Chapter 163: The Unfolding Truth XLIII

Third Person POV

Helen stood perfectly still at the very edge of the moving stream.

The water rushed past her bare feet, cold and entirely indifferent to her pain, already carrying her little daughter far away to a place where her mother could not follow.

The thick white mist crawled slowly across the muddy bank, curling around her ankles like heavy ropes trying to hold her in place.

But she did not move a single muscle.

She just stared blankly at the exact spot where the reed basket had vanished around the sharp bend.

She stared at the curve in the stream where the water turned, where the ancient trees bunched together to block out the light, and where the very last trace of her sweet baby girl had disappeared into the grey fog.

Then, she slowly turned her body around. Her pale grey eyes were not grey anymore.

The soft color had completely shifted, deepening into a shade so dark it looked like the deep ocean where the sunlight could no longer reach.

It was the color of water that was freezing, ancient, and filled with dark things that had been sleeping undisturbed for centuries.

The expression on her face was completely foreign.

It was not the gentle look she had always worn as a loving mother, nor was it the soft expression she had carried as a devoted wife.

It was not the look she wore when she laughed at Kai’s terrible singing in the morning, or when she wept on Sonita’s shoulder, or when she cradled her daughter in the quiet safety of the nursery.

It was the terrifying look she had promised herself she would never, ever wear.

Pure, unadulterated anger.

This was not a small, hot flare of temper that would burn bright for a minute and then fade away into nothing.

This was something much older. It was colder than the winter wind.

It was the specific kind of ancient rage that had been waiting patiently inside her blood since the very day she was born, the exact monster she had spent her entire life running away from because she knew exactly what it was capable of doing to the world.

She was a nine-tailed fox. She was the absolute last of her kind left alive.

By her very nature, by her birthright, by the very magic that made her exist, she was built to be a force of absolute destruction.

She had tried so hard to find peace. She had wanted nothing more than to be soft, to be kind, and to prove to herself that she could live a completely different life from the violent legends of her ancestors.

But now, a precious piece of her own soul had just been sent away because of the brutal war tearing through her home.

Her daughter.

Her innocent baby was floating down the river all alone in a basket, simply because the cruel people of the world could not leave her family in peace.

She turned completely away from the running water, stepping back into the shadow of the trees.

Her heavy black cloak billowed out wide around her as she moved.

Beneath the cloak, she wore a simple, long-sleeved black dress that fell straight to her ankles.

It was a dark, unadorned garment, the kind of clothing that allowed her to blend into the shadows and move her limbs without a single restriction.

Her stark white hair hung loose and wild around her shoulders, the prominent black streak at the very front cutting straight through the pale locks like a jagged scar across her face.

In the distance, thick plumes of dark smoke were rising high into the sky, curling up from the exact direction of the grand pack house.

And she started walking toward the fire.

As she stepped deeper into the forest, something began to move beneath her right sleeve.

It was not the muscle of her arm, and it was not a twitch in her skin.

It was something else entirely, a buried weapon that had been sleeping deep inside her magical essence, waiting for a dark moment like this to finally wake up.

A heavy chain slowly slid out from beneath her black cuff, the links made of a dark, midnight metal that caught the bright forest light as it emerged.

Then, a curved, incredibly sharp, and ancient iron blade followed the heavy chain out into the open.

It was a kusarigama.

It was a deadly weapon she had never once held in her hands, a weapon she had never trained to use, a weapon she had never even seen in person outside of the dusty drawings in Sonita’s old books.

But the cold metal handle slid perfectly into her palm as if it had always belonged right there.

The heavy black chain wrapped itself smoothly around her forearm, securing its grip.

The sharp blade rested flat against her palm, and then the magic fire arrived.

It was a brilliant, bright blue flame.

It looked hot enough to melt solid stone, but it did not burn her skin at all.

The blue fire danced playfully along the length of the iron blade, snaked its way up the metal chain, and licked across her fingers, but she felt absolutely nothing except the comforting warmth of a power finally waking up from a long slumber.

She looked down at the lethal weapon, at the bright blue fire, and at her own small hands holding them both.

"They all die tonight," Helen said, her voice dropping into a low, completely steady register that carried no hesitation.

She picked up her pace and walked forward into the smoke.

The grand pack house was in a state of absolute, bloody chaos by the time she reached the perimeter.

She did not bother trying to enter through the main front gates where the heaviest fighting was concentrated.

Instead, she circled quietly around the outer edge of the battle, moving through the manicured gardens she had planted with her own two hands.

She walked past the stone fountain where she used to sit and watch the young twins play in the afternoon sun.

The vibrant flowers were completely trampled into the dirt now, the elegant stone fountain was cracked wide open, and dark blood stained the pristine white pathways.

She saw the enemy everywhere she looked.

Soldiers clad in heavy, dark iron armor were tearing through the grounds, their faces completely hidden behind terrifying metal helmets as they swung their swords, cutting down anyone who stood in their path.

She recognized the victims, the friendly pack cook who always slipped her an extra loaf of warm bread in the morning, the young guard who had helped her carry heavy bags of baby’s stuff up the stairs, the sweet old woman who had patiently taught her how to knit winter clothes.

They were all fleeing, screaming in terror, and dying in the dirt.

Kai’s loyal warriors were fighting back with everything they had, but there were simply too many enemies pouring over the walls.

Helen kept walking right through the center of the madness.

She suddenly spotted two young girls huddled desperately behind a broken wooden cart.

They were young, perhaps only fifteen years old.

Their eyes were wide with pure terror as they clung to each other.

One of them was weeping uncontrollably, while the older one held her sister’s hand, her whole body shaking violently as she tried her best to be brave in the face of death.

An enemy soldier spotted them through the smoke.

He marched toward the hiding spot, raising his heavy iron sword high above his head to deliver a killing blow.

Helen raised her right hand.

The kusarigama spun wildly through the air, the blade and the heavy chain turning faster and faster until they became a blinding blur of blue flame, a literal fan of death cutting through the dark smoke.

She threw the weapon with absolute precision.

The sharp blade struck the soldier square in the back of his neck.

He froze instantly, his heavy iron sword clattering uselessly against the stone pathway.

Helen gave the metal chain a violent, heavy yank.

The soldier’s body flew backward through the air, dragged roughly across the dirt, past the broken wooden cart and the two crying girls, until his heavy form crashed hard into the earth right at Helen’s feet.

She did not let go of the metal chain.

She lifted him completely off the ground with a single hand.

Holding the chain tight against his broken neck, she raised the grown man into the air.

The soldier kicked his legs wildly, choking and gasping for air as he clawed desperately at the iron blade embedded deep in his throat.

His eyes bulged out of his head, and his mouth opened and closed rapidly like a fish pulled from the safety of the water.

Helen’s facial expression did not change even a fraction.

She took the second blade, the one waiting at the opposite end of the long chain, and drove it straight into his skull.

The soldier’s body went completely limp. And she dropped him into the dirt like a piece of trash.

The two young girls just stared up at her from behind the broken cart, their mouths hanging wide open in pure shock.

Their eyes were completely round.

They had never seen their gentle Luna look like this before. They had never seen any human look this terrifying.

"Run," Helen said, her ocean eyes not even looking down at them as she kept her gaze on the battlefield ahead.

"Find a safe place to hide. Do not come out until the fighting stops completely."