Chapter 13: The Fall of the Braim Family

Sometime later, Ephraim found himself in a comfortable coach, though not before Garrick's son had given him a soul-killing glare. He carefully removed Carl from his shadow and placed him on a brown blanket on the floor of the coach. Checking Carl's pulse and temperature, Ephraim realized that Carl needed medical attention.

They still had a long road ahead—at least a two-day journey to Whispering Pines. The monastery they were heading to was located just on the outskirts of the town. Ephraim hoped that his brother Evans would be able to provide the protection they desperately needed.

Meanwhile, back at the Braim mansion, Charles was fuming with anger. After a full night of searching for Ephraim and Carl, they ended up empty-handed; there was simply no trace of them. Charles had even activated the cursed pill, hoping to kill Ephraim in the process, but deep down, he felt that both Ephraim and Carl were very much alive.

Absalom was also furious about not being able to recapture Carl and torture him to his heart's content. He turned to his father and asked, "Dad, what do we do?"

Charles glared at his son, knowing very well that Absalom wasn't worried about their predicament but rather about missing the chance to indulge in his sadistic pleasures.

"Dad?" Absalom pressed, expecting his father to have a plan.

"I have no idea what to do," Charles admitted. "The army is on their way here; they won't take kindly to such bad news. They may even use us as scapegoats. Oh, me and my big mouth! I shouldn't have told them anything. I should have just killed him and sent his head back to the kingdom for my reward. Now there's no explanation that can save me from trouble with the empire," he vented in frustration, breaking a vase in the process.

Slumping into his chair as if he had no strength left, Charles tilted his head toward the ceiling, pondering a scheme to extricate himself from this predicament. Just then, a guard rushed in with news of the envoy's arrival from the empire.

Charles stood up immediately and moved toward the door but paused to look back at Absalom. He beckoned his son closer and whispered something into his ear before stepping out to meet the envoy.

Absalom stood fear-stricken as he stared at his father's back. The words whispered into his ear—"Run for your life"—echoed ominously in his mind. Something in his father's tone and demeanor told Absalom that all was lost.

Though Absalom was a spoiled brat, survival instincts kicked in at that moment. He knew he had to heed his father's warning; there was no time to gather money or any precious possessions—he didn't even dare pick up clothes.

He ran as if there were no tomorrow, quickly finding the staircase leading to a secret underground tunnel that would take him out of the estate. As he fled, he whimpered the word "run," looking miserable with phlegm running down his nose. Fear gripped him; he knew there were very few people his father feared, and for him to utter those words sent a chill down Absalom's spine. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, often stumbling and falling along the way. His eyes were red and watery; it was surprising how a predator like himself could suddenly become prey overnight. To him, the cause of all this chaos was none other than Carl Newman.

Back in the Braim mansion, Charles stood before Tim, the envoy of the empire, his heart beating loudly as he recounted Carl's escape with Ephraim's aid. Tim's face darkened; his displeasure was palpable. "This is unacceptable," he declared coldly. "The entire Braim family must pay for this failure."

Nathan, Tim's aide standing behind him, shivered at those words, thinking to himself, "All this because of one man. This man has caused the death of so many people. Death follows him wherever he goes."

As Tim ordered his soldiers to massacre every living thing on the estate, desperation surged within Charles. "Please, Tim! My family is innocent!" he pleaded, but each cry fell on deaf ears.

Tim narrowed his eyes. "If you cannot keep a simple prisoner who has lost his magic, what good are you to the empire?"

In a panic, Charles replied, "Remember that it was I who had the foresight to deprive him of his powers! I sealed it so he's absolutely powerless! Please sir, have mercy—I can be of great use to you."

"I have no need for someone like you," Tim sneered, his fury palpable. What infuriated him the most was that Carl had lost all his powers and yet still managed to escape. Initially, dealing with Carl had been troublesome due to his immense strength, but now Tim was left wondering what excuse he could possibly give to his superiors this time around.

Amidst the chaos, Charles continued begging for mercy while tears streamed down his face; however, Tim remained unmoved as he commanded the soldiers with chilling resolve.

The next words Tim spoke shocked Charles deeply: "How much did he promise you to free him?"

Before Charles could protest or respond further, Tim summoned a dagger using his summoning ability and plunged it into Charles' stomach beneath his rib cage and upward into his lungs and heart. The expression on Charles' face shifted from utter shock to pain as he fell limp to the floor.

Meanwhile, Absalom fled the estate with his father's urgent whisper echoing in his mind: "Run for your life." As he glanced back over his shoulder, flames engulfed their home while soldiers wielding magic razed everything in sight—fireballs illuminating the night sky and spells disintegrating walls around him. The destruction seared itself into Absalom's memory and ignited a deep-seated hatred for Carl Newman that bordered on obsession.

The Braim estate crumbled behind Absalom as he ran away from it all—forever marked by the sight of his family's annihilation.

"Carl Newman, I promise you, I will hunt you down wherever you are, you piece of trash," he screamed into the night, trembling with rage. "I will kill you and enslave everyone you hold dear, you scum!" Absalom was so consumed by fury that he began hitting his head like a madman.