Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 256: Deal and Darkness

Oliver POV

I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I make my way toward where our house is being built. I still can’t believe Victor talked me into moving here.

At first, I thought he was joking. Then I thought he was being impulsive. But no. Turns out he’d been planning this for a while.

And when I asked if he even had the money for such a thing—he just smirked.

Turns out, my husband is very, very wealthy.

Apparently, something about investments, soldier’s pay, and years of stockpiling his earnings. I didn’t even bother asking for details—he’s too smug about it already. Apparently all the sentinels have really deep pockets.

I shake my head, exhaling as I glance around the growing settlement. It’s insane how quickly this place is coming together.

It’s been a few months, but the sheer speed of progress is unnatural. Houses are springing up left and right. And the amount of people arriving every day is only growing.

I glance to my left, catching a flash of familiar red hair in the distance. The Mels—our soon-to-be neighbors.

Maggie had another son recently. She was not happy about that.

"It’s a cruel joke," she had muttered to me last week, rubbing her forehead in frustration.

"I just wanted a daughter. Just one."

She told me they’d try again. Better them than me.

Honestly? I think Adrian is enough.

My son is a handful as it is. Energetic, sharp, and far too much like his father sometimes. I don’t think I could handle another one running around just yet.

I continue toward the house, watching as workers move rapidly, their abilities speeding up the process in ways I never would’ve imagined.

Fire ability users are hardening bricks. Water users are treating the wood. Earth manipulators are literally shaping stone into walls with their bare hands.

It’s surreal.

Back in the capital, ability users like these would never be caught dead doing manual labor. They’d be guards, mercenaries, or nobles hoarding their power. But here?

They’re builders.

And they’re happy.

It’s strange. It’s also oddly humbling.

I spot Roman in the distance, arms crossed as he supervises something with that usual snake-like smirk on his face. He looks far too pleased with himself.

That’s never a good sign.

I shake my head.

This place... it’s turning into something real.

I just hope Victor and I made the right decision coming here.

***

Felix POV

I watch as Duke Veyron’s unconscious body is hauled out of the dimly lit room, his limp form slumped between the two beta guards. Beta. Fitting.

An Alpha like him—power-hungry, cruel, insufferable—reduced to nothing.

Noelle’s plan worked. Perfectly. Honestly we didn’t know it would actually work.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling as the guards carry him out. This mess isn’t over yet.

It’s only just beginning.

I glance at the satchel slung over my shoulder, filled with letters—some addressed to the Remiro estate, others to more discreet contacts in the capital.

We’re leaving.

The island is chaos right now, with construction in full force, Roman’s ridiculous ambitions turning into reality, and Thorne being the overprotective lunatic that he is.

Honestly, it’s the perfect time to leave.

I step outside, the fresh sea breeze hitting my face as I walk toward the docks. Leona is already there, waiting.

She leans against the railing of the boat, arms crossed, her usual blank stare directed at the horizon.

"You’re late," she says without looking at me.

I roll my eyes, stepping onto the boat and tossing my satchel onto one of the wooden crates.

"We’re exactly on time." frёewebnoѵēl.com

She hums, unimpressed. "You’re still late."

I ignore her and settle in. This trip is going to be long, and I don’t have the energy to argue with Leona right now.

As the boat starts to drift away from the island, I sigh, turning my gaze toward the open sea.

The capital awaits.

And so does the next part of the plan.

***

Veyron POV

Time has become a distant, fragmented thing.

I can’t tell if it’s been hours, days, or weeks.

Every time I start to regain my senses—I’m pulled under again.

The world around me is a haze, an unrelenting fog of confusion and fatigue. Something is wrong.

The rhythmic sound of hoofbeats echoes through my skull, the steady thud-thud-thud of a horse’s gallop vibrating beneath me. Am I on horseback?

Or is someone else riding?

I try to move—nothing. My limbs feel heavy, useless. My mind is fractured, sluggish, unnatural.

A foul taste lingers on my tongue, something bitter and metallic. Poison? No...not quite. Something worse.

Memories try to surface, but they slip away like water through my fingers.

Where am I?

Everything is darkness again.

A dense, suffocating void presses in on me, wrapping around my senses like an inescapable fog. My body feels heavy, sluggish. My limbs—unresponsive.

Am I dead?

No—there’s a sharp pulse of pain in my skull, a dull throbbing at the base of my neck. A reminder that I am very much alive.

A distant murmur reaches my ears—muffled voices, low and hushed. I force my eyelids to open, and the world tilts violently around me. The blurred edges of my vision take time to settle, and when they do—

I realize I’m not alone.

My arms are bound. Thick ropes dig into my wrists, pinning them behind me in an uncomfortable position. My legs—similarly tied. I struggle, but the knots are tight, digging into my skin.

I shift my gaze forward. Two figures stand a few feet away.

One is tall, broad-shouldered, draped in a heavy cloak, his face obscured by the dim light. The other—slender, poised, feminine.

A woman.

She moves with ease, flipping a small pouch of coins in her hand before tossing it toward the cloaked man. The sound of metal clinking fills the air.

Payment.

For what?

For me?

A slow, creeping dread coils in my gut.

The woman tilts her head, and though I can’t make out her features in the dim lighting, I feel her eyes on me. Assessing. Calculating.

A smirk?

Then—movement.

A hand reaches toward me. Before I can react, a thick, coarse cloth covers my face.

The scent of chemicals. Of something sickly sweet.

A sharp inhale—

Then—

Darkness.