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CHAPTER 116
Instead, his flesh began to turn grey—stone grey—from his feet upward. His eyes met hers. Isabella was already standing, her gaze no longer soft… but sharp. Cold. Inhuman. “I’m sorry, Klaus,” she said, voice calm, reverent. “But you were never meant to leave here alive.” He fell to the floor, gasping, paralyzed from the waist down. His legs were now marble, and the petrification was climbing. “You…” he whispered, heart breaking faster than his body. “Why…?” She stepped back, the illusion of the innocent, loving girl melting away. Her skin shimmered, eyes glowing gold with slits like serpents. “Do you know what my real name is?” she asked gently. He stared in horror. She smiled. “I am the avatar of Medusa—the Goddess of Eyes, Stone, and Betrayal. Your enemy from the start.” Klaus’s mind reeled. Isabella… wasn’t just under the control of someone. She was someone. Powerful. Ancient. “I killed Jack,” she said casually, circling him now. “Turned him to stone and c
CHAPTER 115
He reached for his teleportation skill, the one that had saved him a hundred times before. He visualized the coordinates. The exit. The escape. Nothing. He was still standing in the same place. His heart sank. Victor let out a soft, patronizing chuckle. “Teleportation won’t save you, Klaus.” Klaus whirled, eyes wide. “What…?” Victor stepped forward, his form glowing faintly with the essence of dreams made flesh. “You're already within my Fantasy Domain,” he said, as if explaining a simple rule of etiquette. “From the moment your eyes met mine, you began to dream. That’s how it works with me. I’m the avatar of Morphos, god of dreams and fantasies.” Klaus blinked—and then he noticed something horrifying. He wasn’t resisting. He was following. Each step Victor took, Klaus found himself mirroring without will or intent. It was like his body had been hijacked—his movements reduced to a puppet's mimicry. Even his voice was gone. He opened his mouth. Nothing. Not a sound.
CHAPTER 114
"This... is not over," he growled. “Die with me, Klaus Whitlock… my friend.” Klaus’s body tensed. Marco’s hand slammed against his chest. A red glow erupted from a disk embedded in his torso. Digital numbers appeared—10. 9. 8… A bomb. “No—!” Klaus lunged. Marco only laughed, his teeth stained red. “It ends here.” --- Everything slowed. Klaus’s eyes locked onto the timer. Seven seconds. His mind raced. Escape? Not enough time. Disable? Too risky. Contain? His eyes flashed with purpose. He summoned all remaining aura into his palm—dense, pressurized, burning purple with white streaks of electricity. He slammed it into Marco’s chest and teleported. They vanished. A microsecond later, they reappeared—on the edge of the harbor cliffs miles from the city. Klaus hurled Marco’s body off the cliff and threw up the strongest aura shield he could generate. The explosion rocked the coastline. A shockwave rippled across the water, sending birds flying and triggeri
CHAPTER 113
Klaus stepped forward, his black-on-black silk suit undisturbed by the chaos erupting around him. His polished shoes echoed with each step on the marble floor, cutting clean through the rising murmurs of panic and disbelief. Executives shuffled uncomfortably in their chairs, exchanging side glances, their once smug faces now touched with unease. Behind him, Isabella stood still as stone, eyes glinting like forged steel beneath her sleek silver gown. Her presence was no longer ornamental. It was royal. Regal. Reclaimed. The woman they once whispered about, disrespected, was now a untouchable. Klaus swept his sharp gaze across the room—over the high-stakes players, the crime lords dressed in power, the former puppet-masters of Megabucks who had gorged on corruption under dim lights and heavy cigars. He raised his voice. Clear. Controlled. “This casino is mine now.” The weight of those words fell with a thud. Some straightened in their seats. Others flinched. But none dared spe
CHAPTER 112
[“The Relic of the First Predator has unlocked prehistoric regression. Animal transformations may now be pushed beyond modern evolutionary limits. Sabertooth. Direwolf. Pterodactyl. Megalania. All accessible through intent and focus.”] A slow grin crept across his lips. It wasn’t the kind of smile one wore for joy. It was the grin of an apex predator who’d just remembered how to hunt. “Finally… a reason to go hunting again.” But even as that power settled into his bones, Klaus knew the real storm was just beginning. The masked assassin. That mechanical arm. That machine-like efficiency. That smell—sterile, unnatural, enhanced. Klaus’s mind returned to the rooftop. Jack. Frozen in terror. Turned to stone mid-scream. Whatever power did that wasn’t mortal. The divine energy still clung to Klaus’s senses like smoke. He never got Jack’s secrets. Never learned who he was working for. Now this assassin—so soon after. No coincidences. “They’re connected,” Klaus murmured. “Jac
CHAPTER 111
They had grown close, but cautiously so. No labels, just healing souls trying to breathe again. Isabella’s car pulled into the driveway, headlights catching the stone path. She stepped out, umbrella in hand, her coat wrapped tightly around her. The air smelled of petrichor and roses from Klaus’s carefully tended garden. That’s when she heard it—a sharp clink, like metal scraping against stone. A breath against the wind. Then he appeared. A masked figure, dressed in all black, his face hidden behind an expressionless silver visor. One arm—a sleek, brutal mechanical prosthetic—whirred and extended as he lunged toward her with impossible speed. Isabella screamed, the umbrella flying from her hand as she ducked and rolled instinctively, the glint of a blade slashing through the air where her neck had been. Klaus, at that very moment, was at a traffic light ten minutes away. His phone rang. > “KLAUS! Someone’s trying to kill me—he’s got a metal arm—I’m at your house!” Klaus
CHAPTER 110
As bailiffs moved to take the father and daughter away, Klaus finally stood. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His eyes met Reginald’s, and in them was no gloat, no vengeance—only finality. The kind that says “It’s over.” Isabella gently touched Klaus’s shoulder, and the two exited the courtroom together, the heavy doors shutting behind them like the last page of a dark chapter finally closing. Outside, the crowds cheered. Justice had finally come to Flagstone City—and Klaus Whitlock, once a ghost in the margins, had become the face of its resurrection. Absolutely. Here's a powerful and emotionally layered final confrontation scene between Klaus and Allison in prison: --- Two months after the trial, the dust of the courtroom had settled, but echoes of the past still lingered in Flagstone City. Klaus Whitlock, now vindicated and publicly honored, walked down a corridor that hummed with fluorescent light and silence thick with tension. He had requested the meeting. Part
CHAPTER 109
People weren’t just angry—they were horrified. They said the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. They said her cruelty was inherited. “Rotten genes,” one headline read. “How Reginald’s daughter picked up the same venomous instincts.” Worse still, the footage of her last confrontation with Klaus—when she dropped her wine, when she shook in fear—was leaked online. It went viral. “You should’ve made better enemies,” Klaus had said in that clip, and the world couldn’t stop quoting it. Petitions sprang up to ban the Thorne name from major media networks. Sponsors pulled out of deals. Businesses distanced themselves. A senator publicly denounced ever knowing Reginald. A city once cowed by the Thorne influence now spit on it. By the third day of coverage, reporters stood outside the now-seized Thorne estate, and one said solemnly: > “For years, the Thorne family lived above the law—while silencing their victims with wealth and whispers. But today, justice isn't just knocking. It
CHAPTER 108
As the cuffs locked, Reginald thrashed, eyes wild with panic. Outside, the media was already live. Drones. Cameras. Reporters barking headlines: “REGINALD THORNE ARRESTED IN FEDERAL STING—SHOCKWAVES IN FLAGSTONE” “EMPIRE OF LIES: THORNE FAMILY IN COLLAPSE” --- Elysian Hill Hospital — Room 204 Gregory Hunt lay still, tubes protruding from his arms, heart monitor beeping slowly. The poison was subtle, clinical. His breath rattled like a dying engine. Duncan Hunt sat beside him, cradling a glass of brandy. His face was smug. Too smug. “You never gave me anything,” he whispered. “Not your company. Not your love. Just judgment. Well, I’m next now, aren’t I?” The door creaked. Two detectives stepped in, faces like gravestones. “Duncan Hunt, you are under arrest for attempted murder by poisoning and conspiracy.” Duncan stood, furious. “You have no idea who I am—!” “Oh, we do,” one detective replied. “And so will the jury. We’ve got your fingerprints, your burner phon
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