Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 345

Chapter 345: Perfect Hybrids

Hades

I watched them strap in Elliot first, his eyes never leaving ours as the technician handled him with care. He tried not to show fear, but the way his hands were clenched gave it away. He was afraid.

I didn’t know how to soothe him. His gaze darted between me and Eve, searching for something—reassurance, perhaps, or a signal that this wouldn’t hurt. My tongue remained heavy in my mouth. I could only hope he could read my eyes and know he was safe, that nothing would happen to him while I was here.

But the truth stained the back of my throat like old blood.

I had failed him before. Failed to protect him. Failed to believe in him.

So what right did I have to offer comfort now?

But Eve—she was different. She crouched beside the scan bed, just outside the sterile border of the equipment. Her hand fluttered up slowly, fingers curving in a soft wave.

"It’s just like a magic bed, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice barely above the hum of the monitors. "Close your eyes if you want, and when it’s done, I’ll be right here. We both will."

Elliot looked at her, then at me.

And I nodded. One small motion. One promise I would keep this time.

He slowly loosened his grip and let the technician place the neural cap on his head. His eyes closed, lashes trembling as the scan engaged.

The machine began to whir, a faint blue light sweeping over his body in clean pulses. I watched the monitors light up with information, strings of genetic sequences mapping out in real time.

Eve stood beside me now, her shoulder barely grazing mine. Her arms were crossed tightly, as if holding herself together.

Minutes passed before the chief geneticist, Dr. Vexa, turned toward us, her expression unreadable.

Dr. Vexa stepped forward, tablet in hand, the glow of data still streaming across the screen. Her lips parted, then pressed shut again as she recalibrated whatever clinical detachment she’d mastered over her career.

"You should see this," she said, voice taut.

She turned the tablet toward us.

At first glance, it was a standard sequence scan—helixes rotating, protein markers blinking, neural pathways highlighted. But then I saw the highlighted bands. One by one, they lit up like constellations.

"What are we looking at?" I asked, already knowing this wasn’t ordinary.

"Stability," she replied. "Perfect, unprecedented stability. A hybrid structure that shouldn’t exist without intervention. But there’s no trace of forced bonding. No scars. No genetic war happening beneath the surface." She looked at Elliot—who was still laying perfectly still, like a soldier at rest. "It’s like he was made this way from the beginning."

"Because he was," Eve murmured.

Dr. Vexa nodded once. "Exactly. His DNA evolved with both strains—vampiric and lycanthrope. Unlike Hades, he didn’t need purging. There was nothing corrupted in the first place."

Elliot’s blood sample was already under the microscope, sealed in an electromagnetic isolation pod. We watched through the lab’s upper screen as the artificial Blood Moon sequence began—red light pulsing from the emitters, mimicking the precise radiation frequency expected during the Cataclysm.

Normal blood samples usually convulsed under it. Some combusted. Others mutated. But Elliot’s?

It shimmered.

Golden threads pulsed through the plasma, reacting—not with distress, but absorption. Like it recognized the energy. Like it welcomed it.

"He’s immune," Dr. Vexa confirmed softly. "The Blood Moon won’t touch him."

The words hit me like thunder. Not just relief—but awe.

He was a child—and yet, somehow, he’d become something even centuries of alchemical warfare couldn’t replicate: a perfect answer.

Then came my turn.

I didn’t flinch when they drew my blood or strapped me down.

I had faced death.

I had faced myself.

But this... this was a reckoning I hadn’t anticipated.

The scans began, and immediately the techs exchanged glances. Not alarm—fascination.

Dr. Vexa didn’t wait. "Bring up comparison mapping. Hades and Subject E. Side-by-side."

The screen split. On the left—Elliot’s double helix. Clean, elegant, luminous with hybridization. On the right—mine.

Similar. But not identical.

My structure was jagged in parts, rethreaded by time, trauma, and—most of all—the Fenrir Rite. But the result?

Identical function.

"The Flux is gone," she said. "Completely. But something remains. Fragments of the vampire DNA are still there. More than just scars. They’ve been... refined."

"Refined how?" Eve asked.

Dr. Vexa enlarged the screen. "Like Elliot, Hades’s body isn’t rejecting either half of his lineage. He’s become fully hybrid. But while Elliot’s was inherited and developed, Hades’s was rebuilt. The Fenrir Marker purged the corruption and—somehow—restructured what was left into a functional, stable code. Your body didn’t just heal. It evolved."

I looked at the electromagnetic exposure chamber.

"We test it."

Minutes later, my blood joined Elliot’s under the radiation.

For one breathless second, the red light surged. A tremble rolled through the plasma. My jaw tightened.

Then—

Stability.

Just like Elliot’s, my blood shimmered—like moonlight trapped in water.

Only... deeper.

"Yours is denser," Vexa murmured. "Like it absorbed more of the radiation."

I already knew why.

"I wasn’t born with it," I said. "It had to be... forged. Which means it carries the memory of the war within."

Eve stepped closer, her fingers brushing the edge of the tablet.

"What does this mean?" she whispered.

Dr. Vexa straightened, her tone clinical, but her eyes couldn’t hide her surpise and apprehension "It means you’re both immune to the Lunar Cataclysm. Not resistant—immune. The moon can’t twist what it can’t destabilize."

I stared at Elliot through the glass.

He wasn’t moving, just breathing. Watching the ceiling like it held answers only he could read.

The hum of the machine tapered off, soft as the silence that followed. It wasn’t the heavy kind. It was... restrained. Waiting. Like the room itself was unsure what to do next.

"Unstrap him," I said, my voice lower than intended.

The technician obeyed without pause, removing the cap and gently releasing the straps. Elliot sat up slowly, his hair rumpled, cheeks pale, hands still clenched in his lap. Not scared anymore—just... bracing.

He slid off the bed with a practiced care that made something twist in my gut. Too practiced. Too familiar with tension.

Eve reached for him first. Her hand grazed his shoulder, then held it. Just that. No fuss. No soothing sounds or exaggerated praise.

He nodded once. She nodded back.

He turned to me next, his mouth parting like he wanted to ask something—but didn’t.

Instead, he reached out and pressed the pad of his thumb against the inside of his own wrist.