Chapter 608: The Truth Of The Terror Face Murderers
“And that’s how the Terror Face Murders began.”
Marcus resumed his pacing, his voice taking on the tone of a lecturer explaining a particularly interesting phenomenon.
“You see, even in the Devil’s Playground, there are limits.” He tapped his temple lightly. “A human consciousness can only endure so much. Push it too far—inflict too much pain, too much terror, too much reality-breaking horror—and it shatters.”
“The victim dies. Not just in here, but out there. Their body simply…stops. Their face freezes in whatever expression they were wearing at the moment of death. Usually terror. Hence the name.”
He chuckled at his own dark humor.
“At first, I was careful. I made sure my victims’ deaths looked natural. Heart attacks. Aneurysms. The kind of things that happen to people all the time.”
“No one suspected anything. No one connected the dots.”
He spoke almost nostalgically, as though reminiscing about the early days of a beloved hobby before frowning.
“But after a while, carefulness became boring. I wanted the world to know what I was doing. Not to know it was me, of course—that would ruin the game.”
His fingers slowly closed into a fist, as though crushing an invisible flame in his palm.
“But I wanted them to know that someone was out there. Someone who could reach into their minds and snuff out their consciousness like a candle flame.”
“So I started leaving my signature. The Terror Face. Every victim, when they died, wore the same expression of absolute, soul-shattering horror.”
“I made sure of it. It was my calling card. My message to the world: I am here. I am doing this. And you will never catch me.”
Marcus turned back toward Charlotte, his smile almost proud, as though describing a masterpiece he had spent years perfecting.
“The public panicked. The media sensationalized. The authorities scrambled to form task forces and investigative mittees.”
“And through it all, I watched.”
“I followed the news coverage with the same enthusiasm a child might follow his favorite television program.”
“They were all so confused. So frightened. So utterly incapable of understanding what was happening.”
Charlotte felt sick. She had heard of evil before—had been taught about the monsters that lurked in the shadows of the world.
But this was different.
This wasn’t a monster driven by desperation or madness or some tragic backstory. This was a man who had chosen evil not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Because it was fun.
“And then—” Marcus’s grin widened until it threatened to split his face. “—they asked me to lead the investigation.”
He burst out laughing. The sound was wild and unhinged, echoing through the library like the cackling of a madman.
“Can you imagine!? The very person responsible for the murders, put in charge of solving them! It was too perfect. Too delicious!”
“I almost couldn’t contain myself at the press conference. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the cameras.”
He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye as he explained,
“I already have a plan, you know.”
“In a few weeks, I’ll find some poor fool to pin the blame on. Someone with no connections, no alibi, no way to defend themselves!”
“I’ll manufacture evidence. I’ll falsify testimony. I’ll make the world believe that this pathetic scapegoat is the monster they’ve been hunting.”
“And when he’s executed, I’ll be praised as the hero who solved the unsolvable case!”
“My reputation will soar even higher!”
“My legend will grow even brighter!”
“And no one will ever know the truth!”
He spread his arms wide, as if inviting applause.
“Two identities. Two faces. The Hero and the Villain, existing in the same body!”
“The world adores Marcus Williams, the Lightning Deity, champion of justice. And all the while, the real Marcus Williams laughs at their stupidity. The thrill of that duality is more intoxicating than any drug. More satisfying than any kill!”
“And the best part?” He leaned forward, his golden eyes gleaming. “Most of my victims are my own fans! People who adore me! People who have posters of my face on their walls!”
He shivered with pleasure.
“There’s something exquisite about torturing someone while they beg you to save them, while they tell you that their hero Marcus Williams will definitely e to their rescue, while they have no idea that the man causing their suffering is the very same hero they’re praying to.”
“The irony is…delicious.”
Charlotte felt tears streaming down her face. She hadn’t even realized she was crying.
“All those people in the cells.” She whispered. “All those children. They’re your fans? They admired you?”
“Every single one.” Marcus’s smile didn’t waver. “I select them carefully. I choose the ones who love me the most. The ones who write me letters. The ones who camp outside my public appearances.”
He sighed happily. “Their devotion makes their screams so much sweeter.”
“You’re insane!”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged.
—
His expression softened as he looked at Charlotte, and somehow that softness was more terrifying than his mania.
“But even that was starting to get boring.” He admitted. “The same routine, over and over. Snatch a victim. Torment them. Watch them break. Move on to the next.”
“After a while, even the most creative tortures bee repetitive. Even the most satisfying screams start to sound the same.”
“I was beginning to wonder if I would ever feel that thrill again. That first, pure, perfect rush of discovering something new.”
He reached out and gently stroked Charlotte’s cheek. She flinched away from his touch, but the restraints held her in place.
“And then you appeared.”
His voice dropped to an awed whisper.
“At first, I was alarmed. Someone had infiltrated my domain—someone powerful enough to bypass the defenses of a SS-class blessing. I thought I had finally met my match. I thought a true battle was about to begin.”
“But when I looked closer, when I saw who had entered my Playground…”
He shook his head in wonder.
“The daughter of the Blade Maiden herself! A SSS-class dream walker. But young. Untrained. Her blessing still budding, still developing, nowhere near its full potential. She had wandered into my domain like a lamb stumbling into a wolf’s den!”
“Lady Charlotte.” His voice was reverent. “Do you understand what you are to me? You’re not just another victim. You’re not just another plaything.”
“You’re the daughter of the women I admire most in this world! The women whose power I’ve spent my entire life trying to approach!
“And you—you—have delivered yourself into my hands!”
His eyes were wild with ecstasy.
“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?! How many times I’ve imagined what it would be like to have one of them here, in my world, under my control?!”
“I never thought it would actually happen. I never thought the universe would grant me such a gift.”
“But here you are. Delivered to me like a present wrapped in ribbons!” He released her chin and stepped back, spreading his arms wide.
“Oh. The gods truly do favor me! They’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted, and now they’ve given me something I didn’t even dare to hope for!”
He picked up the drill from his instrument table.
The motor whirred softly as he tested it.
“A new toy. A special toy. A toy that will scream in ways I’ve never heard before.”
He turned back toward her, the drill spinning in his hand.
“Shall we begin?”
Charlotte watched Marcus approach, and every fiber of her being screamed at her to run, to fight, to do something.
But she was bound to the chair, her wrists and ankles held fast by restraints that refused to yield no matter how desperately she struggled.
She knew in that moment she had to stall. She had to keep him talking.
It was the only weapon she had left.
“Wait!” She cried out, her voice cracking despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “Hold on a second. Please. Just—just tell me more about your childhood.”
How did you feel when all of that was happening?”
“What was going through your mind back then?”
Marcus paused. The drill continued to whir, but he didn’t advance.
“Your parents spoiled you, you said. Everyone adored you. But what did that feel like? Were you happy? Did you ever feel…I don’t know…lonely?”
She was rambling now, grasping at anything that might keep him talking.
“And when your second blessing awakened—how did that change things? Did it change how you felt inside? Emotionally, I mean?”
For a moment, she thought it was working. Marcus tilted his head, as if considering her questions.
Then he smiled.
“You’re stalling, Lady Charlotte.” He resumed his approach, each step deliberate and unhurried. “It’s quite adorable, really. The daughter of a Battle Angel, trying to use conversation as a shield.”
He chuckled softly. “But I’m afraid I’ve been doing this far too long to be distracted by questions.”
He stopped in front of her chair and leaned down, his golden eyes inches from hers.
“There are so many rumors about SSS-class Blessed individuals.” He murmured. “So many fascinating theories circulating on the internet.”
“Some say you’re fundamentally different from ordinary people. That your bodies don’t work the same way. That you don’t even bleed like the rest of us.”
He reached out and ran a finger along her cheek. Charlotte flinched at his touch.
“Some say your blood is gold. Actual, liquid gold.”
His eyes gleamed with feverish curiosity.
“Is that true, Lady Charlotte? Do you really bleed golden blood?”
“Stay away from me!”
“Well, it’s okay.” He straightened up and raised the drill. “Let me just find out for myself.”
Charlotte screamed. She thrashed against her restraints with every ounce of strength she possessed
“e on, e on, please!” She begged, though whether she was begging the restraints to break or Marcus to stop, she didn’t know.
But nothing worked.
The cuffs didn’t budge. Marcus didn’t stop.
He just kept ing closer, that horrible drill spinning in his hand, his face alight with the anticipation of what he was about to do.
In that moment, all the bravery Charlotte had tried so hard to maintain crumbled away pletely.
She wasn’t a princess anymore. She wasn’t the confident, bratty girl who always got what she wanted.
She was just a terrified six-year-old child, alone in the dark, facing a monster she couldn’t fight.
“Mama.” She whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Mama, please. Mama…”
But she knew her mother couldn’t hear her. In the physical world, Yelena would move heaven and earth to save her daughter.
She would tear through dimensions, challenge gods, sacrifice everything she had without a moment’s hesitation.
That was the kind of mother Yelena was—fierce and protective and absolutely unstoppable when it came to her children.
But this wasn’t the physical world.
This was the Devil’s Playground, a realm pletely cut off from reality.
Charlotte’s body was lying peacefully in her bed, and her mother probably thought she was just sleeping.
Maybe having a nightmare, at worst. She had no way of knowing that her consciousness had been ripped away and trapped in this hell.
“A-Auntie Fauna.” Charlotte sobbed. “Auntie Nadia. Someone. Please!”
But no one could e. She was pletely, utterly alone.
But then, in the depths of her despair, a single name rose to her lips.
“Mika…”
Mika had saved her before.
When she was trapped in that fractured nightmare, surrounded by faceless monsters, she had called his name and he had e.
If anyone could save her now, it was Mika!
But the moment that hope blossomed, it withered just as quickly.
“The next time you get trapped in some lunatic’s nightmare, don’t call for me! Don’t expect me to e rescue you!”
His words echoed in her memory, sharp as broken glass.
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