Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 135: Helpless

Chapter 135: Helpless

It’s dark—an endless, swallowing void. The darkness isn’t just around me; it’s alive, coiling and writhing, slithering over my skin and pulling me deeper, dragging me down into its suffocating depths. It’s like sinking into thick, inky water, every inch of movement slower than the last, my limbs growing heavier, my strength ebbing with each attempt to pull myself free. The darkness seems to feed off my desperation, tightening its grip, whispering threats in my ear, promises of oblivion.

Ahead, there’s a single point of light—a distant star flickering faintly, barely piercing through the pitch-black surrounding me. My heart seizes, and an ache flares in my chest. That light, so small and fragile, is the only thing holding back the vast emptiness that stretches around me. I reach for it, clawing and scrabbling through the darkness, my fingers stretching desperately toward the one thing that keeps me from giving in to the abyss. I have to reach it. I have to touch it.

But the more I struggle, the further it drifts away, as if mocking me, taunting me with its unattainable warmth. The harder I fight, the faster it recedes. Panic grips me, raw and unrelenting, as I realize that every ounce of effort only drags me deeper, farther from that glimmer of hope. My breaths come out ragged, shallow; the weight on my chest tightens, pressing down until I feel like I’m being crushed from the inside.

The darkness twists around me, insidious and mocking, and I hear whispers within it—taunts of failure, of helplessness. Voices of the past, of every doubt, every fear. They hiss my name, each syllable dripping with malice, reminding me that I’ve already lost so much, that no amount of reaching will ever bring the light back to me.

My hands shake, my fingers curl into empty fists, nails digging into my palms as I push harder, pulling against the void with everything I have left. But it’s endless. No matter how hard I reach, the light remains just out of grasp, slipping further and further away. The hope, the warmth, the only sense of life—fading, leaving me to drown in this choking, endless dark.

The darkness wins, swallowing me whole as it pulls me down, deeper and deeper until there’s nothing—only cold, crushing silence. I wake with a gasp, bolting upright, my chest heaving as I gulp in air, struggling to shake the lingering grip of the nightmare. My skin is damp, drenched in cold sweat, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. The echoes of the darkness still cling to me, shadows hovering just beyond sight, taunting me even here.

I glance around the darkened room, but the familiar shapes do nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. The quiet feels too still, too empty. My hand trembles as I wipe the sweat from my brow, trying to ground myself, but the fear clings like a second skin, raw and unshakable. I know I won’t be finding sleep again tonight—not after that.

I miss him so much, it’s destroying me—not just in some figurative way, but truly tearing me apart from the inside out. Somehow, I know Noelle is alive; it’s a certainty buried deep in my soul, an instinct that keeps me breathing, keeps me going. If he were gone... I would feel it. Wouldn’t I? But then, the doubts creep in, twisting through my mind like shadows. Dark thoughts whisper that I’m deluding myself, that I’m clinging to a dream too fragile to bear reality.

On the worst days, I feel like I’m back in that dark room, trapped, lost, under the merciless grip of voidrot’s curse as it pulls me into its cold, eternal embrace. I almost believe that all of this—all of him—is nothing more than a feverish hallucination. That Noelle, with his fierce loyalty and soft smiles, was just a figment my mind conjured to keep me sane in those lonely, endless nights. The thought is enough to make my stomach twist, my heart ache as though it’s being torn in two.

And yet, somewhere deep within, beyond the reach of these nightmares, a part of me clings to him, to the belief that he’s out there, waiting.

I push myself out of bed, my legs feeling heavier than they should, and head over to the drawer near the window. It’s a small collection now, after that fool burned Seraphina’s heart down to embers, destroying the last of the keepsakes that might have kept Noelle’s presence alive. What’s left are fragments, pieces I guard as if they were him himself—the worn letters he sent when I was stationed at the border, his journal with frayed pages, and the cane he gifted me on my last birthday.

I reach for the journal, fingers brushing over the battered cover. I remember finding it, abandoned and half-buried in the undergrowth, scattered among the trees, in the forest outside the secret route Doris died guarding.That day, the forest felt like a graveyard, haunted with secrets and shattered dreams. It took me hours to retrace Noelle’s steps, to push through the dense path he must have taken in secret. By some small miracle—or curse—I found his journal lying in the dirt, as if he’d left a part of himself behind, a silent marker of his passing.

I unfold the letters one by one, each page worn thin, crinkled from constant handling, edges soft and delicate from my fingertips tracing over them countless times. Every line, every word is etched into my memory, but I read them again, clinging to every phrase, every promise. These letters have become my lifeline, the only thing anchoring me to him, to the hope that somewhere, he’s still breathing, still waiting.

My eyes linger on the last letter, the ink smeared and blotchy in places where tears fell that day. The announcement—his pregnancy, a revelation that should have filled our future with light. Instead, it tortures me with questions, fears that gnaw at the edges of my sanity. Is he safe? Did he carry to term? Is the baby a boy or a girl? Are they healthy? Are they even alive?

My mind circles back to the last one, the hardest to bear. Is there even a baby? My heart aches, torn between faith and despair, haunted by these whispers of a life that might be lost.

The creeping despair presses in, clawing at me, threatening to pull me into an abyss I might not crawl out of this time. It’s like the darkness in my dreams—bottomless, insatiable. I can’t bear it, not again. Instead, I let the rage take over, let it fuel me, burn away the helplessness gnawing at my bones.

Anger is safer, anger keeps me moving. It stokes the fire in my chest, reminds me I’m still here, that I’m still fighting. Anger pushes back the dread, blocks out the echoes of doubt and that crushing loneliness. I can’t afford to spiral, can’t let myself unravel.