Chapter 343: Allen's Confession Balloon
Sob... sob...
Violet crouched in the bathtub, weeping, letting the water from the showerhead pour over her.
As if she wanted to wash away the filth on her body—and the unbearable memories she couldn't bear to recall.
"Violet, I'll protect you."
Tate clenched his fists tightly. Seeing the goddess he adored suffer such humiliation while he stood powerless—it filled him with shame and frustration.
He slowly loosened his fists, intending to reach out and hug Violet to comfort her.
"Get lost."
Tears glistened in Violet's eyes, and her gaze was filled with undisguised loathing.
She knew full well the sordid affairs between Tate and his mother. They lived under the same roof, so there were things that couldn't be spoken aloud. Besides, she'd always had her own schemes, deliberately using Tate the simp for her own benefit.
But this time, his pitiful display left Violet thoroughly disappointed.
Rebuked by the goddess, Tate stood frozen, not knowing what to do.
At the same time, Uncle Ban was livid and on the hunt for Allen to exact revenge. His daughter had been subjected to such degradation—there was no way he could swallow that insult.
Bang! The bedroom door was kicked open.
Allen was contorting his body in some twisted form of performance art on the master bed.
The house's first owner, Bella, was curled up in a corner, trembling with fear.
"You bastard! You'll pay for this!"
Uncle Ban charged forward in a fury, fist raised, ready to strike.
But Allen suddenly sprang up with a kip-up, landing in a kneeling "Terminator arrival" pose, a wicked grin on his face. He reached for a roll of duct tape and asked, "Ever experienced a confession balloon?"
"…"
Uncle Ban was momentarily stunned, completely baffled by the tape's intended use.
Actually, when Allen saw Uncle Ban in his black latex suit, he already had a fantastic idea. So while Violet was riding hard upstairs, Allen had grabbed the duct tape from the second floor.
Rip!
Allen yanked off a strip of tape, eyes filled with wicked malice.
"What are you doing?!"
Uncle Ban instinctively stepped back, trying to escape the master bedroom.
Creeeeak…
But Allen leapt on him like a madman, pinning him to the floor and wrapping tape around the opening at the neck of his latex suit, then binding his limbs as well.
"Please stop! I won't threaten you anymore!"
Allen ignored Uncle Ban's desperate pleas. Instead, he turned to Bella and said, "Hold her down, or I'll shove your head into the toilet."
With no clue what to do, Bella could only comply obediently.
After all, he had literally blasted someone's brains out earlier—his intelligence was running on empty.
Allen bit off the duct tape with his teeth and sealed the neck, one arm, and both legs of the suit.
Then he did something completely unexpected.
Huff...
Allen took a deep breath and began blowing into the suit.
That's right—like inflating a balloon, he blew continuously into the sealed latex suit.
Due to the suit's airtight design and extreme elasticity, it began to expand visibly.
"Stop blowing! I'm getting bigger!"
Uncle Ban stared in horror as the suit inflated, making him feel like a balloon himself. But no matter how he struggled, he couldn't break free from Allen's grip.
Allen's face turned red from exertion, his terrifying lung capacity allowing him to blow steadily for five full minutes without pause. Veins bulged on his forehead as his body trembled from the effort, but he stubbornly kept blowing.
Bella let go and hid under the bed, fearing the suit might explode like an overinflated balloon. She covered her eyes like an ostrich, too scared to watch.
"Done!"
Allen looked proudly at his creation, gripping the suit's wrist cuff while sealing it shut with another strip of tape.
And just like that, the human balloon was complete.
In truth, Uncle Ban had always known about his wife Vivian's misdeeds. That's why he always wore black latex—subtly reminding her of her guilt, keeping her obedient through constant emotional manipulation.
The whole family was full of hidden agendas—not one of them was decent.
But the problem was... they'd run into Allen, the guy even demons feared.
Now, due to the inflated suit, Uncle Ban's limbs were stretched stiff like a mannequin. Helplessly, he watched Allen lift a foot and start kicking him around the room like a giant beach ball.
"Please! Let the air out!"
If they were ghosts, then Allen was a demon who preyed on the dead.
He could even torment the damned.
"Ban, I'm here to save you!"
"No—!"
Just then, Vivian burst through the door with a fruit knife in hand.
Right at that moment, Uncle Ban bounced toward the doorway—only to find the knife's tip aimed directly at him.
Pop…
The sharp blade pierced the bloated latex slightly, and immediately, like a deflating balloon, he was blasted backward out of control.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Aaaahhh!!!"
Inside the master bedroom, Uncle Ban flew around like a ragdoll, crashing wildly into everything under the force of the escaping air.
Allen turned his head side to side, tracking Ban's chaotic flight path.
Finally, when all the air had hissed out, Ban crashed to the floor.
"Nice! Let's do that again."
"Nooooo…"
…
The Next Morning
At dawn, Bruce rubbed his forehead as he woke.
His whole body ached. The floor was too hard. He was used to a soft spring mattress—no wonder he felt like he'd been hit by a truck.
"You're awake. I've already prepared breakfast."
In the open-concept kitchen, a red-haired maid was busy cooking. She gestured to the milk and sandwiches on the dining table.
"Who are you?" Bruce asked warily.
In his eyes, the red-haired maid was incredibly voluptuous and seductive. But since this was a haunted house, his first instinct was to doubt whether she was even human.
"I'm the maid here—Moira. The owner, Nora, asked me to handle your daily needs."
Moira walked over gracefully, handing him a jar of jam and even unscrewing the lid for him. Some jam got on her finger, and without hesitation, she slipped it into her mouth and sucked it clean, never breaking eye contact with a flirtatious gaze.
Young and full of hormones, Bruce couldn't possibly resist such temptation. His throat felt dry and his heart began to race.
"This is a haunted house. Aren't you afraid?"
Bruce deliberately changed the subject to mask his rising arousal.
"I only work here during the day. I don't sleep here at night."
Moira bit her nail lightly, her every move exuding mature, sultry laziness—flirtation so blatant it needed no disguise.
"Morning, Luss."
Allen, still groggy from last night's chaos, hurried downstairs to greet Bruce.
"Please use my full name—Bruce."
Normally, he didn't mind Allen calling him that. But in front of a beautiful woman, he wanted to leave a good impression.
"Sure thing, Luss."
Allen turned to Moira, asking curiously, "Hey, old lady, who are you?"
Old lady?
Bruce was baffled. Moira looked to be in her early thirties—prime cougar years. No way she could be called an old lady.
But then again, Allen wasn't normal. Nothing he said made logical sense, so his opinion didn't carry much weight.
"Moira," she replied flatly, casting a sultry look at Bruce as she walked toward the stairs.
In reality, Allen saw Moira as an actual old hag. His mage passive skill let him see through illusions.
So Moira's demeanor instantly turned cold—she wanted nothing more to do with Allen downstairs.
Unfortunately, Bruce couldn't see through the illusion and remained convinced he was looking at a sexy maid.
"I'm full."
Bruce put down his plate and bolted upstairs.
Clearly, his hormones had overpowered his common sense.
"You liar. You didn't eat a single bite."
Allen picked up the untouched sandwich and began munching as he recalled, "Maid Moira… Isn't that the ghost hag from American Horror Story Season One who seduced the man of the house?"
Seduce the man of the house.
That phrase triggered his logic circuits.
"I can't let Luss make the mistake of hooking up with a wrinkly old ghost."
Allen immediately realized the danger. Just as he got up to intervene, a mischievous grin crept over his face.
"But wouldn't it be way more fun to expose her right in the middle of the act?"
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