Lucien wasn't expecting the detective to return.
Honestly, based on his earlier behavior, the man didn't strike him as particularly brave. Most people, after seeing something like Mary Shaw up close, would either deny everything… or run as far as possible.
Yet here he was.
Gun in hand.
Nervous—but standing.
Lucien glanced at him, a faint hint of amusement in his eyes.
"You're back," he said calmly. "Still planning to arrest someone?"
The detective stiffened slightly, clearly embarrassed.
The confidence he had shown before was long gone, replaced by something much more grounded—something closer to humility.
He cleared his throat.
"I'm here to deal with the real threat," he said. "And… I owe you an apology. I misjudged the situation."
Lucien studied him for a moment.
Then gave a small nod.
"Good. Saves time."
The detective hesitated, then lifted the shotgun slightly.
"I just… don't know if this will work," he admitted. "We're not dealing with people anymore."
Lucien's expression didn't change.
"It works," he said simply. "Very well."
That answer caught the detective off guard.
Lucien continued walking, his voice steady.
"Mary Shaw isn't as invincible as she wants you to believe."
He spoke like someone explaining a simple fact.
"Her strength comes from those dolls. They act as anchors… extensions of her existence."
The detective frowned slightly.
"And if those are destroyed?"
"She loses them."
Lucien's lips curved faintly.
"And there's a limit."
That was the key.
If Mary Shaw could create infinite vessels, she would have spread them across the world already. Escape would be effortless. Survival guaranteed.
But she hadn't.
Which meant—
"She can only maintain so many," Lucien said. "Once they're gone… so is she."
The detective looked down at his weapon again.
Suddenly, it didn't seem so useless.
By the time Jamie returned, carrying a metal can of gasoline, the plan was already clear.
No rituals.
No prayers.
Just—
Efficiency.
The three of them got into the car without another word.
From the outside, they didn't look like people heading to perform an exorcism.
They looked like something else entirely.
A group with a purpose.
A group ready to end something.
The abandoned theater stood at the edge of the lake, swallowed by darkness and neglect.
Fog curled around the broken structure like something alive.
As they approached on foot, faint laughter echoed through the air.
Distorted.
Mocking.
Jamie's breathing grew uneven.
The detective tightened his grip on the shotgun.
Fear crept in silently.
Slowly.
Until—
Lucien spoke.
"What are you afraid of?"
Neither of them answered.
He didn't wait for one.
"If she could kill you easily… would she waste time scaring you?"
Silence.
The words hit harder than expected.
Lucien continued, his tone calm but cutting.
"She's trying to stop you."
"Because she's afraid."
That realization changed everything.
The fear didn't disappear completely—
But it lost its control.
Inside the theater, decay greeted them.
Dust. Rot. Silence.
And something else—
Something watching.
Lucien walked ahead without hesitation, heading straight behind the stage.
The preparation room.
That was where it all began.
And where it would end.
The beam of a flashlight swept across the room—
And revealed a nightmare.
Dolls.
Everywhere.
Incomplete bodies.
Detached limbs.
Faces frozen in lifeless expressions.
And among them—
A small figure.
A child.
Bound with strings.
Still.
Forever.
Jamie froze.
"That's…?"
"Your ancestor," Lucien said quietly.
"The first victim."
The origin of everything.
Jamie's throat tightened.
"So… this is all because of what happened back then…"
Lucien let out a faint, cold laugh.
"No."
That single word cut through the silence.
"This isn't justice."
His gaze shifted slightly, as if looking into the darkness itself.
"It's obsession."
His voice sharpened.
"I've read her notes."
"She didn't start killing because of revenge."
"She started because she wanted perfection."
The air grew colder.
He continued.
"Perfect dolls… made from humans."
Jamie's expression changed.
The detective's grip tightened again.
Lucien's eyes darkened slightly.
"Your ancestor wasn't special."
"He was just convenient."
Silence pressed in from all sides.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Lucien didn't stop.
"Even if that incident never happened… people in this town would still disappear."
"Quietly."
"One by one."
"Because no one would notice in time."
The temperature dropped further.
Something was listening now.
Reacting.
A low tremor ran through the room.
Lucien's voice turned colder.
"A murderer who got caught."
"A criminal who escaped justice."
"And now—"
His gaze snapped toward a display case covered in red cloth.
"—you dare call this revenge?"
The cloth trembled.
Violently.
"Pathetic."
That word—
Was the final trigger.
A scream exploded through the room.
Filled with rage.
With hatred.
With something completely broken.
The red cloth was ripped away—
And behind it—
Stood rows upon rows of dolls.
Hundreds of them.
Perfectly aligned.
Every single one—
Staring at Lucien.
Their mouths opened simultaneously.
And a single voice roared out—
"LUCIEN BLACKWOOD!!"
Jamie and the detective instantly covered their ears.
But Lucien—
Didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
He simply looked at them.
Calm.
Cold.
Unbothered.
Then—
He stepped forward.
And spoke.
"Shut up."
Not loud.
Not angry.
But absolute.