Figure 1: Hand over Mason Heartson.
The two boys stared in horror as the masked assailants stood over them with their hands out. Three men in total, each one an armored giant, at least six feet tall or more. Weapons, far too many weapons, adorned their bodies like ornaments. The one standing in front had two swords strapped to his back, while the other two were armed to the teeth with knives, rifles, and all sorts of sharp, menacing tools that screamed violence.
Figure 1: I'm going to ask one more time. Hand over Mason Heartson.
The voice cut through the haze in Mason's mind, sending a jolt of terror through his body. His name. They knew his name.
His throat went dry. He opened his mouth to speak, the words tumbling out in a shaky, desperate attempt to diffuse the situation.
Mason: Look, we can—maybe we can work something out...
Figure 1: Don't play games!
His words were venomous, the low growl of a predator toying with its prey. He took a step forward, swords unsheathed, their blades gleaming wickedly as he closed in.
Mason's heart pounded in his chest, the rapid thud of panic vibrating through his entire body. He's going to kill us. The thought screamed through his mind, louder than the approaching footsteps. He didn't know what to do—run, fight, beg—but none of it mattered. The man was only five feet away now, and the world seemed to shrink around him.
I'm going to die.
But then, in the blink of an eye, the masked man halted. His body jerked awkwardly, a sudden spasm of confusion as if he had misstepped. Mason barely registered the change before he saw it—the sword embedded in the man's back, right between the armor plates. His eyes flicked up, wide with disbelief.
Claire gritted her teeth as she pulled the sword out of the first man and quickly swung it around to cut off his head cleanly. The other two men seemed to have been momentarily stunned but they quickly recovered and pulled out their own weapons, hurriedly advancing to avenge their comrade.
Claire made quick work, sidestepping the second man's knife and using her sword to cut into his right arm causing him to drop his weapon. Before she could deliver a killing blow to him, the third man charged at her but Claire was much faster, moving out of the way of his attack and driving her sword up his back causing him to fall to the ground. The man with the injured arm attempted to recover and picked up his knife with his left hand, however it was clear he was nowhere near as proficient with that hand as his swings became lazy and predictable. Claire dodged his attacks with minimals effort and drove her sword straight through his neck, killing him instantly.
Mason stood frozen, his mind racing, unable to process the scene in front of him. His body trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer shock of what he had just witnessed. Claire—his calm, composed, ever-reliable maid—had just slaughtered three armed men with the ease of someone folding laundry.
Mason: C-Claire... how did you...?
But Claire didn't even glance his way.
She moved with purpose, her eyes cold and focused as she turned towards Thomas. In a flash, her blade was at his throat, pinning him against the wall.
Claire: Who are you really?
Her voice was calm, unnervingly so, but there was an intensity in her gaze that made Mason's skin crawl. Thomas, eyes wide with shock, gasped as the blade pressed harder against his neck.
Claire: Did you lure them here?
Thomas struggled to breathe, his voice barely a rasp.
Thomas: I—I didn't... I swear!
Claire: Do you know who these men are or why they're here?
Thomas once again shook his head, looking directly into Claire's eyes to try to convince her he was telling the truth.
Claire: Are you really Thomas Martin, and was your sole purpose in coming to this city to actually help Mason Heartson?
Thomas nodded up and down, his eyes beginning to water as he began losing more and more oxygen.
Claire's expression didn't change, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deceit. After what felt like an eternity, she slowly lowered the sword, stepping back but not taking her eyes off him.
Thomas collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, his hands clutching at his throat where the blade had been moments before. Mason felt a strange knot of guilt twist in his stomach, but before he could speak, Claire turned her sharp gaze to him.
Claire: Your message. It must have been intercepted.
Mason: I- I swear I didn't-
Claire: No excuses. We need to move to the safe room. Now.
Mason nodded, his throat once again becoming dry. He was hit with an overwhelming amount of guilt and shame as he realized that his own stupidity had almost led to his death, as well as the death of a complete stranger. He rushed to follow Claire, who was already running to the safe room, but he noticed, strangely, Thomas, who was still staring at the bodies that were on the floor while clawing at the spot on his neck that had been choked moments earlier. Thomas bent down and picked something up off the floor and then sprinted towards Mason and Claire, attempting to catch up to the two of them.
Explosions and smoke rang out through the entire building, leaving a foul smell in the group's nose. Despite the smoke that limited their vision, Claire still marched forward as if she had a perfect view of the room. Finally, after what seemed like a marathon of sprinting, they finally arrived outside the room where the smoke seemed to clear up. Unfortunately this allowed them to see exactly what was in front of them.
At least twenty men stood in front of the safe room, each one carrying a rifle aimed right at them. All of them were equipped with armor and an assortment of weapons like the men from earlier.
Armored Man: Surrender Mason Heartson to us now and we'll spare your lives.
Claire: Is that supposed to comfort us?
The man who had spoken paused for a second considering the question before answering.
Claire: Didn't think so.
In a single fluid motion Claire took Mason and Thomas by the back of their shirts and dragged them into the thick cloud of smoke behind them, shielding them from the view of their attackers.
The men instantly began firing blindly through the smoke until a loud voice rang out.
Voice: WE HAVE CLEAR ORDERS! DO NOT SHOOT THE ASTRAL USER!
The gun fire stopped as abruptly as it had begun giving Mason, Claire, and Thomas time to escape through the corridor.
Claire: They've completely taken over downstairs so we can't go back there. They were guarding the safe room so chances are they have the layout, or some kind of blueprint to the mansion so I'd assume every room and escape is being heavily guarded.
Without uttering another word, the message was clear to both boys. If the assailants were knowledgeable about the mansion's layout, escaping or finding a hiding spot within it was impossible.
Mason's breath hitched, panic clawing at his throat as the reality of the situation crashed down on him like a tidal wave.
Is this it? Is this how I die?
His heart pounded in his chest, the sound deafening in his ears as the walls seemed to close in around him. Claire was strong, frighteningly so—but there were too many. Too many for her, too many for them all.
His mind raced back to that moment when he had been cornered, his body freezing up despite all the training he'd endured. All of it, worthless. When it mattered most, he had crumbled, locked in place by fear. He felt his stomach churn at the memory, a wave of nausea mixing with the growing terror that now rooted him to the spot.
If we can't get out... if I can't fight... then I'm useless. And I'm going to die.
The thought echoed endlessly, each repetition suffocating him more than the last.
The Roof
A voice in Mason's head spoke as if it wasn't his own, and instantly Mason remembered an important secret about his house.
Mason: Claire, I have an idea.
Claire: This isn't the time-
Mason: Just listen to me Claire. Like you said earlier, whoevers attacking us probably has some kind of layout of the whole mansion right. That means that every exit is most likely being guarded right now. Well that doesn't take into account any man made exits that might exist in this mansion, as those wouldn't be on the blueprints right?
Claire: What are you saying?
Mason: You remember when I was fifteen and got busted for sneaking out late at night to catch that movie?
Claire: I fail to see how this is relevant.
Mason: Just... bear with me, alright? You remember how you and Mom spent hours—I mean, hours—watching the surveillance tapes, trying to figure out how I kept sneaking out?
He saw a flicker in Claire's eyes—just a flicker, but enough to make him feel a small victory.
Claire: What are you?-
Mason: Right by the bathroom, there's this spot, completely off the grid. Invisible to the cameras. And... well, let's say—hypothetically—I might've made a few adjustments to the ceiling. Just a little... renovation, you know? If we can reach that spot, it's off the radar. No cameras. No one tracking us. Our visitors here won't know it exists. They'd think we're cornered.
Claire: It seems like that's our only option. Stay behind me and don't make a sound until we get to the roof.
Mason nodded but he glanced over at Thomas who was still lagging behind the other two. It was hard to see through the smoke, but he could tell Thomas had a very serious look on his face, as if he was still shaken up about what had happened earlier.
The thick, choking smoke clung to them as they ran, every step stretching out into what felt like an endless, suffocating eternity. Mason's lungs burned with every breath, the acrid air filling his chest, but he pressed on, forcing his legs to move, his mind focused on that one spot—just ahead, the bathroom. The exit. Freedom. He could almost see it now, the way out, the hidden route that could save them.
His heart raced, adrenaline spurring him forward, and he was about to quicken his pace, to bolt for the exit—just a few more feet—when suddenly, Claire's hand shot out in front of him, stopping him cold.
Mason froze, nearly stumbling as the weight of her silent command hit him. His breath caught in his throat, his pulse pounding in his ears.
Why now? What's wrong?
He swallowed the questions that bubbled up inside him, his body tense, eyes darting toward Claire, searching her expression for any clue. But her face remained unreadable, sharp and alert, her hand still raised as she scanned their surroundings with cold precision. Something wasn't right.
Mason's stomach twisted as he realized—
Claire: There's enemies in front of us, at least ten, all armed.
Mason: How can you tell?
Claire: I can hear them breathing. Chances are they're guarding the bathroom because it's one of the only blind spots in the mansion, however, there's also a chance that they've already found the hole.
Mason was creeped out but quickly regained his focus.
Mason: What do we do?
Claire: We have very few options right now. Judging from my previous encounter, they all have pretty basic training, however, there's power in numbers. If we were to engage in a full on attack, there's a very small chance we'll all survive. We can't turn around because our enemies are currently chasing us through the smoke and if they have found the hole, chances are reinforcements are on their way.
Mason: So-
Claire: So we'll need another way.
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Mason: That's it! I can't... I can't take this anymore!
The words ripped from Mason's throat before he even realized what he was saying. His legs moved before his mind could stop them, his body surging out of the smoke, blind to reason. The fear, the pressure—it had all boiled over, crashing through him in waves, leaving him raw and reckless. The danger, the suffocating weight of it all, crushed him. He didn't care anymore. He just needed it to stop.
His hands shot up in front of him as he stumbled into the open, eyes wide with terror as the figures raised their guns. He dropped to his knees, the cold, hard ground biting into him, but it barely registered over the panic.
Mason: Do whatever you want. Just—please—don't kill me.
The attackers didn't speak. Their silence was more terrifying than any threat. A towering figure, swords strapped to his back, approached swiftly, his heavy steps sending tremors through the floor. Mason barely felt the man's hands as they roughly pinned him down, searching his body for any sign of a weapon. The grip was brutal, unyielding.
The man seemed satisfied, loosening his hold just enough to shift his focus. His voice crackled through the comms.
Armored Man: We've got him. The Death Astral—secured, lower left wing—
But his words were sliced through by a blood-curdling scream. The sound cut through the smoke, sharp and jagged, making everyone freeze. The armored man's head snapped toward the noise, his body tensing as his gaze landed on the carnage behind him.
Two of his soldiers—laying in pools of their own blood. Their bodies were twisted, shredded by deep gashes, and above them stood Claire. Her once calm, professional demeanor was gone, replaced by something far more sinister. Her lips curled into a grin, dark and dangerous, as she slowly raised her blood-covered hand, letting the crimson drip between her fingers.
The armored man's voice faltered, his hand instinctively tightening on Mason's arm, but he didn't speak. He couldn't. All he could do was stare.
Claire: Hey!
The other men all turned around, focusing their guns on Claire instead of Mason, which finally gave Thomas his signal.
Thomas dashed through the smoke with blinding speed, slamming into the man who had pinned Mason down, and helping Mason to his feet.
The soldiers became indecisive, unsure if they should focus on taking care of Claire, or retrieving Mason.
Claire helped them make up their decision as she reached into the belt of one of the soldiers she had taken out, and pulled out a number of smoke grenades, firing them all over the place. The smoke covered the entire hallway, and chaos quickly ensued.
Gun fire rang out but none of the soldiers could seem to hit their mark. Mason and Thomas attempted to run past the soldiers to meet with Claire but Mason's leg was caught by a soldier who had fallen to the floor.
Claire cut through two more soldiers as if the smoke didn't affect her vision at all but she became worried when she couldn't find Thomas or Mason. She decided to abandon caution and ran back to where they were attempting to save them, but she was grabbed by strong hands and slammed against the wall.
Mason fought desperately to take the hands off his ankle but whoever had grabbed him had a strong grip. he heard more footsteps coming towards him through the smoke and he fought harder to get the hands off him. Suddenly, there was a sharp sound through the air, and the grip on his ankle slackened.
Thomas: Sorry, I didn't know what else to do.
Mason struggled to see through the smoke but noticed what seemed to be a sword in Thomas' hand. Looking down, he saw the severed hand of his attacker laying near his foot. Nausea spread through his body but he recovered quickly, focusing on escaping.
Mason and Thomas pushed forward, eyes burning from the smoke that still lingered, but the path ahead was finally starting to clear. And then, through the haze, they spotted her.
Claire was down, struggling beneath the crushing weight of the situation. But it wasn't from exhaustion or weakness—she'd been blindsided. Three attackers had surrounded her before she could react, their strikes raining down in an unrelenting barrage. Her usual grace was nowhere to be seen, caught off guard by their numbers. She had dropped her sword, the steel lying useless on the floor several feet away, and now she was defending herself with nothing but her bare hands, desperately trying to block punches and kicks. But it was clear, even to Mason, that she was cornered.
Before she could find an opening, a larger man stepped forward, his brutish form towering over her. He grabbed her by the throat, lifting her with one hand as though she weighed nothing. Claire's feet kicked uselessly beneath her as she struggled for air, her eyes narrowing in defiance, even as she gasped.
The large man turned to Mason and Thomas, his voice a low growl.
Large Man: Surrender, and we'll let you and the girl walk away. Reinforcements are closing in as we speak, and we've covered every exit. You're cornered. Stop fighting, or she dies.
Mason froze. His mind raced, trapped in a whirlwind of indecision. If he tried to save her now, they'd kill her instantly. But if he surrendered... maybe they'd let her go. Maybe, just maybe, it would buy her time. His hands trembled, his breath shallow. What could he do?
And then, the voice came, sharp and cutting, like a knife to his thoughts.
That's just pathetic.
Mason's jaw clenched, anger bubbling up, mixing with the fear that had paralyzed him moments ago.
You're over here thinking of surrendering? She's dying because you're weak.
The words hit him like a punch to the gut, the cruel tone echoing in his mind. His fists tightened, his vision narrowing on the large man choking Claire. His chest burned, not from the smoke, but from the raw fury now boiling inside him.
Shut up. Shut up. I'm not—
What? You're not what? Weak? A coward? Then do something.
Mason's heart pounded in his chest. His breath quickened, rage surging through his veins, drowning out the fear.
I can't just stand here. I can't let her die because I hesitated.
He locked eyes with the man choking Claire, and something inside him snapped.
He cursed the voice because he knew it was right. He stared right into Claire's eyes and saw, maybe for the first time, her true emotions. It was as if she was saying, "don't help me, run you fool." Even now, on the verge of death, Claire was focused on protecting him. With that in mind, how could he possibly afford to stand around and be useless.
Mason raised his hands and closed his eyes. He didn't understand what he was doing, but he let his body take over his actions, completely shutting off his brain. He opened his eyes, which were now a deep shade of obsidian, and at once, he felt a horrible burning sensation in his legs, as black flames sparked. He kicked off with his legs on fire, and launched with inhuman speed at Claire's attackers, flames now appearing on his hands. With all the force and energy he could muster, he slammed his fist into the man who was choking Claire, and the man crumbled to the ground, rendered unconscious.
Mason fell to the ground, completely unsure of what had just happened, and cradled his arm which was in extreme pain. The flame extinguished just as fast as it had appeared.
Claire helped Mason to his feet, but before she could ask any questions, the other two attackers came forward, each one holding two swords. Mason didn't have enough strength or energy left to defend himself, and braced for the attacker's impacts, but the sword strikes never came.
Thomas quickly put himself in between Mason and the attackers, holding the sword he had taken in front of him, and parrying the attack. Thomas gracefully dodged a sword swing from the second attacker and rolled out of the way of the first attacker, stabbing at his ankles in the same motion. Getting back on his feet, he ducked under another swing from the second attacker and cut a clean gash through his back, making sure not to hit any vital spots. The first attacker got back to his feet, attempting to stab Thomas again, but Thomas jumped quickly and masterfully kicked the man in the face, rendering him unconscious.
Mason: What the hell was that!
Thomas: I could ask you the same thing.
Mason: I thought you said you were a detective. Where did you learn all that from?
Thomas looked away from Mason and stared at Claire who was looking back at him with both amazement and curiosity. Thomas's face grew grim as he turned and looked down to the ground.
Mason could tell just from Thomas's face that he should drop the subject immediately, so he instead focused on the plan.
Mason: The bathroom should be just up ahead. I'll need you guys to buy me some time while I open the entrance to the roof.
Claire rubbed at her neck and wiped some blood from her nose and mouth.
Claire: There's still two attackers in the smoke, although one is injured. I hear at least ten or so men approaching us. We have maybe fifteen seconds until they reach us.
Mason: So in other words, I have fifteen seconds.
Claire nodded and picked up her sword from the ground.
Thomas and Claire stood outside the bathroom waiting for Mason to give the signal that he had opened up the entrance. Thomas looked over at Claire and noticed worry lines growing on her face.
Thomas: What's wrong?
Claire: They're faster than I thought.
Before Thomas could ask what she meant, he heard the footsteps through the smoke and saw a group of armored soldiers with swords appear in front of them.
Thomas and Claire moved in sync, swords raised as they engaged the wave of enemies pouring through the smoke. Claire's blade danced in the chaos, her strikes swift and lethal, cutting through the soldiers with precision. Thomas was right behind her, his focus sharp, defending her from attacks that threatened her blind spots. Together, they moved like a well-oiled machine, pushing back the tide.
But more kept coming. No matter how many they took down, the soldiers kept piling in, the smoke thickening, making it harder to see—harder to breathe. Claire's movements remained fluid, even as fatigue began to creep into her limbs, her eyes never wavering from the task at hand.
A soldier lunged at her, coming dangerously close. She reacted on instinct, driving her sword into his chest. He staggered back, gasping, and Claire prepared to deliver the finishing blow—her sword already raised to decapitate him. But before she could swing, a sudden clash of steel stopped her blade mid-air.
Thomas had blocked her strike, his own sword catching hers.
Claire: What are you doing?
Her voice was sharp, disbelief flickering in her eyes as she glared at him. But Thomas didn't flinch, his gaze stormy, resolute.
Thomas: No killing.
Claire's jaw tightened, the anger bubbling inside her. There was no time to argue—more soldiers rushed at her, and she was forced to pull back, deflecting another attack, her frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
She didn't have the luxury of questions. Not now. She slashed at the enemies once more, moving with renewed focus, her mind racing.
The battle raged on, the seconds dragging like hours. Every swing of her sword felt heavier. But then—
Mason: I finished the opening! We need to go. Now!
Relief surged through Claire. She leaped back from the enemies, Thomas right beside her, and they sprinted toward Mason. The trio climbed through the opening Mason had created in the ceiling, one by one, and finally—finally—they pulled themselves onto the roof, gasping for air, the cool night breeze a sharp contrast to the suffocating smoke below.
But their relief was short-lived.
As their eyes adjusted, they froze. The scene that greeted them sent a chill down their spines.
An army.
Spanning the entire manor, surrounding them like an endless tide. The soldiers were armed with everything from guns to swords, their faces obscured by masks and armor. There was no escape.
Claire took a deep breath and smiled, raising her swords as she prepared herself to fight through the hell that surrounded them.