To His Hell and Back

Chapter 531: It’s All Fragile-I

Morpheus’s entire body seemed to freeze as his gaze locked onto the ring resting in Arabella’s palm. For a fleeting second, the world around him appeared to fall away. What crossed his face was not mere disbelief, it was raw horror, an expression that had never usually appear on her face.

His breath caught, and his hand lifted instinctively, trembling as he pointed toward it.

"How did you find that...?" he whispered, his voice stripped of authority, stripped of control.

Arabella glanced down at the ring, rolling her wrist lazily as though it were nothing more than a trinket. "I found it right here," she replied with a shrug. "In this room." Her eyes flicked back up to him, sharp and observant. "See? This is exactly why I told you I could feel something wrong. The curse clings to it so tightly it’s almost suffocating. Honestly, it worries me." She tilted her head, pretending to consider something. "I think we really should do something about it. Ah—I know." Her smile widened. "I’ll destroy it."

"Don’t."

The word tore out of him.

Morpheus’s eyes widened as panic finally cracked through his composure. "Don’t do it," he said again, louder this time. "Don’t you dare, Arabella. Don’t you know what that means to me?"

"What?" she asked lightly, her smile turning sharp, almost cruel. She wasn’t going to fall for his act of pity. "You’ve never cared about the things that matter to me, so why should I care about the things that matter to you?" She lifted the ring slightly, letting the light catch against it. "Besides, unlike you, I’m certain this thing is dangerous. It’s poisoning you. I’m doing this for your sake."

She repeated his own words back to him with unsettling accuracy, each one carefully chosen. She wanted him to hear himself, to feel what it was like to always be cornered by someone who claimed concern while tightening the leash. To be controlled. To be dismissed.

"You don’t trust me?" she asked softly.

"I don’t feel any cursed energy from that ring!" Morpheus snapped, desperation bleeding into his voice.

"But I do," Arabella replied calmly.

She lifted her arm, raising the ring toward the open air beyond the balcony. The wind brushed past her fingers, tugging at her hair as she turned her body slightly, positioning herself with deliberate intent.

"Trust me, Morpheus."

And then she opened her fingers.

The ring slipped free, the gravity pulling it fast yet morpheus could watch it slowly slipped from her fingers, as if time had just slowed down.

Morpheus lunged forward with a sound that was almost a cry, his body moving on instinct alone. He reached for it, reaching past reason, past safety, past everything, but his foot slipped as he crossed the threshold. Arabella didn’t move. She only watched as his body tipped forward, his hand grasping at empty air, and then he was gone, falling headfirst toward the ground below.

She stood there in silence, the wind curling around her as gravity claimed him. Arabella did not rush forward, nor did she react with shock or triumph. She simply watched Morpheus fall, her face eerily calm, as if she had already expected this moment long before it came to pass. There was no satisfaction in her eyes, only a knowing gaze.

When he disappeared from her sight, Arabella slowly turned away. Her gaze settled on the grandfather clock standing tall against the wall, its presence suddenly oppressive. The ticking grew louder, each second stretching until the sound echoed in her chest. Then, with a deep, resounding chime, the clock struck twelve.

At that exact moment, a glow erupted before her.

It was bright and golden, warm yet blinding, blooming from the invisible mark of the oath she had once taken. The light wrapped itself around her vision, holding her captive for a heartbeat too long, as if demanding acknowledgment. Then without warning it shattered into nothingness, dispersing into the air like ash carried by the wind.

The oath was broken but her sight wasn’t taken away, meaning that it was broken from Morpheus’s side.

Arabella released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. It escaped her lips in a quiet sigh of relief, her shoulders loosening just slightly as the weight she had carried finally lifted. She stepped forward, her movements unhurried, only to find Esme standing directly in her path.

Esme hadn’t moved since Morpheus fell.

Her eyes were wide, glassy with shock, but her hand had already gone to the dagger strapped tightly at her waist. Her fingers curled around the hilt with desperation rather than confidence, her glare sharp but unsteady as she stared at Arabella like a cornered animal.

"Don’t do what you are about to do, Esme," Arabella said calmly. Her voice held no threat, no mockery, only a statement from a woman to another woman. "Do you still wish to protect a man who has never truly seen you? A man who looks at you and sees someone else?"

Esme’s grip tightened until her knuckles turned pale. "Do you even know how it feels?" she snapped, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound firm. "To stay beside someone every single day, to devote yourself to them, and yet never once have their eyes belong to you?"

Arabella stepped closer, her presence was still at ease as she knew what was about to come after this was a chaos that won’t allow even a second for her to breathe.

She passed Esme slowly, deliberately, heading toward the door as if the confrontation no longer held her attention. But just before leaving, she stopped.

She turned back.

Her gaze met Esme’s, and this time her smile was not cruel, nor was it kind, it was knowing.

"Esme," Arabella said softly, "I don’t stay in places where I don’t belong. I know my worth." Her eyes sharpened just slightly. "But tell me, do you think you could still stand beside him with your head held high, smiling as you always do... after he calls you Jullie?"

The words lingered in the air, heavier than any death sentence.

Arabella turned away without waiting for an answer, leaving Esme frozen in place, clutching a persona that was never hers to bear.

Once she stepped out of the room, Arabella’s boots, which had moved with measured restraint until now, began to quicken. What started as a brisk walk soon turned into a run, her footsteps echoing sharply through the corridor. The passage had fallen into pitch darkness, the torches extinguished as if the castle itself was holding its breath. She didn’t slow down, relying on memory rather than sight as she rushed toward the place where she knew her allies were waiting.

She pushed the door open without knocking, bursting into the room where Atlas stood bent over the sword laid carefully across the table. The moment she crossed the threshold, Arabella snapped her fingers and sealed the door behind her with magic, the air vibrating faintly as the lock took hold. She didn’t stop there, she moved straight to the window, throwing it open just as a low, furious thunder rolled across the sky, the sound heavy and ominous, as if the heavens themselves were unsettled.

It was the sign of Morpheus’s anger bubbling to the sky itself.

Their last fight was about to take place.

Morpheus will try to forcefully open Hell while she have to stop it from taking place.

"Did he die?" Circe asked at once, hurrying toward her. Her voice was tight, controlled only by sheer force of will. "Did you kill him?"

"I didn’t," Arabella replied, turning back toward them. Her voice was steady, though exhaustion tugged at the edges of it. She caught the way Circe’s expression twisted with unease, knowing exactly what she was thinking—if Morpheus died now, his half-demonic blood could awaken into something far worse, something none of them might be able to contain. "He fell. He likely broke a few bones, but nothing fatal. I doubt he’s even badly injured."

She drew in a breath, grounding herself. "We can’t linger. We move on to the next plan. Where is Isaac?"

"He’s already gone," Circe answered. "He’s leading the evacuation—getting as many people out of the castle as possible before chaos truly sets in."

"But not everyone will leave," Atlas added grimly, tightening his grip on the sword as he straightened. His gaze was dark, already bracing for what was to come. "Some of them worship Morpheus. The ones who still believe in him would rather die than abandon his side."

Arabella nodded slowly. She had expected as much. Even knowing it, the weight of that reality pressed heavily on her chest, draining what little strength she had left. Still, she squared her shoulders, forcing herself to stand firm.

"I know," she said quietly. "We prepare for those who choose to stay."

And though the resolve in her voice was unshaken, the toll of it all showed in her eyes—a weariness born not of fear, but of knowing exactly how much more she was about to lose before this was over.