Aron led the group back to the hidden chamber, explaining his theory as they went. "The mansion has been guiding us, setting traps, testing us. Every clue, every death—it's all part of the same system."
"But why?" Zane asked, struggling to keep up.
"To see if we can break free," Aron said simply.
As they entered the chamber, Aron moved to the machinery in the center of the room. His fingers traced the gears and levers, his mind working faster than ever.
"There's something here," he muttered. "Something we're meant to find."
"Or activate," Zander said, his voice wary.
Aron nodded. "Exactly."
With the group's help, Aron began manipulating the machinery, deciphering its purpose. As the gears turned and the room hummed to life, the walls began to shift, revealing hidden panels covered in glowing symbols.
The symbols coalesced into a single phrase:
"Face the truth to rise. Deny it to fall."
"What does it mean?" Zane asked, his voice trembling.
"It means we have one final choice," Aron said, his voice steady. "And we'd better make the right one."
The room was unnervingly silent, the whir of the machinery fading into a heavy stillness. The glowing symbols on the walls pulsed faintly, casting an ethereal glow across Aron's face. He stood in the center of the chamber, his mind racing as the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place.
"It's all connected," Aron said softly, his voice breaking the silence.
"What do you mean?" Zander asked, his knife still in hand, his sharp eyes scanning the room.
"This mansion isn't just testing us," Aron replied. "It's alive in a way. And it's tied to Mr. Thornhill—what happened to him, what's happening to us. Everything."
The final phrase on the wall—"Face the truth to rise. Deny it to fall."—was the key. Aron turned to the group, his expression resolute.
"The truth isn't about solving the murder," he said. "It's about understanding why it happened."
Zane tilted his head, "Isn't that the same thing, Why the murder happened?"
Aron sighed and explained, "According to previous thought process we had to focus on find the murderer but now we need to find why murder happened. Understand?"
Zane was a bit confused, Livia rolled her eyes and him and let Aron to not mind this mindless guy.
Using the machinery's levers and dials, Aron activated a hidden mechanism. The floor beneath them shifted, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling downward.
"Another secret passage?" Zane muttered. "How many does this place have?"
"As many as it needs," Aron replied grimly.
The group descended cautiously, the air growing colder with each step. The stone walls were damp, and the faint scent of decay lingered in the air. At the bottom of the staircase, they found a small room illuminated by a single lantern hanging from the ceiling.
In the center stood a figure—tall and imposing, dressed in an elegant suit that seemed untouched by time. His face was pale, almost translucent, and his eyes glowed faintly with an otherworldly light.
"Mr. Thornhill," Aron said, his voice steady despite the unease creeping over him.
Zander glanced at Aron and thought how he deduced it to be that man who was supposed to be dead?
The figure turned to face them, his expression unreadable. "You've come far," he said, his voice echoing unnaturally in the confined space.
"You're supposed to be dead," Zander said, his knife at the ready.
"I am," Thornhill replied with a faint smile. "But this mansion... it doesn't let go so easily. It holds on to those who have unfinished business."
Aron stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. "The deaths, the attacks—they're because of you. Why?"
Thornhill's smile faded, replaced by a deep sadness that seemed to weigh down the room. "Because I was betrayed. By the very people I trusted most."
"What happened to you?" Aron asked softly.
Thornhill's eyes flickered with emotion as he began to speak. "I built this mansion as a sanctuary, a place where my guests could feel safe and welcome. But safety breeds complacency, and complacency breeds greed."
He turned away, his voice growing bitter. "Those people you call guests? They were my closest friends. My confidants. But they saw my kindness as weakness. They schemed behind my back, embezzling from my business, tarnishing my reputation. When I discovered their treachery, I confronted them."
"What happened?" Livia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"They killed me," Thornhill said simply, the words hanging in the air like a death knell.
Zane gasped. "Killed you? Why?"
"Because they couldn't risk exposure," Thornhill replied. "They poisoned me during a dinner party—the same party they now claim to mourn. They buried my body in the grounds of the mansion, thinking that would be the end of it."
"But it wasn't," Aron said, piecing it together.
"No," Thornhill said, his gaze sharpening. "This mansion became my prison. My spirit lingered, fueled by rage and grief. I waited, watching as they lived their lives unscathed. And then the infinite flow world brought them back here, to my domain."
Thornhill's smile returned, cold and calculating. "You see, I didn't summon you here to solve a mystery. I summoned you to complete my revenge."
Aron's chest tightened. "The deaths—Samuel, Edward, the chef—those were your doing."
"They were the worst of them," Thornhill said. "The ones who orchestrated my murder. The others... their time is coming."
Zander stepped forward, his expression hard. "And what about us? What's our role in this?"
Thornhill chuckled, the sound hollow and chilling. "You are my instruments. You brought the truth to light, ensured that they couldn't escape. And now, my work is nearly done."
"What happens when it's over?" Aron asked, his voice steady.
Thornhill's smile faded once more. "When it's over, I will finally rest. But until then..." He began to fade, his form becoming translucent. "Do not interfere. My revenge is mine alone."
With those final words, Thornhill vanished, leaving the room plunged into silence.
The group stood frozen, the weight of Thornhill's story sinking in.
"So he's not just a ghost," Zane said finally. "He's... the mansion?"
"In a way," Aron said, his voice quiet. "His spirit is tied to this place. It's what's keeping him here—and what's giving him power."
"What do we do now?" Livia asked, her voice strained.
Aron took a deep breath, his mind racing. "We stop him."
"Stop him?" Zane repeated, incredulous. "He just wants revenge! And honestly, those people deserve it!"
"Maybe they do," Aron said, his tone firm. "But if we let him finish this, what happens next? Do we just wait to see if he lets us go? Or do we end up as collateral damage?"
Zander nodded, his expression grim. "He's not thinking clearly. He's a spirit consumed by rage. That makes him dangerous."
And Aron also pointed out, "To get out alive from this dungeon, we need to protect at least 5 guests, I suppose we are against Mr. Thornhill here."
"Then what's the plan?" Livia asked.
"We find his body," Aron said. "And we burn it."
Before anyone could respond, a deafening crash echoed from above, followed by a chorus of terrified screams.
"The guests!" Zander barked, already moving toward the stairs.
Livia struggled to her feet, her hand clutching her injured side. "I'll help him. You two find the body!"
"But—" Zane began.
"Go!" Zander shouted over his shoulder. "We've got this!"
Aron grabbed Zane's arm, pulling him toward the hallway. "Come on. If we don't find the body, none of this will matter."
In the grand dining hall, chaos reigned. The remaining guests huddled in the corners, their faces pale with fear. The temperature had plummeted, their breath visible in the frigid air.
Mr. Thornhill's spirit hovered near the ceiling, his once-human form now twisted and monstrous. His glowing eyes swept over the room with a cold fury, his voice echoing unnaturally.
"You betrayed me," he snarled, his gaze fixed on a trembling businessman cowering behind a chair. "You stole my life, and now you will pay the price!"
The spirit lunged, his ethereal form streaking across the room like a shadow.
"Not today," Zander growled, stepping between the spirit and the guest. His knife gleamed as he slashed at the apparition, the blade disrupting its form momentarily.
Thornhill let out a guttural roar, recoiling before reforming a few feet away.
"You think you can stop me?" the spirit sneered. "I am this mansion. You are nothing."
"Then you'll have to fight nothing," Livia snapped, her hand outstretched. A stream of water shot from a nearby vase, wrapping around the spirit like chains.
Thornhill struggled, his form flickering as the water constricted him. "Fools! You cannot bind me forever!"
"We don't need forever," Zander said, positioning himself between the guests and the spirit. "Just long enough."
Meanwhile, Aron and Zane scoured the mansion, their movements frantic. The garden had yielded no results, and every hidden passage they explored seemed to lead nowhere.
"This doesn't make sense," Aron muttered, his flashlight sweeping over the walls of the library. "He said they buried him on the grounds, but there's no sign of a grave."
"Maybe he lied," Zane suggested, though his tone was doubtful.
"Why would he lie about that?" Aron shot back. "His body is the key to ending this."
Zane hesitated, glancing nervously at the door. "What if... it's not on the grounds?"
Aron froze, his mind racing. "What do you mean?"
"What if they didn't bury him outside? What if he's... inside the mansion?"
The idea hit Aron like a lightning bolt. It made sense in a twisted way. If Thornhill's murderers had wanted to keep their crime hidden, they would have buried the body somewhere no one would think to look.
"Come on," Aron said, grabbing Zane's arm. "We're checking the basement."
Back in the dining hall, the situation grew more dire. Thornhill's spirit fought against Livia's water restraints, his strength steadily growing. The guests cowered in the corners, too paralyzed by fear to move.
Mirka and Dane, however, were anything but frozen. The two pro players moved swiftly and silently, positioning themselves behind one of the remaining guests—a frail woman clutching a rosary.
"Don't even think about it," Zander growled, his knife pointed in their direction.
"Relax, soldier boy," Mirka said, her smirk as sharp as a blade. "We're just staying out of harm's way."
Dane grabbed the woman by the shoulders, shoving her forward like a shield. "If he wants revenge, he can take her first."
The woman screamed, struggling against Dane's grip.
"You bastards!" Livia shouted, her concentration faltering as she diverted her attention. The water chains binding Thornhill loosened, and the spirit roared in triumph.
"Enough!" Thornhill bellowed, his form surging forward.
Zander leapt into action, slamming into Dane and knocking the woman out of harm's way. Mirka snarled, swinging a heavy candlestick at Zander, but he dodged easily, countering with a swift punch that sent her sprawling.
"Cowards," Zander spat, his knife gleaming as he stood between the guests and Thornhill. "You're worse than him."
Aron and Zane descended into the mansion's basement, the air growing colder with each step. The narrow staircase ended in a small, damp room filled with old furniture and cobweb-covered crates.
"It has to be here," Aron muttered, his flashlight sweeping over the space.
Zane moved to a stack of crates, prying one open. "Nothing but old linens."
Aron's gaze landed on a large wardrobe shoved against the far wall. His pulse quickened as he approached it, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the handle.
The door creaked open, revealing a hollowed-out space inside. At the bottom lay a small wooden box, its surface stained and weathered with age.
"Is that it?" Zane asked, his voice hushed.
Aron knelt beside the box, carefully lifting the lid. Inside was a skeleton, its brittle bones wrapped in tattered fabric. A gold signet ring on one bony finger confirmed the identity: Victor Thornhill.
"It's him," Aron said, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart.
"What do we do now?" Zane asked, glancing nervously over his shoulder.
"Take it to the garden," Aron replied. "We burn it."
Aron and Zane carried the box back upstairs, their movements quick but cautious. The sounds of battle echoed from the dining hall, the crashes and screams growing louder with each passing moment.
"We're running out of time," Aron muttered, his grip tightening on the box.
As they reached the main floor, Thornhill's voice rang out, filled with fury. "You think you can escape me? I am eternal!"
Aron's chest tightened as they entered the dining hall. Thornhill's spirit was larger now, his form nearly filling the room. Zander and Livia stood their ground, their movements coordinated despite the chaos.
"We've got it!" Aron shouted, holding up the box.
Thornhill's glowing eyes snapped toward him, his expression twisting into one of rage and desperation. "No!"
The spirit surged forward, but Livia intercepted him with a torrent of water. "Go!" she yelled, her face pale and strained.
Zander joined Aron and Zane, his knife still in hand. "To the garden. Now!"