Alpha's Rejected becomes the Lycan's Obsession-Chapter 81: None of that mattered

By all rights, Roman should’ve been a mangled heap of bones and torn flesh, left to rot in the shadow of falling gods. But instead, he crawled forward, his fingers digging into scorched earth, dragging his broken body inch by inch.

He was burning alive from the inside, but he didn’t stop.

The terrain changed.

The ash gave way to cracked red stone, glowing faintly beneath the surface like molten veins. The air thickened—became heavy, metallic. Breathing it was like inhaling smoke laced with rusted nails.

Up ahead stood the crucible.

A colossal basin carved into the earth, wide as a battlefield and deep as a chasm, filled not with lava... but Bloodfire—liquid flame born from the rage of ancient gods. It didn’t just burn flesh—it devoured soul.

To pass, one had to walk through it. Not over. Not around. Through.

Roman stood at the edge, barely able to hold himself up. The ground trembled beneath his feet, warning him—there was no illusion here. This was real.

He looked down at his reflection in the flame.

What stared back wasn’t the king of werewolves. Wasn’t the immortal Lycan feared across continents.

It was a man. Barely holding on.

He stepped in, and the moment the Bloodfire touched his skin, he screamed.

Not a war cry. Not a growl. A raw, primal, agonizing scream.

The fire peeled his flesh layer by layer. It slithered into his wounds. It ate the edges of his soul. It dragged his past to the surface—every life taken, every moment of weakness, every flash of guilt over things he told himself he didn’t care about.

A vision flashed before him. His first mate, Elira, choking on blood, eyes fading, begging him to stop as he tore apart her killers.

Then... his own face, contorted in rage, lost in madness.

The Bloodfire crucified him with truth.

He dropped to his knees halfway through, the fire now beneath his skin, now burning not just his body—but everything that made him him.

And yet...

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t turn back.

He crawled on blistered hands, with torn knees. Each breath he took came out black and smoke-filled.

As he reached the far edge, the flames resisted.

They tried to pull him back.

One final surge of heat licked through his chest, through his heart—where his wolf should’ve been.

And in that moment, he felt Lazer stir, pumping him with more strength to finish the journey.

Roman collapsed on the other side of the crucible, naked, his skin raw and glowing like embers, twitching from pain.

But his eyes were open.

And in them burned something no Bloodfire could extinguish.

His breath rattled as he pushed himself upright, his body still smoking from the crucible. Skin split in places. Muscles trembled with every movement. But something had shifted—something small, but real.

Lazer was helping now. He was not fully returned, but he was present, lending strength.

Roman looked ahead. Before him stretched a surreal, serene path—lush greenery, soft golden light filtering down from treetop canopies that hadn’t been there moments ago. The earth was damp with dew. Fragrant vines twined around crystal-like trees. Petals drifted lazily through the air like feathers.

It was beautiful.

Unnatural.

Deadly.

The moment Roman stepped into the garden, the stillness shattered.

A thousand whispers rose from the leaves.

Not loud. Not threatening.

But familiar.

"You were always a monster."

"You didn’t protect her."

"They all feared you—and they were right."

The voices came from nowhere and everywhere. But they weren’t foreign. They were his.

His own thoughts.

Every dark truth he’d buried. Every cruel thing he believed about himself.

He kept walking.

But the vines shifted with him, curling tighter around tree trunks and flowers turning their faces to him like eyes—like witnesses.

Then came the piercers.

Thorned tendrils lashed out—not at his body, but into his mind. Invisible and brutal.

The first pierced his memories.

Suddenly, Roman was on his knees, reliving the worst day of his life—Elira’s death, again. Not just watching, but feeling it. Her blood. His rage. The sensation of her soul vanishing from the bond. The wolves howling in terror as he ripped apart an entire battalion, soaked in gore, uncaring.

His chest heaved but he forced himself up.

Another piercer struck.

This time, he saw Tessy—smiling, sleeping, whispering his name with trust in her voice.

And then he saw himself, standing over her. Claws out and teeth bared.

She screamed.

The image was a lie, but the doubt it planted wasn’t.

"What if you lose control again?"

"What if you’re cursed to destroy everything you love?"

"What if you’re worse than the monsters you fight?"

Roman roared, but no sound came. The vines thickened. More piercers. More attacks on his mind. Doubts, regrets, nightmares—all twisted, amplified.

A weaker man would’ve gone mad.

A weakened Lycan could easily fall here.

He stumbled into a clearing where the whispers faded. But ahead stood an exact copy of himself. Same face. Same eyes.

But this one smiled.

"Leave," the mirror-Roman said. "You’re not worthy of the goddess. You’re too broken. You always were."

The real Roman stared at his double. Every word cut deep—not because it was false, but because it used to be true.

But not anymore.

With one deep breath, he clenched his fists and growled, voice rough and certain:

"I may be broken... but I’m still standing."

And he lunged.

He tackled the false self into the ground, the illusion shattering like glass. The whispers screamed one last time—then went silent.

The garden dimmed.

The thorns recoiled.

The path opened again.

Roman stood, gasping, blood trickling from his nose and ears. His thoughts were his again.

He moved, knowing that one trial remained.

The greenery of the Garden faded into a jagged mountain pass, veiled in a sky so black it devoured light. Thunder rumbled—not from the heavens, but beneath the earth. The very air tasted like ash and lightning. Every breath sparked pain in his lungs.

Ahead, the path twisted through high cliffs and broken steps—carved into the bones of a forgotten beast. Skeletons lined the crags. Some were dragons. Some were not.

And still—Roman moved forward.

The wind changed. It had awakened.

The Hollow Wyrm.

Not a beast of flesh, but storm.

The bones of its former self rose like mountains—but its soul was the tempest. A living storm forged by death, vengeance, and endless hunger. It had no eyes. No mercy. It devoured those who dared reach the goddess—especially those who bore the mark of the goddess, like Roman.

The first bolt struck before he even saw it.

His shoulder exploded in pain, flesh seared black, his body hurled backward by force no creature should survive.

He crashed into a jagged wall of stone, sliding down with a groan, one arm useless.

Then came the wind.

It ripped at his skin like claws. Slammed into his ribs with the strength of a charging giant. His wolf tried to rise—but staggered again, still too weak to shield him.

Roman growled, coughing blood.

He forced himself to his feet but just then the sound came at him.

A roar so deep, so loud, it cracked the stone beneath Roman’s feet and tore the cliff in two.

He ran, through collapsing bridges, past walls of lightning, across stones that shattered beneath each step. He climbed even as wind tore chunks from his flesh, even as thunder deafened him and blood streamed from his ears.

The Wyrm descended.

Its mouth opened, ready to end him. And just before it struck, Roman leapt. Straight into the storm.

He howled—not with fear, but defiance. He let the lightning swallow him.

Everything went white, then silence.

For a moment, he thought he’d died. Then he heard a heartbeat, and a low growl. Lazer had taken over just before his body would give up.

Roman opened his eyes to find himself lying on a flat obsidian plateau. The storm had passed.

Behind him, the Hollow Wyrm had vanished—retreated into slumber, bested not by brute strength, but by the stubborn will of a half-broken king.

Ahead, the final staircase rose—chiseled from starlight and moonstone.

At its peak... the gates to the goddess’s sanctuary.

The moonstone staircase shimmered with otherworldly glow, pulsing gently beneath Roman’s bloodstained feet. Each step he climbed felt lighter, as if the weight of the mortal world fell away behind him. Wind no longer howled. The skies above were no longer dark.

Instead—there was silence.

The gates appeared slowly, as though waiting for him to earn the right to see them.

Towering arcs of silver and crystal curved into one another like interwoven vines of stars, breathing and alive. Carvings shimmered on the surface—ancient symbols from languages long forgotten. They pulsed faintly at Roman’s approach, reading him. Judging him.

The gate parted soundlessly.

Light poured through, not blinding, but warm. Golden with streaks of violet. The air that drifted through smelled of lavender and snow and something older. Like the breath of a world before sin.

Roman stepped through—and into the realm.

The sky was twilight, eternal and vast, painted in violet clouds and streaks of rose gold. The land was a dream—floating islands woven with glowing rivers, trees with leaves of crystal and silver flame. Birds that shimmered like liquid starlight flew overhead.

But none of that drew his eye.

At the center, standing at the edge of a lake so still it reflected eternity, was her.

The moon goddess.

Tall. Ethereal. Wrapped in a gown of flowing light and shadows, her hair coiled into galaxies, her eyes vast pools of molten moonlight. Her presence was both motherly and merciless. Beauty beyond comprehension.

"Roman," she said. Not with her lips—but into his soul. "You come to me looking so broken. Is this what you have become?"

"You know why I’m here. Are you helping or not?" Roman responded, voice hoarse.

She moved toward him. Her bare feet left blooming stars in her wake.

"Of course I’ll help you. Who could refuse you in such a state?" she sighed.

Her gaze swept over him, and he felt her seeing everything. His strength. His weakness. His rage. His regret. His will.

The goddess held out her hand. In her palm bloomed a silver shard—a piece of pure moonfire, thrumming with ancient power.

"Place your palm on her forehead and she will return to you."

Roman reached out. The shard sank into his palm, vanishing beneath his skin.

He turned around in readiness to begin another challenging journey back, but the moon goddess waved her hand in the opposite direction of where he was going, creating a different portal. With a wave of her other hand, she threw him backward into the portal.

By the time Roman opened his eyes, he was outside the waterfall, still wounded and broken, but the moon goddess had saved him from the pain of going through the six challenges one more time to exit the bedrock of chaos.

Without a second more wasted, he started for the car where Trevor waited. His wounds were healing a bit more normally now, but he knew Trevor would be shocked to see him in his current state.

None of that mattered as much as Tessy anyway. If he could, he would teleport to her that instant.