Revenge: A Path of Destruction
Chapter 158: Nyxara’s Background 2 (Flashback)

Chapter 158: Nyxara’s Background 2 (Flashback)

Then Mona’s voice rang out again—smooth, deliberate, but now carrying a deeper current. One that tugged at something old and hidden.

"Nyxara is from a species of white tigress that once populated the western region of North America."

Alex blinked in disbelief. North America?. His gaze instinctively flicked to Nyxara, perched silently on his shoulder.

She was still, but he could feel it—the subtle tension in her muscles, the way her claws pressed down ever so slightly, not in aggression, but in alertness.

Her ears twitched, adjusting to the sound of Mona’s voice, like a radio tuning to a frequency she didn’t realize she’d forgotten.

It all commenced with the first surge of mana awakening, a time when the fabric of reality began to unravel.

In this tumultuous era, a group of majestic white tigers emerged, their striking coats shimmering like freshly fallen snow under the dappled sunlight.

These magnificent creatures, likely escapees from a private facility or zoo, slipped away into the untamed wilderness, seeking refuge as the world descended into chaos.

Unlike the multitude of beasts that roamed the earth, these tigers transcended the primal urges that gripped the land.

They held fast to their grace and composure, refusing to succumb to the instinctual pull of violence and savagery that enveloped their counterparts. With a quiet determination, they navigated the shifting shadows of their surroundings, retaining a sense of purpose that set them apart from the turmoil swirling around them.

In a world teetering on the brink of madness, these white tigers stood resolute, embodying an enigmatic strength that would eventually define their legacy.

Alex leaned forward, his heart thudding quietly against his ribs. Even he, raised by one of the most brilliant minds in the world, had never heard this part of history. Not in full.

"The early days were savage. The rules of civilization were replaced by raw, primal instinct. Mana twisted the world into something unrecognizable. Mothers devoured their cubs. Among beasts, there was no unity—only hunger, survival, and desperation."

Her voice paused, letting the weight of that truth settle.

"But that group... that group of white tigresses was different. They didn’t fall apart. They didn’t turn on each other. They moved as a unit. As if bound by something greater than blood. Strategy. Coordination. They struck down threats with efficiency and precision, like a military squad rather than a pack of wild animals."

Nyxara’s tail slowly curled, coiling downward in a tight spiral. Her body grew tense—not from threat, but from something stirring beneath the surface. A memory? A sense? An ancestral instinct? Her golden eyes were locked on the projection of Mona, unblinking.

"While both humans and beasts struggled to adapt, these tigresses flourished. Entire regions fell under their shadow. The western territories of the United States, along with sections of Mexico and a few other countries in the west, became impassable.

Not because of storms, or beasts, or corrupted mana zones... but because those lands belonged to them. And no one challenged them."

A pause. Then came the truth that shattered the air like glass.

"And they weren’t leaderless."

"They followed one tigress. A single matriarch whose presence commanded respect even among evolved predators."

Mona’s tone dropped, reverent and certain.

"That tigress... was Nyxara’s mother."

The world went still.

And then, Nyxara moved.

Alex flinched slightly as she leapt, her body arching off his shoulder in one fluid motion. Her form glided through the air like silk in the wind, and she landed on the floor with feline grace, the impact nearly imperceptible.

She didn’t move. Just stood there, frozen in place. Eyes filled with curiosity.

Alex watched. Her tail lashed once, then twice, before settling. Her fur bristled faintly down her spine, as if a long-dormant instinct had just been called awake by a voice across time.

And even though she hadn’t known her mother, that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious about her

"Nyxara..." Alex whispered her name. She looked back then back at the screen. Her eyes remained fixed on Mona’s projection. Something flickered in her gaze—pride, longing, and maybe even grief.

Alex looked at Nyxara and couldn’t say he was surprised.

Even if she hadn’t known them—hadn’t spoken their names or walked the same lands—they were her blood. Her kin. He’d always sensed it: that unspoken question hiding in the golden depths of her eyes whenever she stared too long at the horizon. A quiet yearning. A whisper that asked, Where do I come from?

Now, as she stood perfectly still, tail low and still, ears forward, her expression was almost human—full of curiosity, longing, and the unshakable hope that this would be the moment something made sense.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t try to comfort her. He knew better. This wasn’t grief or pain—it was discovery. Sacred. Private.

But even as he stayed silent, a thought slithered through his mind like a shadow. His brows subtly furrowed. Past tense.

Mona hadn’t said "they are," or "they live."

She had said, "They were."

It was a small thing—barely noticeable to someone distracted—but Alex had grown up under his mother’s sharp mind and sharper words. He caught details others missed.

And in their world, using the past tense for someone... was rarely a good sign.

A cold notion crept into his chest like frost. He looked at Nyxara again—so small, so still. Her fur caught the light in pale ripples, almost translucent in the glow of the screen. She looked almost ethereal. Alone.

What if she’s the last?

His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles tensing as an unwanted frown etched itself across his face—sharp and sudden, like a storm cloud looming in a clear sky.

Yet, he fought to keep the unwelcome thought at bay, smothering it deep within the caverns of his mind where it could not reach her. Nyxara needed certainty and strength, not the weight of his doubts.

He forced his gaze away from her, redirecting his attention toward the flickering holographic display that hovered in the air before him. Just then, Mona’s voice broke the silence, smooth and analytical, yet tinged with an almost reverent tone that hinted at the weight of history she was about to unfold.

"During the first evolution," she began, her words weaving a tapestry of the past, "they were kings of the west, unmatched in power. Regal. Untouchable. That was—"

"Until Lucian ventured there," she interjected, a sense of gravity anchoring his voice, "after he gained the bloodline of the Thunder God."