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Chapter 552
One moment, the clinic waiting room was silent except for the soft beeping of medical equipment and the distant hum of the generator. The next, glass exploded inward, and dark shapes poured through the gaps like liquid shadow.Gerald fired his shotgun twice, the blasts echoing off the walls. One of the shapes crumpled, then dissolved into black smoke. But three more took its place."They're inside!" Gerald shouted, already reloading.Susan was on her feet, dragging Harry's unconscious body behind a flipped-over table. Marta stood between the intruders and her grandson, her hands raised, golden light flickering at her fingertips.Wilfreda grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and swung it like a club, catching a corrupted soldier across the jaw. It staggered but didn't fall."Where are they coming from?" she yelled."Everywhere!" Gerald fired again. "The wards are failing!"And then the front door blew off its hinges.Vane stepped through the opening, his obsidian body gleaming in
Chapter 551
Kozlov tilted his head. "You would give yourself to the darkness? After all these years of trying to control it?""I would serve," Vane said. "As I have always served. The Obsidian is awake now. It needs a vessel. A conduit. Let me be that conduit."Kozlov was silent for a long moment. The torches flickered. The shadows pressed closer."You fear death," Kozlov said finally. "You always have. That's why you came to me in the first place. You want to live forever. You want to cheat the grave."Vane said nothing."Now you offer yourself to the Obsidian not out of loyalty, not out of devotion, but out of fear. Fear of what I will do to you if you return empty-handed. Fear of the iron rot spreading through your veins. Fear of the darkness that's been whispering to you in your sleep."Vane's hands trembled."I am not afraid," he lied.Kozlov laughed—a cold, hollow sound. "You are afraid. And that's why I'm going to accept your offer."Vane looked up, surprise flickering across his features.
Chapter 550
The room was dark—Janelle had drawn the curtains hours ago, trying to block out the wrongness of the sky—but sleep wouldn't come.Beside her, Priya stirred. "Janelle? Are you awake?""Yeah.""Can't sleep either?"Janelle turned her head on the pillow. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, she could just make out Priya's profile—the curve of her cheek, the tangle of her dark hair."How do you do it?" Janelle asked. "How do you just... keep going? After everything?"Priya was quiet for a moment. "I don't know that I am," she admitted. "I'm just putting one foot in front of the other and hoping I don't trip.""That's not comforting.""It wasn't meant to be." Priya rolled onto her side, facing Janelle. "The truth is, I'm scared. I've been scared since this whole thing started. Christopher was—" She stopped, her voice catching. "He was awful no doubt. But he didn't deserve what happened to him."Janelle reached across the small space between their beds and took Priya's hand. "We
Chapter 549
The clinic was quiet at three in the morning—the kind of quiet that pressed against your eardrums and made every creak of the floorboards sound like a gunshot. Wilfreda had tried to sleep. She had stretched out on the waiting room couch, closed her eyes, and willed her exhausted body to rest.But the documents kept flashing behind her eyelids.Kevin Freeman. Roger Bacon. The massacre. The Obsidian. And threaded through all of it, like a dark ribbon winding through history, the name O'Connor.She sat up, swung her feet to the floor, and began to pace.Back and forth. Back and forth. Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of her heart.Why? she thought. Why are we connected to this? Why have I always been drawn to these stories?She had been a strange child, she knew. While other girls her age played with dolls and dreamed of weddings, Wilfreda had devoured books about ancient curses, forgotten civilizations, and the dark spaces between the
Chapter 548
They found one more document—a letter from Roger Bacon to an unknown recipient, written a year after the massacre.The same stories were read to them while they were still growing up, the same stories that made you wonder how on earth could any of these have happened?These same stories were beginning to make more sense. But one thing that neither of them had been able to understand was how it all connected to the O' Connors.Kozlov had come particularly for them as the whole thing was beginning to appear but one thing that still hadn't made much sense was why and how someone from centuries ago could still be alive and walking among them till this very day."I have received word from my former student, Kevin Freeman," Bacon wrote. "He is not the man I knew. Something has happened to him—something terrible. He speaks of vengeance, of power, of a black stone that will give him the strength to resurrect the dead. I tried to warn him. I told him that some doors should never be opened. He
Chapter 547
"He was brilliant," Wilfreda murmured, tracing her finger down a page of Old English. "According to this account, he spoke twelve languages fluently. He corresponded with scholars across Europe, the Middle East, even as far as China.""And yet no one claims him," Gerald said. "No university, no monastery, no patron. He's a ghost in the historical record.""Until he isn't." Wilfreda turned a page, her eyes widening. "Gerald, look at this."She pushed the book toward him. It was a Latin text, the handwriting cramped and uneven—a personal journal, not a formal document. Gerald squinted at the words, his Latin rusty but serviceable.Wilfreda had always been a lover of history, myths and legends, but this was becoming more real than she could have ever imagined.Now, digging up things from as far back as eight hundred years ago was something she never imagined was possible. But here she was being drawn to these stories that it felt like she had been there when it all happened."Die Martis,
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