Lye stood before the vault door, the charm Strange had given her pulsing faintly in her hand. She had followed him for months now—believed him, helped him build Strange Investigations, even protected him when whispers of missing students started circulating.
And now he was asking her to go in alone.
"You're the only one Apex might hesitate to attack," Strange said, his voice calm. "You're more spirit than flesh. Your presence could soothe it, maybe even let us study it."
He smiled faintly—almost apologetically.
She nodded, but unease coiled in her chest. Apex wasn't a thing you "soothed." It devoured. It evolved. And it never stopped hunting.
Still, she went in.
⸻
Strange watched the screen from the lab, fingers steepled. Inside his mind, Von cackled and Sheridan stayed silent—both satisfied.
"Plan One," Sheridan intoned. "She doesn't make it out. No one suspects. The banshee dies doing what she loved—serving justice."
Strange swiped a screen, uploading digital blueprints, falsely stamped reports, and coded diaries—all written to implicate Lye as the creator of Apex. Backdated files, altered timestamps, even emotional notes crafted to match her writing style.
"Plan Two: Frame her. If they find the body, the narrative's ready."
⸻
Inside the vault, the darkness grew heavier, unnatural. Lye's banshee senses recoiled. There was no Apex here.
Only a hollow room and a single mirror at its center.
She stepped closer. Her reflection blinked first.
She froze.
The mirror shimmered—then Orion's distorted, psychic face appeared within it, speaking in Strange's voice.
"Thank you for being loyal, Lye. You really were one of the good ones."
The door slammed behind her.
The runes on the floor lit up—binding runes, pain runes. Traps.
This wasn't a hunt.
It was an execution.
And the charm around her neck? A tracker. A silencer.
She let out a scream—a true banshee wail—but it was devoured by the enchantments.
Still, somewhere deep in the walls of Deadman's College, a crack formed in the wards.
⸻
Want to continue with her surviving by finding a hidden escape, or someone close to her growing suspicious of Strange? Or do you want her death to succeed—maybe someone else stumbles onto the trail later?
Lye's scream faded into the silence, the echoes swallowed by the vault's cursed walls. Her body crumpled, lifeless, her form collapsing onto the cold stone floor. The magic had done its job—no trace of struggle, no sign of the banshee's power remaining.
Strange stood in front of the console, his eyes narrowed, watching the small dot on his screen flicker. The tracker was still active, though Lye's essence had long since been absorbed by the enchantments.
"Goodbye, Lye," he murmured, voice soft as if apologizing to someone who couldn't hear.
"Plan One," Sheridan's voice cut through the silence, cold and devoid of emotion. "Complete. No one will ever know you were behind this."
Strange pressed a key. Files were uploaded, false evidence buried under layers of digital noise. Lye had created Apex, and now, her failed experiment had become the perfect scapegoat.
⸻
The next day, whispers rippled through Deadman's College. The students returned from their break, a chilling presence hanging in the air. Strange watched as they spoke in hushed tones, confusion clouding their faces as they learned of Lye's disappearance. No one knew where she went—she had simply vanished, just as the others had before her.
But there was one person who wasn't convinced.
Maxwell Reed, an unassuming werewolf with a nose for danger, stood near the entrance of the hall, eyes narrowed, looking at the place where Lye had last been seen. Unlike the rest, he could smell the truth—it didn't line up. Lye had never mentioned a dangerous mission. She had never been one to make rash moves, especially not without Strange.
The pieces didn't fit. But what could he do? Lye was gone. The only thing left was the dark void that had consumed her.
⸻
Back in the lab, Strange paced back and forth. He had what he needed—Lye's disappearance would lead to no questions. With her death, the beast's rampage could be controlled. He could move forward with his experiments, building a new world with his creations.
Orion, still merged with him, pulsed under his skin. The psychic entity flickered in and out of Strange's consciousness, a broken whisper among the noise.
"You did well," Orion's voice rasped, like static in Strange's head. "You always do… but why did she have to die?"
Strange paused, the question sinking into his thoughts. He had never truly cared about Lye. But for a brief moment, a feeling—an uncomfortable, gnawing sensation—bubbled up. Was it guilt? Sympathy?
No. He buried it. This was necessary. She was a liability. She would have tried to stop him. She would have eventually figured it out, just like the others.
⸻
Back in the hall, Maxwell Reed's suspicions deepened. His packmates were none the wiser, still thinking Lye had simply gotten caught up in some "accident" or "mission gone wrong." The others couldn't smell the lie that saturated the air.
But Maxwell knew better. He couldn't shake the feeling that Lye hadn't vanished by her own choice.
That night, he followed the faint trail left behind by the last person who had seen her. Strange.
His senses were sharp. The pull of the truth was undeniable.
⸻
In the labyrinthine halls of Deadman's College, Strange sat in his study, eyes flickering over the creature he had begun to form in the lab—Grayscale, still half-formed but far more powerful than any of the other beasts he had created. It was time to see just how far his experiments could go.
But as he watched the beast's movements, he couldn't ignore the dark truth that loomed over him.
Maxwell Reed had seen something. He was looking too closely.
⸻
Strange's lips curled into a thin smile. He could deal with Maxwell Reed the same way he had dealt with Lye—eliminate the problem before it became one. But there was still one more hurdle.
The school was bound to investigate. The disappearance of Lye, the disappearance of others before her, it couldn't all be swept under the rug.
But Strange had always been good at hiding. And this time, he had something more—he had an army of monsters. Monsters he had created. Monsters with power.
And soon, the school district would be too busy fighting monsters to ever suspect him.
⸻
In the darkness of his mind, where Von and Sheridan still whispered, Strange already knew the next step.
"Let's see who comes sniffing around next."
Orion watched the two with confusion etched across his face. Moratax, no longer in full form, existed only as a ragged voice—a growl threaded with crimson fury—straining against the mental chains that kept him suppressed.