Chapter 234: A Talk With Mort Hood
Chapter 234: Chapter 234: A Talk With Mort Hood
Chapter 234 – A Talk With Mort Hood
Morgan narrowed her shadowy eyes subtly, watching her younger brother dress with a nervousness only she could notice.
Something had happened. Something that made Dorian both angry and nervous.
’That’s rare. When have I ever seen this brother of mine in such a state? What happened?’
She would have loved to know, so she might help. But Dorian had never been one to talk about his own affairs. Everything she knew, she’d basically learned herself.
However...
"Should I be worried?" Morgan spoke again, crossing her arms over her chest with a cold expression. "Do I need to be ready to kill?"
"Aren’t you always ready to kill, sister?"
"If something worries you this much, then I’d need to be extra ready. So speak. Do I need to?"
"Not for this one." Dorian finally finished putting on his black long-sleeved shirt and brown trousers. "This is the kind of problem no amount of strength would solve."
He sighed under his breath, turning toward Morgan.
Walking toward her while folding his sleeve above his elbow, Dorian parted his lips once more.
"Do you remember, sister, what you told me the first time I said I wanted to create an Empire of Pleasure?" he chuckled, as if reminiscing about old times. "An Empire where I’d be a god. Where I control every desire of those who step inside. A place where anyone can forget duties, laws, morals... anything created by other humans to restrain our innate desires, because they see them as immoral and corrupting."
"Even if I wanted to," Morgan said, "I could never forget that day. It was, after all, the first and last time we fought each other."
"Hahah. True that." He chuckled, cracking his neck. "You were very much against my goal. But look at you now, helping me assassinate some tough competitors."
"Don’t take it for granted. Only Cass can exploit me."
"Cass can exploit all of us." He laughed again. "But the point is, I remember rather well that you said what I wanted would bring me trouble." He paused, taking a deep breath, then, "That my sexual habits would... be my ruin."
Morgan’s face twisted slightly. She had clearly said that in a moment of anger.
"Don’t take it to heart. As long as I’m here," she shrugged, "you’ll be fine. No cuckolded husband will lay a hand on you."
"I’ve never been worried about those husbands. Anyone who can’t keep their own woman can’t scare me, Dorian Desdemona." He stood a couple of metres from her, smiling. "But I’ve found myself in a situation I never expected."
"If you don’t need a killer, then what do you need?" Morgan asked with a worried tone.
Dorian smiled widely, then walked past her, his voice echoing behind him.
"Prayers." He said. "That’s what I’d have said if I weren’t a Desdemona."
"Then?"
"A little bit of madness." He whispered, taking a step out of the room. "Or maybe a great deal of madness."
Then he was gone, the door closing behind him, leaving Morgan there, frowning with a deep sense of confusion.
After a moment, she sighed and walked toward his desk, sitting in the main chair.
"Something that can’t be solved without killing." She muttered under her breath, frowning deeper. "Now... that’s a domain I’m completely helpless in, isn’t it?"
At her words, her shadow expanded widely, covering almost half the room. Two creatures erupted from it, their emergence causing an ink-like substance to fall like water.
The two creatures stood on either side of her chair.
One was a tall — around twelve feet — monster with deep black fur and white tattoos. It looked like a Great Ape with four wings tightly wrapped behind its back. Black fire burned within its empty sockets, giving it a fearsome appearance.
The other was a black fox with four tails, each burning with a different element: red lightning, black ice, blue flame and green wind. Its slitted pupils were shaped as though it was always laughing.
In front of Morgan, another shadow appeared. This time, a human being.
An old man with a royal bearing, wearing black royal clothes with a matching cane, his head bald and his stunning moustache perfectly groomed.
He looked around for a moment before his eyes settled on Morgan.
"I still can’t believe I’ve become... a shadow." Mort Hood — father of Seraphim, Sefira and Dantes Hood — spoke in a deep, reverberating tone. "What would Vorn think, seeing me in such a state? What an unrealistic turn of events."
"Maybe he’d be happy to see you back again." Morgan said. "We finally have the time to talk properly, old man. You’ve been rather hard to make into my shadow."
"That’s only realistic." Mort said, taking a chair and sitting in front of Morgan, legs crossed, his cane leaned beside him. "Only realistic, little girl. And now that I look closer, you do look like Sera and Sefi."
"Why both—! Ah." She made a realising expression. "They’re twins. I forget that sometimes."
"What happened when I died?" Mort asked. "What happened to my children?"
"Why aren’t you asking about your wife?" Morgan smiled without humour. "Or are you already expecting something you won’t like?"
"So something happened." The Past King of Hood smiled knowingly. "Let me guess, my dear granddaughter, did she marry little Dantes?"
"Ah?" she cocked her head, surprised. "How did you know?"
"I was still alive when she obtained that little relic from that Fractured Land." He said, his voice lowering. "A relic that made her believe something unrealistic. But Morenna was never a realistic woman. Maybe that’s why I chose her. But maybe I shouldn’t have."
He smiled sadly.
"You have to be realistic about certain things, after all."
Then Mort shook his head softly, deciding it was better not to go down that path. This was not the time to dwell on his past relationship with his wife.
"My children?" he asked again.
"Old man, I don’t like being the bearer of bad news." She replied. "And you promised knowledge about the Crimson Daggers. The organisation you said killed you."
"My children first." He insisted, his voice now more authoritarian. "What happened to them?"
Morgan looked at him for a moment, then sighed, knowing she had no choice but to give answers in order to receive them. Behind her, her two shadows growled at Mort, thinking the new shadow rather unruly.
"My mother, Sefira Hood Desdemona, married into the Desdemona Family. I am her first child." She said, pointing at herself. "I’m named Morgan Desdemona, a name similar to my grandmother Morenna Hood."
Mort nodded with a gentle smile. Morgan continued.
"I have four other siblings. You’ll certainly like the Last Born."
"Oh. So many grandchildren." Mort beamed with joy, excited. "Why the Last Born? Is he realistically the cutest? I like cute things. Sera and Sefi were very cute when they were young."
"He is. He’s the one who took most after our mother’s face."
"Oh. Now I want to see him. What’s his name?"
"Cassius Desdemona."
"Cassius." Mort repeated, tasting the name. "Interesting name. Heavy name. Realistic name."
’Old man, is everything realistic to you?’ Morgan grumbled inwardly, then continued.
"We have Aunt Seraphim, who’s now a Head Teacher at the Academy, and Uncle Dantes, the King of the Kingdom. Besides that, I don’t know if you care, but Uncle Dantes has two children with, um..."
She didn’t finish, trusting her grandfather to understand. And he did.
And he smiled even more sadly.
But Morgan could see it wasn’t sadness related to his wife marrying his son. Instead...
"Poor children." He whispered, his voice heavy with a grief she couldn’t grasp. "They must be suffering. Ah. I told Morenna to be realistic. I told her. Now what kind of curses do those children carry within them? What kind of despair are they going through? Ah. Morenna. Morenna. Morenna. I told you to be realistic. I truly did."
"What are you talking about, old man? Curses? What curses?"
"It’s forbidden for a reason. It’s unrealistic for a reason." Mort said, shaking his head. "A mother and a son. A brother and a sister. An aunt and a nephew."
He looked deep into her.
"It’s unrealistic, my dear granddaughter. And unrealistic things... always end in pain and ruin."
Mort took a deep breath, then slowly, with more weight than Morgan had ever felt from him,
"No exceptions."
—End of Chapter 234—