70. Priest Arrival..
The mansion's atmosphere had shifted again—
a deep, suffocating quiet that didn't belong to the living world.
Walls stood too still.
Air felt too dense.
Even the lights seemed afraid to flicker.
Kyron rushed down the hallway, stopping beside Max with a slight bow of tension.
"Sir… they've arrived."
Maximilian nodded once.
Heavy boots echoed through the entrance hall as six priests stepped inside—more than Max had requested.
Not simple priests.
Not the harmless kind who blessed houses on weekends.
These were the Order of Valeriun, the ones who dealt with forces that didn't have a name in human records.
Their black robes trailing like shadows, each carried runic satchels, relic-filled cases, holy seals, and instruments forged for one purpose: to face something the world shouldn't see.
The oldest priest stepped forward, bowing his head.
"Lord Maximilian… we came because your request was marked urgent and high-risk.
We expected one entity."
His eyes swept the corridor.
"But the air here tells a different story."
Max's jaw tightened.
"There is more," he said, voice low.
"It touched the surveillance. It's been inside the hallway. It's been near Eleanor's door."
Kyron swallowed hard beside him.
One of the younger priests frowned.
"Has anyone been harmed recently?"
Max didn't hesitate.
"It killed inside the hospital. Not directly—but its influence shattered control systems, heart monitors, oxygen valves. One patient died instantly."
The priests exchanged grave looks.
The eldest priest murmured,
"That is not an entity seeking destruction…
It is an entity sending a message."
Max's voice dropped like steel.
"It wants my mother.
And it thinks I'll hand her over."
The priests sensed the weight of his words—
the kind of cold rage that came from a boy who had watched his father die,
and a man who refused to lose anyone else.
Kyron cleared his throat gently.
"There is something else… His father—Lord Adrian—mentioned years ago that Madam Eleanor was attacked by this entity long before Maximilian was born."
The priests froze.
One of them whispered,
"Then the bond is old."
Eldest priest:
"An entity that forms a generational link…
It rarely stops until the line is broken."
Max's eyes flashed with a darkness that wasn't fear—
but murderous resolve.
"It won't break anything," he said quietly.
"I called you here for one reason:
Help me trap it.
Contain it.
Force it out of hiding."
The eldest priest nodded slowly.
"We shall begin."
The six priests moved like shadows, opening cases, pulling out relics—
iron-bound censers, holy inscriptions, silver-thread markers, and sheets of sacred parchment.
Kyron stepped closer to Max, voice trembling but steady.
"Sir… Chloe and Aiden are already safe inside the five-star hostel. They're guarded. Double protection from our team."
"Good," Max said, eyes fixed on the darkened hallway.
"They will stay out of this. This time… I finish what started years ago."
A soft whisper echoed through the mansion—
so faint only Max heard it.
A familiar sound.
A cruel sound.
A laugh.
Sliding under the doorframes like a memory wrapped in venom.
Max stiffened.
The priests went still.
"Everyone into positions," Max commanded.
The eldest priest raised a sigil, eyes sharpening.
"It knows we're here."
Max's jaw clenched.
"Let it come."
And somewhere deep in the mansion,
lights flickered once—
a quiet, playful warning.
The entity wasn't hiding.
It was waiting..
The priests spread out across the corridor, placing relics at each corner:
silver-thread sigils, prayer sheets pressed into the walls, runic stones glowing faintly like trapped embers.
Kyron had barely finished securing the final seal when—
The temperature dropped.
Not gradually.
Not naturally.
A sudden, brutal drop.
Every breath turned white.
The lights dimmed without flickering—
as if something was swallowing their glow,
slowly, deliberately.
Maximilian felt it first.
A pressure pushing against his ribs,
like the mansion itself was inhaling.
The eldest priest tightened his grip on the relic in his hand.
"It's close."
A younger priest leaned in, whisper shaky:
"…Or it was already here."
Then—
THUMP.
A loud, unnatural hit against Eleanor's door.
Everyone froze.
Kyron's eyes widened.
"That wasn't her, sir—"
THUMP—THUMP—THUMP.
The door shook violently, as if something was ramming it from the inside.
But the sensors showed Eleanor was lying on her bed, unconscious.
Max stepped forward without hesitation.
"Open it," he ordered.
The eldest priest shook his head immediately.
"No. If the entity is manifesting inside, opening the door will—"
SCRAAAAATCH—
The sound sliced through the hallway.
A long, dragging claw across wood.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Mocking.
The priests snapped their heads toward the door.
"It's tracing the doorframe…" one whispered.
"That's a territorial mark."
The eldest priest muttered a prayer under his breath.
"It's claiming her."
Max's expression turned to stone.
"No," he said quietly.
"It's provoking."
He took another step closer—
but the moment his foot touched the floorboard near Eleanor's room—
—the entire corridor plunged into darkness.
A suffocating, oily blackness swallowed the light.
Kyron gasped sharply.
The priests staggered.
Only Max stood absolutely still, eyes unblinking in the darkness.
Then, from the pitch-black corridor—
a whisper.
Right next to his ear.
So close it brushed his shoulder.
"You can't save her…
like he couldn't save you."
Max's breathing stopped.
Sharp, white fury exploded in his chest.
"Show yourself," he growled, voice low, dangerous.
A faint silhouette flickered in the darkness—
long limbs, crawling, distorted proportions—
moving across the marble wall like a shadow detached from a body.
Priests raised their sigils at once.
The eldest shouted:
"LIGHT!"
A burst of white, holy light exploded through the corridor—
shattering the darkness—
—but the silhouette was already gone.
The corridor returned to normal.
No movement.
No shadow.
No sound.
Just Eleanor's door trembling once with a quiet thud,
as if the entity's hand had just released it.
The elder priest exhaled shakily.
"This… is no ordinary haunting.
This is obsession mixed with possession.
It has a past with your bloodline, Lord Maximilian."
Max clenched his fists.
"I know," he said quietly.
"And I'm ending it."
A soft breath of air brushed the back of his neck—
almost like a cold fingertip tracing his skin.
Max didn't flinch.
He whispered to the emptiness:
"Try me."
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