Chapter 11 - The Trap is Sprung
Before Victoria could process his words, Arthur snapped his fingers. The glass windows surrounding the penthouse dropped heavy, runic-carved steel shutters, sealing the ballroom completely. The wealthy guests didn't panic; instead, they stood frozen, their eyes turning a uniform, empty black. They were mere puppets, mind-controlled extensions of Arthur’s shadow trust.
From behind the velvet curtains emerged a dozen mercenaries armed not with guns, but with high-frequency disruption rifles designed to shatter supernatural constructs. They aimed their weapons directly at Victoria and Elena.
"You see, Victoria," Arthur said, stepping down from his dais with a triumphant smirk. "For three centuries, I studied the Manor’s architecture. The dark entities that created the Register only care about one thing: energy yield. I showed them that a modern corporate hedge fund could harvest ten times more souls per century than a dusty old house in the countryside."
He gestured to Elena, who shrank back against Victoria. "And my lovely daughter here? She was never my heir. She was my lightning rod. I needed her to bring you and your silver stylus directly to me. Because to transfer the ownership of the Register to my corporate charter, I need the Actuary's physical signature."
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One of the mercenaries lunged, grabbing Elena by the throat and pressing a glowing, runic blade to her collarbone.
"Sign over the Manor, Victoria," Arthur commanded, tossing a sleek electronic tablet onto a cocktail table between them. "Or watch your only ally vanish into nothingness."
