Chereads / Illusive Eden - He Pretends He's the Hero / Chapter 104 - The defeated revenge

Chapter 104 - The defeated revenge

Eruption of wild red blinds Ishmael's vision.

Neva's breathing heavy, blood dribbles along from her neck, down to the pure pastel blue fading grey gown, streaking speckles of scarlet on the fabric.

Maria's grip on the dagger tightens hard, her knuckles turning white from the contracted pressure of restraining herself, so close to slitting Neva's throat.

"Let. Her. Go." The deep, menacing voice ricochets in the silent mansion. Ishmael's body shakes in fury, his chest turgid and dense. The mad woman stays hidden behind, Neva's frame a shield for her coward self.

He cannot even lift a finger, afraid if he does move, Maria would act out the unimaginable.

Maria's cruel, amused laughs bounces off the white walls, shadowing them in the turmoil of her wicked rules and reasons. Neva yelps out in pain, the dagger slicing slow—sinking and agonizing through her skin, sinew and muscles.

"You'll regret messing with my family," Ishmael warns, his face blackened and scowling. He couldn't let her dissapear anymore.

Everything was perfect.

When he's finally had her, the fate collapsed it's atrocity on him again. He let himself go, and now he's paying for the foul-up.

"Family?" Maria snorts in response. "You're so fake!" Head thrown back, she starts chortling like a maniac, as if he had just stated the most ridiculously comical thing in the world.

Neva's life hangs on a fragile thread, goosebumps peaking on her skin. A young caterpillar still between, on an agonizing blade, however, wherever she moves, she's bound for wounds, blood and grave.

Maria told her, she was living in a bubble of delusion. Everything she's been exposed to this world is a lie. Ishmael wasn't who he says he is. She stares at him, grey waves of uncertainty swimming in her orbs. Was he only pretending?

Ishmael grits his teeth, veins thrusting out his forehead, chains roping around—through his neck and arms, his insides boiling in rampancy.

Maria bites her tongue, catching her breath.

Smiling she leans down, flinching Neva as she places her head on her shoulder.

"My God, Raka. Anything more hypocritical than you would be this fantasy family of yours." She chuckles, glancing at Ishmael, his enraged gaze a soothing balm to her aching heart.

"My husband, Jack Ashcroft. Does that name ring a bell? You betrayed him, killed him. And I lost my baby." Maria mutters, her sore eyes blurred and spilling tears, the hand stirring a gun sliding down to caress her flat stomach.

Ishmael's eyes darkens. A revenge. "Power, wealth, fame. Name anything, and you'll have it. Please, just don't hurt Neva." He drawls.

Maria glares at him furiously, not bothering to wipe away the waterworks. "You regard people's lives as nothing."

Her eyes drifts up to look at Neva, she smirks. "Madam isn't aware, she'd be more than glad her scornful life is finally nearing it's end." Glimmers her features as she locks eyes with Neva's trembling orbs.

Grinning Maria nudges Neva with her shoulder, as if she's teasing a friend.

She then rivets her dead stare at Ishmael. "You've caught up to your doom Raka. Beg me and you will still live the tragedy every time you breathe."

"Stop spitting garbage!" Ishmael hisses, his gun aimed at Maria.

Clicking her tongue, she straightens her posture. "You are a fool!" Just an ounce of her attention on him away, and he seizes a chance to snatch a gun out and target her.

Maria drives the aim of firearm from Ishmael to Neva.

Her ragged breath gets trapped in her throat, the cold metal piercing at her temple. Her brain fogged, the andrenaline rush dizzying her.

"Watch me take her soul like the grim reaper." She says, her index finger a beat away to pull the trigger.

Neva's shut lids abraded tight, the pulse in her neck thrumming fast, Maria's chilling breath wafting over her ear, she drags out a long quivering air. This is it.

"Farewell–" She gags, the dagger loosens from her hold, words gaoled in the tip of her tongue.

The gun falls, as another bullet blows exploding her hand, shatters the bones of her wrist, flesh and blood splattering, sprinkling hot red liquid in Neva's face—she gasps in shock.

Ishmael runs up the stairs to Neva, while Zev who fired the first bullet emerges out the shadows, he was already up there on the hallway. Above after, swarms of Raka's armed forces hauls in through the main door.

A while before, Zev had almost opened the door and walked in to give Ishmael's suit jacket back, when he had signaled about the danger with the radical watch he had strapped on his wrist.

He had heard it all and discerned glimpses of the scenes. Acting quick, he enforced their men with a plan and discreetly climbed up to the second floor.

Maria convulses on the floor, her palm and wrist gone, the very spot on her neck she threatened to stab Neva, she had a bullet buried in deep.

Her mournful, bleary gaze on Neva fallen on her knees, on the hard ground in Ishmael's embrace.

She didn't deserve this. She lost everything because of him. Her love... a beautiful dream of a wishful future with their family.

Why does Raka secure a perfect life, a loving wife, two unsullied children borne from grueling sins...

Blood pooling around her, her lids dropping heavy, she's bleeding out, but the gnawing in her heart dulls the torment in her flesh. She regrets it, being too greedy to regale Raka's suffer of destruction, the love of his life killed before his eyes. Just like she did.

The crowd of troop surrounds her, their gaze riveted on her frame, weapons aimed at her.

The gun near her is kicked away by Zev, he squats down, hovering over her, a firearm infiltrating her forehead.

Maria closes her eyes, playing a film of all the best parts of living.

Jack stands there in a meadow, smiling at her, the field of flowers familiar, a bouquet of wildflowers in his hold. His face gleaming under the bright, blue noon sky. The dulcet breeze floating around, swaying the flowers, his loose shirt and his soft brown hair.

There's only him and her. She's peering at him, tears streaming down her fair, freckled cheeks. She was dying, yearning for him.

She failed him, she was so close. But the defeated revenge matters nothing; his presence is heavenly, he's healing her, looking at her with those adoring eyes, and so she's sobbing, running into his embrace.

He shoots her, a bullet interred in her skull. Her pain ends. A silencer anchored to the firearm, the firing barely made any noise.

Zev liberates a scarred, rotting soul from it's scarcer tarnished frame.

"Call Dr. Gray. Gather all the maids." Ishmael demands coldly.

Zev turns his head to see him picking up a stiffened Neva.

"Got it," he responds, watching the couple as Ishmael bridal carries Neva into their room.