Chapter 254: It’s a trap

“You may kill him now.”

The abominable servant took a step toward Donovan.

But the old Marlowe patriarch, drenched in blood, his face bruised and his eyes blazing with fury, did something unexpected.

His body began to burn from the inside. His veins glowed with a supernatural red, his skin cracked like stone under pressure. He was burning… from within.

“Father, no!” his children cried out, still immobilized.

With his final will, Donovan unleashed a psychic explosion. A burst of life energy that not only freed his family but also collapsed half a wall of the room and hurled the Spellmans backwards. Margaret barely managed to raise a shield to protect herself from the blast, which had been aimed directly at them. The servant was thrown into a pillar, the wood groaning with a sharp crack.

Donovan dropped to his knees. A second later, his body collapsed to the ground, completely charred and lifeless.

The boy and the girl had tears in their eyes and were about to run toward their father, but their mother quickly stopped them and shouted, “We need to go! Now!”

They were injured, and even if they hadn’t been, there was no way they could defeat Margaret Spellman, her two granddaughters, and the servant. They had to escape and meet up with the people the Council had sent to rescue them.

Fortunately, they understood how dire the situation was and followed their mother toward the door leading to the gardens.

Outside, in the gardens, Wednesday, Charles, Reina, Enid, and Alecto were engaged in battle. Their ambush had failed, despite attempting a stealth attack, the hooded figures had known of their arrival. They had clearly been prepared.

Still, since it was five against three, they had managed to severely wound one of them and moderately injure another, so the first exchange hadn’t been all bad.

A barrier had been activated, trapping them inside with a faint electric hum.

“We can’t get out,” Charles confirmed, his brow slightly furrowed. “It’s not just a barrier that pushes you back. Chances are, if you try to cross it… it’ll disintegrate you.”

“The only way would be to attack a specific point and open a crack,” added Alecto, already analyzing the structure with her serpent-like eyes.

The three hooded figures before them remained in battle stance, but did not attack. They knew they were outnumbered, and their job wasn’t to win… but to hold them off. Hold them off until the real threat arrived.

Just then, the explosion from Donovan Marlowe’s sacrifice shook the air, a wave of smoke and magic blasting out from inside the mansion.

And from among the rubble, three figures came running: Mrs. Marlowe and her two children. Badly injured, but alive.

“This way!” shouted Charles, charging toward the hooded figures blocking the Marlowes’ path.

Wednesday and Enid rushed in behind him, followed by Reina and Alecto. They had to clear the way.

The battle erupted instantly, blows, roars, mental waves, and blasts of darkness filled the air. The hooded attackers could barely defend themselves.

Thanks to the chaos, the Marlowes reached the defensive line. The daughter dropped to her knees, coughing up blood. The son, eyes glassy and face hardened by rage, muttered, “My father… he… sacrificed himself…”

“Then get ready to fight,” said Wednesday firmly, devoid of compassion. “Don’t let it be in vain.”

A new sound broke the moment, footsteps through the smoke.

The Spellman twins emerged with irritated expressions, as if someone had ruined their date.

Behind them came the deformed servant, staggering, his skin cracked like old wood, twisted teeth bared in an animalistic snarl.

And finally, Margaret, upright, unscathed, her face emotionless, as if she knew that no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t escape.

“Stupid old fool…” Jane sneered with annoyance. “He blew himself up like a dog just to waste our time.”

“He stole the pleasure of killing him ourselves,” added Anna with a sickly sweet voice that was more threatening than any growl. “Still… he achieved his goal. Saved his family for a few more minutes. How romantic, isn’t it?”

She smiled, as if recounting a love story that moved her.

Margaret took a few steps forward, carefully eyeing the group that had come to rescue them. Her gaze lingered a bit longer on each of the teachers… and finally stopped on Wednesday.

“Well, well. The Addams heiress herself. And her pet following her around.”

Enid frowned, but didn’t rise to the provocation. She simply clenched her fists and kept her jaw tight.

Wednesday ignored the remark, not because it didn’t offend her, but because it wasn’t worth the effort.

She was analyzing.

Numerical advantage.

Their group had eight: herself, Enid, Charles, Alecto, Reina, the two Marlowe children, and Mrs. Marlowe.

On the other side: Margaret, the twins, the abominable servant, and three hooded figures. Seven in total. But the difference was merely symbolic.

The Marlowes were wounded, physically and emotionally. Though… maybe that brutal loss could work in their favor. Vengeance was a powerful catalyst.

The three hooded figures weren’t unscathed either. One had an arm partially hanging, another was bleeding from the side. Only the third remained steady.

Margaret was, without a doubt, the real threat. Complete serenity. No rush. No exhaustion. Seventy years was no weakness, it was power accumulated. Probably beyond even Charles or Alecto.

Then, as if they were girls reunited at a picnic, Anna and Jane raised their hands in a mocking wave.

“Wens! Remember us? We’re the ones who killed your scorpion pet, one of the many i guess,” said Anna.

“Such a lovely moment…” added Jane. “You should cry more often. It softens your cheekbones.”

’These bitches…’ Enid thought, her brow furrowing.

Wednesday slowly raised an eyebrow. Her face remained a mask of calm, but a dense shadow began to form in her left hand. A dark scythe with blurred edges materialized gradually, pulsing with an ethereal rhythm.

“It’s been months since I killed one of you. Gabriel was the last, wasn’t he?” Wednesday said, as if recalling a rainy afternoon. “Your father, right?”

Anna narrowed her eyes. Jane no longer smiled.

Wednesday tilted her head slightly, and for a moment… she smiled. It wasn’t wide or mocking. Just a crooked, tense, ice-cold line.

“How’s that going?” Wednesday asked with that barely-there smirk. “The loss? Being orphans? Must be tough, painful… though maybe Margaret comforts you and cooks for you like the good grandmother she must be.”

The smile didn’t grow. But it didn’t fade either. It remained there, raw, dry, terrifying.

A smile no teenager should ever wear.

The twins stayed silent. Not for lack of words, but because, for a second, they truly didn’t know what to say.

It was Margaret who stepped forward, her voice as flat as her stare, “You talk too much, girl.”

Wednesday ignored her and continued, “I’ve always wondered if I could catch up to Luke in the Spellman body count. Maybe today’s the day. He’s ahead for now… but who knows. Maybe tonight I tie him, and surpass him.”

The silence that followed was thick.

Wednesday continued without flinching, “Do you remember your cousin Ingrid?” she said, and something in her voice cracked toward the unsettling. “Oh, that was a fun session. I tore out her eyes, but without killing her, of course. I left her there, writhing in her own fluids. She begged. She babbled.”

An even darker silence followed.

“And then Luke arrived… and broke her. Literally. A ball of unrecognizable flesh. I’ve never seen anything so… aesthetically disgusting and delightful.”

The smile on her face was no longer restrained. It was wide, frozen, joyless. A smile from someone who could easily be considered a psychopath.

The professors looked at each other with strange expressions. Everything Wednesday said was true. They had seen Ingrid’s condition during the blood moon years ago, and how Luke shattered her body with his telekinesis.

But the disturbing thing was not the facts themselves. It was how she said it. With that surgical calm. That cheerful coldness. That artistic satisfaction.

Even the three hooded ones, hardened by years of violence and dark rites, showed the slightest shift in posture. One of them swallowed slowly. Another lowered his hand toward his belt, as if needing to hold on to something tangible.

Enid, for her part, remained impassive. Cold. And even though she knew Wednesday was letting out her darkest side, she didn’t move a muscle.

It was then that a female voice was heard. Serene. Firm. With an ancient, venomous elegance, “Do you mock our blood even after its death, Addams girl?”

The phrase floated for a second or two, and from a dark corner of the garden, where no one, not even Charles, had sensed any presence, two figures emerged.

A man and a woman. Tall. Impeccable. Dressed in black, without symbols or embellishments. Their skin was pale as wax, their hair ash-blonde, lighter even than the twins’.

They appeared to be in their thirties. But something in their presence, in their expressions, spoke of an age far older.

Margaret, for the first time, lowered her gaze, “Lord Aldric… Lady Vespera.”

The twins also gave a subtle gesture. It wasn’t courtesy. It was reverence.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes. The entire garden seemed to contract.

“So this is the Addams heiress,” said Vespera, her voice cold and curious. “The dramatic flair, the cruel humor… it’s clear she wasn’t raised by the Frump side of the family.”

The Frumps were considered more gothic, more like nobility. Not quite as eerie. The Addams had a different reputation: lunatics who adored death and the macabre.

“Does it offend you, Vespera?” said the man, Aldric, stretching his neck lazily. “Bah… it’s not her fault. If our descendants weren’t so… disappointing, they wouldn’t have died in such pathetic ways.”

His eyes, pale gray, nearly without pupils, gleamed like steel under the moon.

Now that they were closer, their appearances became clearer.

Vespera Spellman wore a long jet-black dress, unadorned. Just a thin line of blood-red lace at the wrists. Her hair, almost white, fell straight to her waist, and her skin had a translucent, spectral tone. She moved with a fluid elegance.

Her beauty was disturbing, the kind that seemed sculpted by someone who had never felt love, only obsession.

Aldric, on the other hand, had a lazier bearing. His long velvet coat hung open, revealing a chiseled torso, almost too perfect, like something carved from marble. Pale as his companion.

Wednesday and the others noticed one important detail.

Margaret had called them “Lord Aldric” and “Lady Vespera” with absolute respect.

But they hadn’t responded to the greeting. Not even a glance. Not a nod.

That alone was enough to understand the truth: they weren’t ordinary members of the family. They were demonic ancestors of the Spellman bloodline.

But unlike others, they didn’t have wrinkled, aged bodies. Clearly, they were now at a disadvantage, not just in numbers, but in power.

It was highly unlikely that any of the professors could face one of those two demonic elders in one-on-one combat.

There was no escape. The barrier was still active, like a cage. Breaking it would require time, focus… and energy they couldn’t afford to spare.

’What do we do? We can’t win this,’ Reina asked through a telepathic message.

The voice reached Wednesday, Enid, and the others. Charles had created a group mental chat.

’I’m thinking… If those two join the fight, we’ll be in serious trouble… especially if they attack alongside Margaret,’ said Charles.

’Resistance? Fight while falling back?’ the Marlowe girl suggested.

’Fall back where? The barrier traps us like animals. If we try to break it, we’ll disrupt the formation, and those left holding the line will be in even worse shape,’ Alecto replied.

’We hold the line. And endure. There’s nothing else to say,’ said Wednesday, noticing that their enemies were already about to strike.

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