Chapter 175: Portal Back Home 3!

Chapter 175: Portal Back Home 3!

The portal widened in a blinding flash of light, its edges crackling with unstable energy. Before anyone could react, Tessa's floating form jerked forward, as if pulled by an invisible force.

"No!" Nyala shouted, her hand reaching out instinctively. But it was too late.

Tessa's body was sucked into the portal, vanishing in an instant. The shockwave that followed pushed everyone back, leaving them momentarily disoriented.

"Tessa!" Abdel screamed, his voice echoing in the suddenly silent room.

Bandel Blue's eyes narrowed. Without hesitation, he propelled himself forward, his body moving with inhuman speed. In a heartbeat, he dived into the portal just as it began to collapse.

"Bandel Blue!" Ecdy called after him, but the portal sealed shut with a deafening crack, leaving nothing but a faint shimmer in the air where it had been.

For a moment, the group stood frozen, their faces a canvas of shock and disbelief. The reality of what had just happened sank in slowly, heavy and oppressive.

"They're gone..." Nymff muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nyala clenched her fists, her usually composed demeanor fracturing. "What do we do now? Do we wait for another portal to open, or...?" Her voice trailed off, uncertainty clouding her sharp features.

Abdel paced frantically, his hands tugging at his hair. "This is insane! First Tessa, now Bandel Blue? We're just supposed to sit here and do nothing?"

Ecdy's jaw tightened. "Calm down, Abdel. Panicking won't bring them back."

"But we don't even know where they went!" Lhize interjected, her voice quivering. "For all we know, they could be anywhere—another dimension, another planet—"

"Or worse," Lhaze finished grimly.

The weight of their situation settled over the group like a dark cloud. None of them wanted to voice their deepest fear: that they might never see Tessa or Bandel Blue again.

———

Southern Continent — Acrid Country — Ocean Roar City — Reek Manor Extension

The air inside Reek Manor was heavy with the scent of damp stone and burning incense. The Electricity switch was turned off, but a torch gave off a soft glow.

Shadows danced across the vaulted ceilings, cast by flickering torchlight. In the heart of the manor's sprawling extension, Rhemon sat on his throne-like chair, a blend of iron and obsidian, cold and imposing. The weight of the realm's troubles pressed heavily upon him.

A subordinate had just delivered a detailed report, and Rhemon's sharp eyes had scanned each line with growing irritation, before he turned off the electricity with a gritted teeth. His features hardened, his jaw clenched. As he read the final lines, his arched brow deepened, and he muttered darkly under his breath.

"An uprising in the Eastern Continent... And here, in the Southern Continent, a lone sniper rifle taking out my agents one by one, spreading chaos with each shot." His voice dripped with venom, and his fingers drummed on the armrest. The rhythm was erratic, reflecting the storm brewing within him. Bile rose in his throat, and his rage threatened to boil over.

Just as his hand clenched into a fist, a sudden flash of blinding light illuminated the dim chamber. The temperature dropped instantly, and the air seemed to vibrate with an unearthly hum. An ethereal figure materialized before him, its presence commanding and oppressive. Rhemon's fury evaporated in an instant. He bowed deeply, his earlier wrath replaced by a servile demeanor, as though the weight of his rage had been snuffed out by the sheer force of the visitor's aura.

The voice that followed was deep and resonant, each word carrying a weight that seemed to bend the very fabric of the room.

"The time draws near," the figure thundered, its form flickering like a mirage. "I can sense her presence no longer. The chosen one has likely returned to her true home, far beyond this realm. You must ensure the pressure remains unrelenting. This world must be broken before it can be remade."

Rhemon dropped to one knee, his head bowed low. "Yes, my Lord," he said, his voice steady but laced with resentment.

The figure lingered for a moment longer, its presence a suffocating weight, before vanishing as abruptly as it had appeared. The light faded, the room warming once more, but the oppressive energy remained, echoing in the silence.

Rhemon slowly rose to his feet, his gaze fixed on the spot where the figure had stood. His expression darkened, and his lips curled into a bitter snarl. "Insane bastard," he spat, his voice low but venomous. "To you, I am nothing more than a pawn in your grand cosmic game."

He began to pace, the sound of his boots echoing in the vast chamber. His mind raced with thoughts of rebellion, of retribution. "You think you hold all the power," he muttered, speaking more to himself now. "But soon, these so-called gods will learn why King Rhemon Sanchez is not to be trifled with."

His voice rose with each word, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "The day will come when you beg for mercy at my feet. And on that day," he growled, his eyes gleaming with malice, "I will show none."

Rhemon stopped, his chest heaving, and looked once more at the empty throne room. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant sound of thunder rolling over the city.

———

In another wing of Reek Manor, Adrian lay in a pod, his features serene, as though locked in a deep, dreamless slumber. The faint hum of the pod's machinery filled the room, casting a sterile glow over the rows of identical capsules that lined the walls.

Beside Adrian, twenty other pods housed beings who bore his exact likeness. Their chests rose and fell in unison, synchronized by the shared energy that had been siphoned from Adrian and dispersed among them. If one didn't know better, they could easily mistake the occupants for siblings—replicas born of a single genetic mold.

"He looks... so peaceful," one of the junior doctors murmured, his gaze fixed on Adrian's still form.

"Peaceful?" Dr. Veron scoffed, his tone dripping with contempt. "Wake him, and you'll see the very definition of hostility. This one's a weapon, not a saint."

The junior doctor hesitated, shifting nervously on his feet. "I thought the brainwashing was scheduled after the energy transfer. Isn't the fusion supposed to guarantee loyalty?"

Dr. Norris, the head physician, glanced up from his datapad, his expression grim. "It's not that simple," he said, stepping forward. "Adrian's mind is in a fragile state. Attempting to implant directives now risks fracturing his psyche entirely. The energy transfer has left him weakened, and any interference could yield... unpredictable results."

Dr. Veron leaned back in his chair with a lazy smirk, folding his arms. "You're all cowards. What's the point of creating weapons if you're too scared to test them properly?" his hands curling with amusement.

The room fell into a tense silence. The other doctors exchanged wary glances, clearly uneasy with Veron's cavalier attitude. His fascination with experimentation often veered into the territory of sadistic curiosity. To him, brains weren't the sacred seat of consciousness—they were puzzles to be dismantled and rearranged at will.

Dr. Norris shot him a warning glare. "We're scientists, Veron, not butchers. The goal is control, not chaos."

Veron chuckled, tapping his temple. "Control comes when you know the limits. And I say we push his."

One of the junior doctors muttered under his breath, "More like a brain mechanic than a physician…"

Ignoring the comment, Veron stood and wandered over to Adrian's pod, his fingers grazing the glass surface. "When he wakes," he said softly, almost to himself, "we'll see whose methods yield better results."

The hum of the machinery continued, a cold, unfeeling witness to the tension simmering within the room.