To ruin an Omega novel Chapter 402

Chapter 402: It costs nothing to be cruel 1

ALDRIC

I walked down the corridor and let the silence settle around me, not as something empty, but as something that belonged to me now.

Gabriel’s body moved differently than mine ever had, lighter in a way that bordered on fragile, the muscle softer and less defined, shaped by years of confinement instead of discipline, but it was still functional, still responsive, and more importantly, still mine to command.

It would do.

It had to.

I turned the corner and slowed near one of the tall windows, where light spilled in from outside, warm and golden, stretching across the stone floors in long, quiet streaks that felt almost too gentle for a place like this that had experienced violence just hours ago.

For a moment, I simply stood there.

Then I looked down at my hands.

Well... Gabriel’s hands.

They were clean now. Scrubbed free of the dirt and neglect that had clung to them for years. The skin was pale but no longer sickly, and the faint tremor that had once lived in them was gone, replaced by something steadier, something that answered to me.

I flexed my fingers slowly, watching the tendons shift beneath the surface, testing the responsiveness, the control, the ownership.

I did hate that I could still feel him, buried somewhere deep, Gabriel’s presence scratching at the edges of my consciousness, frantic and animalistic, like something trapped in a space too small to contain it, but he was contained nonetheless.

And I was in control.

That was the only part that mattered.

To be safe, I would have to get that witch to fix what was messed up by Fia, and her services were not cheap. Touching money like that at a time like this would raise eyebrows.

I hated uncertainty and walking on eggshells, even with a new life.

I let my hand fall and turned away from the window, continuing down the corridor as my thoughts moved ahead of me, already organizing and dissecting everything I had gathered in the last few hours with the kind of precision that came from habit, not effort.

Cian had been careful, deliberate in the way he spoke, giving nothing freely and revealing only what he chose to, but even restraint left gaps, and gaps could be filled.

He had told me enough.

Fia was a healer.

Not the diluted kind that still lingered in small pockets of our world like Moira and Thorne. Those ones could only use herbs to close shallow wounds, dull pain, and connect with the goddess at a personal level, which happened to be just enough to be useful.

This however... This felt like something older. Something that should not have existed anymore. Something that belonged to an era that had already been buried.

A true healer.

The kind that could pull someone back from the edge of death with nothing but touch and light. The kind whose existence had once been tied directly to the goddess herself.

I thought about the blue glow Ronan had described and had been keen to find out about. It had to be the exact same way Fia’s hands had lit up, and the room had shifted under the weight of something divine.

I could not believe we had missed it.

Not because it had been hidden, but because we had been looking in the wrong direction, too focused on the Pauline, and on the immediate threats that demanded attention, and in doing so, we had ignored the one detail that should have stopped everything.

The blue light... Not just any blue by the way, but that specific, unmistakable shade of celestial blue... it was the color of the goddess.

I stopped walking, the realization settling fully now, no longer a passing thought but something solid, something undeniable.

My hand rose to my chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of my shirt as if grounding myself in something physical would sharpen the clarity of it.

The rune scars on Gabriel’s back still burned faintly, a constant, low reminder of what had been done to this body and what I had done in return, but even that sensation felt secondary compared to the weight of this realization.

Because that blue light should have been the first sign that gave away how the Omega had survived the accident that Pauline had orchestrated that night.

Healers from the age of legends were not simply rare; they were connected to the source itself, and in a werewolf, that source was the well.

It was the deep living reservoir of power that flowed directly from Lady Selene, shaping what they could become and how far they could go.

The gifts varied, of course, depending on the depth of that connection.

Most healers barely scratched the surface, limited to mending wounds, resetting bones, and easing sickness just enough to keep someone alive.

Some reached further.

Precognition, fragmented but useful, glimpses into what might come.

There was also the gift of small miracles that blurred the line between healing and manipulation, the ability to move objects without touch, to bend the physical world through nothing but focus and will.

I found myself wondering, not idly but with growing intent, how much of that Fia possessed, how far her connection extended, and more importantly, how much of it remained untapped.

Because untapped power was never neutral.

It was volatile.

And then, inevitably, my thoughts shifted.

To Valentine.

The files I had built on him were not incomplete, not careless, but thorough to the point of obsession, gathered over years, layered with detail, each piece of information placed deliberately until I understood not just what he did, but why he did it.

Valentine had engaged in fleshcraft.

It was no rumor, nor was it speculation. This was confirmed as I had proof and photos of repeated experimentation on living subjects, driven by a single, consuming objective.

He believed he could bring healers back.

He refines it.

He repeats it.

He expands it.

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