Chapter 42: Chapter 42: BLOOD ON THE OLEANDER

The moonlight, a cold blade through the canopy, sliced the overgrown garden of Blackwood Manor into stark contrasts. Oleander bushes, once vibrant pink, drooped like withered hands, their fragrance replaced with the cloying scent of damp earth and neglect. Around a rickety wooden table, four figures hunched in boisterous camaraderie.

Their laughter, punctuated by the slapping of cards, echoed eerily in the stillness of the night. One of the men, Razor, a hulking brute with a shaved head and a missing tooth, slammed a hand onto the table, scattering the makeshift poker game. Sёarᴄh the nôᴠel Fire.nёt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

"Beat ya again, Frankie! Seems luck follows me tonight."Frankie, a wiry man with twitchy eyes, scowled, shoving his cards forward. "Just lucky once, Razor. Next hand's mine."Across the garden, a different scene played out. Two figures leaned against the crumbling stone wall of the manor, their shadows stretching long and distorted in the moonlight.

Harold, a guard with a potbelly straining against his uniform, chuckled at something Tom, the younger guard with a mop of nervous hair, was saying."You wouldn't believe it, Harold. Mildred's ass…" His voice trailed off, replaced by a shiver that ran down his spine.

He glanced around, the darkness of the surrounding woods pressing closer."What's wrong, kid?" Harold scoffed, pulling out a crumpled pack of cheap cigarettes."Just… a chill. Feels like someone's watching us."Harold snorted, lighting a cigarette and puffing out a plume of smoke. "These old manors are always like that.

Drafty and full of tricks on the mind."Tom didn't reply, but his gaze remained fixed on the dense undergrowth lining the path leading away from the manor, the minutes stretched long and tense. Harold finished his cigarette, flicking the glowing ember into the darkness."You heading for a leak, Tom?"Tom licked his dry lips.

"Yeah, just be back in a jiffy."He stepped into the trees, the path swallowed by the hungry shadows. Time trickled by. Harold started to tap his foot impatiently. Ten minutes turned into fifteen. unease gnawing at his gut."Tom?" he called out, his voice a thin thread in the oppressive silence. No answer.

Harold's heart pounded against his ribs like a trapped bird. He gripped his spear tighter, cursing his relaxed attitude earlier.Suddenly, a sickening thud echoed from the depths of the forest. Harold strained his ears, fear pricking at his scalp. Then, a shape rolled out of the darkness, illuminated by the harsh moonlight.

It was Tom's head, his eyes wide open and glassy, a single line of blood staining the path behind it.A strangled cry ripped through Harold's throat. Before he could react, a figure emerged from the shadows behind him. Slender and frail, with a face hidden in darkness, the figure moved with unnatural speed. Before Harold could raise his spear, a hand, cold and hard like steel, slammed into his chest.

The air whooshed out of his lungs as the hand pierced through his body, squeezing his heart with a cruel, unyielding grip."Should've listened to your buddy," a voice, raspy and full of amusement, whispered in his ear.Harold's vision blurred, the world dissolving into a swirling vortex of pain.

His last glimpse was of the figure pulling back its hand, leaving behind a gaping hole in his chest, before falling to the cold, blood-soaked ground.Inside the garden, the card game resumed, oblivious to the silent carnage outside.

Frankie, frustrated by his continued losses, slammed his fist on the table."One more hand, that's it!"Suddenly, a voice, slick with amusement, sliced through their raucous laughter. "May I join the game?"A sudden movement ripped their attention away from the card game. A man materialized from the shadows, his form solidifying with each step he took towards them.

His face remained shrouded in darkness, a terrifying blank slate. Only a shock of white hair escaped the gloom, framing an unseen figure clad in a blood-soaked tunic and jet-black pants. But it was the chilling grin that split his lips that truly sent a jolt of terror through them. It was a predator's smile, devoid of warmth, promising only merciless violence.Panic flickered in their eyes.

Razor, recovering first, lunged at the stranger, a rusty switchblade glinting in the moonlight. The stranger didn't flinch. He simply stepped back, and shadows engulfed him. Razor, mid-leap, cried out as darkness erupted from the ground, tendrils wrapping around his legs, dragging him screaming into the hungry earth.The garden exploded into pandemonium.

Chairs became impromptu battering rams, toppling over with bone-jarring thuds. Cards fluttered to the ground like dying butterflies, their painted faces a stark contrast to the growing pool of crimson at their centre.

The remaining men lunged for whatever weapons they could clutch - rusty swords, dented knives, anything to hold back the tide of terror.But their defiance was a gnat against a hurricane. The shadows themselves seemed to writhe, morphing into monstrous things as tendrils of blue light snaked through the air. The men were puppets in a macabre play, their attacks clumsy and ineffective.

They fell in a horrifying ballet, their screams choked off as the tendrils of darkness wrapped around them, snuffing out life with chilling efficiency.Only the echoes of their final, desperate cries pierced the growing silence.

A silence that would soon alert the oblivious souls within the manor, shattering their false sense of security.Moonlight carved stark lines across the overgrown garden, casting the dilapidated Blackwood Manor in an even more sinister light. Laughter, once raucous and carefree, had died a choking death, leaving a chilling silence in its wake. Then, a thud – heavy and final – shattered the stillness.

Heads swivelled towards the manor entrance, where figures spilled out, a dozen men in ragged clothes, their faces grim under the moonlight. They blinked, expecting to see their comrades manning the watchtower, only to be met with the grotesque tableau before them.

Their guards weren't manning the post, they were victims of it, sprawled lifeless on the cold cobblestones.At the center of this carnage stood a lone figure, a silhouette bathed in the pale moonlight. A single detail sent shivers down their spines: a massive form, held aloft with brutal ease.

The figure tossed the lifeless body aside, a sickening thud echoing off the stone walls, and turned towards them. It was then that they saw him – David. His face, obscured by a shadowed hood, held an emotionless mask. But it was the aura emanating from him that sent a primal fear coursing through their veins.

A cold, dark energy that seemed to warp the very air around him."Well, well," David's voice cut through the suffocating silence, a sickening drawl that held a cruel amusement. "It seems the party's grown bigger." Here, however, the amusement faltered, replaced by a chilling disappointment. "I was hoping for a bit more of a challenge from the Fingers' guard dogs.

You lot look more like frightened rabbits than the ruthless killers I expected."His words hung heavy in the air, laced with a quiet threat. Each man felt a primal urge to turn and flee, but their bravado, fuelled by braggadocio and cheap liquor, held them momentarily.

One man, a hulking brute with a scarred face, stepped forward, his bravado a shaky mask over his fear."Don't listen to him, boys!" he bellowed, his voice cracking. "This is just some demon. One of you, in the back, find a Finger! They'll deal with him!" His voice, once a rallying cry, now echoed with desperation.

Panic flickered in his eyes, a stark contrast to the false bravado he projected.David, unimpressed by the display, took a single step forward. It wasn't a long stride, but the ground seemed to vibrate beneath his foot, a physical manifestation of the suppressed power he held in check. He moved again, this time with an impossible speed that blurred his form for a fleeting moment.

Before the men could react, David was upon them. His fist, a blur of lethal intent, slammed into the scarred man's chest with a sickening crack.

The brute crumpled instantly, a choked gurgle escaping his lips as the dark aura that clung to David seemed to seep into him, extinguishing the life from his eyes.The remaining men recoiled in horror, a primal scream ripping from the throat of one as he stumbled back. David, a silent reaper in the moonlight, turned his gaze to them, his eyes burning with an unnatural intensity.

The chilling aura around him intensified, tendrils of darkness writhing and snapping at the edges. Fear, cold and raw, clawed at their minds, shattering any remaining pretence of defiance. They weren't facing a man anymore. This… this was something else, something monstrous.The first man broke, dropping his weapon with a clatter that echoed on the silent cobblestones.

His voice, when he finally found it, was a whimper. "P-please… we surrender!" The others, their bravado shattered, followed suit, weapons clanging to the ground as they knelt, whimpering pleas for mercy echoing in the night.David, however, remained silent, his gaze unwavering. These men were nothing but pawns, expendable tools in a larger game.

He needed information, answers to the questions that gnawed at him. These snivelling cowards, however terrified, might just have the key. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face, devoid of warmth, promising only pain should they disappoint."Let's play a little game, shall we?" His voice, though a mere whisper, sent shivers down their spines. "Tell me everything you know about the Fingers.

Their weaknesses, their plans… everything. And perhaps, just perhaps, you may live to see another dawn."