Chapter318 – Self-destruction
“Damn Stormhold Awakeners,” she muttered under her breath. “Almost got myself trapped because of that one… but this might work in my favor.” Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Two more shots left.”
Outside, the Havoc Division man’s voice carried through the half-open door as he spoke on the communicator.
“Mr. Finnegan, one member of Team Embercrag has woken up. The others should follow soon. Yes, I—”
He stepped back into the room mid-sentence—and froze.
Mackenzie was staring at him. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes gleamed with something… strange. Seductive. Predatory.
A cold shiver crawled down his spine.
......
BOOM!
A thunderous explosion rocked the world. Flames erupted skyward, swallowing the entire town in a blinding wave of fire.
Millers stood amid the inferno, snapping his fingers with manic glee.
“You wanted fireworks? Here they are!”
“You maniac—are you trying to kill us?!” Rosaline shouted, throwing up an icy-blue barrier. The shield shimmered under the assault, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface. She poured more Force into it, sweat dripping down her temple.
“If I don’t go all out, we’ll never kill her!” Millers yelled back, grinning like a lunatic.
The explosions overlapped, the sound merging into a monstrous roar. The earth split, air burned, and every nerve screamed as the dream city buckled and tore apart.
A flash of white cut through the chaos.
“Now!” Charles bellowed, his face pale. He was near his limit, his mental energy burning out—but the moment Valerie appeared, he forced the last of his psychic strength outward, locking onto her form.
Pop!
The sound was almost anticlimactic—like a balloon bursting. Then came silence.
The shallow dream cracked open like glass. The world collapsed.
Light flooded in.
Axel gasped—and opened his eyes.
He was lying on a rough wooden floor inside a small hut. His body ached all over. Around him, the others were stirring, groaning, blinking in confusion.
“Finally awake,” said a familiar voice. Finnegan stood by the door, arms crossed, relief softening his stern features.
Outside, the first pale light of dawn filtered through the trees.
They’d been trapped in that nightmare for hours.
“Recover Force and mental strength—quickly,” Charles ordered, his voice gravelly but urgent. “I’ve locked onto Valerie’s position. Mr. Finnegan, report—what’s happening out here?”
Charles looked pale and drained. He fumbled out two mental pills and swallowed them dry.
The dream had shattered, but Valerie was still alive. They had to end her before she recovered. No one hesitated. Even though it meant burning through their resources, they downed recovery pills and clutched their Blood Refining Stones, channeling their energy to accelerate regeneration.
Finnegan spoke fast. “The moment we reached Red Leaf Village, Dale reported that everyone in Team Embercrag—except him—had fallen under an illusion. I tried contacting you and found all of you were asleep too.”
“I came here immediately, in case anyone connected to Valerie tried to strike while you were trapped.”
He continued, voice steady but tight. “Dale stayed behind to watch the Embercrag team. Once my men relieved him, he went after Valerie’s physical body. Skyfleet Town’s been completely evacuated. Only our units remain. Oh—Mackenzie from Embercrag just woke up. The rest should be conscious by now.”
Vince nodded slightly. It all lined up with what they’d suspected. Valerie didn’t have the strength to pull everyone into a dream at once—there had to be a core body somewhere anchoring her illusions. Unfortunately, they still hadn’t found it.
“Mackenzie?” Axel asked suddenly, frowning. He’d sensed her aura earlier—but it wasn’t the same as the one he’d seen in Vernon’s memory. Could I be mistaken?
He was about to ask Finnegan more when Charles straightened, rolling his shoulders and flexing his fingers. His eyes burned with purpose.
“Enough talking. Valerie’s body is weak—this is our chance to finish her. Move out!”
Axel shelved his doubts. Whatever mysteries lingered could wait. Killing Valerie came first.
“Where is she?” Finnegan asked, tension edging his voice.
“Pond Village!” Charles snapped, already breaking into a sprint.
The others followed. The two villages were close; within minutes they reached the outskirts of Pond Village, the mud houses looming through the mist.
Finnegan frowned. “That can’t be right. My men already searched all three villages.”
“That’s because she’s hiding behind a damn mountain of treasures,” Charles said darkly. He stopped suddenly, then unleashed a burst of psychic energy into a patch of empty air.
Crack!
A sound like glass shattering echoed through the fields. Slowly, a small, weathered farmhouse materialized before them.
And from inside, an old woman emerged.
Her steps were graceful, almost elegant. With each movement, her ragged clothes shimmered and morphed—one moment the plain garb of a peasant, the next the silky finery of a noble courtesan. Her face, too, flickered—wrinkled one moment, painted and radiant the next.
She carried a handful of millet, scattering it across the ground. Chickens rushed forward, pecking eagerly. The sight would have been mundane—peaceful, even—if not for that uncanny blend of beauty and decay.
After scattering the feed, she turned and bowed slightly to them. “It seems I can’t leave after all,” she said softly. “I’m sorry to have caused you so much trouble.”
Her voice was calm. Sincere.
Rosaline scoffed. “A Stormhold spy playing the humble villager? Save your breath. We’re not here for theater.”
The team gathered their Force, their energy flaring as one. They weren’t going to let Valerie talk her way out.
But instead of attacking, Valerie sighed, the weariness plain in her eyes. She sat down slowly on a wooden chair, her hands trembling as they gripped the arms.
She looked at Rosaline—not defiant, not angry. Just… tired.
Then she pulled a small knife from her sleeve.
Before anyone could react, she drove it into her stomach.
Schlick.
The wet sound of steel meeting flesh sliced through the silence. Blood bloomed across her pale kimono, spreading in dark, vivid patterns.
“I’m sorry,” Valerie whispered, her face draining of color. “But I can’t let you capture me alive.”
The pain wracked her body. Her hands shook violently. Then—gritting her teeth—she drove the knife in deeper and cut across her abdomen.
Schhhh.
A grotesque sound followed as her insides spilled onto her lap. The smell of blood filled the air.
Kaia flinched, her voice low and uneasy. “Are all Stormhold agents this brutal with themselves?”
Millers grimaced. “Well, they’re good at self-destruction.”
Charles didn’t answer. His psychic sense stayed locked on Valerie. Every trace of her mental signature was weakening fast—no illusion, no trick. She was really dying.
Valerie’s eyes unfocused, her voice barely a whisper now. “I was born and raised on Krythos…. Why drag me into it?” A faint, tired smile touched her lips. “At least now, I can finally rest.”
Her breathing hitched.
Then, weakly, she lifted a trembling hand toward a latch on the wall. “Mr. Vince… these are my adopted children. Orphans. Please… take care of them.”
She released the latch.
A hidden panel opened—and six thin children stumbled out, crying.
The youngest looked about six, the oldest barely into their teens. They ran to Valerie’s side, their small, dirty hands clutching her blood-soaked kimono.
“Auntie Valerie, what’s wrong?” one sobbed.
“Auntie, you’re bleeding!”
“Don’t leave us!”
Their tears mixed with the blood, streaking her robes with gray and red.
Valerie managed a faint smile. Then her head slumped forward, eyes dulling to glass.
Kaia and Millers stood frozen, even Rosaline and Vince frowned, faces tight with unease.
Axel remained still. His expression stayed calm — he wasn’t one to wear his emotions openly. He glanced around. Charles’ face mirrored his own restraint, though Kaia’s eyes glistened with tears.
Then, Axel’s body tensed. A chill ran through him. “Something’s wrong!”
He felt it — the Heavenly Spirit Fruit Tree inside him was thrashing wildly.
“Captain, Rosaline — watch out!”
“Huh—?!”
Before anyone could react, Charles snapped into action. His psychic field expanded in an instant, wrapping around everyone and jolting their senses awake.
The world around them twisted — and the six children were no longer children.
They were demons, their forms grotesque and shifting.