Alex and Wednesday were in Joseph Crackstone’s crypt, looking at Laurel Gates — a mad, yet genuinely intelligent woman.

She had staged her own death and, for twenty-five years, lived under another name, posing as a biology teacher at an academy where not ordinary teenagers studied, but representatives of supernatural bloodlines. And all of it — for so-called revenge. For hatred toward everything supernatural.

From generation to generation, a family relic had been passed down in her family — a jewel whose true purpose no one knew. That is, until Laurel lost her entire family.

After that loss, she was left completely alone. Not knowing where to go or what to do next, Laurel existed purely by inertia — until a distant relative appeared in her life, introducing herself as a second aunt from Britain. Laurel immediately sensed something was wrong.

She didn’t know any of her relatives. And yet this woman obtained guardianship rights with surprising speed, and just a few days later Laurel left for Britain with her. It was there that her life changed forever.

In Britain, Laurel learned about the existence of an ancient Order — an organization that guarded forbidden knowledge and waged war against what they called evil. But the most important revelation was something else.

Laurel finally learned what kind of ornament had been passed down in her family for centuries. It was an ancient artifact that granted its owner immense power. And it was Joseph Crackstone — her ancestor — who had managed to subdue that power. Almost.

He had nearly purged the country of Outcasts, but in the end he was cursed and cast into Hell. What Laurel did not know — and what was deliberately kept from her — was that the family relic corrupted its owner, drawing out their darkest desires.

Without realizing it, Laurel fell under the influence of the Darkness. Her desire was simple and clear: to reclaim what was rightfully hers and to take revenge on those who had taken her family from her. From that moment on, her training began. She was brought into the Order by that very “second aunt,” who turned out to be one of the elders of the British chapter of the Men of Letters.

Fueled by a thirst for revenge and the Darkness, which gradually dragged her darkest impulses to the surface, Laurel absorbed knowledge like a sponge. The Order even helped her stage her own death so she could vanish from the world. And when her training was nearing its end, Laurel learned yet another truth.

Having become a full-fledged member of the Men of Letters, she discovered that her family’s artifact was only one of many. And that the Order intended to use this power to defeat a being they had never been able to destroy. That was when Laurel received her assignment.

Not only to take revenge — but to prove her loyalty to the Order by eradicating the “infection” known as Nevermore. A place where the children of Outcasts and Monsters were taught. Thus, Laurel Gates became Marilyn Thornhill — a biology teacher at Nevermore.

She taught children she despised with all her soul. At first, it was difficult for her to play the role of a kind, slightly awkward teacher. But over time, Laurel settled into it so completely that no one would have suspected why she was truly at the academy. Day after day, she observed those she loathed. Restrained herself. Waited. Methodically built her plan for revenge.

As a member of the Men of Letters, Laurel knew about the existence of the Book of Shadows — the very one used to curse her ancestor and send him to Hell. And when the opportunity arose, she stole it. From that moment on, her plan took on new colors. Laurel decided to resurrect Joseph Crackstone.

He was meant to help her take revenge, reclaim the lands belonging to her family, and finish what he had started. Besides, Laurel knew this: Joseph Crackstone had been the first bearer of the Artifact of Darkness.

That only strengthened her desire to bring him back. But the ritual required special conditions. The night of the Blood Moon. And a living descendant of Goody Addams — the woman who had killed Joseph Crackstone. When Wednesday arrived at Nevermore, Laurel realized: the time had come.

She had so many opportunities to destroy the academy that she had long since stopped counting them. But Laurel chose a different path.

She wanted to show the Outcasts what real Hell looked like. However, along with Wednesday, Alex and Dean arrived in Jericho — under the guise of agents of the Federal Bureau of Control. And as a member of the Men of Letters, Laurel understood that she had to act carefully. Relations between the Bureau and the Order had always been tense.

She tried several times to eliminate Alex and Dean, but without success. After attempting to sic the Taken on them, Laurel realized she had underestimated her opponents. Especially after her conversation with Alex at the Raven Ball at Nevermore. From that moment on, she went quiet. Waited. And when her target came into her hands on its own, Laurel decided that the chance had finally come. But at one point, everything went wrong.

Laurel sat on the cold stone floor of her ancestor’s crypt — Joseph Crackstone’s — and looked at those she hated with all her soul. At Alex and Wednesday.

There was no fear in their eyes. No rage. Only open disappointment… and a hint of boredom, as if what was happening wasn’t worth their time. A single strike from Alex — and every bone in Laurel’s body broke at once.

If not for the Artifact of Darkness she carried on her, she would have remained lying there as a helpless heap of flesh, unable even to move. The power of the Darkness allowed her to heal herself, but the pain did not go anywhere. It still pulsed through her body, reminding her of how insignificant she was compared to him.

Laurel ground her teeth, staring at Alex and Wednesday. Alex himself was lazily smoking a cigarette, exhaling smoke toward the ancient stone walls. In Laurel Gates, he saw nothing more than a broken girl obsessed with revenge. And nothing else.

As for Wednesday, Laurel’s motives didn’t interest her at all. In her eyes, Laurel was just another failure, incapable of seeing things through to the end. Glancing at Alex and recalling who he truly was, Wednesday merely shook her head slightly.

Laurel had never stood a chance from the very beginning. Alex was simply letting her dance like a monkey to his own music.

“So, Laurel,” Alex said lazily, exhaling smoke. “Go on. Resurrect your idiot ancestor. Then we’ll move on to the part where I beat him senseless.”

“You have no idea what he’s capable of,” Laurel hissed, forcing the words out through hatred. “You’ll regret letting me do this.”

“Yeah,” Alex snorted. “Stop wasting my time. Summon me a new toy so I can break it.”

He turned to Wednesday and smiled.

“My dear Wednesday, donate a little blood for this lunatic. How else is she supposed to summon the ancient idiot from Hell if she doesn’t have Addams blood?”

“How do you…” Laurel stared at him in shock.

“Oh, you really thought you were the only special one here?” Alex said cheerfully, spreading his arms. “You decided there were no Men of Letters left in America? What a surprise.”

“If you’re also a member of the Order,” Laurel began, boring into him with her gaze, “then why are you on the side of this filth that must be eradicated? They’re nothing but parasites that—”

Alex listened to her fanatical rant and absentmindedly scratched his ear, clearly hoping she would finish as soon as possible. He shifted his gaze to Wednesday. She was listening with the same lack of enthusiasm, and the whole situation even seemed amusing to her. Especially the desperation with which Laurel was trying to lure Alex to her side.

Wednesday even briefly wondered how Laurel would react if she learned Alex’s true identity. And the fact that, at this very moment, he was essentially Death itself.

While Laurel continued to present what she considered “compelling” arguments, Alex silently looked at Wednesday, making it perfectly clear that it was time to end this farce. Wednesday sighed. She pulled a knife from her pocket and carefully drew the blade across her palm.

Blood immediately welled up on her skin. Wednesday lifted her gaze to Alex. He pointed to the emblem carved into Joseph Crackstone’s stone coffin. Wednesday stepped up to the sarcophagus and pressed her bloodied palm against the Crackstone family crest.

In the same instant, the symbol flared to life, and thick black smoke burst from it. The heat seared her palm, as if she had touched red-hot metal. When the burning sensation faded, Wednesday withdrew her hand and returned to Alex, holding out her palm in silent demand.

Alex smiled. He ran a finger over her skin — and the wound closed instantly, leaving no trace behind.

Laurel, finally realizing what was happening, snatched up the Book of Shadows. She began to chant the spell. The crypt shuddered. Somewhere aboveground, thunder rumbled. The jars containing the body parts gathered for the ritual began to glow. Thick black smoke poured from Crackstone’s coffin, spreading across the crypt floor.

It did not reach Alex and Wednesday’s feet, as if colliding with an invisible barrier. The smoke began to thicken, taking on the shape of a human figure. And a moment later, a man stepped out of it, dressed in pilgrim’s clothes, a mad smile on his face. Joseph Crackstone.

He looked as though he had truly been torn from Hell itself: a deathly pale face, bottomless black eyes devoid of anything human.

“I am blood of your blood,” Laurel said fanatically. “I call upon you to rid this world of the Outcasts. Once and for all.”

The resurrected Joseph Crackstone looked at Laurel. She returned his gaze with fanatical, almost reverent devotion. The mad smile on Crackstone’s face only widened when he saw her loyalty. He extended his hand.

Without hesitation, Laurel stepped closer and, without a word, bowed to kiss his ring. But instead of a blessing, Joseph abruptly tore the amulet with the black stone from her neck and put it on himself. In the same moment, his body began to change.

Flesh filled with strength, the hunched figure straightened, wrinkles vanished, and his movements became sharp and confident once more. He was rapidly growing younger, returning to his former, peak condition.

When the transformation was complete, Joseph took a deep breath — as if truly drawing in life for the first time in centuries — and exhaled thick black smoke. Once, he had been the first to wield this power for his own ambitions. And now it belonged to him again.

Alex and Wednesday watched from the side as if observing a poorly staged play. They exchanged a glance. Wednesday’s look clearly asked: when would this farce finally end?

Alex only smiled faintly, stepped behind her, and lazily twirled her braids between his fingers as he continued to watch the “performance.”

“Our revenge will be swift and final,” Joseph said, looking at Laurel as he felt power returning to him.

“And does Uncle Crowley know you’ve escaped your cage?” Alex asked lazily, cutting into the moment.

The smile on Joseph’s face faltered. The name Crowley had clearly struck a nerve. He sharply turned his gaze toward Alex.

Alex was still standing behind Wednesday, idly playing with her braids, which only made Wednesday’s expression even colder and more detached.

Joseph frowned, then shifted his gaze to Wednesday. And in his eyes, pure, primal hatred flared. She looked exactly like Goody Addams — the one who had cursed him, taken everything from him, and condemned him to eternal torment in Hell.

Laurel, too, stared at Alex with fury. To her, he had already become a traitor — someone who had sided with monsters instead of destroying them.

“Goody Addams…” Joseph growled. “You haunt me once again! You will meet the same fate you prepared for me. You will burn in Hell forever. That is where you belong.”

In his hand, a rapier formed, woven from pure Darkness. In the next second, Joseph vanished in a cloud of black smoke—and instantly appeared before Wednesday and Alex. He thrust forward, aiming straight for Wednesday’s head.

Wednesday did not even flinch. Alex calmly extended his hand and stopped the blade a centimeter from her face. Wednesday didn’t blink. From the memories Alex had shared with her, she knew perfectly well what he was capable of—and how fiercely he protected those close to him. She trusted him completely.

Joseph tried to force the blade farther. But Alex, without the slightest strain, clenched the rapier’s edge between his fingers, not allowing it to move even a millimeter. Dark mist began to pour from Crackstone’s body.

The harder he pressed, the more violently the crypt trembled. Cracks spread across the walls, stones rained down from the ceiling. And in the next moment, a shockwave burst from Joseph’s body, accompanied by thick black smoke. Everything around them exploded. But Alex reacted first.

In an instant, he teleported himself and Wednesday beyond the crypt—so fast that neither Joseph nor Laurel even noticed. Now several dozen feet away from the ruined crypt, Alex and Wednesday watched as the blast of Darkness erased everything in its path.

The black cloud tore the ancient structure apart, stone fragments flying in all directions like shrapnel, cutting down nearby trees. The force of the explosion was such that almost nothing remained of the crypt. Stones hurtling toward Alex and Wednesday stopped in midair when they struck his Infinity, hung there for a moment—and then fell to the ground.

Amid the ruins stood Joseph Crackstone. A smug smile played on his face. He was certain he had taken revenge on the one who had imprisoned him in Hell. Laurel looked at him with fanatical awe, convinced that their common enemies had been destroyed—and that her revenge had finally been fulfilled.

“One less obstacle,” Joseph said. “Come, child. It is time to finish what I could not centuries ago. Time to carry out our revenge… and to finally wipe out all this God-forsaken filth.”

Laurel only nodded and stepped closer to Joseph. Black mist closed around them both—thick, viscous, almost alive. In the next moment, it swallowed them completely, and both vanished from the ruined crypt.

Alex and Wednesday stood roughly ten meters away, but they heard everything clearly. Alex lazily shook his head, surveying the destruction Joseph had caused using the power of Darkness. Wednesday, however, was not particularly impressed. After seeing what Alex was capable of, this didn’t compare.

“Not a bad explosion,” Alex drawled, letting out a soft whistle as he looked at the ruins. “Handles the power of Darkness fairly well. Don’t you think, my dear Wednesday?”

“As I understand it, this is only a small fragment of the goddess you’re on friendly terms with,” Wednesday replied calmly, folding her arms across her chest. “And if Joseph Crackstone is only capable of this while wielding such power… it’s disappointing.”

“You’re hard to please, my dear Wednesday,” Alex smirked. “Or were you expecting more tricks?”

“Not exactly,” she said coolly. “It’s more like watching an amateur try to show off a couple of street tricks.”

Alex merely smiled and took Wednesday’s hand.

It was obvious to both of them where Joseph and Laurel had gone. Of course—to Nevermore. They intended to begin their crusade there, starting with the murder of the academy’s students. But they were already too late.

By that point, all the students of Nevermore had already been evacuated and were outside the academy. They stood behind a checkpoint organized by agents of the Bureau of Control.

When Joseph Crackstone was resurrected, the agents’ instruments began to emit a piercing signal — a spatial anomaly had been activated. Nicholas Wood immediately started issuing orders to the operatives, demanding full combat readiness.

“Prepare to activate isolation of the area around Nevermore,” he ordered curtly. “Do not let the anomaly leave the zone.”

Larissa Weems stood in front of her students. Her grim gaze never left the academy walls for a single second. All that remained for her and the others was to wait. And at that very moment, the Bureau of Control’s measuring devices wailed again with an alarm. Black flames ignited around Nevermore, shooting high into the sky.

“Prepare to activate isolation,” Nicholas Wood said, grabbing his radio. “On my command.”

Shortly before that, Joseph and Laurel had appeared in the central courtyard of Nevermore. Joseph was already anticipating the massacre. He intended to drown the academy in the blood of Outcasts — but after looking around, he realized that Nevermore was empty. Not a single soul.

Laurel also scanned the surroundings tensely, trying to understand where all the students had gone. But the academy had been completely evacuated. Rage washed over Joseph like a wave. He slammed his staff into the ground with force — and everything around them burst into black flames.

“That filthy brood scattered again like cockroaches,” he snarled. “But it doesn’t matter. I always find them. And this time, they won’t get far.”

“For that, you’ll first need to leave this place alive,” a calm male voice said.

Joseph and Laurel sharply turned forward. Alex and Wednesday stepped out of the shadows. Both were unharmed. Not a scratch. Even their clothes were untouched. Alex took a relaxed drag from his cigarette and exhaled smoke with a cheerful smile. Beside him walked Wednesday — her face devoid of emotion, a completely black rapier in her hand.

That rapier came from Alex’s personal collection. Wednesday had no intention of standing aside and merely watching. If someone wanted to kill her, she would kill them in return. And being extremely vindictive, she had no intention of missing the chance to put a couple of neat holes in Joseph’s and Laurel’s bodies.

Joseph’s face twisted with rage. The darkness around him began to pulse more violently, responding to his emotions. Meanwhile, Laurel pulled a small case from her pocket. Inside was a black crystal — half the size of the one that had once been set in her pendant.

She clenched the crystal in her hand. Black mist enveloped her body, forming a cloak, while her face disappeared behind a dense veil of darkness.

“You… You both should have died!” Joseph shouted, pointing at them.

“I can’t die,” Alex smirked. “But you can.”

“We’ll see about that,” Joseph growled, forming a pulsating sphere of Darkness in his hands.

Joseph hurled the sphere of Darkness toward Alex and Wednesday. Seeing the incoming attack, Alex lazily waved his hand — as if brushing away an annoying insect — and sent the sphere back.

The mass of Darkness twisted midair and shot back at even greater speed. Joseph managed to dodge. Laurel did not.

The sphere slammed into her at point-blank range and hurled her across the entire inner courtyard. Laurel flew several meters and struck a stone column with her back with a dull thud. The stone cracked, and she slid down, breathing heavily. Joseph glanced back at her and looked at her with open contempt.

“How did you deflect my power?” he hissed, turning back to Alex and Wednesday. “That’s black magic… nothing else.”

“I just hit it,” Alex shrugged. “If your rotten brain considers that black magic, my condolences. Want me to show you again?”

Alex pulled a coin from his pocket and pinched it between his fingers.

The next moment, he snapped his hand.

The coin shot forward and, at monstrous speed, tore past Joseph’s head, knocking his hat off. Then the projectile slammed into a stone column — and it disintegrated into dust, as if it were made of plaster.

A gust of wind lashed Joseph across the face. He frowned even more deeply. Raising his staff, Joseph slammed it into the ground with force. Black mist surged in all directions, thickening and taking on human shapes. He was summoning the souls of his fallen followers. A moment later, the entire courtyard was filled with the Taken.

Alex raised an eyebrow. Wednesday tightened her grip on the rapier, assessing the number of enemies. Alex was already about to simply snap his fingers and erase them all when a bright beam of light struck down from the sky. The Taken howled — piercing, unbearable — and began to dissipate like smoke in the wind.

Alex and Wednesday lifted their heads. A Bureau of Control helicopter hovered above them, projecting a powerful beam that dispersed the Darkness.

“Sir, isolation is active,” Nicholas Wood’s voice came from the loudspeaker. “We’ll support you from the air. Happy hunting.”

Alex grinned and gave a thumbs-up. He didn’t need the help, but who was he to stop people from earning their service points.

Joseph, however, grew even more grim. A sphere of Darkness began forming in his hand once again — this time, he was aiming at the helicopter. He was distracted. And that was enough. Alex was beside him in an instant. He grabbed Joseph by the shoulder and sharply spun him around.

“Clench your teeth,” he said calmly, drawing back his fist. “This is going to hurt.”

The удар landed. Alex’s fist smashed into Joseph’s face, slamming him into the ground with such force that cracks spread through the stone. Alex raised his foot, preparing to crush his head. Joseph threw up his hands, blocking the blow. Alex allowed it.

For a fraction of a second.

The blade of the black rapier passed through both of Joseph’s arms. He screamed in pain and turned his head. Wednesday stood before him, her expression cold, gripping the rapier that had pierced him straight through.

With a sharp motion, she yanked the blade aside. Joseph’s arms were severed. Alex smirked and raised his foot again. But at that moment, Laurel came to her senses. A black wave of Darkness struck both of them.

Alex instinctively shielded Wednesday with his body — and that was enough. Joseph turned into black mist and vanished. He reappeared beside Laurel. His arms regenerated instantly, and a new staff formed in his hands.

“So, two on two?” Alex drawled thoughtfully. “Funny.”

He cracked his neck.

“Only thing is, Joseph, men usually fight with their fists,” he continued with a lazy smile. “Not like miserable mongrels, hiding behind a power that doesn’t belong to them.”

Alex pulled a pair of black knuckle-dusters from his pocket and slowly slipped them on.

“Now you’re going to feel it. You’re in for a fun carnival of pain.”

“Shut up, bastard,” Joseph snarled, pointing his staff at Alex. “You’re no better than those freaks.”

“As you say,” Alex snorted.

He turned to Wednesday.

“Wednesday, take care of Laurel. You’ve got personal business with her. Just don’t kill her — we need her alive. She still owes us a lot of answers.”

“I know that without you,” Wednesday replied coldly, giving her rapier a slight flick. “But I can’t promise her limbs will stay where they are. She’ll be able to talk without them.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” Alex smirked, pulling out a cigarette.

Without much emotion, Wednesday took a lighter from her pocket and calmly lit Alex’s cigarette.

Alex smiled, touched her shoulder, and discreetly cast a protective spell. Despite Wednesday’s abilities, it was still too early for her to face someone directly wielding the power of Darkness. So Alex decided to play it safe — at least until the moment he gave her a personal engagement ring, just as he had done for the other girls.

Exhaling a cloud of cigarette smoke, Alex clenched the cigarette between his teeth and lunged at Joseph.

With a single step, he was instantly in front of him. Joseph tried to counter — the staff whistled downward — but Alex deflected it with his elbow and immediately drove a kick into his torso, launching his opponent into the air. Spinning, he followed up with a roundhouse kick, sending Joseph flying once again.

Laurel, standing nearby, had already raised her hand, preparing to attack Alex, but at that same moment a rapier slammed into her palm. The tip stopped barely a centimeter from her eye.

Laurel screamed in pain and looked at Wednesday. She stood there with a cold expression, pressing down on the hilt, clearly wishing the blade would finish its path.

Laurel tried to shove her away, but Wednesday sharply jerked the rapier, slicing through her hand. Blood splattered across the stones of the courtyard.

“I’d advise you not to resist,” Wednesday said calmly, flicking the blood off the blade. “It’ll hurt less that way. Though… I’d actually prefer it if you struggled a little while I cut off your limbs.”

“You little freak,” Laurel hissed, clutching her wounded hand.

“I’ve heard that before. Many times,” Wednesday replied indifferently. “Come up with something new. While I turn you into a pincushion.”

She thrust forward with a fast stabbing strike at Laurel’s torso.

Laurel managed to raise a veil of Darkness in front of her, but the rapier blade passed through it without the slightest resistance. At the last moment, Laurel jerked aside — the blade sank into her shoulder.

Feeling the steel pierce her flesh, Wednesday immediately yanked the rapier upward, tearing through the muscle. Laurel screamed, clutching her shoulder, from which blood poured freely.

“How did you manage to hurt me?..” she hissed, gritting her bloody shoulder.

“That tends to happen when your fiancé is Death itself,” Wednesday replied indifferently. “If I accidentally kill you, he’ll just bring you back.”

Laurel frowned, about to retort, but Joseph flew past them at incredible speed.

She turned her head and saw her ancestor slammed back into a stone column once again. His appearance was horrifying — as if a whole crowd had beaten him within seconds. His limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, his skull dented from a punch, one eye sunken, and a deep crater marred the center of his chest.

Clutching her wounded shoulder, Laurel looked to the side and saw Alex. His black knuckle-dusters were soaked in blood, as was part of his face. Alex calmly wiped the blood away with his palm and fixed his gaze on her.

An empty stare. Laurel shivered. Fear struck from the inside, just meeting his eyes. Alex lazily looked away, took a step — and vanished.

The next second, an explosion rang out. Laurel whipped around and saw Joseph literally slammed into a stone wall.

“Getting distracted,” a cold voice sounded nearby.

Laurel spun her head sharply and immediately unleashed a surge of Darkness, trying to push Wednesday back. But Wednesday skillfully stepped aside, avoiding the strike.

“Same old tricks,” Wednesday said, positioning herself in Laurel’s blind spot. “You should come up with something new.”

Laurel didn’t have time to react — the rapier sliced through her hand in a single, clean motion.

Pain hit instantly. Laurel screamed and grabbed the stump, from which blood spurted. The Darkness on her face trembled and dissipated, revealing a visage twisted by rage and pain. From bottom to top, she stared at Wednesday, who, with no emotion at all, swung the rapier, flicking blood onto the stones.

Laurel collapsed to her knees, clutching the stump of her arm.

In Wednesday’s eyes, she saw only coldness. The same empty, indifferent cold that she had just moments before noticed in Alex’s gaze.

“You’re both monsters…” Laurel hissed through clenched teeth. “You shouldn’t exist.”

“That’s coming from a woman ready to commit genocide under the guise of ‘noble’ goals,” Wednesday replied calmly, looking down at her. “History has always ended the same way for people like you. A blade through the heart.”

High above Nevermore, a Bureau of Control helicopter hovered. A powerful spotlight flooded the inner courtyard with blinding light, tearing through the Darkness. In the cockpit sat Nicholas Wood — head of the second support team — and a Bureau pilot. From above, they could see everything. Especially Alex.

Nicholas watched as Alex hurled the man possessed by Darkness like a ragdoll, turning his body into a pile of broken bones. Even from the sky, it was clear that Joseph Crakstone was no longer fighting — he was surviving.

Goosebumps ran down Nicholas’s skin. He quickly looked away from Alex, who was using Crakstone as a battering ram to demolish stone columns, and turned his attention to the second fight. It wasn’t any better.

Laurel Gates, a woman consumed by Darkness, sat on the ground clutching her severed arm, while Wednesday stood over her. Nicholas didn’t even know how to comment on what he was seeing. The spotlight almost completely blocked the powers of Darkness. All Laurel and Joseph could do was take the blows.

After knocking down another column with Crakstone’s body, Alex stopped, turned, and hurled Joseph across the courtyard. At the same moment, a black metal rod appeared in Alex’s hand. He threw it after him.

Joseph crashed into a column, disoriented, unable to comprehend where he was or what was happening. All that remained was pain. And more pain. Just when he thought he had a moment to recover, something solid pierced his chest. The rod drove straight through the center of his chest.

Joseph reached to pull it out — and then a second rod pinned his arm. A third struck the other arm. Then two more — his legs. And then — dozens.

Within moments, Joseph Crakstone was crucified. His body was held by black iron rods, each one inflicting pain unlike anything he had even experienced in hell. A guttural scream tore through the area, echoing far beyond Nevermore.

“Great Joseph Crakstone,” Alex said lazily, stopping a few steps away. “But in reality — just a crying child. Even that mutt who trained Laurel turned out to be tougher.”

“Sooner or later, people like you will die out…” Joseph rasped, struggling against the pain. “And the world will belong to humans again.”

“In this world, everyone exists on equal terms,” Alex replied calmly. “And it’s not for you to decide who lives and who dies. It’s for me.”

A scythe of Death appeared in his hand.

“What… are you?” Joseph managed to choke out.

“I am Death. And you should have stayed in hell, where you belong. But until you die, I need to punish you — for escaping without permission… and for trying to hurt my bride,” Alex said, his voice devoid of emotion.

He swung the scythe onto his shoulder.

“So, suffer for now.”

“You filthy monster…” Joseph croaked as a new wave of pain hit him.

“I’ve heard that before,” Alex waved it off. “Now shut up.”

He snapped his fingers — and Joseph’s scream was cut off.

Alex turned and glanced at Wednesday. She was dragging Laurel by the hair. Laurel was in a horrific state — her arms and legs neatly severed. A clear bloody trail stretched across the stones. Wednesday’s face remained completely blank.

She dragged Laurel to Alex and released her. Her head hit the ground with a dull thud. Laurel didn’t even move. Alex nudged her lightly with his boot and realized — a little longer, and she would die.

“Too soon,” he murmured.

He kicked her — and Laurel’s body twitched. Flesh began to heal, limbs regrew before their eyes. She regained consciousness and lifted her head.

The first thing she saw was her ancestor. Crucified. Frozen in a silent scream. She turned her head and saw Wednesday. A kick to the face instantly knocked her out. Laurel went limp.

Alex smirked, pulled the shard of Amara’s power from her body, and pocketed it. Then he looked up and signaled the helicopter. The spotlight went out, and the inner courtyard sank back into darkness.

Left alone, Alex and Wednesday sat by the tree in the center of the courtyard, silently watching Joseph continue to endure the pain. Wednesday leaned slightly against Alex. He wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. For both of them… it had been an interesting night. And it was coming to an end.

To be continued…

(Anyway, I think that’s it for the Wednesday mini-arc. Then it’s back home. I’m still debating whether Alex should stop by the Oldest House right away or wait until later. And no, I’m not planning on spending a lot of time on the Oldest House, because you could spend several chapters just getting to know the Oldest House. I think I can just give you a brief overview of the building’s lore, so you’re all up to date. Otherwise, I think this is the end of the Wednesday arc.)

Early access to chapters on my patreon: p*treon.com/GreedHunter

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep