The Omega Who Wasn't Supposed to Exist Chapter 9: Black Threads of Blood and Pregnancy

"This is the list of won who were victims of the serial killings, my lord," said Callen, Silas’s assistant and head of intelligence, as he unfurled a dark leather folder and spread the docunts across the polished mahogany table.

Grand Duke Silas stared at the photographs. The room was dimly lit since it was almost night, only a few rays of sunlight slicing through the windows, casting shadows on the bloodless faces staring up from the papers.

Each image showed a woman—each one with long black hair, and worse, each one unmistakably an Oga. The last picture was particularly jarring: a young woman no older than twenty, lips parted slightly in what looked like a scream frozen in ti.

Silas’s crimson eyes narrowed.

"So it’s true," he muttered, his voice a rasp. "He’s targeting black-haired won?"

Callen’s face remained impassive, though his eyes held a grim sharpness. "Let correct you, my lord. He’s targeting black-haired Oga won."

Silas leaned back in his chair, fingers laced under his chin. "That narrows the profile."

Callen continued, "Each body was discovered at dawn, placed carefully in public parks. No signs of assault or theft. Just deep, precise slashes across the neck. Clean. Almost surgical. And the strangest thing..."

He slid another folder forward.

"The scent blockers. All of them had scent-blocking patches applied post-mortem. Whoever’s doing this... they don’t want the scent of an Oga lingering."

Silas’s gaze sharpened like a blade. "That’s not just murder. That’s ritualistic."

He stood, coat flaring behind him like a storm cloud. "Alert the estate guards. Increase patrols in all Oga districts, especially where black-haired Ogas are known to reside. No one walks alone at night. Not even with guards."

Callen nodded. "Understood."

Silas began to pace. "Summon the barons and counts for an ergency council. I want everyone who controls a street or a sword in this city sitting in that chamber by midnight. I don’t care if they have to be dragged out of bed or brothels."

Callen allowed himself a dry smirk. "That’ll be a fun night for the Knights."

Silas didn’t respond. He stared back down at the photographs, fingers tightening into a fist. "He’s leaving them to be found. That’s not just a killer. That’s a ssage."

Callen tilted his head. "You think it’s political?"

"I think..." Silas murmured, "We’re only seeing the edge of sothing far uglier."

A long silence settled before Callen asked carefully, "Should we inform His Majesty?"

Silas scoffed. "No. If I tell Adrian, he’ll turn this into so noble tea party. I’ll deal with this before it turns into a damn scandal."

He looked up, a flicker of sothing dangerous lighting in his gaze.

"And when we catch this bastard—I want his head delivered. In person."

Callen inclined his head. "Yes, my lord."

***

anwhile at Armoire Mansion,

Lucien sat at the grand dining table of the Armoire estate, face sullen, chin resting on his palm, as the maids placed plate after plate in front of him.

Beef bourguignon.

Balsamic-glazed duck.

Truffle risotto.

Even a delicate vanilla tart with blood-orange drizzle.

And yet—he poked at each dish like they had personally offended him.

"Ugh. Too salty. Too sweet. Too... food," he grumbled, pushing the plate away dramatically.

He slumped in his chair with a long, suffering sigh. "I swear to the gods, if this is morning sickness, I’m throwing myself out the window."

He blinked at himself when he saw his reflection in a glass.

Lucien narrowed his eyes. "Don’t look at like that. I’m not pregnant. I’m a Beta. A male Beta."

His stomach churned in response, and he covered it protectively with both hands.

"...Am I?"

Just as he leaned over to sniff the tart again (for science), the door burst open.

"My lord!" Marcel called, his voice tense. "Dr. Faelan is here."

Lucien blinked.

"...Huh? Wait, no—he said tomorrow. Why is he here now?! I’m not emotionally prepared!"

He stood up so fast his chair screeched behind him. With his heart thudding, Lucien practically ran toward the estate’s side chamber. The mont he entered, his eyes landed on Faelan—who was already seated, looking pale and deeply concerned.

Oh no.

Lucien’s stomach dropped like a stone in a well.

He glanced at Marcel. "Leave us. And make sure no one enters."

Marcel hesitated, brows furrowed. "But my lord—"

"Marcel, please."

"...Understood."

The butler gave a deep bow and left, closing the doors behind him with a soft thud.

Lucien turned to Faelan, arms crossed. "I thought you were supposed to co tomor—"

"You’re pregnant, my lord," Faelan interrupted flatly.

A pin could’ve dropped in the silence that followed.

"...What?" Lucien blinked.

"You’re pregnant."

Lucien’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

"I’m a Beta!" he screeched. "A male Beta! How does that even—You—you checked the papers! You said I was a BETA!"

Faelan looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. "Yes. That’s... part of the problem. It seems you were a Beta. But—soti in the past six months... your body underwent a secondary differentiation."

"A what-now!?"

"You’re... technically... an Oga now."

Lucien stared.

"Explain!"

Faelan sighed. "In rare cases, under severe physiological or taphysical stress, certain Betas—those born with dormant Oga traits—can undergo spontaneous re-differentiation."

Lucien blinked once. Twice. "Are you saying I changed biology like soone swapping outfits?!"

Faelan’s mouth twitched. "You wouldn’t be the first case, my lord. It’s just... exceptionally rare."

Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose. "What kind of stress are we even talking about?"

Faelan hesitated. "Well... trauma."

Lucien slowly lowered his hand and stared at him, and that’s when he got what happened.

I turned into an Oga just because I transmigrated into Lucien d’Armoire?! Was that even possible?

That’s what he wondered.

And then he began pacing. "Okay. Okay. Fine. I’m an Oga now. We’ll just add that to the growing existential crisis. But I’m still male. And I definitely didn’t have sex! So how the hell did this happen?!"

Then he froze mid-stride.

"...Unless..."

His eyes widened in horror.

"Don’t you dare tell this happened during that cursed masquerade party?!"

Faelan coughed politely and looked away.

Lucien scread.

"NO! No, no, no! I was drunk! Soone drugged the punch! I don’t even rember half that night! Who the hell did I sleep with?! Did I fall on a dick by accident?! By accident?!"

Then, just as suddenly, he went dead silent. His shoulders sagged, and his whole deanor collapsed into a pit of despair. The silence lingered, thick and oppressive, and for a mont, it seed like the very air had stopped moving.

Seconds passed. Then Lucien burst into tears.

"AAAGHGHAGHAAAAAHHH! I’M PREGNANT! I’M A PREGNANT BETA WHO’S ACTUALLY AN OGA WHO’S ACTUALLY A MAN WHO—WHO MIGHT HAVE SLEPT WITH A STRANGER AT A PARTY! THIS IS A NIGHTMARE!"

Faelan, sitting across from him, stared at him with a blank expression. He was a man of science, not of emotion, but even he wasn’t sure whether to comfort Lucien or throw in a handful of sedatives.

Lucien’s tearful wail echoed through the room, and Faelan rubbed his temples, as though trying to squeeze a solution out of thin air. The silence that followed wasn’t much better than the wailing.

Finally, Lucien looked up, eyes bloodshot, his voice still quivering from the sobs. "Do we have an abortion system in this world?"

Faelan blinked, startled by the question. He sighed heavily and took a mont before answering. "My lord... I would strongly advise against that option. It could be dangerous for you. As a rare male Oga, the procedure might harm you... or even be fatal."

Lucien’s face paled even further, his eyes wide with panic. Then, as though the weight of it all was too much to bear, he started crying in earnest, his sobs wracking his body.

"AM I GOING TO BE A SINGLE MOTHER?!" he wailed dramatically, his hand clutching his stomach like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

Faelan, watching the scene unfold, mumbled to himself, "At least he’s accepted it..."

The doctor cleared his throat, trying to salvage so semblance of order. "My lord, please calm down. It’s not as though you’re the only male Oga in the empire."

Lucien blinked, his tears montarily forgotten as his attention snapped to Faelan. "Wait—there are more male Ogas?!"

Faelan smiled slightly, his posture easing. "Yes, my lord. There are more male Ogas in the world."

"Where?" Lucien asked, excited.

"In the history books, my lord." Faelan said casually with a smile.

And then—

"OH, GODS, I’M TOTALLY DOOD!" Lucien scread, suddenly reverting to full panic mode.

Faelan, still maintaining his calm, said. "No, no, my lord. Don’t worry. I’ll handle your pregnancy very well..."

—and Faelan chuckled to himself, muttering, "...and I will be the only doctor in this generation to handle a rare male oga case."

Lucien glared at him suspiciously, holding his stomach. "...HEY! Don’t you dare treat and my baby like so kind of experint."

Faelan blinked, startled. "What? No, my lord. I would never—"

Lucien cut him off, his voice rising in dramatic suspicion. "I heard you, Faelan. I heard your evil little scientist giggle in your head."

Faelan flinched, his eyes wide. "I-I didn’t—!"

Just then, a knock on the door.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

The door swung open, and Marcel stepped in, holding a letter in his hands. "My lord, we’ve received a ssage from Grand Duke Silas. He requests your presence at an urgent eting."

Lucien, who had been halfway through accusing Faelan of so mad scientist behavior, paused and glanced at the letter. His expression shifted, and a sigh escaped his lips. "Grand Duke Silas?" he muttered. "What kind of ergency eting could it be?"

Marcel nodded. "He didn’t specify, my lord. Only that it was urgent."

"Can I say no?" Lucien asked.

"NO, you cannot my lord," Marcel said.

Lucien stared at the letter, a mix of confusion. "Alright, I’ll go."

The room held a strange silence.

Because neither of them know that Grand Duke Silas...was the very sa stranger from that fateful party night.

The one Lucien couldn’t rember.The one he had drunkenly crawled into bed with.The one whose baby now resided in his womb.

And Lucien?Lucien was about to walk straight into a eting with the father of his unborn child.With absolutely no idea.