Bell feels it creeping in.

  The moment his claws tear through the chest of a blood imp, something else presses against his mind.

  He knows this feeling.

  He has felt it before—on muddy fields, under artillery fire, when screams drowned out reason and survival demanded brutality.

  The bloodthirsty haze.

  It slides over his thoughts like a veil, dulling fear, muting pain, sharpening intent into a single purpose.

  Kill.

  Bell roars and charges.

  He stops thinking about defence.

  Stops caring about his own body.

  He uses the fist-fighting techniques drilled into him during his years as a soldier—close quarters, momentum, bone-breaking strikes—only now his hands are claws.

  He hooks an imp by the neck and rips upward, tearing head from body.

  Another slashes his side, claws carving into his ribs.

  Bell barely notices.

  Pain exists somewhere distant, irrelevant.

  He drives his shoulder into the creature, smashes it against the wall, and crushes its skull with both hands.

  Blood sprays.

  His own blood joins it.

  He keeps moving.

  An imp leaps for his throat.

  Bell steps inside its reach, twists, and shreds its torso open.

  Claws rake across his arm.

  Muscle splits.

  Still, he does not slow.

  The haze urges him forward, drowning caution beneath rage and momentum.

  Nearby, Simon fights differently.

  More controlled.

  More deliberate.

  But Bell does not see that.

  He sees only enemies.

  And he tears them apart.

  —

  Cassandra watches the battlefield shift.

  The imps are thinning.

  The knights—augmented by the green potions—are holding.

  Simon and Bell, transformed into werewolves, have turned into forces of pure disruption.

  The line is stabilising.

  This is the opening she needs.

  Cassandra steps back, putting distance between herself and the melee.

  From her satchel, she pulls out crystal rods, powdered reagents, and etched metal plates.

  She kneels and begins arranging an alchemy array directly onto the living floor.

  The blood-veined surface resists at first, pulsing angrily.

  Cassandra presses down harder, carving symbols with ice-hardened fingers.

  Her breath is steady, controlled.

  Around her, the battle rages.

  Kade and Linda clash again, shockwaves rippling outward as fist meets claw.

  Knight apprentices roar and strike, bodies swollen with borrowed power, blades drenched in blackened blood.

  Bell howls and slams an imp headfirst into the ground, cracking stone and skull alike.

  Cassandra finishes the final line of the array.

  She places her palm at its centre.

  Her ice spirit life surges.

  “Activate.”

  Frost explodes outward from the array.

  Ice spreads across the floor in branching patterns, racing along the blood veins like frost crawling over living flesh.

  The walls tremble.

  The Blood Abyss tunnel projection flickers.

  Veins pulse erratically, then dim.

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  Portals shudder.

  One collapses inward with a shriek, sucking an imp into nothing.

  Another snaps shut mid-emergence, severing limbs.

  The air screams.

  Then—silence.

  The living walls harden and crack.

  The blood veins evaporate into mist.

  The tunnel dissolves.

  Concrete replaces flesh.

  The projection is gone.

  Linda freezes.

  Her momentum falters.

  For the first time, her eyes show confusion.

  Kade does not hesitate.

  He steps in and drives his fist forward, all remaining fighting energy compressed into a single point.

  His punch slams into Linda’s chest.

  The impact is thunderous.

  Linda is flung backwards, body crashing into the concrete wall with bone-shattering force.

  Cracks spiderweb outward.

  Her wings tear.

  Her claws retract.

  Her transformation collapses in on itself.

  Linda slumps to the ground, body reverting to that of an old woman.

  At the same moment, the blood-veined restraints binding Charlie disintegrate.

  Charlie drops hard onto the floor, unmoving.

  Cassandra rises and rushes forward.

  Kade, breathing heavily, turns and charges the remaining blood imps with the knights.

  Without portals feeding them, the imps fall quickly.

  Simon rips the head off one last creature.

  Bell crushes another beneath his claws.

  Within moments, the chamber is silent.

  The tension snaps.

  As the adrenaline fades, so does the borrowed power.

  The knight apprentices stumble.

  Their bodies shrink back to normal, veins receding, muscles deflating.

  Fighting energy drains completely.

  One by one, they collapse onto the floor, pale and exhausted.

  Simon groans as his transformation reverses.

  Bones crack again—this time inward.

  Fur retracts.

  Claws shorten into fingers.

  He drops to one knee, then both, gasping.

  Bell staggers, the bloodthirsty haze lifting abruptly.

  Pain crashes into him like a wave.

  Every cut, every poisoned scratch ignites at once.

  He collapses to the floor with a strangled cry.

  The poison spreads through their bodies, slow and burning.

  Cassandra stands at the centre of the chamber, drenched in sweat, shoulders trembling with exhaustion.

  Her face is pale.

  “We… wait here,” she says hoarsely. “I’ll call for help.”

  She straightens with effort and turns toward Charlie.

  Her heart lurches.

  Charlie lies unmoving.

  “Kade,” she says urgently, “please check if that doctor is okay.”

  Kade braces his hands on his knees, sucking in deep breaths.

  He nods and forces himself upright.

  Each step is heavy.

  He reaches Charlie and kneels.

  Carefully, he rolls Charlie onto his back.

  Kade brings two fingers near Charlie’s nose.

  He exhales in relief.

  “He’s breathing,” Kade says, turning his head toward Cassandra—

  His words cut off.

  His face twists in sudden agony.

  Kade looks down.

  A hand grips his chest.

  Charlie’s hand.

  A scalpel is buried deep, driven straight through armour, muscle, and bone.

  Into his heart.

  Cassandra’s eyes widen in horror.

  Kade collapses sideways, body hitting the floor with a dull, final thud.

  Charlie stands.

  His movements are calm.

  Controlled.

  He holds the same scalpel Linda had used.

  His eyes are clear.

  Cold.

  Cassandra’s mind snaps together.

  The unease she felt earlier.

  The wrongness.

  Linda was never the core.

  She was the vessel.

  The madness was real—but guided.

  “Charlie,” Cassandra whispers.

  He smiles faintly.

  And in that smile, Cassandra understands everything far too late.

  The realisation barely finishes forming before the air splits.

  A thunderous boom detonates inside the chamber.

  Lightning descends like a spear hurled by the heavens themselves, pure and merciless, piercing straight through Charlie’s chest.

  Blue-white light engulfs him.

  Thunder roars, not once, but again and again, echoing through the ruined compound as arcs of lightning coil around his body.

  Charlie doesn’t even have time to scream.

  His smile freezes, then shatters as his body convulses, lifted off the ground by the force.

  The scalpel drops, clattering uselessly across the concrete.

  In a final flash, the lightning consumes him entirely.

  When the light fades, nothing remains but scorched ground and the faint smell of ozone.

  Silence follows.

  Heavy.

  Absolute.

  —

  Bell’s eyes snap open.

  The first thing he sees is a pale blue curtain swaying slightly above him.

  The second is Jake, seated beside the bed, arms folded, eyes fixed on Bell’s face.

  “Wha—?” Bell croaks.

  Memory crashes back all at once.

  Charlie’s laughter.

  Knight Kade collapsing.

  Blood.

  Then a blinding light.

  Then nothing.

  “You’re finally awake,” Jake says quietly.

  Bell presses his palms into the mattress and groans as pain lances through his body.

  Jake immediately leans forward and helps him sit up.

  Bell settles against the pillows, breathing hard.

  The room smells of antiseptic and steam.

  Muffled voices and footsteps drift in from beyond the curtains.

  A common ward.

  A hospital.

  “What happened?” Bell asks.

  Jake studies him for a moment, not his usual snark anywhere in sight.

  “Do you want it from the beginning,” Jake asks, “or from after Charlie got killed?”

  Bell exhales slowly.

  “Charlie’s dead?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  Bell closes his eyes briefly and lets out a long breath.

  Relief outweighs everything else.

  “That doctor fooled everyone,” Bell mutters. “We had him in custody once. Then Simon’s friend Clive got him out.”

  Jake shakes his head. “Not Clive’s fault. The evidence pointed to Linda. And Linda really was killing people.”

  Bell nods weakly. “Charlie only killed Knight Kade.”

  Jake’s jaw tightens for a moment, then he continues.

  “Tell you from the beginning, then.”

  Bell nods.

  “Clive searched Charlie’s room,” Jake says. “Found a hidden book. Red cover. Ancient Sand language. Basic Blood Alchemy.”

  Bell’s eyes narrow slightly.

  “Clive translated it,” Jake continues. “Found a ritual. Five organs from different people. Then living sacrifices. Full moon. Midnight. The whole thing was about forcing alchemist talent.”

  Jake continues. “Clive realised Charlie wasn’t just involved. He was the mastermind.”

  “What happened then?” Bell asks.

  “Clive came to us with the findings,” Jake says. “I took it straight to Chief James.”

  Jake leans back slightly.

  “The compound was closed. If we went to the Crown Library to ask for help, we’d lose time. So James took us to the Sand Temple instead.”

  Bell’s eyes open wider. “The Sand Temple?”

  Jake nods. “Luck was on our side. Someone there agreed to help.”

  Bell swallows. “Who?”

  Jake hesitates for half a second. “A master.”

  He doesn’t elaborate.

  “All I know,” Jake continues, “is that he arrived at the compound right when everything was going to hell. One strike. Lightning. Charlie was gone.”

  Bell lets out a slow breath.

  “So Charlie wanted to become an alchemist,” Bell murmurs, “but he had no talent. So he tried to steal it.”

  “That’s our conclusion too,” Jake says.

  Bell leans back against the pillows.

  Images flash through his mind.

  Claws instead of hands.

  Power roaring through his veins.

  The bloodthirsty haze.

  Now all of it is gone.

  He is just a man again.

  An ordinary one.

  Bell closes his eyes.

  “Thanks,” he mutters. “For telling me.”

  Jake stands. “Get some rest.”

  Bell doesn’t answer.

  He is already drifting.

  —

  Clive walks through the streets of Olden City.

  He passes from one worn district into another, the buildings growing older, the alleys narrower, the air heavier with history.

  The city feels different tonight.

  Quieter.

  As if something vast has exhaled and gone still.

  He reaches the temple district.

  Here, the great churches of the three faiths rise in solemn silence.

  Clive does not head for the grand entrances.

  Instead, he slips into the back streets, winding paths hidden from pilgrims and nobles alike.

  At the rear of the Sand Temple, he stops.

  Before him stands a plain building.

  No sign.

  No windows.

  Only a staircase descends into the underground of the city.

  Well-dressed men and women enter and exit, faces calm, steps measured.

  Clive adjusts his coat.

  Then he walks toward the stairs and begins his descent.