William Stonefield had many children, and quite a few grandchildren. Although most of them were considered useless in Sir William's eyes, within their own ranks, there was a clear hierarchy.
Those valued, those ignored, those despised… those with power, wealth, fame, and those who did nothing but enjoy life…
Though it was never explicitly stated, the Stonefields subconsciously divided into different groups, maintaining clear distances from one another.
But these distinctions vanished into nothingness in the process of blood and flesh turning to mud.
The Werewolf Poppet grabbed an old woman like a chick, slashed with its claws—the head flew, the headless body casually tossed aside, landing perfectly on the balcony.
Blood streamed like a waterfall.
He was somewhat tired of the slaughter, but deep inside, there seemed to be a howling void that neither lying quietly in a Brooklyn underground station nor engaging in fierce battles could fill.
The unvented agitation made the werewolf even more ruthless, leaping between the chambers like the God of Death, each move claiming a life, staining the luxurious velvet curtains and Persian rugs with blood.
Chris snapped out of the shock of "even the Stonefield Clan could be someone else's gift" to find the Vampire had already abandoned him.
After a moment, he rushed to Sir William's wheelchair, knelt, and stared blankly at the row of buttons on its wheels.
He knew only a small portion of their functions, yet none could resolve the present dire situation.
Chris reached out to press a button, yet his fingers trembled for a long time, unable to muster the strength—
He feared accidentally deactivating the surrounding barrier and being torn to shreds by the vicious poppets.
Suddenly, a long scream came from the box overhead.
Chris couldn't help but look up, only to see one of his cousins crash down before him with eyes wide open, seemingly questioning him—
Why are they all dead, and Chris is still alive?
"Ahhh—"
Chris screamed, his voice tearing from his throat.
...
Upstairs, the Werewolf Poppet discarded a young man painfully awoken, noticing a middle-aged man still slumped on a single sofa, seemingly unconscious.
"Another piece of trash."
The Werewolf Poppet thought disdainfully, raising its claws to swipe at the man's neck—
"Clang!!!"
A clear metallic collision caused the air to tremble.
For the first time, his claws met resistance, halted inches from the middle-aged man's neck by a suddenly appearing, semi-transparent barrier! The impact even forced the Werewolf Poppet to step back.
He looked on in astonishment.
The man on the sofa had already opened his eyes, neither screaming in terror nor appearing horrified, but sighing slightly as if resigned and troubled.
He then subtly adjusted his posture for greater comfort, calmly lifting his gaze towards the fierce-looking Werewolf Poppet before him.
The Werewolf Poppet was stunned, furrowing its brow and asking in a deep voice: "Iron Armor Spell? Are you a Wizard?"
Inside the chamber, another young man had long been awakened by the noise but was too frightened to open his eyes, pretending to remain asleep, hoping these vicious beings would spare him.
Upon hearing the Werewolf Poppet's voice, he abruptly opened his eyes and, seeing the barrier in the air, scrambled to the middle-aged man's feet:
"Save me, Uncle John! I heard Wizards can Apparate, please take me with you to escape!"
The Werewolf Poppet flexed its claws, crouching slightly, ready to pounce the moment the Wizard Disapparated, to tear them both apart!
He knew that Apparition required a calm and composed state of mind, and only a few could successfully perform magic amid crisis!
But the "middle-aged man" did not escape immediately, sighing again as he lowered his gaze towards the young man calling him uncle, asking:
"Don't you know? There's an Anti-Disapparition Charm in this manor."
"Huh?"
The young man was stunned, only now realizing he'd bet on the wrong horse, the thigh he clung to was entirely unreliable.
He trembled all over as he looked at the Werewolf Poppet, who seemed to crawl out from a pit of blood, and passed out with a flip of his eyes.
Yet the Werewolf Poppet noticed "John's" calm demeanor, becoming more serious in expression.
"Looks like you're quite a tough character?"
He licked his lips, grinning wickedly: "How can this be hidden? If that old man had a trustworthy Wizard by his side, maybe he wouldn't have died."
"Of course, he wouldn't say." Another Werewolf climbed up from downstairs, saying mockingly: "If William Stonefield knew one of his descendants had magical blood, his first reaction would definitely be to question the person's lineage!"
"Even if they were his own child, with that guy's habits, he might conduct some kind of blood-swapping or organ-swapping experiment just to gain magic himself." A third poppet appeared, this time a Vampire.
The werewolf asked impatiently: "Why are you all coming up here?!"
The second werewolf said: "Looked like you were having trouble."
The Vampire said casually: "Few targets left downstairs, too lazy to fight with them, seemed more interesting here."
Half of his body had been blown apart by bullets, so he tore off his left arm, wielding it like a longsword.
"John" lifted his eyes, frowning:
"Since you're aware of your identity as a poppet, especially with self-awareness, once exposed, it could easily attract suspicion, fear, or even extermination—"
"You shouldn't have initiated this bloody slaughter."
He paused, his tone heavy:
"This approach is extremely unwise, why not wait a little longer?"
The chamber fell silent for a moment.
The Werewolf Poppet roared with rage, "Do I need your teaching?!"
He looked as if he was about to pounce and slash the other's throat, but despite being eager for action, his body didn't move even a step forward.
The second Werewolf Poppet bared its claws, saying coldly, "Let's kill everyone and set a fire, then no one will know our secret."
The Vampire swung the "Broken Arm Blade" with a sneer:
"Illari is dead. Now, there's probably only one person who can amend the core contract and regain control over us."
His red eyes locked fiercely on "John," baring his teeth ferociously:
"Don't think we don't know your plans, and don't think you can manipulate just anyone!"
Still disguised as "John," Vid: "..."
Feeling helpless and headache-stricken, he also felt a bit amused, somewhat touched.
Three poppets surrounded him, closing in slowly with raised claws, bared fangs, boiling with murderous intent!
Yet somehow, even without extra restraining forces, the three poppets couldn't bring themselves to act decisively!
"Damn it, he must have cast a Confundus Charm on us!" the Werewolf roared, "Don't think you can control us—attack!"
He yelled as he unconsciously stepped back half a step.
Just then, a shadow shot into the box like a ghost!
It was the Vampire Puppet who was chatting with Chris earlier.
His pale face was still smeared with uncleaned blood, and as his arms moved like whips, they suddenly stopped when he saw the man's eyes opposite him.
The Vampire Puppet's movements froze.
His gaze flickered as he asked in astonishment and uncertainty, "You... is it you?"
After another look, he suddenly became certain, "It's really you!"
"John" smiled faintly and asked, "How did you recognize me?"
"Of course I won't forget," the Vampire said slowly, "What I saw when I opened my eyes for the first time."
No matter how appearances change, the expression in those eyes seems to have never changed.
Seeing the Vampire about to lower his attack, the Werewolf Poppet hurriedly warned, "Fool, don't be deceived! Let's go! Tear this bastard—"
His words abruptly stopped.
Because the Vampire Puppet suddenly turned around, whipping his arm with thunderous force, slapping the Werewolf Poppet hard in the face!
"Boom!!!"
The tremendous force lifted the entire body of the Werewolf Poppet off the ground, crashing through the glass wall on the other side of the box, tumbling down to the first floor hall, shattering a table into pieces.
The Werewolf Poppet struggled to get up, his head uncontrollably tilted to one side, glaring angrily yet puzzled, looking up at the floor above.
Inside the box, the Vampire Puppet withdrew his arm, not even glancing at the astonished other two poppets beside him, but instead turned around, stepped forward, and slowly knelt on one knee.
He reached out, carefully placing a hand on the sofa armrest, and softly said, "Master, I finally see you again."
In an instant, the air seemed to quiet.
The second Werewolf and the Vampire exchanged glances, then whispered, "You can't be mistaken, can you? This isn't..."
Before they finished, they saw Vid's appearance suddenly change like flowing water—
John Stonefield's caustic, middle-aged face twitched a few times; in seconds, it transformed into a young, pale face with black hair and gray eyes. The stature barely changed much, but the build was clearly much leaner.
The Polyjuice Potion happened to lose its effect at this moment.
Vid looked at the poppets, smiled, then flipped his wrist, and suddenly waved downwards—
Silently, around Vid, a faint silvery ripple boomed out!
Light flowed from his palm!
Warm, clear, it trembled as if alive, like breathing.
In this dark and bloody venue, daylight bloomed once again!
Brilliant streams of light suddenly transformed into countless large and small birds and beasts, seemingly weightless, treading on air as they flew and galloped, grandly surging towards all the poppets.
In the silent impact, these Light Beasts disappeared the moment they crashed into the poppets' bodies, like water merging into a river.
The Werewolf Poppet stared wide-eyed as a swift flew towards him. Just as he was about to turn and flee, the Light Beast caught up and collided into his chest.
He trembled violently all over!
It wasn't painful; it seemed as though all the hollowness, agitation, and chaos within him were being washed by a cool spring, quickly settling, turning into a solid sense of peace.
He suddenly "understood":
The murderous intent within him stemmed from the fear of uncertainty about his existence; that ferocity originated from the anger at being treated as a tool by humans; that destructive desire came from a yearning to resist the fate of "being used and discarded."
As they stood by command, day after day in the underground station; as they were brought on stage to be displayed, prepared to become vessels for those filthy, greedy souls, the anger constantly swelled.
But now, that light told him: Your existence is meaningful, your anger will be heard, your fate needn't be written by others.
All the suppressed negative emotions, inexpressible in his heart, were being soothed by the warm Light Flow.
Even those guest substitute poppets relaxed, their beast-like or masked twisted faces faded away, becoming more genuinely peaceful, as if their chaotic minds were, for the first time, being combed by a clear, self-aware cognition.
After a while, all the poppets unconsciously gathered below the box, looking up at the boy standing by the railing.
Like a pilgrimage.