The shadows of the forest were as thick as ink. Wednesday walked briskly through them, while Thing squirmed uneasily on her shoulder, tapping his fingertips rapidly to communicate.
(Isn't this going a bit too far? That kid looked like he was about to break.)
Wednesday's lips pressed into a cold, thin line, her pace not slowing in the slightest.
"If I didn't do this, that idiot would stick to me like a piece of gum that can't be shaken off." Her voice sounded exceptionally clear and hard in the silent woods.
"If we actually encounter the 'Beaks,' what he witnesses will break him completely. That would be crueler than any verbal injury."
She clenched her jaw, a wave of irritation she couldn't fully understand rising in her heart.
That idiot... did he really think she knew nothing?
Late at night after the Harvest Festival, she had stood for a long time beside Victor's cramped bed next to the toilet door.
Moonlight filtered through the high window, illuminating his sleeping face. That face, usually written with manic smiles, held only a painful distortion of terror and shock in sleep. His brows were locked tight, his lips trembling soundlessly. He looked like an infant helpless in a nightmare, curling up to seek a shred of security that didn't exist.
At the celebration party, she had watched coldly as he laughed, made noise, and downed cheap beer cup after cup, as if trying to drown himself in sugar and alcohol.
But she saw clearly that beneath that exaggerated smile, the depths of those eyes usually dancing with light were nearly filled to the brim with a pure, primal fear, on the verge of bursting the dam.
Yet he said nothing. Even though he was so terrified he was about to shatter, he still tried to approach, to probe, to protect her in that clumsy way.
It was simply... ridiculous!
She had to solve this alone. She had to let him see with his own eyes that these things hiding in the shadows were nothing to be afraid of. This time, it was her turn to...
---
Using the map obtained from Tyler, Wednesday finally found the forgotten ruins.
The so-called Joseph Crackstone's Old Meeting House was now nothing more than rough foundations covered in moss and rotting leaves, along with a few charred, broken low wooden walls barely standing.
The air was filled with the scent of stale ash and earth, silently telling the story of a distant fire that had utterly destroyed this place.
She efficiently evicted the homeless man occupying the spot and began a careful search.
Her fingertips brushed over the cold, rough stones, feeling the traces of time left upon them.
She tried to focus her mind for a vision, but the echoes of history were too faint and chaotic.
Until her fingers touched the remains of a doorframe, half-buried in the soil and carbonized by fire—
Buzz!
The familiar tearing sensation seized her instantly! The scene before her eyes cracked like a broken mirror and reassembled!
She found herself standing in a strange forest clearing. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, a stark contrast to the gloom from a moment ago.
Not far away stood Joseph Crackstone's meeting house—but it wasn't a ruin. It was an intact building emitting the fresh scent of pine.
Her gaze was instantly drawn to a scene at the entrance.
A girl was being roughly shoved and locked inside.
The girl wore ancient clothing but possessed a pale face, dark eyes, and a cold temperament almost identical to Wednesday's.
Wednesday heard someone in the surrounding crowd whisper in shock: "Goody Addams!"
Addams?
She is my ancestor from four hundred years ago?
Immediately after, she saw Joseph Crackstone himself—the pilgrim she had seen in the prophecy drawing—indifferently holding a torch. Without hesitation, he threw the flames onto the roof of the meeting house!
The dry wood caught fire rapidly. Tongues of flame leaped madly, devouring the entire building.
Screams of panic and despair, along with the sounds of banging, came from inside. Locked within were many outcasts like her! They were bound by chains, with nowhere to run!
In the chaos, she saw Goody, not yet fully bound by chains, being pushed hard by other desperate outcasts. She fell into a hidden trapdoor entrance deep inside the meeting house!
The fire roared to the sky, the screams were shrill. Goody became the sole survivor of that massacre against the outcasts.
The scene twisted and switched again.
Wednesday found herself standing on a quiet forest meadow. Goody Addams stood before her, her pale face written with anxiety and fear:
"He is coming! He won't stop until we are exterminated!"
Wednesday whipped her head around—
Joseph Crackstone was standing right there.
Holding a staff, his expression was one of near-inhuman, absolute calm.
His eyes were empty. No hatred, no anger, not even a ripple of emotion. He just looked at them with precise, locking focus.
"You cannot escape."
His voice was as steady as if stating a law of physics.
In this moment, Wednesday Addams truly felt... fear for the first time.
A cold, viscous chill capable of freezing the soul climbed rapidly up her spine!
This wasn't the death threat she was familiar with and appreciated—one carrying drama and aesthetics.
This was something entirely different—a malice pure to the extreme, unadulterated by any personal emotion.
As if killing her was merely a pre-set task that must be completed, as natural as sunrise and sunset. Unquestionable. Unshakable.
Crackstone himself seemed no longer a "person," but rather a cold, ruthless gear in some massive, terrifying creation. Even after death, driven by other gears, he crawled out of the grave to continue executing his eternal command of extermination.
The psychic vision dissipated abruptly!
"Ugh—!" Wednesday yanked her hand back. Her body stumbled forward uncontrollably, knees smashing heavily onto the cold, damp ground.
She braced herself with both hands, gasping violently. Her stomach spasmed, bringing a strong urge to vomit. It was excruciating.
So... is this... this thing... what Victor has been facing all along?
This will of destruction stripped of all emotion, all reason, all "humanity"—pure and primal?
After personally experiencing this will that was cold to the extreme, Wednesday finally understood what a suffocating, trembling fear this was.
Crackstone, with the calmest malice, taught her: Some fears exceed the scope of all Gothic aesthetics—it is extermination like a mathematical formula, and Victor uses madness to fight this formula every day.
Arrogance.
The words she had said to Victor earlier... how arrogant and cruel they were.
She had actually used his deepest trauma to attack him, accusing him of being "emotional" and "unstable"...
Her actions were equivalent to using language to perfectly replicate a sterile operation on a wound Victor had already had sliced open by cold laboratory instruments.
Precise, efficient, and thoroughly erasing any possibility of healing.
A clear, cold regret, like the thinnest yet sharpest ice needle, caught her off guard and pierced Wednesday Addams' never-wavering heart.
She stood up slowly, brushing the dirt from her black dress. Her pale face held no expression, but deep within those bottomless eyes, complex undercurrents surged.
"It seems," she whispered, her voice raspy, "I owe him an apology."