Silla's Busting Advanture

  PART 9: The Chorus of the Wronged The ritual chamber wasn’t a real place—it was born of bricks and books and shadows, but under Nico’s command, it had transformed into something ancient. The library's storage wing, once filled with forgotten documents and dusty shelves, now pulsed with low red light cast from the flickering candles arranged in a perfect phallic circle around a cracked pedestal. Nico stood in the center, his monstrous body slick with sweat, glistening like an idol dragged from a fever dream. His horns curled high. His tail dragged across the floor like a predator bored of waiting. More frat brothers had arrived, dragging behind them the final pieces of the puzzle: nine women, dazed, wounded, but still breathing. Priyanka and Jessica were among them. Their eyes were heavy, but open. When they saw Solana—bleeding, her arms bound behind her back, her face bruised and defiant—their instinct was to reach out, to run to her. But each of them was roped, gagged, knees...

  PART 4: Awakening the Demon of Legacy The screen cracked on impact. Nico’s iPad hit the stone wall of the AKO basement with a hard, metallic thud before sliding down into a heap of cords and crumpled blue banners. Pieces of glass glittered under the flickering overhead lights like a final insult. He didn’t care. Not anymore. “Sixty million views,” he spat, pacing in wide circles, the broken bronze penis of Richard James still clenched in his right hand. “They made me a fucking joke. My dad says he’s calling lawyers. Says he’s going to defund the university. Great. That’ll fix everything.” He paused at the edge of the massive pedestal where the statue had once stood in the main hall, now abandoned in the damp, unfinished belly of the frat house. Water dripped somewhere behind them. The smell of sweat and mildew clung to the air. It was after midnight. The campus was quiet — except here, where desperation and testosterone seethed like a sickness. Nico turned to the statue, ...