Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 366

Chapter 366: Teleportation

Hades

We tore the room apart.

Every panel, every joint. We unscrewed the bolts from the canopy frame, peeled back the carpet, pried at the floorboards with sonic blades calibrated to expose even microfractures.

Still nothing.

No seams.

No trapdoors.

No signs of life.

Just dust and air and the rising scent of defeat.

I stalked the perimeter again, jaw clenched tight enough to snap bone. "She’s not here," I muttered. "She’s not fucking here."

"Hades—" Cain started, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand.

Elliot had cried himself hoarse this morning, his fingers digging into my coat when I promised I’d bring Kael back.

I told him it would be okay.

I told him I would fix it.

I told him lies.

A five-year-old boy who buried his mother just days ago had been forced to listen through the walls as the man who saved him—was taken. Dragged. Hurt.

And all I’d done was fail.

I aligned with Cain, of all people. A man with ties to every black market, every crime ring in Obsidian. I’d humbled myself to him—to his network, his men, his ego.

And still.

Nothing.

Felicia had slipped through every net like smoke and Darius was going to win this round.

He would have Kael.

And we would have nothing.

A phantom pressure built behind my eyes—tight, sharp, raw. I turned back to the dresser mirror. My reflection stared at me like a ghost.

I didn’t see myself.

I saw failure.

"Hades," Cain said again, slower now. "Don’t."

But it was already too late.

I reared back and slammed my fist through the glass.

The mirror shattered with a violent crack, shards bursting like splintered teeth across the vanity. My hand throbbed with a white-hot jolt—followed by the warm, slow spill of blood down my knuckles.

Cain swore under his breath and barked an order to one of his men, but I wasn’t listening.

I watched the blood drip.

One drop.

Two.

Three—

Then a shriek pierced the air.

Sharp. Piercing. Female.

I froze.

My breath hitched.

"Did you hear that?" I said sharply, turning. "That scream—did anyone else—?"

Cain raised a brow. "What scream?"

I stared at him. "That scream, Cain. It was right here!"

He looked to his men. They shook their heads.

My Gammas didn’t move.

They didn’t even twitch.

No one heard it.

Except me.

Then it came again—louder, higher, teeth-grinding. A cry that seemed to claw straight into my spine and pull.

Shrieeeeeeeeek—

I staggered backward as the sound crescendoed, curling like a live wire in my skull.

Then the blood on the floor began to glow.

The drops from my knuckles—scarlet seconds ago—now pulsed with a strange silver light, veins of moonlit energy threading through them like cracks in glass.

Cain took a cautious step forward. "What the fuck..."

And then, the air shifted.

The walls hummed.

The mirror fragments started to rattle where they’d fallen.

And somewhere beneath us—beneath this room—something answered.

Something locked.

Something screaming.

But this time, it wasn’t just me who heard it.

Because every light in the manor flickered.

And the floor beneath my feet began to breathe.

The floor drank the blood.

Not soaked it—drank it.

Each glowing drop sank slowly, unnaturally, into the boards like water pulled through parched stone. The wood darkened where it vanished, veins of silver webbing outward like frostbite.

Then it stopped.

The breathless stillness returned.

Until—

A symbol flared to life beneath my boots.

One letter but oddified and as strange as the first time I saw it. My body had recoiled then but this time it was soul that revolted.

Old. Ancient. Etched in light not of this world.

M.

Not Montegue.

The symbol that were on the Ferals, the one that Eve had said Vassir referred to as the symbol of Malrik.

Cain cursed and stumbled back. "That’s not a crest. That’s a—"

The floor collapsed.

No warning.

No cracks.

Just a violent whoomph as the boards beneath us gave way like paper, and the air dropped out from under my ribs. I had enough time to see Cain and two of his men vanish into the light below—then the rest of us were sucked down like dust in a cyclone.

Screams.

Metal clanging.

Weapons hitting the air, useless.

We fell through silence, through black, through the bones of the manor that no one remembered.

Then—

We hit.

Not hard. Not bone-shattering.

Like we’d been caught.

The light dimmed, adjusting to our presence. A low, bioluminescent glow traced the room, showing smooth obsidian walls lined with mirrored veins. It wasn’t dirt or stone. It was crafted. Designed.

---

My eyes snapped open.

White. Blinding.

I jolted upright, hand already reaching for my weapon, only to find the grip cold in my fingers—functional, but unfamiliar in this light.

The chamber we landed in was vast. Wide. White. Seamless.

The walls weren’t stone, weren’t metal—at least not any alloy I recognized. They curved with unnatural symmetry, smooth and silent, absorbing sound like a vacuum. No seams. No cracks. Just an endless stretch of off-white architecture with no markings and no sky.

My men stirred around me, coughing, disoriented but alive. The Gammas rose first, moving into a defensive posture with muscle memory alone. Cain’s rogues weren’t far behind, shaking off the fall in confused, silent glances. Even Cain looked shaken—his mouth set in a grim line as he scanned the space with narrowed eyes.

"What the hell is this place?" he muttered, pacing in a slow circle.

"Not a lab I know," I answered, voice low.

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