Morticia's eyes lingered on the fractured barrier, genuine surprise slipping through her composure for a moment as the last of the shockwave rolled through the trees.
"Wednesday," she said delicately, "isn't Ethan a vampire?"
There was polite curiosity in her tone, but also clear confusion. Vampires were not generally known for detonating occult barriers with enough force to shake half the forest.
Wednesday watched another crack spread through the invisible surface. "He is," she said calmly. "Just not a disappointingly average one."
Morticia's smile returned slowly. "Ah. That explains your continued interest."
"I don't cultivate relationships with mediocrity," Wednesday replied.
Ethan glanced sideways at her. "That might be the closest thing to a compliment I've gotten from you."
"Don't become emotionally attached to it."
The final cracks spread across the barrier before the entire surface shattered apart like broken glass, the distorted air collapsing inward and revealing what had been hidden behind it all along.
Wednesday walked forward immediately and stopped beside Ethan, both of them staring ahead.
A massive gate stood deep within the woods, old iron twisted with rust and age, the path beyond leading uphill toward a monastery sitting in the darkness above the trees.
"Saint Cartha Monastery," Ethan said quietly as he looked at it.
There was no doubt anymore.
This was the place.
The place where the gates of hell had first been opened.
Wednesday looked at the monastery for several seconds.
Then, very slightly—
she smiled.
"Let's go in," she said.
"Wednesday, aren't you rushing in blindly?" Morticia asked as she followed them along the grave-lined path. "I know you enjoy investigating violent and mysterious deaths, darling, but occasionally restraint is more effective than enthusiasm."
"I know what I'm doing, mother," Wednesday replied without slowing down. "I didn't come here without preparation. I know what this place is, and I know what's moving around inside it."
Morticia's gaze shifted toward the monastery ahead. "And what exactly do you believe is waiting for us?"
"It's a demon," Wednesday said plainly.
Morticia looked at her with mild surprise. "A demon? Wednesday, since when do you believe in demons?"
Wednesday glanced at her briefly. "Since I met one."
The answer made the silence heavier for a moment.
Morticia had read countless texts involving demons, rituals, and infernal entities over the years.
The Addams family library alone contained enough cursed material to concern several governments. But hearing someone say they had actually encountered one was different.
"Well, mother," Wednesday continued evenly, "I regret to inform you that demons are real. And comparatively speaking, they're not even the most dangerous thing I've encountered."
She paused slightly.
"Some of the others almost killed me. Which, admittedly, improved the experience."
"Wednesday," Ethan said flatly, "don't phrase it like that."
Morticia stopped walking for half a second. "Almost killed you?"
"It happened during the summer," Wednesday replied calmly. "When Ethan visited our house."
Morticia slowly turned toward Ethan.
He immediately raised both hands. "Okay, in my defense, she didn't actually die. It was more of a near-death situation. Technically."
"That is not reassuring," Morticia said smoothly.
"She was completely fine afterward."
"But first," Morticia said, her gaze moving between them.
"Why exactly are the two of you repeatedly ending up in situations that nearly get you killed? I expect this behavior from Wednesday. I did not expect her to find company."
Wednesday looked mildly offended. "I'm selective with my bad decisions."
"It wasn't intentional," Ethan replied. "Most of the time it's a forced situation. Either we deal with whatever's there, or people die and things get worse. It's usually that kind of choice."
Morticia studied him for a moment. "You say that with concerning familiarity."
"It stopped feeling unusual after the third or fourth time."
"That," Morticia said softly, "is not comforting."
They continued up the grave-lined path toward Saint Cartha Monastery, the massive structure looming darker the closer they got.
***
Inside Saint Cartha, Tyler walked beside Baphomet through the abbey corridors, his footsteps echoing faintly against old stone.
The place felt dead.
Dust coated the walls, old religious paintings hung crooked and blackened with age, and cold wind slipped through cracked windows high above them, carrying a low whistle through the corridor.
Tyler looked around carefully. "What kind of place is this?" he asked. "Looks like it's been abandoned for years."
"It has," Baphomet replied calmly as he walked ahead in human form, his hands behind his back like a priest giving a tour.
"This used to belong to a nobleman obsessed with the occult. One of the strongest practitioners in this region, at least by human standards."
A gust of wind passed through the hallway, making several hanging crosses creak softly.
"He wanted power," Baphomet continued. "Not influence. Not status. Power. I respected that about him. Humans are usually dishonest creatures."
"They bury their desires beneath morality and fear until they convince themselves they never wanted anything at all."
Tyler glanced sideways at him. "And this guy didn't?"
"No," Baphomet said with a faint smile. "He embraced his corruption honestly."
The corridor finally opened into a massive chamber door.
Tyler slowed.
The entire entrance was covered in crosses nailed directly into the wood, layered over each other like desperate attempts to keep something shut. Old warning prayers had been carved across the stone around it, deep enough to scar the walls permanently.
Above the door, carved unevenly into the arch itself, were the words:
God Ends Here.
***
A/N: And on Patreon, The Boys arc started.
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