His Private Hell - Chapter 128: Chapter 128
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The silence after the injection didn’t last. It shattered.
The world didn’t bend around her. It broke.
Eella stood in the vault, body trembling, eyes glowing like molten steel. Every frequency Lazarus had ever coded was now inside her, humming like a swarm of wasps beneath her skin. Her fingers twitched, and the reinforced wall behind her cracked—steel buckling as if it were wet paper.
Darcie staggered back, blood on her teeth. “What the fuck did you do?”
Eella didn’t answer.
She stepped forward—and the temperature dropped. Not just in the vault. In the bones. In the soul. The kind of cold that comes before a final breath.
Darcie raised her gun.
Eella didn’t flinch.
The shot rang out.
The bullet stopped mid-air.
Hung there—spinning, whining, suspended by nothing but fury.
Darcie’s eyes widened. She pulled the trigger again—three, four, five times. Nothing touched Eella. Nothing even grazed her. The air around her wasn’t air anymore—it was war.
Then Eella raised her hand.
And the walls caved in.
Darcie flew back, slammed into the vault’s steel door with enough force to dent it.
Garrison limped into view, blood trailing behind him like a second shadow. “Eella.”
She turned.
His voice wasn’t enough anymore. His pain wasn’t enough to reach her.
But his presence was.
He limped forward. “Don’t lose yourself.”
“I didn’t,” she whispered. “I found her.”
And then—she left them both.
Out the vault. Through the fire. Into the war.
⸻
The building was crumbling.
Lazarus’s forces stormed every floor. Garrison’s men fought like ghosts—vicious and fading fast. Sirens howled outside. Helicopters cut through the smoke.
But none of it mattered.
Because the woman they were trying to kill was no longer human.
Eella stepped onto the floor below the vault and was met with six operatives in Choir-grade armor. Their masks whirred with signal blockers, their weapons humming at full charge.
They fired without question.
And she didn’t dodge.
The first wave of bullets tore toward her. Each one dissolved an inch from her chest—ripped apart by the vibration screaming off her bones. She opened her mouth—and screamed.
Not a word. Not a note. A sonic wave that shattered armor, liquefied eardrums, and sent bodies flying into the walls.
Blood sprayed.
She kept walking.
⸻
Meanwhile, Garrison dragged James into the vault. The man was pale, his leg a shredded mess.
“She’s going to destroy herself,” James gasped. “She wasn’t built for it.”
“None of us were,” Garrison muttered, tying a belt around the wound.
James grabbed his wrist. “You need to finish it.”
“She’s not the enemy.”
James’s eyes locked on his. “Then you’d better hope Lazarus gets here first. Because if she turns on us, there won’t be a soul left in this city.”
⸻
The top floor collapsed.
Eella emerged into the lobby, where Lazarus’s soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, surrounding a black stretch limo in the center of the marble. He was inside.
She knew it.
Two seconds later—she was inside too.
The door didn’t open.
It exploded.
Leather, glass, and twisted chrome flew across the floor. Lazarus didn’t even flinch. He sat in the center seat, legs crossed, eyes gleaming with the calm of a man who’d seen the end a hundred times and never blinked.
“I see you took my gift,” he said, sipping something dark from a crystal glass.
Eella stepped inside, silent.
He smiled. “You feel it, don’t you? Every scream, every command, every code I ever wrote. Inside you. That serum was never meant to kill. It was meant to crown.”
“You gave it to Darcie first,” Eella said, voice low.
“I offered her power. She used it for a song. You—” He tilted his head. “You’ll use it for war.”
She raised her hand.
He didn’t move. “Kill me and you’ll be no better.”
Eella hesitated.
That was the moment he struck.
Not with a weapon. With sound.
An old signal—buried in the serum, tied to his voice, coded to her DNA.
A frequency that dropped her to her knees.
Pain detonated behind her eyes. Every nerve caught fire. She screamed—and it was human again. Fragile. Raw.
Lazarus leaned forward. “You still don’t understand. You weren’t given power to destroy me. You were designed to replace me.”
Her hands scraped the floor. Blood pooled.
“You’re not a queen,” he whispered. “You’re the last Choir.”
She lunged.
And Lazarus, for the first time in his life, didn’t smile.
⸻
The limo imploded.
Outside, soldiers fell back as a blast of red and black ripped through the marble. Steel split. Concrete melted. Smoke poured from the wreckage.
And Eella rose—barely standing. Hair soaked in blood. Skin cracked like lightning kissed it.
Lazarus lay broken, half his face gone.
He crawled.
She followed.
He whispered something. She didn’t hear.
Or maybe she didn’t care.
She bent down. Grabbed him by the jaw. Forced him to look her in the eye.
“This isn’t your legacy,” she said. “It’s your grave.”
And she crushed his throat.
⸻
Upstairs, Garrison felt it.
A stillness.
The eye of the storm.
James stirred. “Did she win?”
Garrison stood slowly. “No. She ended it.”
⸻
But not all of it.
A gunshot echoed.
One. Final. Shot.
Eella staggered back.
Darcie.
Half-dead. Face burned. Crawling from the rubble like a demon that forgot how to die.
The bullet had hit Eella in the side. Nothing fatal. But enough to drop her to one knee.
Darcie dragged herself forward.
“You think… you think you get to walk away clean?” she rasped.
“You already lost,” Eella said.
Darcie laughed—blood bubbling at her lips.
“No one wins this. That’s the whole point. The second you stepped into the fire, you were already ash.”
She raised the gun again.
But it clicked empty.
Darcie blinked. Then smiled. “Guess you get the last verse after all.”
Eella stood.
“No verse,” she said.
And snapped her neck.
⸻
By the time Garrison reached the lobby, Eella was standing alone in the wreckage.
Bodies surrounded her. Smoke curled from her fingertips.
She didn’t look at him when he approached.
Just whispered, “It’s over.”
Garrison stepped closer. “You said you’d never become him.”
“I didn’t.” Her voice was hollow. “I became worse.”
He touched her face, gently. Her skin was too warm. Her eyes still burned like dying stars.
“You don’t have to stay this way.”
“I don’t think I can come back.”
“Then let me go with you.”
She looked at him then.
And for a heartbeat—one beautiful, broken heartbeat—she looked like the woman he’d fallen into hell for.
She kissed him. Slow. Final.
Then stepped back.
And walked through the flames.
⸻
Outside, the city burned.
Police cordons meant nothing. Military drones hovered like vultures. The media spun lies about a gas leak.
But inside the ruins of Ally’s Inc—
The Choir was dead. Lazarus was a stain. Darcie a memory.
And Eella?
Gone.
No trace. No signal. Just echoes.
James survived, barely.
Garrison left the company. Left the city. Disappeared with a whisper and a warning.
But they say, sometimes, when you stand at the edge of the city—
You can hear her scream.
Not pain. Not rage.
Freedom.
And maybe, if you’re lucky—
You never hear it again.
The world didn’t bend around her. It broke.
Eella stood in the vault, body trembling, eyes glowing like molten steel. Every frequency Lazarus had ever coded was now inside her, humming like a swarm of wasps beneath her skin. Her fingers twitched, and the reinforced wall behind her cracked—steel buckling as if it were wet paper.
Darcie staggered back, blood on her teeth. “What the fuck did you do?”
Eella didn’t answer.
She stepped forward—and the temperature dropped. Not just in the vault. In the bones. In the soul. The kind of cold that comes before a final breath.
Darcie raised her gun.
Eella didn’t flinch.
The shot rang out.
The bullet stopped mid-air.
Hung there—spinning, whining, suspended by nothing but fury.
Darcie’s eyes widened. She pulled the trigger again—three, four, five times. Nothing touched Eella. Nothing even grazed her. The air around her wasn’t air anymore—it was war.
Then Eella raised her hand.
And the walls caved in.
Darcie flew back, slammed into the vault’s steel door with enough force to dent it.
Garrison limped into view, blood trailing behind him like a second shadow. “Eella.”
She turned.
His voice wasn’t enough anymore. His pain wasn’t enough to reach her.
But his presence was.
He limped forward. “Don’t lose yourself.”
“I didn’t,” she whispered. “I found her.”
And then—she left them both.
Out the vault. Through the fire. Into the war.
⸻
The building was crumbling.
Lazarus’s forces stormed every floor. Garrison’s men fought like ghosts—vicious and fading fast. Sirens howled outside. Helicopters cut through the smoke.
But none of it mattered.
Because the woman they were trying to kill was no longer human.
Eella stepped onto the floor below the vault and was met with six operatives in Choir-grade armor. Their masks whirred with signal blockers, their weapons humming at full charge.
They fired without question.
And she didn’t dodge.
The first wave of bullets tore toward her. Each one dissolved an inch from her chest—ripped apart by the vibration screaming off her bones. She opened her mouth—and screamed.
Not a word. Not a note. A sonic wave that shattered armor, liquefied eardrums, and sent bodies flying into the walls.
Blood sprayed.
She kept walking.
⸻
Meanwhile, Garrison dragged James into the vault. The man was pale, his leg a shredded mess.
“She’s going to destroy herself,” James gasped. “She wasn’t built for it.”
“None of us were,” Garrison muttered, tying a belt around the wound.
James grabbed his wrist. “You need to finish it.”
“She’s not the enemy.”
James’s eyes locked on his. “Then you’d better hope Lazarus gets here first. Because if she turns on us, there won’t be a soul left in this city.”
⸻
The top floor collapsed.
Eella emerged into the lobby, where Lazarus’s soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, surrounding a black stretch limo in the center of the marble. He was inside.
She knew it.
Two seconds later—she was inside too.
The door didn’t open.
It exploded.
Leather, glass, and twisted chrome flew across the floor. Lazarus didn’t even flinch. He sat in the center seat, legs crossed, eyes gleaming with the calm of a man who’d seen the end a hundred times and never blinked.
“I see you took my gift,” he said, sipping something dark from a crystal glass.
Eella stepped inside, silent.
He smiled. “You feel it, don’t you? Every scream, every command, every code I ever wrote. Inside you. That serum was never meant to kill. It was meant to crown.”
“You gave it to Darcie first,” Eella said, voice low.
“I offered her power. She used it for a song. You—” He tilted his head. “You’ll use it for war.”
She raised her hand.
He didn’t move. “Kill me and you’ll be no better.”
Eella hesitated.
That was the moment he struck.
Not with a weapon. With sound.
An old signal—buried in the serum, tied to his voice, coded to her DNA.
A frequency that dropped her to her knees.
Pain detonated behind her eyes. Every nerve caught fire. She screamed—and it was human again. Fragile. Raw.
Lazarus leaned forward. “You still don’t understand. You weren’t given power to destroy me. You were designed to replace me.”
Her hands scraped the floor. Blood pooled.
“You’re not a queen,” he whispered. “You’re the last Choir.”
She lunged.
And Lazarus, for the first time in his life, didn’t smile.
⸻
The limo imploded.
Outside, soldiers fell back as a blast of red and black ripped through the marble. Steel split. Concrete melted. Smoke poured from the wreckage.
And Eella rose—barely standing. Hair soaked in blood. Skin cracked like lightning kissed it.
Lazarus lay broken, half his face gone.
He crawled.
She followed.
He whispered something. She didn’t hear.
Or maybe she didn’t care.
She bent down. Grabbed him by the jaw. Forced him to look her in the eye.
“This isn’t your legacy,” she said. “It’s your grave.”
And she crushed his throat.
⸻
Upstairs, Garrison felt it.
A stillness.
The eye of the storm.
James stirred. “Did she win?”
Garrison stood slowly. “No. She ended it.”
⸻
But not all of it.
A gunshot echoed.
One. Final. Shot.
Eella staggered back.
Darcie.
Half-dead. Face burned. Crawling from the rubble like a demon that forgot how to die.
The bullet had hit Eella in the side. Nothing fatal. But enough to drop her to one knee.
Darcie dragged herself forward.
“You think… you think you get to walk away clean?” she rasped.
“You already lost,” Eella said.
Darcie laughed—blood bubbling at her lips.
“No one wins this. That’s the whole point. The second you stepped into the fire, you were already ash.”
She raised the gun again.
But it clicked empty.
Darcie blinked. Then smiled. “Guess you get the last verse after all.”
Eella stood.
“No verse,” she said.
And snapped her neck.
⸻
By the time Garrison reached the lobby, Eella was standing alone in the wreckage.
Bodies surrounded her. Smoke curled from her fingertips.
She didn’t look at him when he approached.
Just whispered, “It’s over.”
Garrison stepped closer. “You said you’d never become him.”
“I didn’t.” Her voice was hollow. “I became worse.”
He touched her face, gently. Her skin was too warm. Her eyes still burned like dying stars.
“You don’t have to stay this way.”
“I don’t think I can come back.”
“Then let me go with you.”
She looked at him then.
And for a heartbeat—one beautiful, broken heartbeat—she looked like the woman he’d fallen into hell for.
She kissed him. Slow. Final.
Then stepped back.
And walked through the flames.
⸻
Outside, the city burned.
Police cordons meant nothing. Military drones hovered like vultures. The media spun lies about a gas leak.
But inside the ruins of Ally’s Inc—
The Choir was dead. Lazarus was a stain. Darcie a memory.
And Eella?
Gone.
No trace. No signal. Just echoes.
James survived, barely.
Garrison left the company. Left the city. Disappeared with a whisper and a warning.
But they say, sometimes, when you stand at the edge of the city—
You can hear her scream.
Not pain. Not rage.
Freedom.
And maybe, if you’re lucky—
You never hear it again.
End of His Private Hell Chapter 128. Continue reading Chapter 129 or return to His Private Hell book page.