Everhart Manor, Outside the Guest Room
The corridors were still.
Not just quiet—but unnervingly still.
Lilith stood guard just outside the room where the others rested.
She leaned against the wall, spear already unsummoned but ready at a moment’s notice, eyes sharpened like blades as they scanned every crevice, every flickering shadow the dim chandeliers cast on the walls.
The manor was far too silent for her liking.
It had been hours since Art and Zyon left. Hours since they’d gone off after suspecting something was wrong in the town.
The longer time stretched, the heavier the silence became. The kind that didn’t feel natural.
Not even the servants had passed by in the last hour—not a whisper, not a footstep. Not even the rustle of wind against glass. Just dead air.
A silence that grew teeth.
’Something’s wrong...’ Lilith’s hand unconsciously brushed against the edge of her cloak as she took another sweeping glance down the corridor.
Her eyes were calm, but inside her head was a tightening knot of nerves. She knew something was off—her instincts were practically screaming at her.
The stillness wasn’t peaceful. It was the kind that waited.
Her thoughts weren’t even her own anymore. She could feel Liana’s lingering doubt seeping into her.
That creeping dread. ’They’re still just children,’ The woman had said earlier, voice trembling with a rare crack in it. ’Strong or not, they’re still too young to know how deep human depravity can go.’
Lilith didn’t want to believe that.
But... she understood what she meant.
Art and Zyon were powerful. That wasn’t in question. But power wasn’t always enough.
Especially not when you were facing enemies with experience. With cunning. With cruelty sharpened over years.
She exhaled slowly, steadying herself.
’I can’t leave. If something happened, I’m the only one here who can properly fight.’
Celeste and Evelyn, while intelligent, weren’t battle-ready. Liana herself couldn’t wield a weapon, and though Freya had combat ability, her condition was fragile at best.
If Lilith left—even for a moment—it would be tantamount to abandoning them.
She clutched the hem of her uniform lightly.
’Just come back safe, idiot...’
A sharp, eerie chime cut through the silence.
Lilith’s entire body tensed, her head snapping up instantly. Her eyes darted toward the sound. A whistle. Clear and deliberate. Not a bird. Not an echo. A signal.
And then—there was movement.
From around the rightmost corridor, just beside a painting of a mad, bull-headed monster devouring a knight—he appeared.
A man. Average in build, perhaps, but something about him was off the moment he stepped into view.
His stride was casual, lazy even, as though he had all the time in the world.
Jet-black hair fell over one eye, and his skin was pale, almost too pristine. His face was unnervingly handsome—sharp jawline, cold expression, with eyes that seemed to reflect nothing but the abyss.
Lilith immediately understood one thing.
He didn’t belong here.
And more than that—he was dangerous.
Her instincts screamed at her again, a cold chill running down her spine. He exuded pressure.
Not the kind born of overwhelming strength, but something subtler. He was like a predator that had already decided the outcome of the hunt.
The man walked until he was just meters away from her.
He tilted his head slightly, lips curling into a lopsided smirk.
"You know," he said, voice low and calm, "if you’re trying to protect someone, maybe don’t stand right in front of the door. Kind of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?"
Lilith didn’t answer. She took a single step forward and summoned her spear with a shimmer of white light.
The weapon appeared in her grip with a satisfying hum, the tip gleaming in the corridor’s muted glow.
Her stance dropped—low, stable, spear at the ready.
"You talk too much," she said coldly. "And I don’t care who you are. If you’re here to cause trouble—then you’re just another fly I’ll crush."
The man blinked once.
"Ah... a funny girl," he murmured, rubbing his chin like he was genuinely impressed. "Confidence is nice. It’s good to have pride in your strength. But..."
He took a deliberate step forward.
"...I didn’t come here to play games."
The man’s smile faded.
In the next instant, he blurred—a sudden, violent displacement of air and shadow. His body vanished from view, and before Lilith could even react—
A thunderous blow exploded into her abdomen.
The sheer force of it bent her in half, her eyes going wide in stunned agony as her body folded like parchment.
Blood erupted from her lips in thick, crimson bursts. She was hurled backward like a cannonball, crashing through the heavy doors behind her as if they were made of paper.
Her body smashed into the far wall of the guest room with a sickening impact.
The marble walls cracked, and dust filled the air. She collapsed, crumpled and twitching, her body splayed against the broken wall like a grotesque portrait in red.
Inside the room, everything stopped.
Liana, Celeste, Evelyn, and Freya jerked to their feet, eyes wide in shock as they turned toward the ruin.
The air was thick with dust and copper. Blood dribbled down the cracks of the wall.
Lilith’s mouth kept bubbling with crimson foam, each breath a struggle, a reminder that she was still—barely—alive.
She looked less like a person and more like a broken doll.
It was terror. Pure, unfiltered, suffocating terror.
A soft, lilting voice drifted in.
So innocent. So casual. So wrong.
Every head turned toward the shattered doorway.
The man stepped forward from the ruined corridor, hands in his coat pockets, strolling as if he were taking a leisurely walk through a garden rather than a battlefield.
His abyss-black eyes swept across them with detached amusement.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Liana," he said, voice pleasant. "I’m on a tight schedule, so forgive the lack of introductions."
Celeste found her voice first—barely. Her legs trembled, her breath stuttered, but she stood her ground. "Why... are you here? Did you do that to Lilith?"
The man cocked his head like a curious animal. "Yes. Of course I did. I’m here to take Miss Liana with me. Now, if she doesn’t resist, I promise the rest of you will leave here with your limbs intact. But if she does..."
He casually gestured behind him—toward Lilith’s broken form.
The implication didn’t need explaining.
Celeste’s body shook with rage. "You vile, fucking b—"
She didn’t get to finish.
The man surged forward again. Before anyone could blink, he was in front of her.
His hand shot out, enveloping her entire head like it was a melon. With a single motion, he began to squeeze.
Bones cracked under pressure. Celeste screamed, her eyes wide, veins bulging across her temples as the man’s grip tightened like a vice. Her legs kicked out wildly.
"Let her go!!" Freya shouted, thrusting her arms forward. "[Stilling Touch]!!"
A spell of paralysis. She cast it instinctively—desperately.
The man turned his eyes on her, and Freya’s heart stopped.
His gaze alone was suffocating. Cold. Endless. Her arms trembled. Her spell fizzled midair, dissipating like dust.
Her knees buckled. Her eyes welled with tears—not from pain, but from pure, soul-shearing fear.
He turned his attention back to Celeste and flung her across the room like she was nothing.
Her body smashed into a table, shattering wood and splinters, sending books and glass flying. She groaned but didn’t get back up.
Then, slowly, he began strolling toward Freya.
It was Evelyn who spoke.
Her voice was calm. Controlled. Unshaken. She stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
"Why do you want to take Miss Liana?"
The man paused mid-step.
And smiled again—this time wider, darker. "Ah. That."
He raised his arms theatrically, as if announcing something magnificent.
"I want to fuck her," he said bluntly.
The room went dead silent.
Liana’s eyes widened in disbelief. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Freya gasped, a hand flying to her mouth.
Even Evelyn’s composed expression cracked for a moment.