scene. And in the very center of it all—

The king's hand.

Still moving downward.

The stake descending.

Aimed directly at Sera's heart.

Nate's eyes widened.

"No—"

His voice didn't leave his lips.

He could only watch.

He could only watch.

The stake fell—

But then—

At the very last moment—

A figure rushed forward.

A blur of movement.

A sudden flash of light.

And then—

The sound of flesh being pierced.

The stake stopped.

Not because it missed.

But because it had struck someone else.

A gasp rippled through the gathered kings.

Sera's wide eyes darted downward.

The sharp wooden tip—buried deep in the chest of the one who had taken her place.

The one who had intercepted the blow.

Tiaa.

The realization slammed into Nate like a collapsing mountain.

Tiaa.

She stood there, frozen, the stake driven deep into her chest.

For a brief moment, silence consumed the chamber.

And then—

She fell.

Her body slumped forward, her weight crumpling onto the blood-soaked altar.

Her blood—mingling with that of the beasts—spilled onto the cold stone floor.

And then—

A blinding light erupted from the altar.

A deafening crack thundered through the tunnel.

The chamber shook.

The kings staggered back, some raising their arms to shield themselves from the radiance that surged through the air like a living force. The Niyx crystals pulsed violently, their glow intensifying, as if feeding off the blood now seeping into the ritual markings.

Something was happening.

But Nate—

Nate didn't care.

His eyes never left Tiaa.

She lay there, her breath ragged, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven motions.

And in that moment—

A rage unlike anything he had ever felt before ignited inside him.

His body tensed.

A surge of raw power exploded through his limbs.

The ghastly hand that had held him—

Shattered.

The black mist around him rippled and tore apart as he broke free from its grip, his body wrenching itself from the unseen force that had tried to restrain him.

And then—

He was back.

A thunderous crack split the air as Nate reappeared in the tunnel, his feet slamming against the cold stone. He didn't stop.

He rushed forward.

Tiaa lay sprawled on the altar, blood pooling beneath her, her face pale.

Nate knelt down beside her, his hands trembling as he lifted her head gently, cradling it in his arms.

Her breathing was faint.

Her body was cold.

"No," Nate muttered, shaking his head, his voice cracking. His fingers brushed her face, as if trying to will her to stay. "No, no, no, Tiaa, you—" His throat tightened, his vision blurred. "You can't die."

She blinked weakly, her eyes unfocused.

Her lips parted, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Why…?" she murmured, her tone fragile. "Why did I do that…?"

She wasn't even asking him.

She was asking herself.

Like she didn't know what had come over her.

Like she didn't understand why she had thrown herself between Sera and the fatal blow.

Nate swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against her cheek, wiping away a tear she was too weak to shed.

"You can't go," he said again, his voice trembling. "Not like this. Not like this."

But she was already slipping away.

Her breath shuddered.

Her gaze softened.

And then—

She smiled.

A faint, broken smile, as if she had finally accepted something that had long weighed on her soul.

"At least…" she whispered, her voice fragile. "At least I can rest now."

Her hand—weak, trembling—lifted slightly.

Her fingers brushed against his cheek.

Nate felt a wave of crushing sadness wash over him as he stared down at the girl in his arms, the girl who had sacrificed herself not for glory, not for duty, but for reasons that even she didn't fully understand. Tears, hot and unbidden, slipped from his eyes, tracing silent paths down his face as he held her close, as if sheer will alone could keep the life from leaving her body.

Tiaa was just a young woman. A girl who had known suffering. A girl who had dreamed of something simple, something pure—a life where she could rest. A life where she could finally feel safe.

And yet, fate had never allowed her that peace.

Her breaths came in shallow, trembling gasps, each one weaker than the last. Her lips parted slightly, her voice barely a whisper, a final confession slipping through.

"I… wanted it to be you…"

Nate's heart clenched.

He knew what she meant.

She had wanted to run away—not just from the city, not just from the dangers of this era, but from everything. She had wanted a different life, a quiet one, a life with him.

A life where there were no altars, no sacrifices, no kings demanding blood in the name of power, no beasts.

But it was too late now.

Her dream would forever remain just that—a dream.

Her fingers, weak and trembling, barely clung to his face, and with her final breath, she murmured,

"I will… find you… in the next life…"

And then—

Her hand fell.

Her chest rose for the last time—

And never again.

Her eyes—once so full of determination, so full of fire—closed forever.

Nate felt something inside him shatter.

A silence unlike any other settled over him, an emptiness that devoured everything else. It was not just grief. It was rage.

And then—

Her body vanished.

Dissipating.

Not like a person dying. Not like a body left behind to mourn.

Her form dissolved into shimmering particles, pulled into the altar, her very existence claimed by the ritual, by the forces that had demanded her blood in the first place.

Nate watched.

And something burned.

He lifted his head, his gaze locking onto the one man who had made all of this possible.

The King of Kemet-Ra.

The man who had decreed this sacrifice.

The man who had driven a stake through her chest.

Nate's grief became something else entirely.

Something dark.

Something merciless.

His breath steadied.

His hands curled into fists.

And then—

He moved.

In one fluid motion, he stood.

The kings, the nobles, the guards—none of them had time to react.

His arm shot forward.

His fingers pierced flesh.

The King of Kemet-Ra barely had time to gasp, his face contorting in shock, his mouth opening as if to speak—but there were no words for what was happening to him.

Nate's hand had buried itself into his gut, cutting through muscle, through sinew, through the core of his very being.

But he wasn't done.

He wasn't nearly done.

His fingers curled.

And then—

In one brutal, merciless motion—

He tore.

The sickening sound of flesh ripping, of bones snapping, of something vital being yanked free filled the chamber as Nate wrenched his arm back—

And in his hand—

Was the king's spine.

The body slumped, lifeless, before it even hit the ground.

Nate barely spared it a second glance.

The kings. The guards. Everyone in the chamber had gone silent.

But Nate didn't care.

The binding light was intensifying.

A force beyond understanding surged from the altar, pulsating in waves, consuming everything in its path. It was raw, untamed power, set loose by Tiaa's blood, by her sacrifice.

And in the middle of it all—

Sera.

She was caught in the blinding glow, her body frozen, her eyes wide with shock.

She was going to die.

Just like Tiaa.

Nate refused to let that happen.

His eyes flashed.

And then—

Time stopped.

The glowing tendrils of energy froze mid-motion. The swirling mist of the altar became still. The movement of every single king, every single noble, every single guard—came to a complete, unnatural halt.

Nate's body felt heavy, the strain of bending reality pressing down on him, but he pushed through.

He moved toward Sera, stepping through the frozen waves of light.

He reached her.

Updat𝓮d fr𝙤m ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com.

Her bindings were tight, cutting into her skin, but he tore them off with a single motion. She slumped against him, weak, barely able to comprehend what was happening, her breath shallow against his chest.

He lifted her.

And then—

He ran.

Faster than he had ever run before.

Through the tunnel, through the chamber, past the frozen faces of those who had orchestrated this horror.

But something followed him.

Even in the frozen world he had created, he felt it.

The presence.

The one that had been watching him all along.

It moved with him.

It chased him.

It hunted him.

As if he had taken something he wasn't supposed to take.

As if he had broken something.

And he knew, without a doubt—

This wasn't over.

Not even close.