CHAPTER 489: A PATHETIC LOST-II

Morpheus continued to summon rows upon rows of branches that shot up toward the sky like a forest born in fury. Each one split the air with a sharp whistle, stretching higher, clawing toward Arabella as if the earth itself was rushing to obey his command to bring her down.

His plan was simple— too simple, in fact. He only have to capture her leg and pull her down. End it before she could counter with new magic which he was less acquinted with.

The faster he could do it, the better. He didn’t want to use anything too dangerous, something that could force her to submit but not too dangerous that it would bleed her.

Not because he was worried about her well being, of course. The thought of showing mercy because he was worried of her being hurt almost made him laugh.

It wasn’t any of those noble emotions.

He simply wanted to appear as though he cared. To maintain the illusion of restraint, of gentleness— a pretend act he had found oddly useful when dealing with her. After all now he had learnt that instead of coercing her, Arabella was more weak with coaxing.

If she was wounded, he could always heal her. It would cost him nothing but a few murmured incantations and a few drops of blood.

Yet he knew, or perhaps sensed, that she despised unnecessary cruelty. She would recoil at the sight of what he was truly capable of, and so he held back, disguising his cruelty as mercy.

But what she didn’t know was that she had long figured out this side of him.

That he never hurt her because he cared for her. He only wanted to trick her into belieiving that there was a part in him that was humane when she could be more certain than ever now to discern that there’s no kindness ever nestle in his heart.

Her body glided through the air, her figure weaving between the snapping branches with the ease of wind itself. Each vine that reached for her missed by inches, whipping at the empty air where her legs had been a heartbeat before.

It would have been easy for her to burn them, to turn those blackened roots into ash with a flick of her wrist. Fire was a simple solution. But she didn’t.

Because she wasn’t aiming to destroy him. She was studying him.

And there it was— the first sign she had been waiting for.

Her sharp green eyes caught the subtle tremor in his hand. The steady rhythm of his breathing was gone, replaced by quick, uneven gasps. His robe’s sleeves clung to his skin, soaked through with sweat, and when his fingers extended again, she saw the gleam of red.

Blood.

His palms were raw and crimson, thin cuts etched across them like lines. Each time he called upon another spell, another branch from beneath the ground, he was forced to draw on his own blood to awaken the magic circles carved into his robes.

Arabella’s gaze dropped to the floor below him and she saw it then, the faint puddle forming near his boots, those deep red glistening puddle of liquid.

He was bleeding himself dry.

Even without her interference, he was getting exhausted by the second and the magic circle on his left sleeve seemed to have all been completely activated, leaving him with only a few more to work on the right sleeve.

But Arabella didn’t hastily end the spar even when she saw the chance.

No. Not yet. She still need to confirm it.

To confirm that what made Morpheus stronger all this time had never been his sorcery but something else entirely.

For that, she not only have to push him to limit but taunt him.

And taunting wasn’t exactly difficult when she had learnt it from the best.

"I thought that you would have far more impressive magic hidden under your sleeve, Morpheus," she spoke with a gentle tone but her eyes weren’t. She looked unimpressed and for someone like him who live with his ego, it had bruised him. "Are you holding back on me?"

"I don’t want to hurt you," said Morpheus when inwardly he had clenched his fists tight enough until more blood drawn unnecessarily from his hands.

"But I want to see your power," Arabella explained, "I want to see you go all out. It’s the reason why I have created this second test."

"Really?" Morpheus narrowed his eyes sharply and skepticism echoed when he spoke, "Or are you trying to make me wound you which would only turn your heart even colder towards me?"

"Hardly, I don’t play petty tricks. If you hurt me, that’s simply an accident. It’s a spar, after all, without a single wound it’s impossible to call it a real spar."

A faint chuckle dripped from Morpheus’s mouth. His gaze that looked at her now turned hungry, "So you promise you wouldn’t hold it against me if I hurt you."

"I won’t. I will praise you instead," Arabella raised her hand, "After all, I barely used my magic, Morpheus."

And her last word seemed to have triggered something in him, perhaps finally shattered the part that was always sore with envy.

"I see. Well if you say so, I can’t possibly fail from impressing you."

The moment he finished what he said, his hands dropped beside his hips.

Blood dripped even more as he smeared more of his own blood under his sleeve.

The sky from behind Arabella had suddenly turned dark and that was enough to also catch her eyes.

She knew that witches could control the weather... but also for a sorcerer?

No. It should be impossible.

When she looked back behind toward Morpheus, his face had suddenly appeared in front of her, startling her to the point that her eyes had enlarged.

A smiling Morpheus had appeared but only his face and his arms that had outstretched toward her neck.

What had appeared wasn’t the entirety of his body. It was simply his head and arm from a blood red portal which had suddenly appeared from the thin air.

A cackle slipped from his mouth, the mask of a kind man he had paraded also failed to settle.

"I told you not to test me."