The rain fell in relentless silver sheets, drumming against the roof of the Montclair estate like a relentless drumbeat. Every drop seemed to carry a warning, a reminder that the night was far from over. Inside the shadowed corridors, Bill Montclair walked briskly, heart pounding so hard he feared it might burst from his chest. Each step echoed through the empty hallways, a harsh reminder of the weight of his past decisions.
In the dimly lit bedroom, Ezekiel stood frozen near the bed. A woman lay motionless beneath the pale glow of a single lamp, her face serene yet lifeless, as if caught in a dreamless slumber. His fingers trembled as he brushed over the sheets, fearing that even the slightest touch might shatter the fragile illusion of life.
"Why… why did you do this?" Ezekiel murmured, voice broken, choked by grief.
Bill froze in the doorway, eyes heavy with remorse, yet no words dared escape his lips. The silence between them was suffocating, the air thick with guilt.
"She… she's been like this since the explosion," Bill finally said, voice rough, nearly strangled by regret.
Ezekiel turned slowly, face ravaged by anger and sorrow. His fists clenched, arms trembling as though trying to hold back the storm inside him.
"My mother… she didn't deserve this. Look at what she has become… because of you!" His eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"And your daughter, grandfather! You let her suffer… for what? For a cause? For your pride?"
Bill averted his gaze, chest heaving.
"The choices I made… I made them to protect the organization. To preserve what we have built," he admitted, closing his eyes as if the words themselves were a punishment.
"I couldn't… foresee the consequences."
Ezekiel stepped forward, voice vibrating with restrained fury.
"Protect? By destroying your own family? By sacrificing everything that made you human?" He shook his head, tears carving burning trails down his cheeks.
"Tell me, grandfather… what exactly were you trying to protect?"
Silence fell again, heavier than the storm outside. Only the soft hiss of a respirator and the slow, deliberate tick of the clock filled the room, marking time as if condemning it.
---
Miles away, rain battered the windows of a small, dim apartment. Éloïse listened intently as Annie spoke, her voice fragile yet unwavering, colored with the weight of long-buried sorrow.
"Marie was a Montclair," Annie said softly, eyes distant, hands clasped in her lap.
The mention of the name seemed to hang in the air, heavy and foreboding.
"Women were not allowed in the organization. So Ben, her brother, carried the burden. He was brilliant, a true pillar of the OIMEN," Annie continued, eyes shadowed with memory.
"But Jimmy Montclair could never accept that Bill chose Ben as his successor. He tried to kill him. Ben survived… and retaliated."
Éloïse stiffened.
"And Bill?" she asked, voice trembling, dreading the answer.
"Bill… lost himself in rage. The anger consumed him. He orchestrated the explosion. Marie, Ben, Ezekiel… all inside."
Annie paused, eyes glistening.
"Only Ezekiel survived. Klein was entrusted to Gray Montclair, Bill's eldest son… Ayato's father."
Éloïse's breath caught in her throat. Each revelation shook the ground beneath her feet, the past colliding with the present in a terrifying clarity.
---
Back at Montclair Manor, tension hung thick in the air. In the living room, Ariel held Hana hostage, gun pressed firmly against her temple. Ken, still in Ayato's body, moved slowly, each step deliberate, each breath measured. Behind him, Yuri's finger hovered on the trigger, eyes sharp, ready.
"Ariel… put down the weapon," Ken said firmly, voice steady despite the tremor in his chest.
"Step back, White Wolf," Ariel snapped, eyes wild with fear and determination. "I won't hesitate!"
His gaze flickered between rage and despair, a storm far deeper than mere hatred. He pressed Hana closer, the gun cold against her skin.
"One more step… and she dies!" he shouted.
"Ariel!" Ken's voice cracked, raw with desperation. "You wouldn't… you're not like this!"
Yuri tensed, weapon steady.
"Let her go. Now."
Hana's muffled sobs filled the room, each one cutting through Ken like fire. Rage and fear coursed through him, threatening to shatter his control.
Time seemed to halt, every second stretching into eternity.
A flash of lightning.
A gunshot.
Ariel staggered, eyes wide with shock. Blood pooled at his feet, staining the floorboards. Slowly, he crumpled without a word.
Hana leapt into Ken's arms, tears flowing freely. Yuri lowered her weapon, breathing ragged. Ken remained still, eyes vacant, unable to comprehend the violence that had just unfolded.
Thunder rolled across the sky. The rain continued its relentless assault, washing away the blood—but not the guilt.
---
💀 Extended Tension and Reflection
As the storm raged on, Ken held Hana tightly, feeling the weight of every decision, every moment leading to this. Ariel's fall was not a victory—it was a reminder of the fragile line between vengeance and justice.
Éloïse sat across from Annie, absorbing every detail, realizing that the past was alive, pulsating with danger and unresolved betrayal. Each name, each memory, each story was a piece of the puzzle that would either save or destroy them all.
Bill sat alone in the Montclair manor, staring at the remnants of his choices, the storm outside mirroring the chaos within. Every flash of lightning illuminated the cracks in his armor, the man who had tried to control fate now powerless against the consequences of his own blood-soaked history.
The rain would not stop. The war had only begun.
The rain had finally ceased, but Montclair Manor still trembled as if the walls themselves carried the echoes of the previous day's chaos. Inside, the air was heavy with lingering tension and unspoken fear. Hana curled up in a corner of the living room, eyes wide, chest heaving as though each breath might shatter her. The memory of Ken—or rather, the body he now inhabited, Ayato—pulling the trigger at Ariel's head haunted her relentlessly. Every heartbeat seemed to echo the violence, every inhale a reminder of the irreversible act.
Ken stood frozen, his hands gripping the gun tightly. His mind spiraled in endless loops: Why had he fired? Was it fear, rage, the desperate need to protect? Or a mixture of all three? The weight of finality pressed down on his shoulders. Guilt and relief collided in a storm inside him, each pulse hammering like a drum of judgment.
Yuri, calm and unyielding, observed silently. Her eyes measured Hana, then Ken, then the oppressive quiet that hung over the room. No tremor betrayed her, but her presence alone radiated a silent command.
Finally, Hana broke the silence, her voice small, almost a whisper:
— He… he left a letter… in my room…
Ken and Yuri exchanged glances, their expressions taut with urgency and curiosity. They moved quickly to Hana's room. The letter lay neatly folded on her desk, its edges worn as if waiting for this moment. Ken drew a deep breath and unfolded the note.
Ariel's words were simple, cutting, yet carried an unsettling sincerity:
> "I know what you felt, Ayato.
I was there when you tried to sacrifice yourself to give your friend a chance to escape. I understood how much Ken meant to you.
I am sorry for taking your friend's life, for hurting you. Forgiveness will never repair my crimes, but I want to help you accomplish what you must.
My weapon wasn't even loaded. I knew you wouldn't kill me as long as I didn't touch those you love. I staged the threat to Hana to force you to act… forgive me."
Ken read the letter over and over, a tumult of relief and anger surging inside him. Ariel had understood. He had played a dangerous role to protect him. Yet even with noble intentions, the manipulation left an indelible scar.
---
Far away, Éloïse and Annie continued their investigation. The rain pattered against the old apartment windows, a constant reminder that the world outside mirrored the storm within. Éloïse, voice quivering, asked:
— What happened to Ezekiel after the explosion? Everyone thought he was dead…
Annie sighed, hands clasped tightly, gaze distant.
— Yes… everyone believed he was dead, even I did. Only a few months passed before he reappeared, searching for his little brother, Klein… now known as Ken.
She paused, letting the weight of the memory settle.
— Before his parents' death, Ezekiel was a good boy, incapable of harming anyone. But since his return… he has changed. No one truly knows what he endured.
A chill ran down Éloïse's spine. Klein… Ken… every revelation peeled back another layer of danger, another secret poised to consume them all.
---
Back at Montclair Manor, the atmosphere was tense, almost suffocating. Bill stood silently, watching Ezekiel near the bed where Marie lay. The occasional droplets of rain tapped against the windows, each echo amplifying the oppressive weight of the room. His voice trembled but carried an attempt at authority:
— If this is your choice… then… kill me for my crimes.
Ezekiel shook his head, eyes blazing yet controlled, his voice steady but filled with raw emotion:
— No. I am not like you. You are my grandfather… I will not harm you. But I want to take my mother with me. She has suffered too much.
A heavy silence settled. Bill lowered his gaze, the burden of his past decisions crushing his posture.
— I do not forgive you… Ezekiel added, voice low but firm. Yet you remain my grandfather. For now.
Then, his tone hardened into a warning:
— Beware Enzo. His plan has only one goal: to destroy the Montclairs to the last.
Bill nodded slowly, fear and guilt etched deeply into his features. The storm outside mirrored the turbulence that still raged within the walls of this family.
---
In the quiet that followed, Ken finally allowed himself a moment to breathe. Hana clung to him, trembling, her tears soaking his shirt. The weight of the night pressed on him; every decision, every bullet fired, every shadow in the house seemed alive with consequence. The storm had passed, but its remnants lingered—not just in the soaked earth, but in their hearts, in the fragile threads of trust, loyalty, and love.
Éloïse, too, felt the weight of the uncovered truths pressing down. Every story, every revelation, every name mentioned was a thread in a web that bound them all—Montclairs, Torne, Ayato, Ken, and all those caught in the whirlwind of vengeance and redemption.
And outside, the clouds began to clear. The first light of dawn touched the wet streets, glinting off puddles like fractured mirrors. But in the hearts of those who survived the storm, the shadows remained. The war had ended—for now—but the echoes of blood and truth would linger forever.