PFC Chapter 276: What in God’s Name Happened to This Family?!
Chapter 276: What in God’s Name Happened to This Family?!
While the Guild roared with misplaced triumph, a different scene was unfolding in one of Prometha’s more affluent districts. A luxurious, extravagant kalesa creaked to a halt in front of a sprawling, high-walled estate. The horses were purebreds, their coats shimmering even in the afternoon.
A servant hurried to open the door, and out stepped a midget-sized old man. He had a stout frame and a remarkably large, bulbous nose that twitched as he inhaled the afternoon air. Despite his small stature, he carried himself with the air of someone who owned the very ground he walked on.
A beautiful, striking woman with a sharp gaze and an elegant silhouette stepped out behind him, gracefully extending a hand to help the elderly man steady himself on the cobblestones.
"Hmph," the old man grunted, adjusting his fine velvet coat. "It’s been a full week since I’ve laid eyes on my favorite granddaughters. Tell me, where are they? What are they doing that keeps them from visiting their grandfather?"
The beautiful woman leaned in, her expression polished but guarded. She offered a small, reassuring smile as she adjusted the shawl over her shoulders.
"Perhaps they are simply trying to keep you in suspense, sir. Your birthday is only a few days away, after all. You know Holly is a gifted singer; she is likely sequestered away practicing a performance that will leave you speechless."
The old man’s grumpy expression softened slightly, a glint of pride appearing in his eyes.
"Bah! Well, that may be the case. After all, it’s not just me who will be listening. Every influential man in the city, along with their grandsons, is invited to my gala. She needs to be at her best if she’s going to catch the eye of a proper suitor."
The woman let out a light, melodic laugh.
"She certainly does need to catch a rich boy. She’s reaching her puberty, after all—it’s high time she starts thinking about the future of this lineage."
"Exactly," the old man muttered, leaning on his cane.
"Beauty fades, but a strategic marriage—"
The old man trailed off, his grip tightening on his cane as his mind shifted gears. He hadn’t just come here to dote on his granddaughters. No, he was here to deal with that idiot son in law of his. The man was a failure in his eyes, barely managing a specialized slime-component store that had been mysteriously shuttered for an entire week.
"That useless man," he muttered coldly. "Seven days with the shop shut down. Seems he’s forgotten exactly who keeps his miserable life standing... and why disappointing me should terrify him."
He had prepared a harsh lecture for the younger man, a reminder that the family’s prestige was not an excuse for laziness.
But as they neared the entrance, the words caught in his throat.
Both of them froze on the cobblestone path. The large wrought-iron gate, which was always kept locked by the household, stood slightly open. A thin dark gap could be seen between the heavy doors as they gently swayed in the afternoon breeze.
"The gate..." the old man whispered, his face turning pale. "Why is it open?"
The two stepped through the gap as the heavy iron gate groaned on its hinges. The moment they entered the courtyard, a disturbing sight greeted them. The once well-kept gardens, normally the pride of the estate, were now in terrible condition.
Wild grass had grown thick across the stone paths, showing that no gardener had cared for the grounds in days, maybe even weeks. Worse still were the flower beds. The once colorful flowers had withered away, their petals blackened and dry.
"Paloma... She loves her flowers. She treats them like her own children. Why are they all withered? Why hasn’t she tended to them?"
The beautiful woman’s eyes sharpened. She didn’t look at the plants; she looked at the silent house ahead. She stepped in front of the old man, her hand hovering near the concealed weapon in her skirts.
"Stay back, sir. Something feels wrong here. The air is heavy. Let me check inside first for your safety. If there’s an intruder... or something worse..."
"Move aside! My safety? Do you think I care about that right now? My granddaughters are in that house! If that idiot son-in-law has let something happen to them or if he’s let my investment in that store go to ruin—I’ll have his head!"
He stomped toward the front door, his anger barely masking the raw terror in his eyes. He didn’t care about the silent halls or the ominous atmosphere; the thought of his granddaughters and the legacy of his business being in jeopardy gave him a reckless, desperate strength.
"Holly! Paloma! Open this door at once!"
The old man didn’t even have to turn the knob. As he pressed his cane against the door, it swung inward with a sickeningly smooth glide, as if it had been waiting for him.
"What...?"
The woman immediately stepped in front of him, her body tense and ready to strike. As the door opened fully, the fading afternoon light failed to penetrate the interior. The house was unnervingly dim, swallowed by a premature twilight.
As their eyes adjusted, a horrific scene revealed itself in the dining hall.
The entire family was there, gathered around the grand mahogany table as if for a feast. Paloma, the father, and the children sat perfectly upright in their chairs. But there was no joy in this reunion.
They had been broken by the lingering echoes of Maddy’s dark magic. For a week, the house had been haunted by flickering, ghostly images of Hoppy, driving them into a waking nightmare. Now, they sat with their chins tilted toward the ceiling, staring into the darkness with eyes stretched wide in frozen terror.
Their skin was waxy and gray, their lips bone-dry, and their eyes sunken deep into their sockets. They were hollow shells of people, their minds completely shattered.
The food on the table had long gone rotten, filling the room with a foul smell. Insects crawled across the spoiled dishes and over the family’s unmoving hands, yet none of them reacted.
The woman’s hand trembled. "Gods above..." she whispered.