Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Chantrea's Vengeance A Detective's Descent Into a Winged Nightmare, a Sister's Curse, and Blood Redemption END #77

Episode Date: July 29, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales  #supernaturalhorror #detectivefinale #vengeancecomplete #bloodredemption #darkconclusion  The gripping conclusion to Chantrea’s harrowing journey. Facing the full horror of the winged nightmare and the devastating family curse, Chantrea battles through darkness and bloodshed to seek redemption. Justice and vengeance collide in this intense finale where secrets are revealed, fates are sealed, and the price of survival is finally paid.A chilling supernatural thriller finale blending mystery, horror, and dark family legacies.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales,  supernaturalhorror, detectivefinale, vengeancecomplete, bloodredemption, darkconclusion,  wingednightmare, familycurse, horrorandmystery, finalbattle, cursedfamily,  darkjustice, bloodandvengeance, ancientevils, horrorandredemption, twistedfate

Rain and I sprint are breaths ragged, dodging between stacks of crates and abandoned machinery. The vast, shadowy expanse of the warehouse seems to stretch on indefinitely, a labyrinth of dangers. Chantria's monstrous silhouette cuts through the darkness, an avenging spirit too swift, too enraged to evade. Behind us, Chantria's wings flap ominously, the air hissing as she slices through it. I glance back just in time to see her launching herself into the air. As we run, I reach into my coat pocket, fingers wrapping around one of the homemade IED side packed. There is simple concoction, a mix of garlic powder and sage stuffed into a small canister. Without slowing down, I yank the pin and lob the makeshift granade back over my shoulder.

It arcs through the air, trailing a faint white smoke. It lands near her chantria, exploding in a cloud of pungent garlic and burning sage. The burst isn't lethal, but the payload stun her, her sensitive sense is overwhelmed by the intensity of the smells. The cloud of smoke provides a temporary screen, obscuring her vision and giving us precious seconds. The sounds of Chantry as rage-filled roars fill the warehouse. As the winged wraith launches into the air, her head detaches with a surreal fluidity, soaring ahead of her body like a macabre scout. Her body, still terrifying in its headless state, propels forward, fueled by dark energy and rage.

The detached head flies directly towards us with its eyes glowing a sinister red, a beacon of malice in the dim warehouse. As Chantria's head zooms toward us like some twisted missile, I pivot on my heel, R-15-shouldered in one smooth motion. I squeeze the trigger, sending a volley of bullet stitching through the air toward the disembodied head. But Chantria is unnaturally agile. She dodges with a nightmarish grace, my bullets slicing only through the stale warehouse air. Rain, beside me, has her glock drawn, firing several shots. The head veers off at the last second, avoiding the shots with a mocking ease that sends a chill down my spine. God damn it!

I curse under my breath, ducking behind a rusted forklift as Chantria's body follows the path of her flying head, moving with a speed that feels like a blur. We're almost at the door of the warehouse when I hear it, a scream that cuts through the chaos with chilling clarity. It's rain. My heart slams against my chest as I whip around, my worst fears materializing before my eyes. Chantria's monstrous head has its elongated tongue

wrapped tightly around Rain's ankle. She lifts her effortlessly into the air, dangling her like a puppet, her body swaying with every unnerving twitch of Chantria's tongue. Rain. I shout, my voice cracking. My mind races, adrenaline surging through my veins like wildfire. I can't lose her, not like this, not to this nightmare. Ash. Watch out. Rain shouts, her eyes wide in terror. Before I can react, Chantria's headless body closes the gap between us with horrifying speed. My weapon is knocked aside with a swipe of her telom-like hand, and I'm thrust

against the wall, her ungodly strength pinning me effortlessly. The cold, hard concrete presses into my back as her talons dig into the wall beside my head. Chantria, wait. I choke out. Her talons pause, inches from my face, her headless body tilting as if puzzled. Why I wait? Her voice comes from the disembodied head, floating nearby. You sister sent us. I shout, hoping the mention of her sister would pierce through her rage. She asked us to find you, to help you. The effect is immediate. The air around us shifts as if charged with a sudden current. Chantria's body stiffens, and her head, floating eerily beside her, regards me with a newfound wariness. Saria send you. Her distorted voice carries a clear.

clear note of surprise. Yes, Saria, I confirm, my breath heaving. She's worried about you. Chantria's head floats closer, her eyes, glowing less fiercely now, examine me with an intensity that feels like it could peel back my soul. She really say that. Yes, she told us everything, I say, my voice steady despite the adrenaline pulsing through me. About the terrible things Inthavon did to you, she told us about the rituals you performed. She loves you, Chantria. She doesn't want you to lose yourself to this. I have to do, she declares.

They hurt us. Hurt many girls. Rain, still dangling from Chantria's grasp, adds her voice, her tone strained yet soothing. Chantria, listen. We're not here to stop you from making those fuckers pay. We're here to make sure you don't lose yourself in the process. Chantria's head floats there, the glow in her eye. eyes softening, the supernatural aura around her wavering as if caught in a dilemma.

The talons near my face retracts slightly, loosening their grip on the wall. Her headless body turns slightly, the posture less aggressive now. Why I trust you? Her voice, disembodied and echoing, sounds less menacing, more curious. You can trust us because we understand the pain and the betrayal you've been through. We work to protect people, to help them, I explain, trying to bridge the gap of distrust. You cops, Shia S-K-K-S, her voice a bizarre blend of ethereal and guttural sounds. No, we're private investigators, I explain, my tone calm and direct. Astrid Everly hired us.

She was worried about her husband. Zane. I carefully watch her, trying to gauge her reaction. I can tell she's taken aback by this revelation. I know want hurt him. Not really. Just scare him, she explains. Feel bad for wife, kids.

Chantria's talons withdraw completely from the wall, letting me slide to the ground. She gently sets rain down, who rushes over to me, her hands immediately checking for injuries. Her head, still detached, moves with a purposeful glide through the air, swooping down to where Jimmy and Thavong had pointed out the safe. With surprising gentleness, her head picks up the heavy metal box as if it weighs nothing, floating back to where her body stands near us, dropping it as her feet. With a deft maneuver, the head reattaches itself to her neck, the seams knitting together seamlessly as though they were never parted. Chantria stands upright, her posture regal and terrifying as her talons curl around the edges of the safe.

In one swift, fluid motion, she tears the door off its hinges, revealing stacks of crisp $100 bills piled neatly inside. She looks down at the exposed wealth. This blood money, she states flatly. They sell our bodies, our lives, for this. Rain, who's recovering from her ordeal, steadies herself and steps forward. Chantria, it's not too late to change the path you're on, she says gently.

You can still make things right, in other ways. Don't let this darkness consume you completely. I do things, dark things. She gestures to the carnage around us. Seria, she no can see me like this. Too much. Her eyes meet mine, and in them, I see a plea for understanding, a deep sorrow for roads taken and those forever closed off.

You take share, she instructs, nodding toward the safe. Split rest, give to my sister, and to miss a. everly. They deserve, better than what life give. Looking at the money, I feel a chill despite the sticky heat of the warehouse. The weight of Chantria's gaze, those glowing eyes, makes it clear that her request is more of a command, one that I'm in no position to refuse, not with the power she wields. Rain and I glance at each other, a silent agreement passing between us. We'll make sure it gets to them, I finally say, my voice steady but my mind racing. Chantria nods, her eyes shifting away, as if looking back on the havoc she wrought

is too much even for her. Good. This right thing to do. Her voice cracks slightly, the edges frayed. Where will you go? Rain asks, her voice soft, careful. Chantria looks toward the gaping warehouse doors, to the dark beyond. Somewhere far. Hide. Heal maybe. Not come back. She turns back to us, a shadow of regret passing over her features. Tell Saria, I sorry. Tell her, be strong. Better life here for her.

We will, I promise, my heart heavy. Enchantria, take care of yourself. She gives a short, curt nod, then, with those powerful, dark wings, thrusts herself up into the air, and through the door of the warehouse. The breeze from her departure flutters through the space, sending loose papers and debris swirling in her wake. Then, she's gone, disappearing into the night sky, leaving us alone with the silence and the dead. Rain and I work quickly to gather the money from the safe. Once the money is secured in our sturdy duffel bag, we move on to the more grim task of wiping down a crime scene for the second time that night. By the time we're done, the eastern sky is beginning to lighten, the first hints of dog

casting a pale blue over the city. We're tired, emotionally and physically. As we drive back to our office, the city of New Orleans is waking up. The streets are still mostly empty, the quiet of the early morning hanging over the French quarter like a delicate veil. We don't speak much, there's a mutual understanding that what we've experienced tonight is too vast, too raw to be distilled into words just yet. Back at the office, Abby greets us with a puzzled look, in our weary faces and the dirt and grime that coat our clothes. Rough night, she asks, her laced with concern. Something like that, Rain replies, managing a tired smile.

We'll fill you in later, I add. We assure her everything is handled, then retreat to our private office to decompress. Rain sits across from me, her fingers drumming on the desk. What are we going to tell Astrid? About her husband, and the money? We tell her the truth about Zane. As for the money. I pause, weighing the words.

We tell her it's a restitution of sorts. It doesn't replace her husband, but it's something to help her rebuild. And Saria? Rain asks, her gaze steady. We set her up with her share, make sure she's safe and can start anew. I lean back, feeling the exhaustion of the night washing over me. Rayne nods, her hand reaching across the desk to squeeze mine. We did good tonight, Ash.

Yeah, I agree, squeezing back. We did what we could. I make my way to Saria's apartment in Gretna, carrying the black duffel bag weighed down with the responsibility of Chantria's last request. It's a modest building in a part of town that's seen better days, but there's a quiet dignity about the place, a testament to the lives within making the best out of hard circumstances. I knock on the door, each tap echoing slightly in the narrow, dimly lit hallway.

After a moment, the door creaks open and Saria's face appears. Hey, Sonny, she greets me with a tentative smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Her look is one of cautious optimism, worn by too many hard days. Hey, Saria, I say, offering a small smile of my own. Can I come in? She nods, stepping back to allow me space to enter. Yeah, please come. Her apartment is clean but sparse, the furnishings minimal, a few personal items dotting the space to make it feel lived in. She gestures to a small table with a couple of chairs. You want sit, I nod and place the duffel bag on the table, its contents shifting with a soft

rustle. She sits opposite me, her posture upright, and anxious energy about her. You find Chantria? Her voice holds a mix of hope and fear, the balance precarious. I take a deep breath, the weight of the news I bring pressing down on me. Yeah, I found her. I pause, choosing my words carefully. She was, she is very brave, Saria. She did what she thought was necessary.

Saria's eyes search mine, looking for the unsaid words. She okay, I let out a sigh. She's safe, but she won't be coming back. She asked me to give you this. I gesture towards the duffel bag, unzipping it to reveal stacks of bills, neatly bundled. This is your share of. It's money she wanted you to have. To help you, to maybe make things a little easier.

Siria's eyes widen as she takes in the sight of the money, her hand hesitantly reaching out to touch the crisp bills as if to confirm they're real. This, this real, she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Yeah, it's real, I assure her gently. And don't worry about where it came from. We've taken care of everything. It's laundered, clean money. Seria pulls her hand back, her eyes still locked on the money.

But, why she do this? Why not come see me? Her voice breaks a little with emotion, the struggle between gratitude and loss evident in her tone. She wanted to, I reply, trying to provide comfort. But she's, she's changed, Saria. What she went through, what she became, it's complicated. She didn't want to put you at risk. She loves you a lot, and this was her way of trying to make sure you're taken care of. Saria nods slowly, tears welling up in her eyes. I always tell her, no matter what, we together. But now, she choose this way.

She wipes a tear from her cheek, her gaze hardening a bit as she processes the reality. She always protect me. Since we were little. Always. She's still trying to protect you, in her own way, I say, offering a reassuring smile. Saria looks down, fingers tracing the edge of the table before she meets my eyes again. And what about you? I don't know how repay you. Just take care of yourself and use this money to make a good life here.

That's good enough for me, I say, standing up to leave. And if you ever need anything, you have my number. I hand her my card. Saria's fingers lightly grasp my arm as I turn to leave, her touch gentle yet firm enough to pause my steps. She leans close and looks up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. There's a brief moment where her lips hover near mine, the space charged with unspoken words. Then, with a graceful pivot of her head, her lips press a soft, grateful kiss against my cheek instead. She steps back, giving me a small, sincere smile. Thank you, Sonny. I never forget this. I nod, returning the smile. Take good care of yourself, Saria.

As I walk down the dimly lit hallway, the echo of my footsteps blends with the murmur of the city beyond. Life has a way of rolling on, even after the shadows creep in and show you things that can't be unseen. Rain and I, well, we're still doing our thing, chasing leads, cracking cases, and trying to keep it all together. I still keep a casual eye out for any news on Chantry. You could say it's part professional habit, part genuine concern for what became of her. Every so often, stories pop up on true crime forms that catch our attention, unsavory characters found dismembered in the darker corners of the city, always accompanied by hushed rumors of a flying demon woman with a detachable head.

Whatever chantria became, whatever darkness she embraced or was thrust upon her, it's still out there. The end.