Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 235: In loving memory

A loud crash echoed through the grand halls of the Remiro estate, followed swiftly by the unmistakable sound of glass shattering into a thousand glittering pieces.

Then—

"WHAT DID YOU FUCKING SAY?!!!"

Noelle’s voice ripped through the corridors like a war cry, laced with enough venom to make even the most hardened soldiers flinch.

Concerned servants exchanged uneasy glances before one of them, braver than the rest, bolted off to alert the Duke. The rest, wisely, scattered like frightened rabbits, suddenly remembering urgent duties far, far away from the impending storm.

—

Duke Remiro had been thoroughly enjoying his afternoon.

A quiet tea with his beloved wife, Celia, was a rare and cherished moment in their household. He had just finished recounting an amusing story from his youth when the doors burst open, and a breathless servant practically fell into the room.

"Your Grace, it’s Master Alden and his husband! They’re fighting!"

Duke Remiro blinked. Slowly.

Celia froze mid-sip of her tea.

The servant was still gasping for breath, clutching the doorframe like they had sprinted for their life.

"Fighting?" Duke Remiro repeated, incredulous.

"Yes, Your Grace," the servant confirmed, voice hushed, eyes wide with terror. "It... it sounds serious."

Duke Remiro and Celia exchanged a glance.

In all the time they had known Thorne and Noelle, never had they argued. At least, not in any way that resulted in shattered furniture and bloodcurdling screams.

That was enough to propel them to their feet.

—

Meanwhile, the entire Remiro estate had become very aware that something catastrophic was happening in Master Alden’s quarters.

Servants whispered in the corridors. Guards shifted nervously at their posts. And, most notably, the four sentinels—Roman, Felix, Raul, and Leona—along with Mona and Ben, had gathered outside the double doors.

They stood in complete silence, listening as yet another object crashed against the walls inside the room.

More screaming.

A muffled curse. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

A third crash.

Roman exhaled slowly, glancing around at the others. "Sooo... who’s opening the door?"

Immediate avoidance.

No one met his eyes.

Ben had suddenly found the ceiling very interesting. Felix coughed into his fist. Mona studied the floor like it contained the secrets of the universe.

The standoff lasted all of two seconds before the decision was abruptly made for them.

Because the doors slammed open with the force of an explosion.

Thorne came sprinting out like his life depended on it.

And, oh, it did.

Because flying right behind him was a decorative porcelain vase, hurled with deadly precision.

Thorne barely dodged, twisting mid-stride as the priceless piece of artwork shattered violently against the marble floor, shards flying in every direction.

"My star, let’s talk about this—"

His voice was cut off as Noelle emerged.

Walking.

Slowly.

Like death itself.

And in his hand—

A splintered chair leg.

The entire hallway fell silent.

The room temperature seemed to plummet.

Noelle’s long, waist-length raven-black hair was slightly disheveled, framing his murderous green eyes in a way that made him look less like a refined noble and more like an asura of vengeance.

Raul, despite his size, was the first to react.

"Yeah, I can’t do this."

And with terrifying speed for a man his build, he left.

Leona? Already gone.

Roman, ever the strategist, grabbed Felix by the back of his coat and started dragging him away.

"Yeah, this seems personal..." Roman muttered as they retreated.

"Very personal," Felix agreed.

Soon, everyone had mysteriously disappeared, scattering like leaves in the wind, leaving Thorne to face the wrath of his husband alone.

"Fucking traitors," he muttered under his breath.

Then he turned back, arms raised in surrender.

"Noelle, please, let’s just breathe and calmly talk about this," he tried, voice carefully soothing—the voice of a man trying to tame a beast.

Noelle’s right eye twitched.

Thorne gulped.

"...Calm down?"

The words came out too soft. Too deadly.

Noelle took a single, measured step forward.

Thorne instinctively took a step back.

"I’m calm," Noelle continued, tone sweet, terrifyingly even. "I am absolutely. Fucking. Calm."

Thorne had been on battlefields. He had stared down generals, had stood against kings.

And yet—

For the first time in years, genuine survival instinct kicked in.

"...Alright. That’s enough for today," he announced, preparing to run for his life.

Thorne’s entire body tensed as Noelle’s voice—low, quiet, deadly—cut through the air.

"If you take another step, you’re dead."

Every single instinct inside Thorne screamed at him to move, to run, to survive.

But he knew.

He knew.

Noelle wasn’t bluffing.

Slowly, so painfully slowly, Thorne turned back to face his husband. His muscles locked in place, fighting against every ounce of his battle-hardened instincts.

Noelle stood there, still gripping the splintered chair leg, his green eyes glowing with sheer, unfiltered rage.

Thorne sighed through his nose, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

This is it.

This is how I die.

He’d faced death before. He’d stood on battlefields with arrows raining down around him, had dodged blades meant to carve through his chest, had outmaneuvered assassins in the dead of night.

But none of that compared to this moment.

Because here, now, standing in the hallway of the Remiro estate, in front of an angry, hormonal, pregnant omega—

He knew.

There was no escaping.

He opened his eyes and accepted his fate.

With careful, slow movements—like one might use to avoid provoking a wild animal—Thorne lowered his hands from their raised position of surrender.

He forced his lips into what he hoped was a calm, non-threatening smile.

"My love," he began, his voice as gentle as a man walking a tightrope over a pit of fire. "I see that you are upset."

Noelle narrowed his eyes, gripping the chair leg tighter.

Thorne corrected immediately.

"Rightfully upset. Understandably! Completely within your rights to be upset. In fact, I—I—would be upset too! Very, very upset. Absolutely livid."

Noelle said nothing.

Thorne swallowed thickly.

"That being said," he continued carefully, "perhaps—perhaps—we can discuss this like rational adults?"

Noelle tilted his head. The movement was too slow, too calculated. It sent shivers down Thorne’s spine.

And then—

Noelle smiled.

And that was when Thorne knew he was done for.

It was the type of smile assassins wore before striking. Has he been hanging out with Leona too often?

A terrifying, calm, too-sweet smile that promised suffering.

Thorne braced himself.

"You want to discuss this like rational adults?" Noelle echoed, voice silk-smooth.

Thorne inhaled sharply.

"...I would like that, yes."

Noelle nodded slowly, as if considering the proposal.

Then, in a single, unhinged motion—

He hurled the entire chair leg directly at Thorne’s head.

Thorne’s reflexes, honed from years on the battlefield, kicked in instantly.

He dodged.

The chair leg shattered against the stone wall behind him, splinters flying in every direction.

Thorne barely had a second to react before Noelle was advancing again.

With the rage of a thousand betrayed ancestors, the omega grabbed another object—this time, a heavy candle holder from the hallway table.

"WAIT—"

The candle holder was already flying.

Thorne ducked. It barely missed him, crashing into the decorative armor stand behind him with an earth-shattering clang.

He’s actually going to kill me.

Thorne could do nothing but back away further, step by step, as Noelle stormed forward with the vengeance of a goddess scorned.

"Let’s talk about this—"

"SHUT UP!" Noelle screeched, grabbing the nearest potted plant and hurling it.

Thorne dodged again, barely avoiding a face full of soil and ceramic shards.

"Why are you throwing things?!" Thorne exclaimed, exasperated.

"BECAUSE I CAN’T THROW YOU!"

Noelle seized another vase.

Thorne immediately looked for his escape.

But—

Then he remembered.

"If you take another step, you’re dead."

He froze.

Noelle lifted the vase.

This is it.

This was how it would end.