Chapter 6: Five Hundred Years of Sacrifice

Then, day after day, I nourished him with my blood for five hundred years, recreating Derek.

The years blurred together—pain, sacrifice, the slow, steady drip of blood onto cold stone. I became a legend in the shadows, the monster who would not let go.

On the day he finally awoke in the rain-soaked cave of the Hundred Monster Valley, I was covered in wounds. I stroked his face and wept, tears falling onto his cheeks. After five hundred years of anxiety and fear, I had finally saved him.

The rain hammered the roof, thunder rolling in the distance. My hands shook as I touched his face, hardly daring to believe he was real. I sobbed, relief and exhaustion crashing over me like a tidal wave.

But as I cried with joy, I never expected his first words, cold and distant, would be: "Morgan, after all your effort to save me, what is your intention?"

His eyes were hard, his voice colder than the grave. My joy turned to ice in my veins. I stared at him, unable to speak.

I froze on the spot.

For a moment, time stopped. I felt the weight of every sacrifice, every wound, every lonely night. It was all for nothing.

To save him, I never gave up during those desperate days. I lived in caves, ate whatever I could find, endured countless wounds, and struggled through death’s door hundreds of times.

I remembered every hardship—every time I thought I’d die, every time I clawed my way back for his sake. My body bore the scars, but my heart bore more.

Whenever I felt I couldn’t go on, I thought: just a little more, just a little longer and I’ll save him.

I whispered it to myself like a prayer, a mantra. Just a little more. Just a little longer.

Just hold on a bit longer.

It was the only thing that kept me alive.

That’s how I endured for five hundred years.

Five centuries of pain, hope, and stubbornness. All for him.

After I revived Derek, he became gloomy, unpredictable, and suspicious of everyone and everything around him.

He was a different man—darker, colder, his eyes always searching for threats. I hardly recognized him.

After waking up, the thing he said to me most often was, "Do you really like me? Will you never betray me? Dig out your heart and let me see."

The words became a ritual, a test I could never pass. I gave him everything, but it was never enough.

A monster’s heart is only bright red before the one they are loyal to and love. Ever since he was betrayed by the goddess Lila, he’s been suspicious, doubting everyone is false and plotting.

The wound never healed. He poked at it, again and again, as if pain was the only thing that made him feel alive.

But it’s fine; I like him so much, am loyal to him, and have repeatedly cut out my heart to prove I won’t betray him. After so many years, he will eventually see my worth.

I told myself that, every time the knife came out, every time the blood spilled. I told myself it had to mean something.

He has changed greatly. Sometimes I can’t find the Derek I once knew. Back then, he was the dark lord who shocked the three realms; at his peak, even all the heavenly warlords together were no match for him. Though feared, only I knew his cold exterior hid a warm heart.

I remembered the way he used to laugh, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at me. That Derek was gone, replaced by someone harder, sharper, broken.

But now he’s become cold, cruel, and violent. He can’t see or hear anything related to phoenixes. After being recreated, his power is only a third of his peak. One drunken night, looking toward Phoenix Ridge, he told me, "Morgan, I swear, I will have revenge."

His voice was thick with Jack Daniels and country music playing low in the background, the promise of vengeance burning in his eyes. I held him as he wept, knowing I couldn’t save him from himself.

After regaining control of the underworld, all monsters trembled under his rule, living in fear. Only with me did he show some gentleness, but sometimes when I accidentally looked into his eyes, I saw probing and calculation.

I saw the way he measured me, weighing loyalty against usefulness. It broke my heart, but I stayed.

I felt it was sad, because his ability to trust had been completely destroyed by Lila.

He was a fortress with no doors, a king with no friends. I mourned for him, even as I bled.