Chapter 15
1732words
I thought he would evade, would continue to fence with me using those philosophical, ambiguous language. But I was wrong. I severely underestimated the... patience of a cosmic-level, ancient will. Or rather, it had no such thing at all. My proactive provocation, in its view, was perhaps like an ant attempting to play chess with a deity—ridiculous, arrogant, yet also... interesting. It decided to stop pretending and directly flipped over the chessboard.
My strategy worked, in the worst possible way.
After I published my latest chapter titled "Chapter 23: Spirit of the Manor," the comments section fell into a prolonged, eerie silence for the first time. Readers seemed unable to comprehend this abrupt stylistic shift, as the protagonist was no longer the impossibly handsome non-human entangled in love and hatred, but rather the lonely, self-aware building itself. This chapter was filled with metaphysical ramblings, depicting how stones feel rain and wind, how thorns yearn to embrace, and how a vast consciousness waits in eternal solitude for its lost, only "nerve ending" that could resonate with it.
Not until late at night did that familiar ID finally appear. This time, he didn't write a lengthy dissertation, but only a brief response.
"[Visage]: An interesting attempt. You're beginning to try to understand 'me,' rather than merely recording my 'guests.' But your understanding still remains at the pathetic, anthropomorphic emotional level of humans. Loneliness? Yearning? No, my writer, those are not my feelings, they are yours. You are merely projecting your own insignificant emotions onto my greatness."
My heart sank. He admitted it. He admitted without hesitation that the "Manor Spirit" in my novel, the one with its own will, was himself.
With trembling hands, I typed my reply on the keyboard: "Then what exactly do you want? If you're not lonely, then what is driving you?"
Almost the instant I pressed the send button, a new reply refreshed on the screen, appearing at a speed no human could achieve.
"[Visage]: I do not need to 'want'. I am merely 'reclaiming'. This manor, every stone of it, every thorn, every grain of dust, is an extension of my will, a part of my body. And you, Nora Vince, your bloodline, your soul, from the moment it was created, was destined to be the 'vessel' that carries my will. This is not love, nor is it possession, this is merely an item, returning to its rightful place. Like rainwater returning to the earth, like stars returning to the night sky. Nothing more."
Vessel.
This cold and emotionless phrase, like a poisoned dagger, precisely pierced through all the psychological defenses I had rationally constructed. I always thought that this was at least a Gothic romantic contest, entangled with love and possession. Silas's dominance, Julian's melancholy, Finn's protection... though they were dangerous, they all regarded me as an independent being. Yet in the eyes of the ultimate BOSS, I wasn't even considered a "person"; I was merely a... cup. A finely crafted cup designed to hold his enormous will.
Fear, an unprecedented feeling of being thoroughly "objectified," seized my heart. I slammed my laptop shut, no longer daring to look at that comment. Like a drowning person, I gasped for the cold air in the study, trying to expel that word from my mind.
But the "Master" clearly had no intention of giving me this opportunity.
That night, I wrote until the late hours, trying to numb myself with frantic work. The study was quiet, with only the sound of my keyboard clicks echoing in the empty room. Silas stayed in his basement, Finn lurked in the shadows of the forest, neither of them knew about my fatal conversation with "Visage." This was a war that belonged to me alone.
Suddenly, the computer screen flickered once, then went black. Immediately after, all reflective surfaces in the study—the decorative mirror on the wall, the glass of the floor-to-ceiling window, the surface of the red tea in my cup, even the metal barrel of the pen in my hand—began to undergo bizarre changes.
Those smooth surfaces no longer reflected the scene of the study. Like monitors invaded by some force, they began to synchronously display the same image.
It was a face.
A male countenance so perfect that it defies description in any human language. He appears young, around twenty-five or twenty-six years old, possessing features as profound and three-dimensional as ancient Greek sculptures. His skin is as pale as the finest porcelain, yet radiates a strange, life-like luminescence as if glowing from within. His hair is pure black, like the night itself. What most captivates the gaze are his eyes. They are bottomless orbs, slowly swirling like nebulae, containing neither joy, nor sorrow, nor anger, nor love. What they hold is only an absolute, all-surveying, heart-stopping tranquil gaze that looks down upon all living beings.
I know who he is. He is the "Family Head," the "Eternal Observer." He has finally decided to no longer hide behind words and concepts, but has chosen to appear before me in a concrete form that I can comprehend. What he has selected is the face of the first Family Head, beautified to perfection, flawless in every way.
I froze in place, unable to move. I wasn't "looking" at him, but rather "being" looked at by him. Countless versions of him, from every reflective corner of the study, stared at me simultaneously, forming an inescapable cage constructed of gazes.
Then, a voice resonated directly in my mind. It wasn't heard through my ears, but like a memory forcibly implanted, echoing directly inside my skull, deep within my soul. The voice was calm and gentle, devoid of any emotional coloring, yet it filled me with more fear than any roar could.
"My vessel," the voice said, "the time for hide-and-seek is over. It's time... to return to the source."
At that moment, my sanity completely snapped. I let out a scream filled with extreme terror that even I had never heard from myself before, fell from the chair, and retreated on all fours until my back pressed against the cold wall, with nowhere left to go.
Just as I was about to be completely devoured by that boundless terror, the study door was violently flung open by an enormous force. Two black shadows, carrying distinctly different yet equally urgent and angry auras, burst in.
It was Silas and Finn. They had clearly also sensed this suddenly descended, overwhelmingly powerful will.
"Nora!" Finn let out a beast-like roar, his amber eyes instantly turning crimson red when he saw my condition, and he rushed toward me without a second thought.
"Stay away from her!" Silas moved even faster, like a black lightning bolt, instantly positioning himself between Finn and me.
But neither of them was able to get close to me.
When they were about three meters away from me, an invisible barrier, imperceptible to the naked eye, suddenly appeared like an indestructible glass wall. Both of them crashed heavily into that barrier with a muffled thud, then were thrown back by an enormous force.
"Damn it!" Silas's face showed an expression of mixed rage and fear for the first time, his pride as a top predator crushed to pieces in the face of this absolute power. He charged at the barrier again and again, using all his strength, but the barrier remained completely unmoved, without even a ripple appearing on it.
Finn paced frantically along the edge of the barrier like a beast trapped in a cage, emitting low growls of frustration and helplessness from his throat. He clawed wildly at the air with talons that could tear through steel, yet could only leave a series of harsh, ineffective scraping sounds against that invisible wall.
I curled up in the corner, watching this scene in despair. Watching these two incredibly powerful non-human beings, now as helpless as insects trapped in glass jars.
And those perfect faces in the mirrors continued to watch me with calm, unwavering gazes. Then, he seemed to decide that this farce had gone on long enough. The images in the mirror began to change, no longer showing his face, but a rapid succession of bizarre, dazzling visions.
I witnessed the birth of the manor. It wasn't a building, but a massive "node" composed of pure energy, like a beating heart connecting two fundamentally different dimensions. On one side was our material reality that follows the laws of physics; on the other, a realm of "non-reality" filled with chaotic energy and twisted laws that defied description.
This node was extremely unstable, constantly at risk of collapse or completely merging the two worlds, which would cause unimaginable catastrophe. Thus, the "Family Head"—the will of the node itself—created the Vince family bloodline. Our bloodline serves as a stabilizer, a bridge, and also a lock, using the life force of generation after generation to firmly anchor this dangerous convergence point in place.
Then, the scene turned to me. I saw countless visions of future "me"—I had completely merged with those stone walls and thorns, my eyes had become the windows of the manor, my breath had become the wind in the corridors. I no longer had independent thoughts or personal emotions; my joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness would all become tools for the "master" to perceive this world. I would gain eternity, at the cost of losing myself.
"This is not a request, nor a deal," that cold voice resonated in my mind one last time, like a final judgment, "This is your origin, and also your end. You were born here, and you shall return here. Welcome home, my... part."
The image in the mirror finally froze, no longer showing those visions, but reflecting my own face. A strange face, distorted by extreme fear, filled with tears and despair.
