Accidentally Mated To Four Alphas

Chapter 296: _ Take My Pain Away

"Morgan," a voice purrs. "Your breathing sounds... tired. Did you have a busy night?"

"Lady Mirenia," Morgan rasps, leaning his back against a tree, ignoring the way his legs want to turn into jelly. "To what do I owe the pleasure? If you’re calling for another status report on the Labyrinth, I’m currently a bit tied up with... housekeeping."

"Do not hang up, little wolf," the Fairy warns. "The Fae Council is in an uproar. Our sensors just detected a massive spike of Demonic Core energy on the surface. High-level, ancient, and... most interestingly... emanating from a werewolf."

Morgan lets out a wet, bloody chuckle. "Detectors? What, do you have a Geiger counter for evil? That’s adorable."

"You lied to me, Morgan," Mirenia growls, her voice cold enough to freeze the blood in his veins. "You told me you didn’t find the catalyst I sent you for. You claimed every demon you found was empty. And yet, here you are, radiating enough hell-energy to be seen from the Summer Court."

"And so?" Morgan barks, a flicker of his old arrogance returning. "Didn’t you deceive us first? ’Find the specific demon, cut it open, bring me the fairy court’s asset it stole and swallowed years ago.’ You neglected to mention that the ’asset was a concentrated ball of pure, unadulterated nightmare fuel that would try to eat my soul. I just decided to cut out the middleman. I’m an entrepreneur, Mirenia. I saw an asset, and I seized it."

"You stupid, arrogant child," Mirenia hisses, and for the first time, she sounds genuinely afraid.

"You think you’ve ’seized’ an asset? The Demon Core is not a battery. It is a serpent. It is a living parasite that requires a host of immense spiritual fortitude to survive. A werewolf’s body—a creature of moon and earth—cannot withhold such chaotic magic. It will act as a furnace, burning through your life force to keep itself warm."

Morgan wipes more blood from his chin. "I feel fine. A bit of a nosebleed, maybe. I’ve had worse hangovers."

"Listen to me! The Core will amplify your darkest impulses. It will force you to kill everyone you have ever loved—not because it hates them, but because it feeds on the grief. And once you are alone, once you have nothing left to offer it, the serpent will turn inward. It will consume your mind, your memories, and finally, it will leave your body as a hollowed-out husk for the next fool to find. End this now. Bring it to the Course, and we might be able to extract it before the roots reach your heart." She commanded.

"The Court?" Morgan sneers, his eyes glowing with a faint, sickly violet light. "So you can lock it in a vault and use it when it’s convenient for you? No thanks, Lady. I’ve spent my whole life being the ’second’ twin. The backup. The spare tire. With this... I’m the engine. I don’t care if it’s a serpent. At least a serpent has teeth."

"Morgan, wait–"

"Goodbye, Mirenia. Don’t call back. I’m roaming, and the long-distance fees are a killer."

He clicks the phone shut and tosses it into the bushes.

The silence returns, but it’s heavier now. Morgan turns his head slowly, his gaze landing on the crumpled shape of Grayson.

His twin. A fake title, but growing up being trained as one kind of makes him feel like a real twin still.

The boy who had always been his shadow. The one who had always looked at him with that annoying, persistent affection, even when Morgan was being an absolute prick. Grayson’s eyes are still open, staring at nothing, a thin layer of frost beginning to form on his pale skin as the night grows colder.

The pain hits Morgan then. Not the physical agony of the Core, but something much worse. It’s the realization of what he’s done. He had wanted Grayson to pay, yes.

He had wanted Grayson to feel the weight of their father’s sins. But he hadn’t realized that killing Grayson would feel like carving out his own heart with a dull spoon.

The guilt is a physical thing—a tidal wave of black water that threatens to drown him. Every memory of them; climbing trees, fighting over toys, training until their muscles screamed, comes rushing back, tainted by the sight of Grayson’s blood on the dirt.

"I’m sorry," Morgan whispers, his voice breaking.

He drops to his knees beside his brother, his hands hovering over Grayson’s cold face. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t... I didn’t think it would be this quiet."

He begins to sob. Ugly racking sounds tear through his bruised chest. He clutches Grayson’s shirt, pulling the dead boy toward him, his forehead resting against his brother’s cold shoulder. The weight of the world is too much. The grief is a poison, spreading faster than the demon magic.

"It hurts, doesn’t it?"

The voice comes from inside his own skull, but it isn’t his own. It’s smooth, cool, and perfectly calm. The Demon Core.

"The grief is a heavy burden, Morgan. It’s a slow death. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. You’ll spend the rest of your life looking at this body in your dreams."

"Make it stop," Morgan begs, his tears hitting Grayson’s pale cheek. "Please. Just... make it stop."I can," the Core whispers, and Morgan can almost feel the "serpent" brushing against his mind. "I can take it all away. The guilt. The shame. The agonizing love that makes you weak. I can remove the emotions that are currently strangling your heart. You won’t feel the pain anymore. You won’t feel anything."

Morgan looks at Grayson’s face one last time. He sees the brother he loved, and the brother he murdered. The reflection of his own sin is too bright to bear. He can’t live with this. He’s not strong enough to be a monster and a wolf at the same time.

"Do it," Morgan affirms. "Take them. All of them. Leave me empty."

"As you wish, little king."

A sudden, blinding cold explodes in the center of Morgan’s chest. It feels like his heart is being encased in a block of black ice. The warmth of his tears feels alien, then vanishes. The racking sobs in his chest simply... stop.

His breathing slows. The frantic, hammering rhythm of his pulse settles into a steady, mechanical thud.

Morgan pulls away from Grayson’s body. He looks down at his hands. They aren’t shaking anymore. He looks at his brother’s corpse—the blood, the torn chest, the staring eyes—and he feels the same way he might feel looking at a broken chair or a fallen log.

There is no sorrow. There is no rage. There is no guilt.

There is only a vast, echoing emptiness that feels remarkably like peace.

He stands up, brushing the dirt from his knees. He doesn’t look back at Grayson. Grayson is just a piece of meat now, and meat doesn’t matter to a shadow.