The deafening groans of ancient iron echoed from the bowels of the mansion, shaking the courtyard floor until the marble pavers cracked beneath their feet. Cold, stagnant air—thick with the scent of damp soil, copper, and century-old rot—poured upward from the newly opened abyss, carrying with it a faint, rhythmical thud that sounded unnervingly like a subterranean heart.

Marcus scrambled up from the flagstones, clutching his badly scorched right hand against his jacket. His face was drained of color as he stared at the boy. «What did you just do?» Marcus demanded, drawing a hidden backup knife with his uninjured hand, his posture instantly defensive. «What is down there?»

The boy didn’t answer. He slumped sideways into the woman’s lap, his eyes rolling back until only the whites showed. The glowing violet mark on his chest flickered erratically before dulling into a scorched, raised scar.

«He’s unconscious!» she yelled, hauling the child into her arms. The lingering energy from the blast still hummed under her skin, making her fingers tingle with unnatural strength. «Marcus, help me!»

Before Marcus could move, a wet, choking cough shattered the momentary silence from the ruined fountain.

Julian pushed himself up from the shattered marble debris. His immaculate navy suit was torn, dripping with stagnant fountain water, and blood trickled freely from a gash across his forehead. But his expression wasn’t one of defeat; it was pure, unadulterated triumph.

«You fools,» Julian wheezed, wiping the crimson from his eyes and letting out a ragged, breathless laugh. «You thought Father was hiding the power from me? He wasn’t hiding it… he was containing it! The vault wasn’t meant to keep anyone out. It was built to keep it in!»

Julian reached into his pocket and pulled out a second obsidian device—slightly larger, shaped like a notched gear. Without hesitation, he slammed it down onto the stone beside him and twisted the ring.

A high-pitched, metallic whistle pierced the courtyard, instantly answered by three distinct gunshots ringing out from the perimeter trees.

Marcus ducked instinctively as bullet sparks flew off the stone pillar above his head. «Snipers!» he shouted, lunging forward and seizing the woman by her shoulder, pulling her and the child behind the thick granite base of the central archway. «Julian brought a strike team! We have to move now!»

«Where?» she cried out, clutching the limp boy against her chest. «The gates are locked, and the woods are crawling with his men!»

«There’s only one way that isn’t covered by rifles,» Marcus gritted out, pointing toward the gaping, pitch-black doorway threshold carved into the mansion’s exposed foundation.

She stared at the void, the cold draft rushing out to bite her face. «Into the dark? You heard what Julian said!»

«I don’t care what Julian said,» Marcus growled, his knuckles white around the hilt of his blade as heavy boots began thumping against the estate’s outer gravel path. «His men will execute us the second they step into this courtyard. Move!»

A heavy burst of automatic gunfire tore into the granite pillar above them, showering their hair with stone dust and plaster fragments.

Holding the child tight against her shoulder, she didn’t hesitate any longer. She turned and sprinted straight toward the yawning black entrance of the mansion’s lower depths. Marcus fell in right behind her, guarding their rear.

The moment they crossed the threshold into the subterranean corridor, the air turned ice-cold. Darkness swallowed them instantly, save for the faint, residual violet glow still emanating faintly from the boy’s chest. The sound of their hurried footsteps echoed endlessly off damp stone walls lined with ancient, rusted brass conduit pipes.

«Keep moving,» Marcus whispered, his voice trembling despite his best efforts. «I’ll try to find a lock on this side.»

Behind them, illuminated by the bright sunlight streaming through the broken courtyard doors, Julian stepped into the entrance threshold. He wasn’t running. He didn’t need to. Behind him stood six heavily armed mercenaries, their red laser sights slicing through the gloom.

«Don’t shoot them,» Julian instructed his men calmly, his voice carrying clearly down the narrow tunnel. «Bring me the boy. And kill Marcus. As for my sister… leave her to the vault.»

She pressed her back against the wet tunnel wall, holding her breath as the red laser beams swept across the stone just inches from her face.

Suddenly, the boy in her arms stirred. His eyes snapped open—not dark, not normal, but glowing with an intense, terrifyingly clear golden light.

He didn’t scream or cry. He reached out with one small hand, grabbed Marcus by his coat collar, and pulled the grown man down to his eye level with unnatural force.

«Do not look at the walls,» the boy commanded in that chilling, dual-layered voice. «And whatever you do… do not let the blood reach the third threshold.»

Marcus froze, his jaw slack. «What blood?»

Before the child could answer, a wet, sickening tear echoed from the darkness directly above their heads. A heavy drop of thick, dark liquid fell from the ceiling, splashing directly onto Marcus’s bare, scorched wrist.

Instantly, Marcus gasped in agonizing shock, falling hard to his knees as dark, vein-like tendrils began spreading rapidly under his skin toward his elbow.