Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 331

Chapter 331: Intertwined Under The Moon’s Gaze

Eve

Sanctum Core

Midnight and a Breath

The world narrowed around us—sight, sound, breath collapsing into stillness. My heart thundered in my ears, but even that felt distant, like I was underwater in my own body.

The Fenrir’s Marker was no longer dormant. It moved.

Threading.

Climbing.

Creeping through the marrow of my bones with a chill that wasn’t cold. Not pain, but pressure. Like something ancient was waking—and choosing.

Across from me, the thing in Hades’ skin tilted his head. Vassir. Still cloaked in shadow, still using his voice, his face. But now, flickers of unease sharpened in his eyes—dark and wide, trying to mask confusion as anticipation.

He thought this was the beginning of the bond he’d craved. Of control. Of her.

"Say the words," he said softly, his fingers brushing the space near my collarbone. "Seal it, and we’ll be everything they feared."

The shadows around him twitched, coiled—ready.

But so did the Marker.

I opened my mouth to answer.

And felt it—the pull. Not from him.

From within.

A sensation like blood being drained through invisible strings, something primal slithering under my skin, twining up my spine and into the hollow place between us. Where memory lived. Where the Rite waited.

He stiffened.

His expression cracked.

He felt it too.

But not the way he expected.

"What...?" His voice faltered, deeper now, layered with something that didn’t belong. "No. No, this isn’t right."

He looked down at his chest. At my palm resting over where Hades’ heart should be. The place the Marker had ignited.

"You... You tricked me."

I didn’t answer.

Because it wasn’t a trick.

Not really.

He had asked for a bond. Demanded devotion. Fed on obsession. But what was rising now wasn’t devotion.

It was judgment.

The Fenrir’s Marker began to wind through the vessel he’d claimed—wriggling through the fabric of Hades’ soul like silver thread through rotting cloth.

And Vassir—the Flux—felt it.

He recoiled, shadows lashing, screaming silently into the walls. His form shimmered, destabilized. The stolen body—Hades’ body—twitched beneath his control.

"No," he hissed, more beast than man now. "This is wrong. This was ours!"

I held on tighter, even as my legs trembled. The bond deepened, not by my will, but the Marker’s. It recognized what I touched wasn’t love. It was corruption. Decay wearing a memory like perfume.

The Marker responded with one answer: purge.

"You think this is union?" I whispered. "You were never meant to keep him. And I was never meant to keep you."

His hand snapped forward—gripping my throat.

But not to kill.

To anchor himself. To hold on to the vessel now slipping from his grasp.

"Stop this," he growled. "You’ll destroy us both—"

His voice fractured.

For a heartbeat, a whisper—Hades.

"Eve..." _{freewёbnoνel.com}

I froze.

But so did he.

That moment—just one—where Hades surfaced inside the storm.

Vassir’s panic bloomed wide.

He could feel himself fading.

I could feel it, too.

It rolled off him in waves—something primal, frantic, feral. Not fear of death. Fear of erasure.

The Marker was waking up the body it belonged to.

And the Flux didn’t fit inside it anymore.

"I gave you eternity," he snarled. "And you repay me with exile?"

The runes blazed. Blue. Then white. Then something brighter still—too bright to name.

"You wanted a wedding," I whispered. "This is a funeral."

That’s when he roared.

The sound split the chamber.

Raw. Violent. Endless.

And then—

Light.

It tore across my vision like a blade. Blinding. Total.

A ringing detonated in my ears—high-pitched and deafening. I gasped, staggered, but there was no air. No floor.

Only white.

And the feeling of being pulled in two. My limbs floated, then didn’t. My blood felt like it was being wrung from my body, twisted into something new. My mind surged, cracked, blurred at the edges.

And I faded.

Just for a moment.

But in that moment, I felt everything.

Him.

The echoes of the man beneath the corruption—grief layered over love layered over rage.

And the Flux, trying desperately to hold him back. To chain what little remained of Hades deep, beneath regret and fury and failure.

But the Marker saw it.

And it didn’t flinch.

It began to tear.

The Rite wasn’t done.

The light ebbed for a moment, and my vision stuttered—colors bleeding wrong around the edges, breath hitching as if I was breathing through someone else’s lungs. My knees hit the stone. The circle beneath us pulsed, then tightened. Not outward.

Inward.

The Fenrir’s Marker—my Marker—wrapped around his soul like a noose laced in memory. It didn’t just touch the corruption.

It recognized it.

It named it.

And it began to bind.

Vassir snarled. The body he wore seized beneath him, twitching as if something were trying to crawl out from the inside.

> "Enough," he spat, his voice breaking. "This body is mine—mine!"

He lurched back—but the tether held. Thin threads of silver, barely visible to the eye, stretched from my chest to his, luminous with ancient runes that hadn’t been spoken aloud. They thrummed with a will that wasn’t mine. One I barely understood.

He tried again to pull away—shadows flailing, wings twitching, mouth parted in what might have once been a scream.

And that’s when I lunged forward and kissed him.

Not gently.

Not out of mercy.