CHAPTER 13
The air in the control room was thick with static from broken communication lines and Inthorn’s boiling rage.
The sudden blackout hadn't just cut the power; it had shattered the perfect image of power and control he had so carefully built around himself.
Inthorn stood absolutely still, his jaw tight, as a young guard stammered out some broken words about a tripped sensor on the north wall, clearly terrified.
He didn’t let the boy finish speaking.
Inthorn’s hand shot out like a striking snake, clamping around the guard’s throat.
His grip was brutal, fingers digging into the main artery in the man’s neck until the guard’s face started to turn a deep, horrifying purple.
The guard clawed desperately at Inthorn’s arm, gasping for air, his eyes wide with fear.
“Incompetence,” Inthorn hissed, his voice low and full of venom, a dangerous whisper.
The boy’s body twitched one last time, a final struggle, then went limp. Inthorn let the lifeless form drop with a heavy thud onto the shiny floor, not caring.
“Clean that up,” he ordered, not even sparing a glance at the terrified aide who scrambled forward to obey.
“Dae!” he barked, his voice sharp and demanding.
Dae Kittisak appeared instantly, as silent and sharp as always, his presence a dark shadow.
“Seal every extra gate. Activate the pressure plates in the north corridor (these are hidden plates that trigger traps). Release the hounds. Send the Viper Squad to the main hall. I want this place to become a goddamn slaughterhouse.”
Dae nodded, without a word. “Understood, Master.”
Inthorn’s eyes shifted to the large portrait of Nicha Suksawat hanging on the far wall. The woman in the painting looked serenely down at him, her expression soft and calm. Her smile was gentle, but Inthorn knew the fierce fire that had once burned behind those eyes—his mother’s eyes.
His fingers curled at his sides, nails digging into his palms, a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil. His mother had once called him her miracle. Her little orchid. She’d protected him as best she could. But it hadn’t been enough to save her.
And now… now he would protect what was his. Even if he had to tear the world apart to do it.
_____
The world had completely fallen into chaos.
Noi lay curled up under the bed, clutching Bunbun like he was the only thing keeping him alive, his breaths coming in short, quick gasps, ragged with fear.
The soft hum of the air conditioning had died minutes ago, replaced by distant shouting, the thunder of heavy boots on marble floors, and the low, monstrous growl of unleashed hounds echoing through the hallways.
The blackout had sent a sharp spike of fear through his body. At first, he thought it was just another one of Inthorn’s games. Another punishment for defying him, for crying, for not saying thank you after being allowed to eat.
But this… this was different.
The nightlight was off. The security light in the hallway had gone dark. Something was happening—something outside of Inthorn’s control. For once, Inthorn wasn't in charge of everything.
And that was even more terrifying than anything else.
Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the dust as he pressed himself deeper into the shadows under the hidden panel behind the dresser.
The narrow tunnel beyond was completely dark, and the stale air felt suffocating, making it hard to breathe.
He hesitated—but the voices behind the walls were getting louder.
Closer. The barking of the dogs now sounded frantic, truly bloodthirsty, like they were hunting something.
With trembling fingers, Noi crawled into the passage, dragging Bunbun with him, his only comfort.
The darkness inside swallowed him whole. The walls were tight against him. The floor was rough. He moved on his elbows and knees, scraping them raw as he inched forward, trying not to sob too loudly, trying to be silent. The oppressive heat closed in from all sides, making it hard to breathe.
Suddenly, he heard it—Inthorn’s voice.
“Seal the main gates! Double patrol the outer walls!”
Noi froze. The voice wasn’t distant anymore.
It was right there, just behind the wall, so close.
He could hear every footstep, every shouted order clearly.
He pressed his body flat against the wood, barely breathing, trying to make himself disappear.
He imagined Inthorn stopping, turning, sensing him.
Tearing the wall apart with his bare hands to reach him.
But the footsteps faded away. The wall stayed intact, holding him safe, for now.
Noi kept crawling, pushing forward through the darkness.
Eventually, the passage opened into a tiny storage space.
Old furniture and dusty drapes filled the corners, covered in cobwebs.
He didn’t search for anything. He didn’t move.
He simply collapsed into the shadows, curling around Bunbun, his heart pounding against his ribs like a drum.
He was alone. He was terrified.
But somewhere, somehow—hope flickered. Like the tiniest flame, still burning in the dark.
_____
The deeper Kawin moved into the heart of the estate, the more brutal the situation became.
The blackout had given them an advantage. But only for a brief moment.
Inthorn had reacted with horrifying speed—turning traps back on, activating pressure plates (hidden plates that trigger things like alarms or attacks), deploying his elite guards like chess pieces in a deadly game he had been preparing for years.
Kawin moved through the shadows, the green glow of his night-vision goggles highlighting the grisly scene on the marble floor.
Fallen guards—some of his own team, some of Inthorn’s—were scattered everywhere, lifeless.
The walls had begun to tremble from distant explosions, shaking the entire mansion.
“Tawan, status,” Kawin whispered into his microphone, needing an update.
“Motion-activated traps are live again. He’s got kill grids running (areas where lethal traps are active). We’re working with maybe two minutes before full lockdown. You need to find Noi and get out now.”
Kawin pushed forward, his breath ragged, his rifle held tightly in his hands. Every nerve was screaming with alert, every step a calculated risk, a gamble with his life.
“Contact south hallway!” Thirawat’s voice cut in through the comms. Gunfire followed immediately, loud and sudden.
Kawin turned on instinct. A team of Inthorn’s guards poured into view—moving with cold efficiency, their faces grim and focused. No wasted movements. These weren’t just hired security.
These were killers.
Gunfire erupted. Muffled, sharp bursts as both sides exchanged bullets. Kawin ducked behind a shattered column, returning fire. Marble exploded near his head from a near miss. One of the guards flanked left, almost too fast to see, trying to get around him.
Kawin pivoted, firing twice. The man dropped.
“We’re outnumbered!” Thirawat growled, his voice strained. “Move now or we’re trapped!”
Kawin sprinted through the smoke and dust, his heart in his throat, a tight ball of fear and determination.
He had to find Noi. Now.
_____
The old Thanawanich bloodline (Pramote, Wimondevi, Sarut, Thanit, Thanaboon and the sisters) was gathered around the altar like wolves circling a fresh corpse, hungry and dangerous.
Pramote stood tall, the flickering firelight catching the long scar running down the side of his neck, making him look even more menacing.
Wimondevi, elegant and shimmering in silk, poured herself a glass of dark wine.
Her lips curved into a grin that never reached her eyes, a chilling, empty smile.
“Inthorn is reacting just as we expected,” Pramote said, satisfied. “He is violent. Cornered. Panicking.”
“Good,” Wimondevi purred. “A wounded beast is so much easier to skin.”
Thanit, lounging in Sarut’s lap, licked his lips, anticipation in his eyes. “And the rabbit?”
Sarut leaned close to his ear. “Soon.”
Wimondevi rose, her robe trailing along the carved wooden floor.
She approached the small shrine near the far wall—a black orchid blooming atop a bed of old, withered bones.
She drew a silver blade from its sheath and cut across her palm without hesitation.
The dark blood dripped like ink onto the petals of the orchid.
“On this night,” she began, her voice low and ceremonial, “we remember the bloom. We remember what it cost us. And what it gave us.”
Sarut and Thanit stepped forward, offering their blood in turn. The other siblings followed, one by one, cutting their own hands, until the flower pulsed a deep crimson, stained with their blood.
“We took the weak,” Wimondevi whispered, her eyes gleaming with dark power. “And we became gods.”
She looked up, her eyes gleaming with dark intent and ruthless ambition.
“This time, Inthorn will die. And we will take what’s left of his legacy for ourselves.”
Her voice dropped to a hungry whisper, full of chilling desire.
“Even the boy.”