Igor stepped inside the director's bedroom, and the door screeched open. Harry Lennox sat rigid in a worn leather chair by the window, the city's pale lights casting long shadows across his tired face. He didn't look up at first, fingers steepled in thought. His insomnia gnawed at him.
"You." Harry said, voice low but steady.
Igor spoke with a sharp voice, his eyes locked on the man who had controlled so much of their lives. "Why did you let them take her? Mara was your wife. Your family. Why did you let the White Angels kidnap her?"
Harry's hands tightened, knuckles white, as he said, "I didn't let them. I negotiated. You think I wanted this? I made a deal to save her life. I made a deal to save her son."
Igor's fists clenched. "And you? You sold out everyone else to keep them alive. You bent the knee, helped them hunt your kind."
Harry's gaze finally met Igor's, a flicker of pain beneath the resolve. " Years ago, Mara was pregnant with a child that wasn't mine, the child of Kael, an Alucard, the White Angels marked for death. They wanted to erase that bloodline."
"Kael?" Igor's voice was a growl, confusion and fury tangled.
Harry nodded slowly. "A servant. A rebel. Mara loved him and got pregnant. And because of that, she became a target too."
The room felt smaller, the weight of secrets pressing in on them both.
"I thought if I played their game, I could protect them all. But I was wrong."
Igor's voice dropped, sharp and accusing. "You tried to protect them by erasing their memories, controlling their minds."
Harry swallowed hard. "Yes. I wiped the pain, the dangerous truths. I thought if they didn't remember, they'd be safe. Safer than I ever was."
"Then why did you let Maisie become one of them? The White Angels. Why?"
Harry's gaze flickered, haunted. "I had no choice. They came for her when she was a young child. Threatening her life, twisting her loyalty. If I fought back openly, they would have taken everything, her, Dash, Leo..."
He sighed, voice low. "I promised to keep her alive, no matter the cost. That meant giving her a role in their world, playing the part they demanded."
Igor's eyes burned with disbelief. "You gave her up."
"No." Harry's voice cracked. "I tried to protect her within their system. It was a cage, yes, but better than losing her forever."
They felt the bitter truth hanging between them like thick smoke.
Igor stepped closer, fury simmering beneath his skin. "And what did it get you? Mara's gone, Maisie trapped, your boys hate you, and you still lost everything."
Harry looked away, defeated. "I thought I could control the chaos, but it swallowed me whole."
A bitter laugh escaped Igor's lips. "Peace? There is no peace with monsters."
Harry met Igor's gaze again, weary but steady. "I'm sorry. I did what I thought was right."
The only sound was the distant hum of the nearby city, the weight of their shared history pressing heavily in the room.
Harry's eyes darkened as he leaned forward in his chair, weighed down by years of regret and bitterness. "Maybe I hated Alucards more than I cared to admit," he muttered, voice heavy. "Not because they were slaves or tools, but because they were reminders of everything I failed to protect. They were the chaos tearing my family apart, the threats I couldn't stop. My fear turned to anger."
He swallowed hard, voice dropping to a bitter whisper. "And because Mara… she was the true heir of the Lennox mansion. Not me. I was just a rich beneficiary, given control of Lennox Corp, the business side. But the house? The legacy? That was hers. And she loved the Alucards more than she ever loved me. She carried the Lennox bloodline. It wasn't just loyalty, it was something more profound. Something I could never compete with."
Igor's rage flared. "You hated us because you were scared. Because you were jealous."
Harry sneered, voice sharp. "Maybe. But don't pretend you're innocent. You're just a weapon. Subject Number Eight, nothing more."
The name, Number Eight, went into Igor's mind like acid. A surge of rage, unlike anything before, surged through him. The man who claimed to protect his family spat venom that erased his humanity.
Something inside Igor snapped; the carefully held control shattered. His primal side, long suppressed beneath layers of obedience and pain, roared to life. The bloodlust simmering beneath his skin surged like wildfire.
Without hesitation, without mercy, Igor lunged forward. His hands gripped Harry's chest, ripping through flesh and bone with savage strength. Fingers closed around the pounding heart, wrenching it free in a final, brutal, gruesome act.
Harry's eyes widened in shock and pain, a silent scream caught in his throat as life drained from his body. Igor's once pristine white gloves now dripped thick, dark blood.
Igor stood over the lifeless form, blood dripping from his hands, voice low and fierce. "I'm not your failure. I'm not your weapon. And I'm not the only monster here."
The room fell into chilling silence, the finality of his act echoing louder than any words.
Lennox Estate – 2:47 AM
The blood was already starting to cool on his hands.
Igor stood still for a long moment, staring down at the collapsed form of Harry Lennox, slumped sideways in the velvet armchair, chest torn open like a gutted animal. The heart lay discarded nearby; he hadn't realized he'd dropped it.
He hadn't even realized he was breathing so hard.
He felt the air, thick and metallic, and the smell of blood clung to his throat like smoke.
His rage had passed, but the tremor in his limbs hadn't. The worst part was how natural it had felt. Not thrilling. Not justifiable. Just… inevitable.
And now there was a dead body.
He moved quickly, not out of panic, but out of grim, mechanical purpose. The servant halls were narrow and old, hidden behind oak panels, built to keep things like him out of sight. He knew them better than anyone.
Igor dragged Harry's body by his arms, his pristine white gloves now soaked to the wrist. Igor's sleeves were slick with blood, glinting faintly in the dim hallway lights. The thud of flesh against polished stone echoed in the silence, but no one came. The house was too big, too asleep, or too afraid to listen.
He found a hatch in the far hall, an old maintenance chute sealed off decades ago when the estate had been modernized. He had found it during a cleaning rotation last year.
He pried open the box with both hands. Rust snapped and groaned.
A forgotten furnace dropped into a disused incinerator chamber in the estate's lowest level. The ashes still smelled of carbon and char, even though it hadn't been used in years.
He turned on the furnace, and the fire started up, sounding blaring. An old gasline must have still been on, and the ignitor worked somehow.
Igor didn't pray. He didn't pause.
He dropped the body in.
It fell with a sickening, soft thump into the dark. Then the sound of something large burning.
He stared down after it for a long moment, then wiped his hands clean on what dry areas remained of his shirt, now soaked through.
He sealed the hatch, pushing the rusted grate back into place and dragging a discarded painting in front of it, one of Mara's old commissions, long forgotten and dusty with neglect.
He stood again, and his reflection caught in the hallway mirror.
Eyes bloodshot. Jaw tight. A smear of red was still beneath one cheek.
He didn't look like a servant anymore.
He didn't look like a man, either.
He looked like something else entirely.
Something awakened.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, low and bitter, a thought echoed:
This house was never his home.
But it would remember him now.