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Chapter 31 - Chapter 31:The Throne of Mercy

Chapter 31:The Throne of Mercy

Melody

Magnus did not speak—not even after the fourth time she called to him.

"Father... say something. Why are you here? You should be dead…"

In the corner of the throne room, faint movement. A woman materialized in a black dress, her face blank—void of emotion. It was Eliza.

"I can't stand you. I really can't even look at you. You disgusting waste of space," she said.

"El... what? Why are you saying this to me?" Mel's voice cracked shocked, contrasting the sharp and hateful words hurled at her.

"I wish you were never born. Every time I look at you, I throw up a little. Maybe if you weren't born, then maybe….just maybe," she spat in disgust, "your pathetic father would've lived his pathetic life with your pathetic mother and died. Then maybe my sister would still be alive."

"No... El, I know you don't mean that. You would never say that. We're friendsI... I know you'd never—"

"Forgive him," a voice said from the shadows.

"What? Who is that?! What are—" Mel shouted, turning in all directions.

Another figure stepped forward. A man dressed in black. Then, a young girl—Ola. She said nothing. She didn't need to. Mel knew what her silence meant.

"I am dead because of your father. I was blown to pieces and left in the dirt because of him."

Then, another. A woman Lilith. Her mother. Mel ran to her.

"I don't understand what's happening! Mother, help me!"

She said nothing. She only smiled... and faded, just as Mel reached her, crashing to the ground in despair.

Then came another. A severed head.

Bethany.

She, too, said nothing. Her eyes opened—and from the sockets, blood poured in thick, violent rivers of red. It seeped slowly through the crevices of the white marble floor in a bath crawling toward Mel. On her knees, she reeled back, trying to avoid the blood as it slithered toward her. It stopped when she returned to the center of the room.

"Forgive him."

The voice echoed again.

"Maddox! Help me!" Mel cried, spinning, searching for a familiar face in the chaos.

And just like before, another formed—a boy, tethered to an altar. He burst into pieces, white light pouring from his shattered body.

Then another. And another. And another and another—until they formed a full circle. Babies. Young boys. Girls. Teens. Adults. All victims of Magnus.

All repeated the same line:

"Forgive him."

Curled into a ball, Mel had her head tucked in her hands. She cried. The strong act she had held together until now broke into pieces as the assault continued.

"No. No. No. I can't. Please... someone... anyone... Maddox... Eliza... please..."

"Forgive him. Forgive him. Forgive him."

The voice grew louder, and louder, and louder.

And then she snapped.

"I will NOT!!" she roared, standing—an explosion of fire bursting from her body, light spreading across the throne room, consuming the shadows. The Lefts crept back, flinching from the flame. They were the ones who whispered to her all along.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" she shouted , flames shooting from her hands.

"He may have been my father," she hissed, fists clenched, "but he was never a good person!"

Magnus laughed.

The first sound he had made since appearing in the chair.

He laughed violently.

"A bad man," Mel said. "In fact."

Magnus began to weep from the throne.

Then he... changed. Now, a younger version of himself.

He spoke—not with his own voice, but Ola's.

"If you believe I was not a good person, then it can simply be stated: nothing I have done, nothing I have created, can ever be good. Intentions are no factor. I was bad. Evil in this world."

He shifted again.

But now in the chair, it was no longer Magnus who sat.

It was Mel.

She spoke.

"You're just like him. The apple never falls far from the tree.... how long before it's you who burns the world?"

"It's true..." the mel on the throne said , as she raised her chained hands, the iron clinking weakly. Her fingers pointed.

"Everything he created... including you."

"No... You're wrong. I'm nothing like him," Mel said.

"If you truly believe that... why are you shaking?"

Mel raised her hands toward her face—and indeed, she trembled.

The truth was: Mel killed Magnus out of mercy...right?.

She knew the man she saw that day was no longer her father. The Magnus she remembered had died long before—drowned in the ambition he placed on his own shoulders.

But what scared her most was this:

If she was born of him... was it possible she could become him?

As she crumbled, just before she fell…

A hand caught her.

Her head landed against a familiar chest.

She looked up.

Maddox.

"Maddox?" she said, fear in her voice. "No... not you too. I can't take hearing this from you."

"You once said thinking didn't suit me, remember?" he said with a grin. "Well, I'd say it looks awful on you too."

"What?" she blinked—then remembered. The carriage. The words.

"You shamed me for not believing in the strength of my friends. You told me if we were truly friends, why couldn't I rely on you…"

"Then why the hell," he said, "would you believe—**for one second—that I would ever let you become like him?"

The violent, red flames around Mel flickered... then shifted. Soft, warm, blue.

"Maddox..." she said, tears rising. "I hate when you're right," she whispered, resting in his arms.

"And I'll be damned," she smirked, "if a dumbass sulky emo like you is ever right."

Maddox laughed—just barely. Or at least his projection of him did.

In that moment, a light shone through the room.

The Mel in the chair vanished.

Magnus took her place once more—his body engulfed in green fire, burning to ash.

The circle of victims lit up. Each one smiled. Each one disappeared, one after the next.

Each one whispered:

"Thank you."

El, Ola, and the real Mel held hands, smiling as they stepped forward—into the light. As they walked, they too began to burn in a vibrant green flame.

Mel looked down.

Maddox stood there, smiling—before he, too, began to fade, breaking apart into the same emerald fire.

The throne room glowed, consumed in the ash of green flame.

"Like I said," Mel whispered, gazing up at the crumbling space, the Lefts dissolving with it,

"It is not my place to forgive you. I did my part... when I let you rest."

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