Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate-Chapter 350: No Place for Redemption

After the explosion of power, Riona collapsed into unconsciousness. So did Florian—or more precisely, Ol’gaz, the demon taking over Florian’s body. The real Florian, of course, had been trapped within his own subconscious all along, unaware and unreachable.

The Fallen One, invisible and weightless, drifted through the aftermath, scanning the area for Florian’s body. It had been flung so far by the blast that Riona’s form was no longer in sight.

"This is dangerous," he muttered.

Ideally, he would place the two bodies side by side. That way, he could guard them both while the battle raged on within their shared subconscious realm.

If anyone were to stumble upon them now—defenseless, empty vessels—it could be fatal. A single attack could kill them physically, or worse, leave them trapped in the mindscape forever.

"Tch." The Fallen One clicked his tongue in frustration.

This was the curse of being a bodiless ancestor—he had no physical form to carry out even the simplest of tasks. He couldn’t move the bodies. He couldn’t protect them directly.

With a heavy sigh, he formulated a new plan. Not ideal, but the only viable option.

Closing his eyes, the Fallen One inhaled deeply and gathered his strength. Cold, ancient energy—vampiric in nature, even in death—coursed through him. Slowly, threads of white light crackled from his fingertips. They slithered through the air, multiplying and weaving into a radiant, ethereal fabric.

The threads surged forward, growing in size, until they reached Florian’s body. The luminous cloth enveloped him completely, wrapping him in the Fallen One’s very essence.

He staggered slightly, breathless. It had been decades since he last used this technique, and now he remembered why. It drained him—both figuratively and literally.

That glowing fabric was the Fallen One. A portion of his own energy, ripped away and spun into a binding weave, now imprisoned Ol’gaz within the subconscious realm. The fabric would prevent the demon from seizing control again, at least for now. frёewebηovel.cѳm

He could only hope it would be enough. Riona still had her own battle to fight inside the mindscape.

"It’s you!"

The Fallen One froze. He had expected solitude in this broken chamber—silence and shadows. But he wasn’t alone. Somewhere between the fractured walls and the dust-choked air, another presence had slipped in unnoticed.

He turned slowly.

"Thessara." He spoke her name like venom, each syllable drawn out and sharp.

She smiled—too wide, too knowing. The corners of her mouth stretched toward her ears, unnaturally so. Her hair drifted around her like it floated in water, suspended in a gravityless calm. Her feet didn’t touch the ground. Her arms hung limp at her sides like a puppet waiting for a master.

And still—she was beautiful. Death had not robbed her of that.

She had died too young, or so she believed. She was meant to have conquered the world. But the world had struck first, and now she’d return the favor. Only a few pests remained in her path.

"You were banished," Thessara growled, her voice layered with static fury. "You’re not allowed to interfere in earthly matters."

Her eyes lit like twin suns, ready to ignite him where he stood.

Ancestors were forbidden from meddling in the affairs of the living. But they could hurt one another, especially disgraced ones.

"Ah," she sneered. "Redemption. That’s why you’re here."

She laughed. The sound crashed through the chamber like a storm, shaking the walls, rattling the broken windows.

"Still the same self-righteous fool. I’ll never understand your feeble mind. Why waste your power on that?"

The Fallen One’s jaw tightened.

"And what of you?" he snapped. "A current ancestor, wrapped around an emperor like he’s your pet? Possessing his body? That’s no minor crime, Thessara. That’s a violation. You could be sent to Valhalla."

Ancestors were powerful, yes—but not without limits. To maintain balance, strict laws bound them. The Fallen One had broken those laws once and paid the price: exile, disgrace, and the eternal wandering of a soul cast from its throne.

But Thessara? She had done worse—driven by vengeance, with no remorse.

Being banished meant the ancestor would just be like the Fallen One, wandering around like a ghost. Technically, no ancestor could wander off the earth, but both the Fallen One and Thessara had found a gap, through which they slipped off to earth.

The most severe punishment was being sent to Valhalla. It was the prison for souls, but it wasn’t your typical prison. You’d be tortured 24/7 if time worked that way at all there. The point is, Valhalla was scary, and ancestors and other ghostly beings avoided being sent there.

"If I bring this to the High Table," he said coldly, "you’re finished."

Instead of feeling threatened, Thessara smirked, tilting her head as if humoring a petulant child who’d just threatened to kill her.

"You speak as if you’ll ever return to the Spiritual Circle."

She didn’t wait for the Fallen One’s reply. With a graceful motion, she lifted her hand, and a thick brown root slithered from her fingers, bristling with vicious thorns.

In her ancestral form, she could wield her full strength. No need for Kaan’s permission, no borrowing his power. Her ancestral magic was limited, but against an invisible being like her opponent, it was all she needed.

The root shot forward, lashing out with sudden violence. It cracked through the space where the Fallen One drifted, and for a moment, nothing happened—until sparks of white light erupted from the air, as if she’d torn a veil.

He reappeared, flinching as threads of light spilled from his palms in spirals. They writhed around him, forming a barrier just in time to catch the next blow. The thorned root coiled and struck again, relentless, slamming into the shining net. Light hissed against bark. Sparks flew.

Thessara narrowed her eyes, watching the threads strain against her magic, and saw the flaw. The light was beautiful, intricate, divine. But it was thinning.

He was weakening.

"You’ve spent yourself," she said. "Did you use the Spectral Seal? You gave away parts of your power willingly? Noble. Foolish."

The Fallen One gritted his teeth. The threads brightened for a breath, fighting back with a surge of desperate energy, slicing through one of her roots. But another took its place. Then another.

The earth cracked open beneath him. From it, a twisted mass of roots erupted, coiling up his legs, tightening around his torso, crushing the light with slow, deliberate pressure. He cried out.

"You could have burned this world for what it did to us. But you begged it for forgiveness instead. And now you’ll rot for it," Thessara said.

They were invisible—so were their powers—but the devastation they caused was anything but. The floor split down the middle, one half tilting left, the other right. Stone groaned. Wood snapped.

Riona’s body slid toward the edge on one side, Florian’s on the other—both slipping toward the abyss.

The Fallen One’s head snapped toward them, light sparking at his fingertips, torn between saving them both.

That was when Thessara struck.

The final root rose behind her, thick and bristling, obsidian thorns glinting like blades. The Fallen One was bound, half-submerged in the writhing net, his threads flickering like a dying star—light unraveling at the edges.

He looked up at her. Defiant. Desperate. Silent.

"You chose mercy," she said coldly, "and it’s killing you."

Then she drove the root straight through his chest.

And a flashing light appeared from out of nowhere, filling the entire space with its glow.