Vengeance in His Bed novel Chapter 142

Chapter 142: The Sound of Departure

The suffocating silence of the room was instantly obliterated by Jannah’s piercing, ragged wail. She collapsed over Duro’s shaking, convulsing body, her left arm straining against her splint as she tried to cradle his head, ignoring the thick, foul fluid bubbling past his blue-tinted lips.

"Grandpa! Grandpa, look at me! Look at Jannah!" she screamed, her throat tearing as the sheer terror of the moment crushed her lungs. "No, no, no! Don’t leave me! Please!"

Dorrent slammed the car door closed, his shoes thundering across the porch as he burst through the open threshold. The air in the tiny hovel instantly grew dense and heavy with the freezing pressure of his presence. His eyes narrowed, cataloging the old man’s violent spasms, the rolling whites of his eyes, and the gray, oxygen-starved hue of his skin.

"Jannah, get back!" Dorrent barked, dropping to his knees on the floor beside them.

"Help him! Dorrent, please, I’m begging you, help him!" Jannah shrieked, completely throwing away her pride. She lunged sideways, her fingers digging desperately into the lapels of his coat, clinging to him as if he were her last lifeline. Tears flooded her face, blinding her. "Your energy—you have S-tier life-force transfer! You stabilized me when I was shot! Do something to save him! Please, don’t let him die!"

Duro’s fingers suddenly spasmed with a final strength. His jaw locked, a harsh, rattling gasp catching in his throat as he tried to speak, but only a bloody, frothy bubble burst across his lips. He couldn’t force a single word out. With a desperate, trembling effort, his rigid left hand lifted, weakly shoving the crumpled piece of scrap paper he had been clutching into Jannah’s palm.

"Grandpa?" Jannah gasped, clutching the paper blindly against her chest.

"Move," Dorrent commanded, his face hardening into a flawless mask of intense concentration. He ripped his coat open, exposing his broad chest, and slammed both of his hands flat against Duro’s fragile, bony sternum.

Dorrent closed his eyes, forcing his biological core to open. A radiant, blinding silver light began to emanate from his palms, hummed with a vibrating resonance that shook the loose dust from the ceiling beams. He began to pump his premium, S-tier frequency directly into the old man’s failing cardiovascular system, trying to shock the heart back into a stable rhythm, trying to flush out whatever neurological poison was systematically melting Duro’s nervous system.

The air in the small room turned blistering hot. Dorrent’s veins bulged against his neck, his jaw clenching with such immense force that a sharp vein pulsed against his temple. "Come on, old man ," Dorrent muttered through his teeth, pouring more energy into the transfer, forcing his life-force through Duro’s brittle pathways.

For three long, agonizing seconds, Duro’s spasms seemed to slow. Jannah held her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs as she watched the silver light wrap around her grandfather’s chest.

But it wasn’t enough. Duro’s biology was too frail, his organs completely destroyed by the toxicity of the substance he had consumed. The old man’s chest gave one final, violent heave. A long, rattling, hollow breath escaped his throat—a sound that signaled the absolute departure of his soul. His head rolled limply to the side, his jaw slumping open as the silver light from Dorrent’s hands scattered into the air, finding no living frequency left to latch onto.

"Jannah, watch out for your casted arm," Dorrent warned, his voice low but authoritative. "Your rib is still bandaged. If you keep thrashing like this, you will reopen the internal stitches."

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Jannah screamed, suddenly bolting to her feet. Her eyes were completely bloodshot, her face wild with a frantic, unhinged madness born from despair.

She didn’t care about the pain in her ribs. She didn’t care about her broken arm. She looked around the dim kitchen area, her frantic gaze locking onto a long, rusted steel paring knife resting on the wooden counter. Before Dorrent could even register the shift in her, Jannah lunged forward, snatching the blade with her left hand.

Without a second of hesitation, she pulled the sharp edge back and pressed it directly against the pale, smooth skin of her own throat. The steel dug in, instantly drawing a thin, bead of blood that trickled down her neck.

"Jannah, drop the knife!" Dorrent roared, his frame instantly towering over her as he took a slow, calculated step forward, his hands raised slightly. His winter-frost pheromones exploded into the room, trying to physically paralyze her movements, but her mind was too far gone to care. "Don’t do something stupid. Put it down."