Defy The Alpha(s) novel Chapter 772

Chapter 772: Gallery Of Visions

The last Adele remembered, all she had given Mary were cartons of crayons, drawing pencils, and paper to sketch her visions. Certainly not paint. And definitely not the kind that now covered nearly eighty percent of her walls.

But it wasn’t the shock of how Mary had turned her room into an art gallery that rooted Adele to the spot. It was what had been painted. Because someone would pay obscene amounts of money to witness this.

The paintings were thick and vivid, a chaotic, haunting plaster of color pressed directly into the walls. Layers upon layers—reds bleeding into blues, blacks clawing through gold. The strokes were frantic and deliberate all at once, as though the walls themselves had been forced to absorb the visions rather than merely display them. It sent chills down the spine.

For over a minute, neither Adele nor Micah could look away.

The artwork was macabre in its chaos. It told different stories, yet all of them were tangled together, looping endlessly into one another. There was no clear beginning nor end. Just prophecy

Adele swallowed, her throat dry, wondering how many days it had taken Mary to do this.

Oh, who was she kidding. She knew exactly how it happened.

Whenever Mary had an episode, she drew like someone possessed. She didn’t pause for a break or sleep. There was no thought of eating or drinking. Not until the drawing was done, exhaustion meant nothing to her.

All of her visions were like a spell, and once they took hold, there was no resisting them.

And from the way the colors had been gouged, layered, and smeared into the wall, Adele knew without a doubt Mary had painted without rest.

"Goddess above..." Micah finally breathed, stepping closer without even realizing he was moving. His eyes were wide, his mouth parted in raw disbelief. "These are visions," he muttered, stating the obvious, his voice hushed as though the walls themselves might hear him.

He stopped before one section of the wall that struck far too close to home.

It was a painting of a mob. Their forms were warped into grotesque mockeries of life, their bodies slumped and twisted in unnatural ways. Mary had rendered them in dark, suffocating colors, shadows layered so thick they seemed to rot into the wall itself. Sunken eye sockets stared back emptily, jaws stretched too wide, and saliva dripping in thick, obscene lines from their mouths.

The zombies.

Micah shivered. The girl had seen them coming.

She had captured the creatures perfectly. An endless, unsatisfying need burned in their eyes, a craving so raw it felt almost alive. The kind that could never be filled, no matter how much flesh it consumed.

Beside them, another mass of figures fled in blind panic. These ones were painted in brighter hues, strokes of golds and pale blues clashing against the darkness. Their limbs blurred as if in motion, faces twisted in terror, mouths open in silent screams.

The contrast was unmistakable.

The undead versus the living.

And then there was one image that eclipsed them all.

A blonde-haired woman stood at the center of the chaos, her arm outstretched, fingers straining toward a child just beyond her reach. Her face was contorted with desperation, and eyes wide with a terror so real it made Micah’s breath hitch. Mary had painted her fear with brutal honesty and the raw emotion radiating from it sent a chill crawling down Micah’s spine.

He had seen countless works of art in his lifetime, but nothing like this. This wasn’t merely a painting but a warning.

Micah didn’t even realize how immersed he had been in the painting until he nearly jumped when Adele tapped his shoulder.

"Hey," Adele said, studying him closely. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Micah breathed, dragging a hand down his face.

God. He was sweating.

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