Ivan the Terrible His Son

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Chapter Eighteen

The chapter begins at a place not far from the horror and madness Gabriel is facing. On one of the hills of the Mountains of Madness, a group of special police officers, Marcus and Karl among them, had set up camp. The air was thick with an eerie stillness, broken only by the occasional crackle of the campfire and the distant, mournful howling of the wind. The camp itself was a modest arrangement of tents and supplies, barely sufficient to shield them from the biting cold that seemed to seep into their bones.

The landscape around them was desolate, a frozen wasteland that stretched endlessly, devoid of life or warmth.

They were grilling some fish they had caught earlier in the day, the smell of charred flesh mingling with the icy air. The fish, though meager, was a rare comfort in this forsaken place. One of their comrades, a man whose name was barely whispered now, sat nearby, his face pale and drawn. His hand had been severed, a brutal reminder of the dangers that lurked in this unholy land. Some officers were tending to him, their hands trembling as they wrapped the stump in bandages soaked with whatever medicinal supplies they had left. The man's breathing was shallow, his eyes glazed with pain and shock.

According to his comrades, he had been attacked by a polar bear—a creature that should not exist in this remote, deserted island. The island was a place of contradictions, a land where logic and reason seemed to unravel. No animals roamed here, except for the fish in the sea, the deer that Gabriel hunted, and the wolves that howled at night—creatures whose origins were as mysterious as the island itself. There were no bears, no deer, no wolves, or any form of life that could explain the horrors they had witnessed. The island was a void, a place where nothing existed except cold, horror, solitude, sorrow, and an ever-present fear that gnawed at their sanity.

Marcus sat by the fire, his face etched with fear and tension. His hands clenched and unclenched nervously, his eyes darting toward the shadows that danced at the edge of the firelight. Karl, on the other hand, was a storm of anger and frustration. He paced back and forth, his boots crunching against the frozen ground, his breath visible in the cold air. He stopped abruptly and turned to Marcus, his voice sharp and bitter.

**Karl:** "Damn it, we were so close to catching him, and then he slipped away. We'll freeze here without a purpose."

Marcus looked up, his eyes hollow. He shook his head slowly, as if trying to dispel the weight of their situation. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it carried a heavy sense of despair.

**Marcus:** "I don't know anymore. It seems we made a big mistake coming to this island, Karl."

Karl snorted, his anger flaring again. He gestured wildly at the frozen landscape around them, his voice rising with each word.

**Karl:** "Yes, it's cold and full of bears. It's a frozen hell."

Marcus shook his head again, his gaze fixed on the fire. His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of dread that sent a chill down Karl's spine.

**Marcus:** "Not just that, believe me. This island is cursed. It has a terrifying aura."

Karl stared at him, his anger momentarily replaced by unease. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if to shield himself from the cold—or perhaps from Marcus's words.

**Karl:** "I feel uneasy and a bit worried that you might lose your mind."

Marcus looked up at him, his eyes searching Karl's face. There was a moment of silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Then Marcus spoke, his voice low and measured.

**Marcus:** "All this time, you haven't contacted your family at all. Are there problems with your new wife?"

Karl's expression darkened, and he looked away. His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of vulnerability that he couldn't quite hide.

**Karl:** "Just marital issues, don't worry."

Marcus nodded, though his eyes remained fixed on Karl. There was something unspoken between them, a tension that neither of them dared to address.

**Marcus:** "Oh, good."

As Karl walked away, his boots crunching against the frozen ground, Officer Barin approached. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a face that seemed perpetually etched with a smirk. He clapped Karl on the shoulder, his voice tinged with amusement.

**Barin:** "Why did you ask him such a personal question at this critical time? Hahaha."

Karl shrugged, his expression grim. He glanced back at Marcus, who was still sitting by the fire, lost in his thoughts.

**Karl:** "A tragic incident happened to Detective Karl with his ex-wife, so I'm just worried about him..."

Barin's smirk faded, and he nodded slowly. There was a moment of silence between them, broken only by the distant howling of the wind. Then Barin turned and walked back to the campfire, leaving Karl alone with his thoughts.

When darkness fell, they lit the campfire, its flames casting flickering shadows on the frozen ground. The aurora borealis danced in the sky above, its ethereal light painting the landscape in hues of green and blue. It was a breathtaking sight, but one that did little to ease the tension in the camp. Everyone was asleep, their breaths visible in the cold air, their faces pale and drawn. In a slightly distant spot, Barin was on guard duty, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.

During his watch, he saw the black shadow of a person walking near them. The figure was indistinct, a mere silhouette against the frozen landscape, but it moved with a purpose that sent a chill down Barin's spine. He shouted, his voice sharp and commanding.

**Barin:** "Hey, you! Stop!"

The figure didn't respond, and Barin wasn't sure if what he saw was real or a trick of the light. But he couldn't take the risk. He grabbed his rifle and headed toward the shadow, his heart pounding in his chest. The others were asleep, unaware of the danger that might be lurking just beyond the firelight. Barin's footsteps were cautious, his breath visible in the cold air as he moved closer to the shadow. It was a decision that might lead to his doom—and that of his comrades.

Elsewhere, Karl was sleeping on the camping bed, his body tense even in rest. The others were inside the tent, their breaths steady and slow. Karl lay on his back, his eyes fixed on the aurora borealis above. It was a sight he had always loved since he was a child, a reminder of the beauty that still existed in the world. But now, it brought him no comfort. His mind was a whirlwind of memories and nightmares, each one more painful than the last.

He dreamed of the aurora, its light shimmering and shifting like a living thing. Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, his thoughts turned to his daughter, Angela. Tears welled up in his eyes, the beauty of the scene before him mingling with the pain in his heart. Sleep overtook him, pulling him into a nightmare that felt all too real.

He dreamed of that catastrophic day, the day that had shattered his life. He had returned from work to find fire trucks and ambulances surrounding his rural house. The air was thick with smoke, the acrid smell of burning wood and ash filling his lungs. His house, once a place of warmth and safety, was now a charred ruin. He walked among the police and paramedics, his eyes filled with shock and disbelief. His wife, Tracy, was there, her face streaked with tears. She turned to him, her voice trembling with grief.

**Tracy:** "Angela, our little girl, Karl... she was inside, but they couldn't find her. She disappeared during the fire."

Karl's heart stopped, his mind unable to process the words. He screamed, a sound of pure anguish that echoed through the night. The intensity of his scream woke him from the dream, his body drenched in sweat despite the cold. He sat up, panting heavily, his hands trembling as he tried to steady his breathing.

Then, the old witch Kazia Mason appeared before him, her face twisted into a grotesque smile. Her eyes gleamed with a malevolent light, and her voice was a harsh rasp that sent shivers down his spine. She grabbed him by the shoulder, her grip like iron, and turned her hideous, horrifying face toward him.

**Kazia:** "But you know very well that this is not what happened, Karl! Hahahahahahahahaha! Aaaaaah!"

Karl recoiled, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared at her, his voice trembling with fear and anger.

**Karl:** "Aaaaaah! Who are you, you eerie, ghostly old woman?"

Kazia's smile widened, her teeth yellow and jagged. Her voice was a low, menacing whisper that seemed to echo in his mind.

**Kazia:** "That's not important. What matters is who you really are, Karl. Can you handle the truth?"

Before Karl could respond, Kazia took him and plunged him into the icy void. They fell together, the world around them dissolving into darkness. Then, they stopped at the scene after the nightmare. Karl was hugging his wife, patting her back, and speaking to her, trying to calm her down. But before he could utter a word, Kazia, standing beside him, poked Karl and pointed at the Karl in the dream.

**Kazia:** "Watch it, watch it, watch it close... because he's coming for the Lie... Watch it, watch it, watch it... he's got a Forty... Fifty... nine..."

Then they fell again, witnessing the truth of that day.

At 8 PM, Karl returned home after a long day spent with his old friends. He had smoked a large amount of cannabis and was shaking and staggering. He went up to his room and found his daughter crying and deeply sad. He told her to leave the room because he wanted to sleep, but she refused and said:

**Angela:** "Dad, you always come home at night, and you're never in your right mind. You don't care about me, and Mom is always fighting with you and leaving. I have no friends at school, and I feel like loneliness is eating me alive. Loneliness hurts, Dad. I've started to feel like it's my demon, haunting me forever. Do you know a cure for how I feel?"

Karl, still under the influence, tried to comfort her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what he thought was a gift.

**Karl:** "Actually, I have a cure for your sadness. Here's this gift."

Angela's eyes lit up, her tears momentarily forgotten. She took the gift, her hands trembling with excitement.

**Angela:** "What is this, Dad? It looks so beautiful. The wrapping is amazing!"

Karl smiled, though his eyes were unfocused. He patted her head, his voice slurred but affectionate.

**Karl:** "It's the toy gun that looks like a real one, the one you've always wanted. Didn't you always want to be a police officer or a detective like your dad, carrying an old Magnum and fighting crime? Well, this toy gun looks a lot like Sherlock Holmes."

Angela's face lit up with joy, and she hugged him tightly.

**Angela:** "Thank you, Dad. You're the best dad in the world!"

Karl hugged her back, his heart swelling with pride. He told her that girls don't understand him, that she's a genius, and that there's no need to like pink, trivial things, and dolls like other girls. Being different is what makes you special.

**Karl:** "Now, Angela, put your toy in the drawer. Your dad is going downstairs for a bit to get something from the car and will be back. Sleep well, and good luck at school tomorrow."

He turned off the light after tucking the girl into bed and went downstairs to his car. He was searching for some files, his mind still foggy from the cannabis. After a few minutes of searching, Karl realized that his personal gun was not in his pocket. He began to sober up, his heart pounding with dread as he realized what had happened. He hadn't bought the gift for his daughter today. Instead, he had placed his real gun in an imaginary box, thinking he had bought it.

Panic surged through him, and he ran back to the house, screaming, "Angela! Angela!" As he climbed the stairs, he heard a gunshot. He ran faster, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind screaming with terror.

When he finally reached the room, he saw the painful and harsh scene. His 8-year-old daughter, Angela, had shot herself in the head, the bullet entering through her ear. Karl was shocked by the scene, his mind unable to process what he was seeing. He fell to the ground, crying like a madman, hugging her and kissing her head as blood flowed from her ear. His eyes seemed to pop out of his head from the shock, as if they were in the painting **"Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan on November 16, 1581"** by the Russian artist **Ilya Repin**.

The shock didn't stop. He didn't know what to do. He ran out of the house, screaming, his eyes tearing up as he went downstairs. He knocked over the lamp on the stairs, and it fell onto the carpet, starting a fire. The house began to burn, the flames consuming everything in their path.

The chapter ends with Karl in the flashback, running out of the house and looking back at the hellish fire behind him. Meanwhile, the real Karl took this moment as a crushing blow, sinking him deep, deep down into the dark, hellish void, accompanied by Kazia's terrifying laughter that filled the horizons.

**End of Chapter**

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