My Lust System: I Inherited The Sin Of Lust And His Three Wives

Chapter 322: Judge Hill’s Haunted Mansion

With Victor Hale’s case moved to the next year and no demon stupid enough to attack Damian, the rest of December was free and peaceful.

With nothing to do he could only spend it with his family. While it was mostly boring, Damian had grown use to boring. During this time he just watched his wives and his concubine fight openly. It reminded him of how they fought with Rin but now Rah was their new opponent.

At this point, he was already certain he would never live a peaceful life. So he just decided to get use to it.

The final night of December settled over the mountains outside Chicago beneath a sky without stars. Snow had fallen earlier in the evening, leaving the narrow road pale and empty beneath the headlights of a black van as it climbed toward Damian’s estate.

Far below, the city was alive with distant traffic, music, and people preparing to celebrate the new year, but up in the mountains there was only darkness, frozen trees, and the slow groan of wind moving through the forest.

The van stopped at the edge of the property.

Four men stepped out, their boots sinking into the snow as they looked toward the mansion beyond the iron gates.

Their instructions were simple. Damian had to die before the new year.

The mansion stood in complete darkness. Its tall windows reflected the moonlight, but no lamps burned inside. The driveway was empty. No guards stood at the gate. No dogs barked from the property. The estate looked less like the home of a powerful man and more like a mansion abandoned years ago, left to rot quietly in the mountains.

The leader of the group studied the building with a hard expression. "We go in, confirm the target, finish it, and leave. Do not touch anything you do not need to touch. Do not split up."

The gate slowly opened but nobody had touched it.

The men looked at one another, but the leader forced himself to move first.

"Wind pressure, keep moving." he muttered, though the air had become completely still.

They crossed the driveway with their hands close to their weapons. The closer they came to the mansion, the more the silence pressed down on them. Their footsteps sank into the snow without making a sound. Their breathing sounded muted beneath their masks. Even the trees had stopped moving.

The front door stood open and a thin line of darkness waited beyond it.

The leader drew his pistol and pushed the door wider. The hinges groaned loudly, revealing a large entrance hall with marble floors, a curved staircase, and expensive furniture hidden beneath white sheets. The mansion looked untouched, but it felt wrong. The air inside was colder than the snow outside. The walls were too dark. The shadows beneath the staircase looked too deep.

They entered one after another and the door shut behind them. The sound of the lock sliding into place echoed through the mansion.

One of the assassins turned immediately and reached for the handle. It would not move. He pulled harder, then struck it with his shoulder, but the door remained perfectly still.

"Locked," he whispered.

The leader stared at it for a moment before turning away. "There will be another exit. We find Damian first."

They moved through the entrance hall, their guns raised as they checked every room. The dining room was empty. The kitchen was empty. The living room was empty. Yet the deeper they went, the more the mansion seemed to change around them. Hallways stretched farther than they should have. Doors appeared where there had been blank walls. A portrait that had faced the staircase when they entered now faced the hallway, its painted eyes staring directly at them.

One of the men stopped walking.

"What?" the leader asked.

The assassin pointed toward the portrait with a trembling hand. "That was not looking at us before."

Nobody answered.

A sound suddenly came from the upper floor. It was slow and heavy, like something dragging across wood.

The men raised their pistols toward the ceiling and the sound stopped directly above them.

The chandelier flickered once and then every light in the mansion went out.

For several seconds, nobody moved. The darkness was complete. One of the men switched on his flashlight, but the beam flickered violently before dying in his hand. Another tried his phone. The screen flashed once, then turned black.

A deep breath rolled through the hallway. It came from behind them.

The assassins turned around with their guns raised, but the entrance hall was empty. The staircase was empty. The front door was gone. In its place stood a long black hallway stretching into darkness.

At the end of that hallway, a single door had opened.

Moonlight spilled from inside.

The leader’s face had gone pale beneath his mask, but he tightened his grip around his pistol. "That is where he is."

Nobody wanted to move.

Still, they followed.

The room beyond the door was a large study with glass walls overlooking the mountains. Snow drifted slowly outside, covering the trees in white. A fireplace burned at the far end of the room, but its flames gave off no warmth. The air was so cold that the assassins could see their breath.

Standing before the glass wall was Damian.

His back faced them.

At first, they thought he was simply a large man standing close to the window. Then he shifted slightly, and the moonlight revealed the truth. His shoulders were higher than the top of the window frame. His head nearly touched the ceiling. He stood at least twelve feet tall, broad and still, his long black hair falling down his back while his massive silhouette blocked out the snow-covered mountains beyond the glass.

The assassins stopped at the doorway.

The leader raised his gun. "Judge Hill?"

Damian did not respond. He continued staring out into the darkness.

The leader glanced at the others, then lowered his voice. "Shoot."

Gunfire filled the room.

The assassins emptied their weapons into Damian’s back. Bullets struck his shoulders, spine, neck, and head, but every round bounced off his body and fell harmlessly to the marble floor.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

The gunfire stopped.

The men stared at the bullets scattered around Damian’s feet.

Then he slowly turned around.

His face was calm. His eyes were dark. A small smile spread across his lips as he looked down at the men who had entered his home believing they were hunting a human being.

"It is nasty of you people to try and take me out on the thirty first night," Damian said softly. His voice was low, but it filled the room until it felt as though it was speaking directly inside their heads. "Knowing Victor Hale’s case is around the corner. It’s not completely unreasonable."

The leader took a step back and one of the assassins dropped his gun.

Damian took one slow step toward them and the marble floor cracked beneath his foot.

The man closest to the door turned and tried to run, but the doorway slammed shut before he reached it. He struck the wood with both hands and screamed for someone to open it, but the mansion remained silent.

Damian smiled wider.

Outside, the snow continued to fall across the mountains.

Then the screaming began.

It rose from the mansion and carried through the frozen forest, echoing between the cliffs and trees like the sound of something terrible feeding in the dark. The screams continued long after the city below began celebrating the new year. They rose, broke apart, and returned again, until the mountains swallowed them completely.

By morning, the mansion stood quiet beneath the snow. The gates were closed and the driveway was empty.

The black van remained outside the property, its engine cold and its doors open. But the four men who had entered Damian’s home were never seen again.