Life in the Goldsmiths' mansion after the night of intrusion and Jonathan's cryptic gift became more tense than ever. Every moment was filled with anticipation and caution. Clara lived in a state of uncertainty about how much Jonathan Goldsmith knew and what he was planning. His composure was both a facade and a challenge.
One afternoon, as Clara was trying to focus on reading in the library, Butler Reid appeared.
"Madam," she said, her voice even. "Mr. Goldsmith wishes for you to prepare to go out with him this evening."
Go out? This was the first time Clara had been permitted to leave the mansion since arriving. A wave of surprise and suspicion rose within her. Where were they going? Why?
"Where will we be going?" Clara asked, trying to sound natural.
"To the Richardson estate, for a party," Butler Reid replied. "Mr. Goldsmiths instructed that Madam need not dress elaborately, merely comfortably and in attire suitable for ease of movement."
The Richardson estate. A prominent name in the British financial world. A party. Not elaborate, but easy to move? The strange instructions amplified the unease in Clara's heart. Where was Jonathan leading her?
Following the instructions, Clara chose only a simple gray coat and flat shoes. Her appearance was utterly out of place for her imagination of a party among the super-rich. When she descended to the hall, Jonathan Goldsmith was waiting. He was still elegant in his suit, but his gaze when he saw her attire held a subtle, unreadable glint – perhaps approving her choice, or simply confirming she had followed his command.
The car journey lasted quite a while, heading towards the outskirts, then gradually climbing a mountain. At a fork, the car turned down a side lane, the Bristol road. After driving a considerable distance further, a mansion appeared on the other side of the hill. As the car stopped, Clara's eyes met a massive, ancient estate, warm yellow light spilling from stained glass windows, creating a beauty that was both magnificent and somber. This was the Richardson estate.
Jonathan Goldsmith's bodyguards followed close behind, maintaining a discreet distance. They entered the main hall, a vast space with a large fireplace and antique portraits. A silver-haired butler and a handsome young man with blond hair and striking blue eyes stepped forward to greet them.
"Welcome, Mr. Goldsmiths and Madam," the young man said, his English voice carrying a hint of aristocracy. "I am Jonathan Richardson. It is an honor to host you."
Jonathan Richardson. The current master of the Richardson family. He looked at Jonathan Goldsmiths with respect, but his eyes flickered over Clara with curiosity and... assessment?
"Good evening, Mr. Richardson," Jonathan Goldsmith replied politely. "Allow me to introduce Clara, my wife."
Jonathan Richardson gave a slight bow towards Clara, his smile polite but not reaching his eyes. "Good evening, Madam Goldsmith. A pleasure to meet you."
After the introductions, Jonathan Richardson, accompanied by the butler, led Jonathan Goldsmiths, Clara, and the few other guests present in the hall on a tour of the estate. Jonathan Richardson proudly spoke of the Richardson family history, how they built their formidable banking empire generation after generation. He pointed to ancestral portraits, recounting stories of their boldness and wisdom in the financial world. He also subtly mentioned the special and long-standing partnership between the Richardson family and the Goldsmiths, hinting at ties deeper than outsiders knew.
Clara listened, her expression calm, but inside, she was on high alert. The atmosphere in this mansion was different from the Goldsmiths', older and perhaps more refined, but the same oppressive, mysterious air lingered. The number of guests was indeed small, only around twenty people, all seeming like significant figures in finance or politics. They conversed with polite tones, but their eyes constantly evaluated one another.
After the short tour, all guests were led to the dining room for the party. It was a vast room, set with a lavish banquet table laden with all sorts of delicacies and precious wines. The atmosphere seemed a little more lively, people began to chat animatedly, enjoying the food and drink.
Clara sat next to Jonathan Goldsmith. He remained composed, sipping his wine, looking relaxed. Clara was so tense she could barely swallow. She felt that something was fundamentally wrong.
This party... it was too strange.
As everyone was eating, drinking, and chatting merrily, suddenly...
SLAM!
All the doors of the dining room and even the windows slammed shut simultaneously, creating loud echoes throughout the room. Everyone startled, the sound of conversation cutting off abruptly. A deathly silence fell.
The faces of the guests turned from surprise to panic. They looked at each other, not understanding what was happening.
Then, from the ceiling above...
Horrifying scratching and growling sounds echoed down. Sections of the wooden ceiling were broken through. Dozens of terrifying, grotesque things, with mutated, disgusting forms, dropped onto the floor. They weren't human. They were monsters.
They had sinewy bodies, gray or pale green skin, sharp claws, jagged teeth covered in blood, and bloodshot, bloodthirsty red eyes. They leaped onto the floor, emitting ferocious growls, and lunged into the panicking crowd of guests.
Horrified screams tore through the silence. A gruesome scene unfolded right before Clara's eyes. Monsters bit, clawed, and tore human bodies apart. Fresh blood sprayed out, splattering onto the walls, the floor, and the dining table. The sound of bones cracking, heart-wrenching wails, and the monstrous growls of the creatures merged into a symphony of hell.
Guests ran in a frenzy, trampling over each other in sheer panic. They tried desperately to open the doors, but they were locked tight. Despair and terror engulfed the room.
While the tragedy unfolded, Clara sat there, her entire body frozen stiff, her face pale as paper. The scene was too horrifying, too gruesome. Blood, flesh, screams... She wanted to scream, wanted to run, but she couldn't move.
And beside her...
Jonathan Goldsmith still sat there, completely calm. He wasn't running. He wasn't afraid. He simply leisurely picked up his glass of red wine, took a small sip, and his expression was as though he were enjoying an interesting performance.
He turned his head to look at Clara, the familiar faint smile appearing on his lips. Amid the bloody scene and death, he asked in his usual deep, calm voice:
"This wine... does it suit your taste, Clara?"
Clara looked at him, her eyes filled with fear and disgust. Was he enjoying this spectacle?
In a corner of the room, Jonathan Richardson stood on a raised platform, looking down at the chaos, his face alight with maniacal excitement. He held a microphone, his voice echoing through the room, cutting across the screams and growls:
"Esteemed guests! Tonight... is it fun?!"
His words were like an electric shock. This party was a human hunt. These monsters... were theirs? Were they the result of the Goldsmiths family's (and likely the Richardsons') secret research?
A guest, running desperately, stumbled near a large statue. In his panic, he flailed, his hand hitting a cleverly disguised switch on the statue.
Click!
A section of the nearby wall sprang open, revealing a dark, empty corridor.
"Escape! Run!"
The surviving guests, covered in blood and tears, scrambled towards the dark corridor, trying to escape the monsters' fangs and claws. They pushed, shoved, and trampled each other, desperate only to get out of this hell.
Clara watched the scene. Run? Should she run? But instinct told her something else. Jonathan wasn't running. He was still sitting there. That corridor... was it a real escape, or another trap?
She remembered her adoptive mother's plea: "You must be careful... Don't displease them." And her own principle: "Observe. Don't act recklessly." Was running now the most reckless act?
Clara remained seated. Her entire body trembled, but her reason screamed: Don't move! He's watching!
The last trembling guest ran into the dark corridor. The open wall door slowly began to close.
And then...
From beneath the just-closed corridor door, a stream of dark, thick liquid began to flow out. Blood.
That corridor was not an escape. It was a trap, a slaughterhouse.
The horrifying scene continued in the dining room. The number of monsters was too great, too ferocious. The screams gradually weakened, replaced by sounds of satisfied growling and gruesome chewing.
Clara sat there, amidst pools of blood and bodies, watching Jonathan Goldsmith calmly sip his wine. He wasn't human. He was a devil. And she was right beside him.
She knew she couldn't move. Any move could make her the next target. She had to maintain her facade, had to hide her extreme terror.
A party of blood. A performance of brutality. Clara had seen the true nature of the Goldsmiths family and Jonathan Goldsmith. She had to survive. At all costs. Survive to escape this place... and survive to complete the system's mission.
Tonight, on the cold mountaintop, Clara Haughan tasted the true flavor of "Chaos."