71. Helpless
The moment Maximilian growled "Try me…", the entire mansion trembled as if the walls themselves inhaled in fear.
And then—
THUD.
A body dropped from the pitch-black air above the hallway.
Maximilian didn't understand what he was seeing at first.
His breath stopped.
His heart… simply forgot to beat.
It was Chloe.
No—
No.
NO.
Chloe had been safe, miles away, hidden inside a protected 5-star hostel.
He arranged everything.
He made sure.
He checked.
So the broken body lying in front of him, drenched in thick blood that soaked the marble floor—
couldn't be her.
Her arm was bent backward in a horrific angle, bone piercing the skin.
Her leg twisted the wrong direction.
Her skull bleeding so heavily the blood formed a pool around her head.
Her face pale—too pale.
Her lips turning blue.
She didn't move.
Not even a twitch.
Maximilian's mind snapped like a weak thread.
"That's not Chloe. It can't be."
"She's safe. I protected her."
"This is someone else. A trick. A hallucination."
He stood frozen—
eyes wide, pupils shaking, chest locked.
He couldn't breathe.
He couldn't think.
He couldn't scream.
Then—
THUD.
Another body fell.
Right beside Chloe.
Aiden.
Covered in blood.
Ribs crushed inward.
One arm dangling lifelessly.
His forehead split open.
Blood leaking from his nose and ears.
This time Max's knees almost buckled.
No sound came out of him.
He stared at them like his soul was ripped out of his body.
Like time stopped existing.
And then—
Kyron's voice shattered everything.
"AAIIDDENN!!!
CHLOEEE!!!
NOOOO!!! SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE—NOW!!"
Kyron's scream was raw—pure panic, pure heartbreak—
and it yanked Maximilian back into reality like ice water splashed on fire.
Max finally moved.
He stumbled to them, falling to his knees, trembling hands checking for breath.
For life.
For anything.
Faint…
So faint…
Their breaths felt like they were fading with each passing second.
If he blinked—he feared he'd lose them.
Max didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
His face instead turned blank—
deadly blank—
like something inside him had been ripped out and replaced with nothing but a murderous void.
In a low, emotionless voice, he ordered:
"Kyron… take them.
Leave.
NOW."
Kyron grabbed both of them, crying, shaking, begging the emergency team to hurry.
But—
They couldn't enter.
The entity blocked every doorway.
Every window.
Every inch of the mansion suffocated.
Lights flickered madly.
The walls groaned.
A heavy, invisible force pressed down on everyone until even breathing felt impossible.
Max's anger rose like a monster waking inside him.
Then he snapped—
"HOW DARE YOU TOUCH THEM!!
HOW—DARE—YOU!"
The air cracked, electricity crawling around him like lightning attached to his skin.
His rage shook the floors.
The mansion vibrated around him, picture frames falling, glass shattering.
And then—
A shrill, monstrous laugh echoed.
Not human.
Not Eleanor's.
Something ancient.
Something hungry.
Something evil.
Eleanor's body rose into the air like a puppet on invisible strings—
head dropped backward, eyes rolled white, hands twisting unnaturally.
Her voice, layered with the entity's, screamed with laughter that rattled the roof.
The priests immediately started chanting louder—
their voices trembling but determined.
But to their shock—
their chants did nothing.
Instead, Eleanor—no, the entity inside her—lifted her hand.
And with a demonic force—
SLAM.
She flung one priest across the hall, smashing his skull against a marble wall.
He dropped unconscious instantly.
Another priest tried to run.
Eleanor's body twisted unnaturally, her neck rotating almost 180 degrees to look at him.
She grinned—
and whipped him into the stair railing, breaking it clean.
The rest screamed, trying to chant through their terror.
Max stood there, fists clenched so hard his veins bulged, but deep inside—
he was helpless.
The one thing he feared most…
Was happening again.
He couldn't save them.
Not his father back then.
Not his mother now.
Not his siblings he swore to protect.
The guilt swallowed him whole.
His voice broke for the first time in years—
"Why them…?"
The mansion trembled harder, like the entity fed on his pain.
His rage and grief mixed into a storm—
the kind that destroys anything in its path.
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