Welcome to Hell ~~~~ ( Different Versions) chapter 2

Bickki’s sword hovered above his son’s trembling chest, the blade gleaming under the dim torchlight. His hand shook, not from weakness—but from war within himself. His knuckles whitened, veins straining, torn between a father’s love and an heir’s duty. Lyra clung to him, his slender Omega frame shaking as tears streamed down his pale face.

Lyra moren ( omega )

Don’t do it, Bickki—please, I’m begging you. He’s our son! Not a weapon, not a curse—our son!

His pleas echoed like shards of glass against the cold stone walls, desperate, fragile, powerless. Bickki’s jaw tightened, his chest heaving. His eyes met Bishki’s—bloodied, broken, but still alive. Still staring back at him as though asking, Will you kill me? Or save me? The silence dragged—until the great doors slammed open with a thunderous crash.

From the shadows stepped Luan Moren, Becker’s twin brother. Though age lined his face, his presence carried the same chilling weight as his brother. Yet where Becker’s eyes were frozen voids, Luan’s were sharp, calculating, alive with something far more dangerous—strategy.

Luan moren ( enigma )

“Enough.”

His voice slashed through the tension, drawing every gaze. Becker turned, his expression unchanging, but his grip on his staff tightened. Luan walked forward, boots echoing with deliberate calm, until he stood over Bishki’s broken form. He looked down at the boy, then at the father still holding the blade, then finally at his twin.

Luan moren ( enigma )

If you want this child to live

Luan said, his tone laced with venomous reason,

Luan moren ( enigma )

Then he must serve a greater purpose. Weak as he may be, he still carries Moren blood. Blood that can be bound… traded.

Lyra’s sobbing quieted, his wide eyes flickering with fragile hope. Luan’s next words dropped like poison into the air.

Luan moren ( enigma )

Marry him to Wankem’s last son. Let the boy live as a bond, a leash, a means to keep their clan tied to ours. That way—even his weakness will have value.

The hall went still. Becker’s expression flickered, for the first time, with faint irritation.

Becker moren ( ENIGMA)

You would tie Moren blood to that pitiful line?

But Bickki—without hesitation, without looking at his son or his Omega—spoke. His voice was hollow, stripped of defiance.

Bickki moren ( enigma)

Yes.

The single word cut through Lyra’s heart like a blade. His knees buckled as he stared at the man he loved, the man who had just condemned their son to a fate darker than death. And Bishki—bleeding, trembling, his chest rattling with broken breath—understood then. He would live. Not because he was loved. Not because he was spared. But because his existence had been sold.

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