Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives

Warlock Ch 31. You Have No Right To Judge Me!

Damian found himself drifting in that dream again. He stood in front of that artifact—the same one that had haunted his dream last night. But that thing looked different. But tonight, it changed even more dramatically.

Now, there was a carving on its surface, something new—a three-headed wolf. Damian's stomach tightened as he recognized the symbol. It looked eerily similar to Fenrith. The carving was detailed, precise, almost too perfect, like it was meant to be there all along, waiting for him to notice.

"What the hell…" Damian muttered to himself, his voice echoing back at him in the empty space around him.

But that wasn't the only thing that had caught his eye. Just below the wolf, there was another symbol, one that looked frustratingly familiar. His brow furrowed as he tried to place it, but it wasn't until he thought back to Evelyn's place that it hit him. He assumed it was some sort of witch's mark. He had seen it plastered on the walls of her house, almost casually, like it was nothing.

Staring at the artifact, his gut twisted, but before he could process what any of it meant, a voice echoed in his mind.

"You cannot escape your fate, Damian. You were never meant to run."

He instinctively took a step back. But no matter how far he moved, the voice seemed to follow.

"What do you mean?!" he shouted into the emptiness, his voice shaking.

The only response he got was silence. That, and the sensation of something invading his thoughts again. Another memory, or maybe a vision, was forcefully shoved into his mind. But like all the other times, it was a mess—hazy, chaotic, like someone had thrown a bucket of paint at a canvas and called it art.

Then it hit.

The same one from his earlier dreams. Damian was back in the middle of it—magic swirling around him, destruction crashing through the air, everything burning. He could feel the power thrumming in his veins, terrifying and intoxicating at the same time. And then, there she was. The woman. Her face was still blurred, covered with a hood, but her intent? Oh, that was crystal clear. She was out for his blood.

She lunged at him. Without thinking, Damian's body reacted, his hand snapping up in front of him, moving as if it had a mind of its own. He didn't even know what spell he had cast, but the power that surged from him was wild, untamed, and honestly, it scared the hell out of him.

The magic exploded from his palm, a violent shockwave that sent the woman flying backward. She slammed into a barrier she barely managed to throw up in time, and even then, the force of the blast cracked it like fragile glass. The destruction around her was fatal. All turned to ruins in a snap as if an invisible power slammed it flat.

For a second, Damian thought he might have killed her. But no. She was tougher than that. She staggered to her feet, her voice ringing out, furious and sharp. "You've taken the dark path!" she yelled, her words dripping with accusation.

Damian froze, his heart pounding in his chest. What the hell did she mean by that? His mind raced, but he couldn't make sense of her words. Nothing made sense in these dreams.

"Dark path?" he muttered to himself, trying to grasp onto something solid in this whirlwind of madness. But there was no time for that. Before he could question her, something else rose up inside him—a bitterness, sharp and painful, that he hadn't known was there.

"You have no right to judge me," he snarled, his voice raw. It came out before he even knew what he was saying, but once the words were out, he couldn't take them back. There was a weight to them, a depth of emotion that surprised even him. It wasn't just anger. No, this was something deeper, something that had been festering for far too long.

The woman, still obscured, faltered for a moment, her posture shifting as if his words had hit harder than his magic. But the pause was brief. The fury returned.

He felt it all—anger, disappointment, sadness, and something else… something he couldn't quite name. But it was familiar. Too familiar.

Suddenly, a sharp pain tore through his chest. It wasn't physical, but it hurt like hell. It was the kind of pain that felt like it was trying to rip him apart from the inside out, like his heart had been shattered and he had no idea why.

"What the—" Damian clutched his chest, staggering backward. It wasn't from the fight. This pain was something else. Something deeper. He couldn't explain it, but he could feel it. Whatever it was, it had been with him for a long, long time.

His breathing came in ragged gasps as he tried to steady himself, but nothing made sense. Nothing felt right. The emotions swirled inside him, confusing and overwhelming, like he was drowning in feelings that weren't even his own.

And then, as if to mock him, the artifact's voice returned, softer this time, almost pitying.

"You know the truth, Damian. You've always known."

His knees buckled, and for a moment, he thought he might fall. But before he could, the dream—or whatever the hell this was—started to fade. He could feel himself being pulled back, the chaotic scene melting away around him like smoke. But the pain… the pain lingered, like a bruise that wouldn't heal.

The last thing he saw before the vision fully dissolved was the woman's face. It was still blurred, but now, her expression cut through the haze. She looked torn—caught between anger and something else.

Was it regret? Sorrow?

He couldn't tell. But there was something there, something that made his heart ache even more.

With a gasp, Damian woke up, drenched in sweat. His heart was still racing, the ache in his chest so real it made him wince. He pressed his hand against his chest, but the pain wasn't physical. It was something much worse.