Dragon Raja

61 - The Revival

Notes
This chapter contains mature/explicit content. Descriptions of death, violence, and blood. Please read at your own discretion.

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The silence upon the Yamal creeps up on his skin and Johann finds he'd become accustomed to the music. But there was an eerie breeze that entered the grand hall that could only be explained by the man clad in black, face covered with a heavy plague doctor's mask. And the only party the Yamal would host tonight would be orchestrated by his hands.

Johann wondered how far people were willing to go for their beliefs—how much they were willing to sacrifice for a chance to witness god's kingdom.

Apparently, these passengers knocked out with blood oozing from their lips saw no issue in leaving their lives in the hands of Macallan—Johann had to know why he was doing this.

From the low chants that escaped his lips and the golden glow flowing from his gloved fingertips, Johann watched as Macallan put every passenger in a trance before they vomited blood and collapsed—Johann could not make out their heartbeats.

"They're fools to think someone like you could bring them to god's gates," Johann uttered with Murasame in his hands, pointed up at Macallan who stood on the loft of the hall with his arms wide—a welcoming stance to Johann's threatening one.

But Macallan laughed and the dark room echoed with the sound of sin, his voice resembled that of death. "No, you're the fool," Macallan stated with pride, as if admiring the work he'd done. An entire room full of dead passengers.

"Can't you see?" Macallan gestured to their bodies, "They're contributing to the awakening of the king! This is the only way to reach our promised land!"

And Johann only concluded that the passengers of the Yamal were entirely insane. Dedicating their lives to a god that would bring nothing but carnage—carelessly getting drunk and having affairs while knowing they'd be nothing but food for an entity so closely compared to a demon.

Macallan pointed a long finger at Johann, "Unfortunately, you're not the guest I wish to dance with beneath the moonlight,"

"I won't let you get to anyone else," Johann kept his grip on his sword firm, watching Macallan's every move.

But he began laughing, hysterically, and Johann pressed his brows together with curiosity. Macallan grabbed his stomach in his fit of laughter and continued to point at him, Johann felt ridiculed by a madman.

"You don't get it, do you?" Macallan spun his finger around near his temple, "No one willingly died for the sake of opening the gates, undoing the seal that keeps Nidhogg in his slumber—I put them under my control! Once they awaken, they'll be nothing more than puppets that I'll use to kill you and revive her once more!"

Johann's knotted brows twitched, "Her?"

Again, Macallan laughed and ridiculed and pointed. Johann had even watched him slap his knee in amusement.

"I don't have to tell you what you're already suspicious of," he told Johann between breaths, "unless—you want me to confirm it for you,"

"Jormungandr," Johann spoke shakily as if the name escaping his lips was a foreign word not meant to be uttered by the likes of him. "Jormungandr's blood is in my body—and that's why you're interested in me,"

Macallan raised his arms again and leaned into the moonlight, it gazed down from the shattered glass windows onto him like a spotlight, a spectacle. "This world should've been rebuilt ages ago," he announces into the air to anyone left who could hear his speech. "Only with you by my side are we worthy of tearing it apart and becoming the new kings of all living beings,"