Harem Stealer: Reborn with the God-Tier Sharing System Chapter 478 - Hermit

In a distant part of the cosmos, within the realm of Celestial—or to be precise, the realm controlled by Idalia Marigold—an extraordinary event

unfolded in utter secrecy.

Elijah Lightbrinher remained precisely in the spot where Idalia had abandoned him, bound to his seat, utterly bare.

His facial muscles spasmed, teeth grinding tightly, eyes widening and contracting in endless cycles. Even amid the scorching heat of the area, beads of icy perspiration trickled down Elijah's brow.

From the moment Idalia departed, Elijah's thoughts had been desperately reaching out to Icarus, yet all attempts fell flat.

This didn't shock Elijah at all. He understood that Icarus rarely lingered in the Celestial realm, preferring instead to challenge his limits, attempting to scale the universe's peak.

That fool consistently came up short. And he persistently tried once more.

'Damn it, Icarus! Respond to me!' Elijah roared silently for the countlessth occasion, his gaze dimming with despair over fleeing this paradise turned prison.

Yet whenever the temptation to surrender and accept destiny's flow surged through his thoughts and spirit, Elijah inevitably recalled the moments shared with Justicia.

The joy they experienced side by side, dwelling in their private world, too absorbed to interfere with outsiders.

Those devoted partners stayed occupied with discovering the essence of existence.

The essence of receiving love and giving it in return.

It proved a magical journey. But it all crumbled as easily as a mirror breaking on the day Apollo faced captivity.

Indeed, it marked the very day Idalia Marigold stormed violently into his home.

She dragged him from Justicia's side, her might surpassing all rumors about her.

Elijah and Justicia stood helpless, resembling helpless sheep before ravenous predators.

However, Idalia's cruelty defied comprehension. Her psyche lay shattered, haunted by scars ancient and profound, predating countless societies.

With Justicia restrained against the wall, Idalia treated him as mere plaything, fulfilling her twisted cravings, slaking the innate famine of affection that defined her birth.

Justicia endured the sight, eyes forced open, dreading the loss of her vision to flames.

That moment heralded the close of his serene era with Justicia and the dawn of his ultimate ruin.

Countless eons have since elapsed, yet the flames of fury, loathing, and bitterness refuse to dim.

No force could compel Elijah to feel affection for Idalia. No influence could grant him insight into her. No desire gripped him save to butcher her, tearing out her mind and core like a savage, fraying streamer.

The sole shortfall was drive, uncertain of Justicia's current fate.

But now clarity had come. And action would follow.

Regarding Idalia's claims of Justicia wed to someone else... Elijah recognized it as mere oversight on her part.

She merely required a reminder.

"And we will live our lives." Elijah murmured, fists and jaw tightening, "and this time with the power to protect it."

A heavy sigh escaped Elijah afterward.

He loathed resorting to it, since invoking such a method would alert the Gold Eagle and inflict permanent damage upon his essence.

Alternatives had vanished.

With that resolve, his Jugular Vein—the vital channel tied to his survival and demise—started to radiate brilliantly, resembling a staff forged from pure, solidified gold.

The essence of Light stirred around him, drawn forth by his command.

Elijah parted his lips wide.

In a flash, he uttered words amplified by every photon across the cosmos to

deliver his plea:

"Icarus, I need your help."

And just like that, the effort concluded.

Normality resumed instantly, his deed undetected by most, save for a handful like Gold Eagle and Progenitor.

As well as the intended recipient of that very summons.

Blood trickled from Elijah's eyes, nostrils, and ears, his spirit depleted by nearly fifty percent, with another third erased entirely.

He slumped against his restraints, weariness etching deeper lines into his features, second thoughts already creeping in.

...

In a remote sector of the universe, a figure with sun-kissed skin and wings of feathers in place of arms cocked his head precisely when Elijah's voice echoed.

He swiveled, revealing refined features strikingly akin to

Elijah's. Observers might mistake them for siblings.

And such an assumption wouldn't stray far from reality.

Icarus served as the singular Aspect innate to Elijah's being. Put differently, he embodied his other self.

"Elijah, that lovesick bastard, is in trouble." Icarus muttered, one brow curving upward.

Then he breathed out deeply, pondering his counterpart.

Icarus pursued loftier planes to conquer, yearning for elevated states of being. Elijah, by contrast, favored serenity, shunning ambition for glory or might, instead chasing peaceful days through bonds of love and warmth.

Icarus despised that trait in him, just as Elijah disapproved of his reckless bids against the cosmos.

Elijah often warned that one day he might perish from nearing forbidden heights.

Icarus invariably retorted that Elijah courted disaster by pursuing romance in realms unfit for it.

They mirrored opposites: chill versus blaze.

Regardless of their clashing philosophies on existence...

"Lovesick bastard, you better not die on me." Icarus cried out shrilly like a fowl, then beat his wings, fracturing the emptiness.

With that, he surged ahead as a streak of aureate brilliance, velocity exceeding that of illumination, heading directly toward the summons' source.

Meanwhile, beneath an immense golden portal encircled by shackles thicker than scores of Prime Worlds piled high, an elderly figure lingered.

He perched in lotus position, spine curved, his aureate gaze fixed upon the array of cards laid out before him.

He engaged in a game. Yet he played in solitude.

Perched upon his left shoulder stood a Gold Eagle.

"Phoenix used his Second Birthright Aspect." The Eagle declared, its tone masculine and akin to a soft wind's whisper—calm and soothing.

"I know." The elder murmured, extending his frail, creased palm to turn over a card.

"He called Icarus for aid, it seems." Eagle pressed on, "Looks like he is finally ready to escape Marigold."

Silence met the old man's response. His hollow, nearly shut eyes lingered on the revealed card.

It depicted thirteen figures, all female, their visages indistinct. He observed how the ninth and seventh emitted a faint luminescence, their auras nearly overlapping. The eleventh and sixth also quivered, seemingly influenced by the proximity

of the ninth and seventh.

The elder scrutinized it intently, brows furrowing in thought.

Eagle kept speaking, unperturbed by the quiet. He comprehended his lord and ally better than any other.

No verbal cue was required to grasp what his master intended to express.

"You still didn't tell me why you let Marigold take Phoenix? I admit I hate that bird hoe but he is still one of us."

"I have been given a task." The old man stated, "That's all I care about.

And mind your tongue."

"What if Phoenix dies?" Eagle persisted, "He just received a soul wound.

If Marigold comes back, it's over for that ho-! I mean, that little pixie."

Determining whether Eagle felt concern or delight over Elijah's plight proved challenging.

"Icarus will help him." The old man replied, drawing yet another card and overturning it, "We have our own duty. And that's all I care about. And that's all you should care about."

The Eagle's tongue made a sharp, audible snap. One trait in his master irked him above all: his unyielding devotion.

It bound him to a single course if commanded, unwavering.

Even foreknowing demise awaited along that route.

Few things rang more pitiful than pledging fealty to an entity blind to loyalty's true essence.

Eagle twisted his neck backward, eyeing the bound entrance.

A grimace of revulsion twisted his expression.

"I hate this family, Hermit. Always trouble. Always corruption. Always

trauma and unneeded bloody pain."

"You know it, my friend, you know their nature. Yet you are still here,

guarding for Him his most heinous act."

"That's where we will never agree upon, Eagle." The old man responded

while examining the card.

It portrayed The Prince. Oddly, this version clutched a curved blade with golden ichor flowing from its edge.

The old man's eyes flickered. He went on, "Your loyalty has conditions, Eagle. Mine has none of that." He

added, seizing another card, "I swore loyalty to Him. And I shall bear the consequences of my Oath until the day I am no more."

"Until then, I will do my duty. And not even you will convince me otherwise."

"Then be ready to die a death unworthy of your birthright." Eagle spat. "Death is death." The old man chuckled humorlessly, "There is no worthy death nor unworthy death. You die, you stop breathing, your brain shuts down. If you are unlucky you go to the Spirit World. If you are lucky you rest in peace, leaving behind everything of this worldly

life."

"There is nothing grand about it. In fact, True Death is the only troubleless thing in a Life of troubles."

"Why would I care how I die as long as I die?"

The old man, revered as Hermit among the celestials, responded while

gazing at the final card he had turned.

It bore an image that jolted him, then drew forth a genuine grin after millennia. Eagle craned closer to view it, replying simultaneously,

"You are a bloody fucking pixie, Hermit. And I-!"

His speech choked off upon beholding the card.

It illustrated a straightforward scene: an Eagle soaring against...

the Earth in battle?

"The time is near."

-End of Chapter 478-