CHAPTER 268: 268. THE IDIOT WITH THE STRINGS

In one of the deeper, torch-lit cells beneath the mansion, Max grinned wickedly as he stared at the monstrous figure locked behind thick steel bars. Rex, the demon hound, stood tall in its full, hulking size, its muscles rippling beneath its leathery skin, nearly brushing the cell’s low, stone ceiling. Its eyes glowed an eerie red, fixed on Max with a gaze filled with rage and hunger. It bared its jagged teeth, grinning like it longed to rip him limb from limb. But it couldn’t, not here.

This was a demon domain, a space where only Max and his friends could use their power, but not everyone else. Rex’s claws couldn’t so much as scratch the enchanted metal that made up its cage.

"Here, eat this, big boy! I promise you’ll love it!" Max taunted, tossing a blood-dripping thigh of meat into the cell.

Rex didn’t even look at the meat. He growled instead, a guttural roar that echoed off the damp stone walls of the underground chamber.

"What? You’re turning down fresh meat?" Max said, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer to the bars. "It’s from a young female. Still warm when we carved it. Don’t be picky now. That would be a damn shame."

He crouched down and sneered. "You’ll be mine, beast. I’ll tame you eventually. So eat up, before you get too scrawny for my plans."

But before Max could savor the moment, a loud bang reverberated from upstairs. Something was wrong.

Max straightened, alert. "Robert? What the hell’s going on up there? Guards?!"

Silence answered him.

**

Upstairs, Asher had already infiltrated the mansion. Walking in plain sight, yet invisible to the mortal eye, he moved past the maids who bustled about, clueless to the threat in their midst. His system pulsed, leading him through the maze-like halls until he reached a crimson door in a secluded corridor—chained and sealed with oversized padlocks.

He raised both hands. In his left, a sword of pitch-black shadows hissed to life. In his right, one of pure radiant white. Slowly, he brought the tips of the two blades together.

A low hum filled the air. Then, shooom!—a black hole tore reality open at the door’s center, warping the steel inward like paper. A gaping portal stood in its place, swirling with silent menace. Asher stepped through.

Inside, a pair of guards looked up, eyes wide, shocked at the sight of their sealed chamber opening by itself. They didn’t have time to react.

With cold precision, Asher summoned twin scalpels into his hands and advanced. Two smooth slashes later, their throats opened, blood bubbling as they fell wordless to the floor without even seeing who had killed them.

His footsteps were soft but purposeful as he ventured deeper, ignoring the lavish furniture and the crystal-framed bar stocked with aged liquor. A dark stairwell awaited to his left, winding down into shadows. That was where his mother was. It had to be.

He descended, the air growing colder and heavier with each step. The dim lights barely held back the darkness. As he reached the base, a foul stench coiled around his nose—rot, blood, and filth. Cell doors lined both sides of the narrow corridor like the ribs of a dead beast.

He turned right.

Passing more guards absorbed in a game of cards and careless laughter, Asher moved in silence, invisible, checking each cell one by one. His eyes burned with desperation. Onalenna... where are you?

Suddenly, two cloaked figures turned the corner and began walking toward him.

Asher instinctively stepped to the side, confident in his invisibility skill. But one of them halted right in front of him.

The man raised his palm without warning.

AGHHH!!

Agonizing pain surged through Asher’s chest like his very soul was being twisted and slammed against unseen walls. His body spasmed in the air, invisible no longer.

Fighting through the haze, Asher hurled a scalpel, but the man dodged with uncanny grace, barely tilting his head.

Asher’s eyes widened. Who the hell is this guy? How did he—how could he see him? And that aura... that suffocating, sinister aura, was he even human?

Bang!!

Another wave of force hit Asher squarely in the chest, flinging him against the wall. Chains of darkness erupted from the second cloaked man’s Bible, spoken into existence by a low, guttural chant. They wrapped around Asher’s wrists and ankles, pinning him mid-air, crucified against the cracked bricks.

He thrashed, snarled, but he was stuck.

Even more disturbing: neither of the men spoke. Not a word. Not a glance. Not a glimpse of their faces beneath those deep hoods.

"W-what’s going on? I heard a bang—" Max’s voice rang down the corridor. He sprinted in from the left and froze as his eyes landed on the scene. His face drained of color.

"What the... how the hell did this little rat get in here?" he breathed, stunned. "How...?"

His mouth hung open, forming a perfect ’O.’

The two men said nothing. They simply turned and walked away.

Max swallowed hard, trying to gather himself.

"Shit... Where’s my mother, damn it!" Asher barked, trying to free himself.

"Chill, dude. Your mom’s alive. Still pretty. Still intact," Max said, eyeing Asher with growing unease. The boy’s presence in this hidden, demon-infused lair sent shivers down his spine. No one should’ve found this place. Unless... unless they were told by something demonic as well.

"I was gonna have my fun with your mom before handing her over, but looks like that’s off the table," Max added, chuckling nervously.

"You’re right, damn it! Bring her here now!!"

Max sneered, but his voice quivered. "And what? Let you watch me fuck her? Matter of fact, that doesn’t sound so bad. I’ve crushed your life anyway. I stole your peace. And now, for the grand finale—I’ll fuck your mother in front of you."

Laughing, drunk on his delusion of power, Max ran ten cells down the corridor. He fumbled with a key, opened one of the heavy doors, and grinned at the sight of Onalenna, chained and strapped to a torture bench.

Still breathing, still alive, and still very much attractive.

He licked his lips as he began wheeling the bench out slowly.

As Max turned into the corridor where he’d left Asher—he froze.

The place was empty. There was no chains, no Asher. Just nothing!

SMACK!!!

A thunderous blow smashed into Max’s face, breaking his nose instantly and sending him crashing to the ground. Blood exploded from his nostrils.

Before he could recover, another invisible fist slammed into his temple, knocking his head sideways. Max tried to crawl, to scream, but the punches kept coming—fast, brutal, and merciless.

"Wh-at—BAM! Gu—GUARDS!! H-help me!!" he shrieked, each word cut short by another blow.

He reached for the revolutionary Bible tucked at his belt—but it was slapped away with force.

The guards nearby heard the crashing sounds—the thud of fists against flesh, the guttural howls of pain and rushed toward the scene, unaware that a storm had already broken loose within their fortress of shadows.

As they turned the corner, they were greeted by the blood-soaked sight of Prince Max shrieking, growling, flailing helplessly on the floor. The brutal smacks of invisible fists pounding into his face echoed through the corridor, yet no attacker could be seen. It was as if the air itself was punishing him.

Just as the guards moved to intervene, a sudden force stopped them in their tracks. An invisible barrier shimmered into place, repelling their advance like an unseen wall. Asher had activated his wind barrier, ensuring nothing would interrupt his pummeling of this pompous prince of Zephandria who had, in his arrogance, invited death with open arms.

Fist after fist slammed into Max’s face. Blood poured from his mouth. Teeth loosened, some knocked loose and nearly choking him. His face was an unrecognizable mess of bruises. He no longer even had the strength to scream—just helpless wheezes as Asher dragged him toward the edge of death.

"Sir!! What’s happening in there?!" one of the guards yelled, eyes wide with panic. "Prince Max—can you hear us?!"

"Shit—go get Number One! Now!" another barked. The younger guard turned and sprinted off, bolting upstairs to fetch the only person who might be able to turn the tide—Number One, likely reclining in the mansion’s luxurious chamber, sipping wine and surrounded by comfort.

Asher snarled and delivered one final blow, his knuckles cracking against Max’s temple. Then he rose to his feet, breathing heavily.

If those cloaked men returned, things would only get worse. He had to move fast.

He turned to the torture bench, where the woman was still bound and began unbuckling the restraints. He tugged off the black cloth covering her face and froze.

His breath caught in his throat.

"W-what...? Who is this? Mom?! Where’s my mother?!"

The face staring back at him was not his mother’s. It was a woman with deep-set eyes and a face that could be mistaken for that of a gorilla.

"What the hell is this?! Who are you?!" Asher bellowed, fury building inside his chest. "Where is my mother, dammit?!"

From the floor, still bloodied and barely able to speak, Max let out a wet chuckle, choking slightly on his own blood. A grin twisted across his mangled face.

"She’s... deaf. Can’t even hear you," he rasped, nodding toward the woman on the bench.

Asher’s throat dried.

"Where is my real mother?!"

Max’s grin widened, cruel and satisfied. "Somewhere...actually not far from you! But you’ll never see her!"

Asher’s fist trembled. This bastard might play the fool, but he’d been predicting every move—as if Asher had been dancing in the palm of his hand all along.

Then the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the corridor.

The cloaked men.

Asher’s eyes darted toward the direction of the noise. His mind raced.

"Fine then," he muttered, voice dark with resolve. "If that’s how you want to play, I’ll play it too!"

TBC