Work of art

Looking at himself in the surface of a beautiful ornate mirror, Henrick moved his head this way and that, slowly dragging a silver razor across his throat.

With an unerring motion he washed off what little foam there was on the blade and turned to the cabinet to dry himself with a towel.

Looking back at the mirror he settled his mind and sunk back into his role of Edward.

There were many ways of mastering your own mind that Henrick learned over his long life, and when acting, he generally found it easier to fully accept his guise as a real persona when deceiving others.

Still, while somewhat unhealthy there was no real threat that he would lose himself to the act of being Edward.

Henrick spent years perfecting his will and focus in order to practice necromancy. Compared to many unsavory and dangerous rituals, mere acting was not something he deemed dangerous to his mind, no matter how methodical it was.

Of course, in fully accepting his role as Edward he would undoubtably get closer to certain people, but that was fine with him.

Couple of hundreds of years was surprisingly long time to live, and through his long life Henrick found that being genuine with your feelings was the only way to survive for so long.

Developing legitimate feelings towards people close to him was something that was bound to happen at least in some measure, it may be a bit scummy considering he was wearing someone else face but he would deal with it.

This was the first time he actually took over someone’s body so it did take some getting used to, but on the other hand he did impersonate various people throughout the years so this was also not something completely strange to him. Some mental gymnastics would be necessary he knew, but Henrick was anything if not adaptable.

After all, it was truly wonderous what one could justify to himself in order to accomplish his goal.

Still, Henrick was not a hypocrite, he knew well enough how despicable his actions were. He was not a good man, but, even if some might disagree, he was not a monster either. Or at least not completely.

Besides, it’s not like he was here to destroy the Empire or snuff out millions of lives. He might change the Kingdoms, true, but his mission was not malicious. At least not in the full nature of plan. If everything went as he envisioned, the entire human civilization might be better off for it. With Henrick at the top of it all, of course.

Taking over Edwards body was necessary, and now that he went over that little hurdle with Lyrium, Henrick didn’t regret it in the slightest.

The boy wasted his life anyway, by the end of the year he would have been either dead or worse, someone’s brain dead, addicted puppet.

Not that Henrick cared. He would have taken Edwards’s brother Dorian if he could’ve had, since it would make his job much easier, but this was fine too.

Distancing himself from that train of thought Henrick dressed himself up, grabbing various supplies and pocketing his razor into his vest.

Couple of weeks had passed since his little talk with king Leonard and things were finally settling down. He still went to have a talk with his “father” at least once a week but so far nothing special came out of it.

The rather worrying mention of Leonard failing in his duty as a King, and the knowledge of an unknown goddess was a looming threat that was still present in his mind. But there was a time for everything, he would go about fixing that problem eventually, but so far Leonard was not overly enthusiastic at involving him deeper with empires problems.

Still, while telling Edward to take it slowly and heal properly, Leonard did promise to explain everything in greater detail later on.

In the meantime, they had their talks, and from what Henrick could understand the situation was not dire.

Whatever Leonard feared might happen was still a distant threat, and that meant Henrick had time to focus on other things.

Mainly, spreading his influence.

………………… some time later …………………

Willy the Black-tongue shuffled down the alley, casting long shadows in front of him while the sun settled behind his back. A crooked man both in body and mind he looked like a cross of a pig and a rat, fat and hairy, with a saggy looking face graced by two unevenly large eyeballs with yellowish bags under them. His wide mouth was filled with rotten teeth of whom every single one tried to twist in a different direction and upon his scalp there was just enough greasy hair to enhance his already abominable look.

Dressed in a tattered, boiled leather outfit and ugly black hat he rubbed his jeweled fingers with vigorous glee and flashed his terrifying smile to everyone who passed him, a sight which looked profoundly wrong on his face.

It was a good day for Black-tongue, another shipment of illegal alchemies just arrived into the city and he managed to screw over the supplier big time. A good day, very good, yes, money would flow and with it both drugs and medicine too, which in turn would supply a few top-notch hookers for old Willy.

As a main dealer and supplier in the city Willy got a cut of every ounce of stuff that got sold on the street, and considering that he made most of the drugs himself… well, it meant that Willy earned hefty sums of money.

The business was blooming these days, yes… his job was going quite well really, extraordinarily well actually. Business was going so well that one couldn't find it anything but suspicious, but alas greed had taken over other dealers and suppliers and, in their avarice, they didn't bother asking the right questions.

But not Willy, ohh no, not him. Willy knew his game well, he was going at it since he could barely read, and there was no bastard more vicious than him when it came to surviving. So, there was no way in hell he was falling into that trap so easily.

Thing was, there was a new player in town. Someone, it seemed, dropped out of the blue and started buying every illegal ingredient that was available on the market. Paid in royal coins too, and didn't dealers just love royal coin.

Willy giggled gleefully.

Fools, every last one of them. There was a reason why the empire wasn't filled with addicts and unsanctioned alchemists, a reason Willy knew very well. Imperial control, it was.

Because every now and then when things started to go out of control on the black market, royal agents would get involved. Which meant raids, purges, arrests and executions.

And in his life Willy survived through two such purges already, which is exactly what made him the most successful dealer in the City.

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From what he could gleam from recent events in these last few days, something smelled awfully of imperial agents on the black market. Good heavens above, they didn't even try to pay with foreign currency.

But it pleased Willy, ohh it pleased him greatly. Competition was already getting bolder and a good, nice sweep of the "house" would do wonders for him.

Things would go well for him he knew, as long as he kept his head down, and that he always did, ohh yes... These couple of weeks he kept it low, ohh so low, while those other fools strutted around like peacocks in their new earned wealth.

Upon reaching a small wooden door of an inconspicuous old shop, Willy stopped and shuffled around his pockets, awkwardly patting his coat in the search for his keys.

As he finally grabbed the cold bundle of iron keys in his pocket, a blurred shape appeared in his peripheral vision. Slowly turning his head towards the shadow that blocked out the weak rays of sunlight Willy felt cold beads of sweat drip along his spine.

Tall hooded figure stood beside him and under the dark woolen cloak, imperial armor glimmered, illuminated by last rays of setting sun.

Under the cowl that cowered the person, Willy could only see the lower part of a man’s face. His lips parted in a small smile and his stalker quietly spoke.

"Your presence, Sir Willy, is required. You will come with ...."

But Willy was already bolting away, his blurred, shuffling visage was some seven feet away even before last word left the stranger’s mouth.

Showing unexpected agility his legs carried him madly this way and that through small alleys, with his hand’s half bent before his chest he raced past the stands and around those few people he encountered, his head wobbling up and down like a chicken as his leather slippers flapped in a frenzied rhythm on the cobbled street.

His bulged eyes were fixed straight forward on his ugly face, focused on his escape route. And as he ran his neck was stretched and frozen stiff, not unlike an ostrich, or some other ugly, greasy bird on the run.

Measured, periodic gasps and breaths were escaping his lips, accompanied by a constant stream and trickle of spit and salvia as Willy flashed faster and faster trough dark corridors.

Jumping over old rotten crates and broken tiles he sped up as he passed another corner.

Turning sharply to the right he produced a sound like a squealing pig as gloved hand grabbed him by his throat and using his momentum slammed him into a nearby wall.

Suddenly finding himself without air his eyes somehow bulged even more out of his face. On the very verge of popping out of his skull his eyes rolled slowly downwards, gazing at the long thin dagger, pressed under his fat and greasy chin.

Ever so slowly he turned his gaze upwards, to face the man who now held him in his mercy.

Handsome face of a silver haired boy grinned merrily at him, and two bluish eyes glimmered in genuine amusement as he locked his gaze.

Few heartbeats later his original pursuer appeared, cowered in sweat and panting like a wet dog. Upon his arrival the boy slowly removed the hand from Willys throat, giving him some breath which Willy immediately started to waste by squeaking like a cornered rat.

The tall man that approached them gasped trough ragged breaths.

"I am sorry my Lord, he was faster than I thought he'd be."

Smiling benevolently the boy gave Willy a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Ohh it's quite all right isn't it, Willy. After all there is nothing to be mad about, nothing wrong with friends chasing each other around the town a little bit. Especially since you spared us quite some time by arriving here so quickly. That’s actually really nice of you."

Shaking like a leaf on his two crocked legs Willy croaked quietly.

"What do you want, what do you want…"

Like an old friend the boy smiled, his lips stretching in an amused pout as he said.

"Why Willy, I'm here to help you."

Kicking his legs pathetically Willy whimpered whilst trying to pull away and into the hard stone wall behind his back.

"I'm giving you nothing, you blue blooded bastards."

Boy’s head bent slightly backwards as he chuckled a hearty laugh, turning his affectionate eyes back on Willy he spoke in a kind tone.

"Oh, not yet you aren't. But don't you worry bout a thing, Willy.”

He patted him sympathetically on the shoulder.

"It will only hurt a second."

With that he shifted his grip on the dagger and buried it into his hear. And for Willy, everything went black…

…

…

…Muffled sounds filled his ears as he became aware of darkness covering his eyes.

One voice, jovially talking to someone, echoed in his ears.

Ever so slowly Willy opened his eyes.

While blurred, vision slowly crawled into his brain. He shuddered at the sensation of ice spreading across his back as his mind processed the fact that he was cold, his heart slowly thumping in his chest.

No, that wasn't quite right, everything around him was cold. He perceived as icy iron shackles constricted him when he tried to touch his chest.

Leather straps, slapped around his torso, hands and legs were the second thing he became aware off, and finally as he weakly tried to lift his head, he was stopped by a piercing sensation of three steel needles embedded in his skull.

Interestingly enough there was no pain, only the feeling of steel inside his flesh and bones.

He finally became aware enough to see the silver haired boy turning to his companion, energetically showing him something jarred in a bottle as the other man sickly looked at the contents of it, greenish tinge visible on his face.

In a drunken torpor, Willy slowly moved his gaze across the small, dark cellar in which they were in. Storage for perishable goods, fish or meat it looked like, cold and dark, yet it was alight with numerous candles arrayed on the shelves across the room. Strangely they didn't seem to produce any heat, because he could clearly see frost escaping his captor's mouth when he spoke.

That the room was some sort of cold storage for meat was made more evident by the icy surface of frosted blood, that covered all those carved up bodies around the room.

Wait…bodies…

"So, you see…"

Holding in his hand a jar filled with greenish liquid in which floated a black severed tongue, Edward explained something to Samuel, who judging by expression on his face seemed to be at least somewhat interested in ongoing conversation.

"…our friend here has been suffering from quite severe tissue necrosis, mainly on his tongue and parts of his throat, which would most likely be fatal if not for the vast amounts of alchemical solutions found layered in his liver. Alas that in turn had led to several other problems which were surprisingly negated by…"

Willy screamed.

Or he tried to at least, since his mouth was filled with old dried blood and something else, almost cloth like.

So instead of a high-pitched scream, what filled the room were muffled sounds of a desperate man with a mouthful of cloth.

"Oh, he's awake, Samuel go fetch the mirror."

Horrified, Willy continued to scream his lungs out, staring at the sight of a room filled with corpses, additionally decorated with numerous jars of what was most likely organs and body parts.

"Shhh, shhh, there is no need for that now Willy."

Edward cooed sweetly as he approached his table.

"Let me just get that off of you."

Edward stated as he calmly ignored muffled screams and leisurely unbuckled the makeshift harness that was covering Willy's head.

Squirming like a worm Willy trashed his now free head this way and that, all the while screaming like hell.

Frowning slightly, Edward grabbed Willy's forehead and jammed his hand down the throat where he grabbed a blood smeared cloth and pulled it out.

The smell of herbs and potions filled the room as Edward casually flicked said filthy cloth into the corner of the room while Willy continued to scream in panic, looking left and right in dread, not knowing on what horror to focus first.

"Willy."

Edward said calmly as he took Willy by the chin and made him focus on him.

Willy still continued to scream.

"AAHHHHHHHH, AHHHHHHH YOU MONSTER, AHHHHH…"

"Willy! Willy, snap out of it man."

Edward barked as he slapped him two times across the face.

"You are well now, there is no need for all this drama."

Willy was gasping, petrified, switching his attention this way and that as Samuel entered the room dragging behind him a huge ornate mirror.

It was a huge freaking mirror, looking hellishly expensive with artistically carved golden frame and shiny surface of impeccable quality, it belonged more in some rich corner of royal palace then in this filthy old butchery.

Scarred as a mouse Willy flashed his eyes from Edward to Samuel and back again.

"What did you do, what did you do…."

Lifting his hand soothingly Edward told him.

"Calm now, Willy just calm… down."

Stretching in his bindings he screamed as loud as he could.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO ME?"

Sighing in defeat Edward turned to the mirror and twisted it in his direction saying.

"I helped you Willy, like I said I would."

Suddenly mute, Willy stared at his reflection, frozen.

It wasn't him.

Staring at him from the mirrors surface was a face of a handsome young man.

Lush black hair swept down to his brow, stained with sweat and blood. On his scarred yet handsome face he could make out two bright eyes, one green and other blue, both beautiful in their opposites.

With some heat finally returning to his fingers he moved his eyes downwards and studied his half naked body, crisscrossed with scars it was still well endowed with muscle, and if not for a slight discoloration of tissue here and there it could pass for a body of some unknown veteran of too many battlefields.

Scarred and tortured, yet powerful in its wounds and flaws.

Slowly, Willy recognized his eyes, both of them. That hair, that chest too. He always had a good eye for people and he remembered everyone he ever laid his eyes upon.

There it was, a familiarity in all those details of a body he looked upon. Those eyes, that collarbone, fingers and hair, each part belonged to one of his rivals.

And every single one of them was dealing in these, so very appealing, business affairs that just kept popping up around the city.

His eyes widened in sudden realization.

Seeing his expression Edward turned to him happily.

"Ohh, figured it out already, did you? Now that's impressive, I knew I picked the right one."

Scared, he looked to Edward and asked him in quivering voice.

"What did you do to me?"

Smiling knowingly, Edward took a seat at the nearby stool.

"I gave you a carrot."

Dumbfounded, Willy just blurted, looking at him numbly.

"What?"

His eyes twinkling, Edward took of his blood smeared gloves and loosened the stained scarf around his neck.

"And now, Willy if you don't start listening to me, or if you keep on screaming like a madman I will just undo all I did to you, peace by peace, while you are awake."

Still confused Willy weakly asked again.

"What?"

"A Stick, Willy, a stick. Now, how about we get you out of here and go upstairs. I have set some tea and biscuits that I'm sure you will appreciate, along some warm blankets too, of course. I wouldn't want you getting a cold, after all, we have a lot to talk about."

"Huh."

Edward smiled.

"A lot, a whole lot to talk about. And then we will get some more corpses."