Chapter 17
1876words
"When you cannot win a game, don't choose the pieces, learn to rewrite the rules."
This sentence echoed repeatedly in my mind, each word striking my nearly collapsing nerves. Silas's immortality, Finn's freedom, Julian's sacrifice... these were all choices, pieces on the chessboard laid by the family head, each seemingly full of hope yet with predetermined paths of movement. I had been contemplating which piece to pick up, but never considered that I might not need to be a chess player at all, because my innate identity was that of the "author" who establishes the rules of the game.
I am a writer. I build worlds with words, define characters' fates through narration, and manipulate readers' emotions with plot developments. In my stories, I am God. So why, in this mansion defined as a "story" by some ancient will, must I, as the heir of the Vance family bloodline, play only the role of someone who passively accepts their fate?
An unprecedented realization, mixed with fear and wild joy, swept over me. I no longer trembled, no longer felt powerless. Instead, there was a cold, almost cruel focus. I jumped to my feet and strode to the desk, spreading out the half-finished manuscript of my supernatural novel. This was originally my artistic interpretation of my experiences at the mansion, but now, it would become my weapon, my battlefield.
I didn't choose to become a vampire, didn't choose to flee, and certainly didn't choose to accept anyone's sacrifice. I will write a fourth ending, an ending of my own. A completely new option that doesn't even exist on this chessboard—one I must create myself.
I picked up my pen, took a deep breath, with the pen tip hovering over the fresh page. What I'm about to write is no longer about how Nora Vince escapes, but how Nora Vince coexists with this manor, how she establishes a new order with those non-human entities, a balanced order that the master of the house never imagined. In this story, the "vessel" will no longer be a vessel, but will become a "symbiote" equal to the will of the manor.
However, just as my pen was about to touch the paper, the entire manor violently trembled.
"No—"
A thunderous, rage-filled will directly pierced through my skull, no longer the previous whispers filled with mockery and arrogance, but a pure, enraged roar. The master of the house had detected my intention. He sensed it, that in his eyes insignificant and lowly "vessel," was attempting to usurp his right to write "the story."
"You cannot change your essence, my vessel!" that voice exploded in every corner of the mansion, from beneath the floor, from the ceiling, from the cracks in the walls, "Resistance will only make the fusion process more painful!"
Then, terror descended.
The walls of the study began to "sweat," with droplets of dark red, blood-like viscous liquid seeping through the elegant floral wallpaper. They converged into streams, meandering down the walls, emitting a strong scent of iron rust. In the large floor mirror before me, what reflected back was no longer my face, but faces contorting in extreme agony, wailing, and ultimately melting away. The structure of the stairwell began to twist and extend in a way that defied physics, with handrails transforming into writhing thorns, and steps leading to nonexistent doors suspended in mid-air.
The entire manor, under the master's furious will, had transformed into a living, maddening hell.
"Nora!"
The study door was smashed open by a tremendous force. Silas and Finn rushed in one after another, their faces bearing unprecedented gravity.
"He's gone mad!" Finn growled, his amber eyes vigilantly scanning the constantly shifting room around them. His muscles were tense, adopting a stance ready for combat at any moment.
Silas stepped forward in front of me, his crimson eyes staring directly into the void, emanating a cold yet powerful aura. "He's attacking your mind, trying to destroy your will. Don't be afraid, focus your consciousness, Nora, don't look, don't listen!"
Before his words were finished, an invisible mental shock came rushing toward me. I felt as if my brain was struck by a heavy hammer, with stars flashing before my eyes. But that shock wave was blocked by the dark aura emanating from Silas's body before it could reach me. I could see the shadows beneath his feet seemingly come alive, transforming into countless twisted tendrils that tore at the invisible mental claws extending from the walls. The ancient and gloomy power of the vampire clan had now become my most solid mental barrier.
"Outside!" Finn let out a roar as he suddenly turned and rushed to the window. He saw the forest outside the manor "retreating" - the trees that were supposed to protect the estate were now being uprooted like frightened animals, fleeing toward the distance, revealing the nothingness, the chaotic darkness beyond the manor. And the physical boundary of the manor, those walls formed by thorns, were contracting inch by inch inward, as if intending to completely crush the entire building.
Finn's eyes turned crimson red as he threw his head back and let out an ear-splitting wolf howl. His bones cracked with loud pops, his muscles bulged, and his body instantly expanded in size. A wild and primal life force erupted from within him as he used his flesh and blood to forcibly hold back the contracting physical boundary formed by the manor's will. Green natural energy spread from beneath his feet, fiercely opposing the master's decaying power.
In this moment of chaos, Julian's voice sounded in my ear, clear and urgent.
"The library, Nora! Get to the library! It's the 'heart' of the manor and the convergence point of history! There, the interference of will is relatively weakened—this is your only chance!" His voice came from all directions, as if integrated with the very structure of the space. As the "memory" of the manor, he understood its vulnerabilities better than anyone.
"Run!" Silas grabbed my wrist, his palm cold as iron yet exceptionally firm. We followed behind Finn, rushing out of the disintegrating study. The corridor had transformed into a twisted labyrinth, but Julian's voice continuously guided our direction.
"Left! Jump over that crack! Don't look at the mirrors!"
We finally burst into the library. The situation was slightly better here, but books from the shelves were flying out as if alive, pages wildly swirling in the air, forming the images of screaming wraiths.
"We'll hold this position!" Finn blocked the doorway, using his power to construct a temporary natural barrier that kept most physical attacks outside. Silas stood in the center of the library, his mental power spreading outward like an enormous net, filtering the master's malicious curses and psychic assaults.
"Write, Nora!" Julian's voice echoed around me, "Use your will, use your identity as an 'author' to fight against him! Tell this manor that its story isn't over yet!"
I was protected in the center by the three of them in an unbreakable formation. Vampire, werewolf, ghost—these three beings who originally despised each other and even fought over one another had now set aside all prejudices and were using their respective strongest powers to create an absolutely safe space for me—a tiny human—in the eye of the storm.
I looked at them, my eyes burning with emotion, but this was no time for sentimentality. I slammed Elizabeth's diary and my own manuscript down hard on the massive reading table in the center. I had no time to hesitate; every moment of my indecision was draining their power.
I picked up the pen and this time, I had no more hesitation. My will had never been so focused. I could feel my thoughts connecting with the essence of this manor at some deep level through the tip of my pen.
I begin to write.
What I write is no longer simple text, but a kind of "declaration." I declare that Nora Vince's relationship with Thornhill Manor is not that of a "container" and an "item," but of "symbionts." I declare that Silas Delacour is no longer a prisoner, but the "guardian" of the manor. I declare that Finn Grimm is no longer an outsider, but the "balancer" connecting the manor with the outside natural world. I declare that Julian Evergreen is no longer a bound ghost, but the "chronicler" of the manor's history.
With each line I write, I can feel the master's will fiercely striking back. Cracks begin to appear in the library's dome, and whirlpools like abysses emerge from the floor beneath my feet. Silas's face grows increasingly pale, and Finn's breathing becomes heavier.
My power is still too weak. I am only human, and my "narrative" against a cosmic-level entity is like a firefly challenging the bright moon. My story simply cannot shake the "script" he has already written.
Reality began to collapse, with one corner of the reading desk starting to turn to sand and dissipate. Just as I felt despair about to engulf me again, my fingertips inadvertently touched the last page of Elizabeth's diary, that line of maxim written in fresh blood.
In that moment, a strange connection was established. My bloodline, the Vince family bloodline, resonated with the bloodstains left by Elizabeth. On the cover of the diary, a complex emblem composed of thorns and a quill pen, which I had never noticed before, suddenly emitted a faint glow.
A completely new thought, one that didn't belong to me yet was incredibly clear, emerged in my mind. This was the true secret left by Elizabeth.
"Creator Authority."
It is not an object, nor a spell, but a "state." A kind of permission hidden in the deepest structure of the manor that can alter the core rules. It has always been here, waiting for an heir who also possesses the Vince bloodline and truly understands the essence of the "story" to activate it. Silas and his group wanted to use their power to "break" the rules, while Elizabeth and I chose to "rewrite" them.
I understood. I immediately dipped my pen tip in ink, imitating the pattern of that emblem, and drew the symbol composed of thorns and a quill on the first page of my manuscript.
The moment I completed the final stroke, the entire library shook violently. A will far older and more neutral than the master's power awakened from deep beneath the ground. The pen in my hand was no longer an ordinary pen; its tip emitted a soft yet firm white light that illuminated the entire library.
The crumbling floor beneath my feet stopped turning to sand, and the cracks in the dome were smoothed over by light. Those wildly flying book pages also quietly floated back to their original positions. For the first time, the master's angry roars were blocked out by this power.
I raised my head, facing the light at the pen's tip, looking at the blank page before me. I saw the texture of reality, for the first time before me, becoming like lines of text that could be edited.
