His Private Hell - Chapter 131: Chapter 131

Rain pelted down in razor sheets, hissing against the rubble of what used to be Ally’s Inc. The skyline bled smoke. Sirens screamed somewhere far, far below. And Eella Hart stood at the center of the wreckage, bare-armed, bloodstained, burning from the inside out.
She hadn’t spoken in minutes.
Not since she’d risen from the vault glowing like a godless flame.
Not since Garrison Wolfe fell to his knees at her feet.
Now he was beside her—silent, bleeding, one arm cradling his ribs, the other still wrapped around his gun like it was a second limb. His suit jacket was gone, shredded in the collapse. He looked less like a CEO and more like a war criminal.
Perfect match for her now.
Beneath them, the wreckage stirred.
Not dead.
Not even close.
Darcie’s body twitched in the pile of steel and glass, buried beneath half the vault door. Her leg bent wrong. One eye was swollen shut. And still, she laughed—rasping like the devil on her last breath.
“You think this is over?” she croaked, blood bubbling from her mouth. “You think killing me ends him?”
Eella didn’t blink.
“I’m not here for you anymore.”
Her voice had changed. It was layered now—something under her skin humming in frequencies not meant for ears. Her very breath vibrated through the air like a warning.
Darcie spat blood. “You think you’re his match now. But you’re just another weapon he made.”
Eella moved toward her. Not fast. Not slow. Just inevitable.
“You’re wrong,” she said. “He made you. I made myself.”
Darcie’s scream cracked the air—and then she was silenced.
Not by a gunshot.
By Eella’s foot, driving down into her throat.
She didn’t even flinch.
Garrison didn’t speak. He watched her with hollow eyes. This wasn’t love anymore. This wasn’t obsession. This was apocalypse.
Eella turned to him.
“Lazarus?”
His voice rasped. “Crawled back to the Nest.”
“Then we burn the Nest.”
She walked. He followed.
No more questions.
No more mercy.
The Nest had always been myth—spoken about in whispers by the Choir’s enemies. A fortress built under the city, in the hollow veins of forgotten tunnels. A place where Lazarus kept his truest horrors.
James had once called it a graveyard of ambition.
Now it was their destination.
They moved through the city like revenants—unseen by civilians, missed by cops, bleeding into shadows. Eella felt her body shifting more with every step. She didn’t need sleep. Didn’t need warmth. She fed on rage now. Vengeance. The serum in her veins turned her into something Lazarus could never control.
And that’s exactly why he feared her.
At the edge of the underground, Garrison led her to a rusted metal door hidden beneath a false wall in an abandoned subway tunnel. Bloodstains marked the path like a warning trail.
“This is it,” he said.
Eella nodded once.
She raised her hand.
The door didn’t just unlock.
It exploded off the hinges.
And so began the siege.
The Nest welcomed them with steel teeth. Corridors lined with lasers. Traps that remembered faces. Gunfire that sang in the dark. But none of it stopped her. Eella walked through it like a prophecy. Bullets curved around her. Electric pulses shimmered off her skin. She broke bone with a glance.
Garrison kept pace, barely—taking down guards with brutal precision, knifing traitors at her side. For once, they weren’t predator and prey.
They were hell itself.
Two floors in, the silence changed.
Eella paused.
Garrison did too.
And then, through the smoke—Astrid.
Still masked. Still cloaked in red.
But this time, her sword was lowered.
“I didn’t come to fight,” Astrid said.
Eella narrowed her eyes.
“Then why are you here?”
“To say goodbye.”
Astrid pulled the mask off. Her face was older now—exhausted, broken. She looked at Eella like a girl trying to remember her sister in a warzone.
“I chose silence,” Astrid said softly. “And it cost me everything.”
Eella didn’t move.
“I don’t forgive you.”
“I didn’t ask.”
They stared.
Then Astrid stepped aside.
And Eella passed her without a second glance.
Three floors down. Five more bodies. Two grenades. One detonated in Garrison’s hand. He screamed—barely able to move now.
She grabbed him.
Carried him.
They reached the final level.
The air here was different—warped, heavy with wrongness. At the center of the dome-shaped room, a glass coffin sat atop a pedestal.
Inside: Lazarus.
Awake.
Smiling.
He rose before they even spoke.
“You came to kill me,” he said. “How predictable.”
Eella set Garrison down.
Then she stepped forward.
“You used us all.”
Lazarus cocked his head.
“And?”
She blinked.
Then moved.
He moved faster.
Faster than her.
He hit her like lightning—knocking her back into a wall. Her spine cracked, but she stood.
He grinned. “You think the serum makes you special? It makes you mine.”
He twisted his fingers—and pain slammed through her head.
Her scream tore through the air, too loud for human lungs.
Garrison tried to rise.
Couldn’t.
Lazarus laughed.
“You’re not the storm, girl. You’re the spark.”
And then—
Everything stopped.
Because Eella stopped fighting it.
She didn’t resist the serum.
She let it own her.
Her body rippled.
Eyes turned black. Hair lifted. The walls cracked with the force of what she became.
Lazarus faltered.
“No,” he whispered.
And then she lunged.
This time, he didn’t win.
He screamed as she drove her fist into his chest—through it. Ripping his heart out in one glowing, molten burst.
He died in silence.
Ash and steam.
She stood over the wreckage of the monster who made her.
And breathed.
Garrison was still alive.
Barely.
She limped to him.
He looked at her—what she was now.
“Are you still mine?” he asked, barely audible.
Eella dropped beside him.
Brushed his hair back.
“No,” she said. “I was never yours.”
And kissed his forehead.
Then walked away.
She left him there—bleeding, broken.
Not because she didn’t love him.
But because this wasn’t love anymore.
This was war.
And she still had five chapters left to finish it.