Lyssandro's dark eyes gleamed with renewed cunning, his sharp ears twitching faintly as he gauged her enthusiasm. “There is a rival,” he began, his voice low and deliberate, as though speaking of them aloud might conjure their presence. “A merchant—Anton Drevaris—whose dealings have become... problematic for my enterprise. He’s encroaching on territory that doesn’t belong to him, muscling in where he’s neither wanted nor invited.”
Vivienne leaned back slightly, crossing her legs, her gaze fixed on him with feigned boredom. “A turf war? How quaint,” she said, her tone dripping with mockery. “Isn’t that something your hired thugs could handle?”
Lyssandro’s smile didn’t waver, but his fingers drummed lightly against the table. “If brute force were the solution, it would have been done already. Drevaris has made himself untouchable, surrounded by guards and barricades wherever he goes. But more importantly, he holds leverage—documents, names, and records—things that could do considerable damage if revealed to the wrong parties.” He paused, his voice dropping lower. “Things that could implicate me.”
Vivienne’s grin returned, sharp and calculating. “Ah, now we’re getting to the heart of it. So, you want me to infiltrate, eliminate, or both?”
Lyssandro’s gaze sharpened, his voice soft but edged with steel. “I need you to retrieve those documents and destroy his ability to interfere with my operations. How you choose to accomplish this is entirely up to you, but Drevaris cannot remain a threat.”
Vivienne tapped a finger against her lips, her expression contemplative. “A little blackmail retrieval, some creative destruction... Sounds straightforward enough. And if I succeed?”
“Then you will have my trust,” Lyssandro replied, his voice steady. “And more importantly, my resources.”
Vivienne rose from her seat with an effortless grace, her dark eyes gleaming with a confidence that bordered on predatory. “Consider it done,” she said, her tone smooth as silk, undercut with a dangerous edge. She turned to leave, pausing at the doorway to glance over her shoulder, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “I’ll make sure your little problem is dealt with... thoroughly.”
As the door clicked shut behind her, the tension in the room released like a taut bowstring. Whispers broke out among the patrons, their earlier bravado now replaced with hushed awe and lingering fear. Lyssandro leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass thoughtfully. A flicker of unease crossed his face, but it quickly vanished behind his usual composed mask.
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Vivienne descended from Lyssandro's private quarters with the same commanding presence. She navigated the club’s dimly lit halls with ease, her memory guiding her back to the main floor.
The atmosphere below was a stark contrast to the calculated menace she had left upstairs. Music pulsed through the air, mingling with the hum of chatter and the occasional burst of laughter. The patrons were blissfully unaware of the darker dealings that occurred above their heads, wrapped up in their own revelry.
Vivienne’s entrance cut through the crowd like a knife. The shift in energy was immediate—eyes darting to her, conversations faltering, and a few patrons quickly stepping aside to avoid her gaze. She ignored the stares, her focus honing in on her silent companion near the far end of the room.
Renzia remained exactly where Vivienne had left her, a haunting figure amidst the swirling chaos of the club. Her mannequin form was a stark contrast to the living, breathing patrons around her, and yet she had drawn quite the audience. A small crowd had gathered, whispering among themselves and daring one another to get closer.
“Renzia, sweetheart,” Vivienne called, her voice cutting through the noise with a commanding clarity. “We’re leaving.”
The mannequin’s head twisted unnaturally to face Vivienne, the movement sudden and jarring. Her wooden frame cracked audibly as she began to shift, her joints creaking with a lifelike fluidity that sent the onlookers scrambling backward in shock. The crowd parted like water as Renzia fell in line behind Vivienne, her towering, stitched form as eerie as ever.
Vivienne smirked faintly at their reactions, her gaze never wavering as she made her way toward the exit. The bouncers stationed near the doors exchanged uncertain glances, their confusion evident. Yet they didn’t dare question her or her unnerving companion. Without breaking stride, Vivienne pushed open the heavy doors, stepping into the cool air.
The sun hung low in the sky, its golden rays casting long shadows across the cobbled streets of Serkoth. The city was alive with the hum of commerce, the occasional shout of a street vendor, and the rhythmic clatter of hooves against stone. Vivienne strode with purpose through the bustling thoroughfares, ignoring the world around her. The weight of her encounter with Lyssandro lingered in her mind, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she replayed the scene.
Renzia followed behind, her unnervingly smooth gait drawing wary glances from passersby. Though the mannequin garnered stares, no one dared to speak, the intensity of Vivienne’s presence acting as an unspoken deterrent.
The Serkoth Clanhall loomed ahead, a bastion of power and tradition nestled within the heart of the city. Sunlight glinted off its iron gates, casting intricate patterns on the ground. As Vivienne approached, the guards at the entrance straightened, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords. One of them gave her a stiff nod before opening the gate without question.
She ascended the stone steps with effortless grace, the heavy oak doors of the Clanhall groaning slightly as they swung open. The interior was cool and dim, the faint scent of aged wood and parchment hanging in the air. The murmurs of activity echoed faintly through the corridors as Vivienne made her way toward Narek’s office, her movements purposeful.
Pushing open the slightly ajar door, Vivienne stepped inside to find Narek seated at his desk. The room was awash with the warm glow of late-afternoon sunlight filtering through the tall windows. Stacks of parchment and ledgers were spread across the polished surface, evidence of the Serkoth family’s extensive operations.
Narek glanced up, his sharp features unreadable as he regarded her. “You’ve returned,” he said, his tone neutral but expectant. “I trust your time with Lyssandro was... eventful?”
Vivienne closed the door behind her and took a few steps forward, her dark eyes gleaming. “Eventful and productive,” she replied. “I’ve established myself as someone worth Lyssandro’s attention. He believes I can be useful to him—and to prove it, he’s set a test.”
Narek’s brow furrowed slightly as he leaned back in his chair, his long fingers steepled before him. “A test?”
Vivienne nodded, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Drevaris. He wants me to deal with him. The merchant’s been muscling in on Lyssandro’s operations, and it seems Lyssandro has grown tired of him.”
At the mention of Drevaris, Narek’s expression darkened, his gaze turning pensive. He tapped his fingers against the desk, his eyes narrowing as he considered her words.
“Drevaris,” he murmured, almost to himself. “The man’s ambition has been growing unchecked for too long. He’s been nibbling at the edges of Serkoth territory as well, though I had hoped to use him as leverage against some of our competitors. Still, his overreach has become problematic.”
Vivienne tilted her head slightly, watching him closely. “It seems Lyssandro and the Serkoth family have overlapping interests in this case.”
Narek’s sharp gaze flicked back to her, his expression calculating. After a moment, he gave a curt nod. “You have my approval. Handle Drevaris however you see fit, but ensure it’s decisive. If Lyssandro is observing, we cannot afford any missteps.”
Vivienne’s smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. “Consider it done. By the time I’m through, Drevaris will be little more than a memory.”
Narek told her the location of his home and his warehouses, then returned his attention to the papers before him, though his voice remained firm. “Good. Report back when it’s done. And, Vivienne—ensure there are no loose ends.”
“Always,” she said smoothly, turning on her heel. Renzia followed silently as they left the office, the mannequin’s movements as fluid as ever.
Vivienne moved through the halls of the Serkoth estate with a sense of purpose, though the stillness of the evening and the weight of her task weighed heavily on her. The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the ornate corridors as the last rays of light disappeared behind the horizon. It wouldn’t be long before night fully settled in, and she would have the cover she needed to proceed with the next phase of her plan.
She paused by a large window, gazing out at the city as it shifted from the vibrancy of day to the quiet, unsettling calm of night. The streets would be darker now, the shadows deeper, perfect for the kind of work she was about to undertake. But, for now, she would wait.
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Renzia, ever the silent companion, stood just behind her, unmoving as always. The mannequin’s stillness was unsettling in its own right, but Vivienne had grown accustomed to the odd presence over the past few hours. It was strange, yet there was a certain reliability to the girl, even if her past—and Vivienne’s role in it—remained a mystery.
Vivienne could feel the subtle shift of the air as the last traces of daylight faded. It was time. Her plan was set in motion, and there was no turning back now.
She turned to Renzia, who had been waiting patiently in the background. “We’re leaving soon,” Vivienne said, her voice low but purposeful. “Make sure you're ready.”
Renzia’s response was almost immediate, a slight movement of her head indicating acknowledgement. There was no need for words; the mannequin was ever vigilant, always prepared.
By the time the moon began to rise, the estate was silent, and the streets outside were cloaked in shadow. Vivienne could feel the pull of the night, the power it offered, and the shadow it cast over the city. She crossed the room to collect her cloak, the dark fabric flowing behind her as she approached the door.
“We have work to do,” she said quietly to Renzia, who had already begun to follow her. The mannequin’s movements were as fluid as always, almost ethereal in the dim light, and Vivienne couldn’t help but wonder about the strange bond forming between them.
Together, they left the estate, the doors closing silently behind them as they stepped into the cool night air. The city seemed more alive in the dark, the distant hum of the underworld pressing against the silence.
Vivienne’s thoughts sharpened like a blade as she strode through the quiet streets, the cool night air coiling around her bare feet and flowing dress. The city hummed softly in the distance, its subdued rhythm more inviting under the cover of darkness. Tonight, she would prove her value to Lyssandro, assert her presence in this delicate web of power and intrigue. The plan was clear, the path ahead set—but her instincts churned with the endless hunger she carried.
Her focus wavered briefly as her tongue flicked out, tasting the air for the faint tang of aether. The city teemed with it, thin wisps of latent fear and unease that hung over the streets like a fine mist. She felt her hunger rise, gnawing at her resolve. Rava had permitted her to indulge, so long as she kept herself in check. A test of discipline as much as one of strategy. Feeding didn’t require death—not always. A siphon here, a brush of terror there, and she could satisfy the edge of her hunger without leaving a trail.
But it wasn’t the same. Feeding without killing was like sipping thin soup—nourishing in the barest sense, a necessity rather than a pleasure. True satisfaction came from something far richer, more decadent: devouring aether-rich flesh, savoring the depth and complexity like a full-bodied stew paired with fragrant rice. The thought alone was intoxicating, and for a moment, Vivienne indulged in the fantasy. Perhaps her target tonight could become a stew?
The idea coaxed a low, dark chuckle from her lips, one that lingered in the stillness of the night. Eating people—now, that was a strange thought. Her long, wicked claws flexed as if in agreement, and she pondered the distance she had come from humanity. Did she resent it? No, not entirely. But she didn’t relish it either. The power, the freedom it afforded her, was intoxicating in its own right. Yet it came with a gnawing hunger that never truly left her.
Still, the thought wouldn’t leave her mind. Perhaps she could justify it, someday. The truly vile ones—the predators, the wicked—might be acceptable. Or maybe she could make a sport of it on the front lines, should her power grow enough to be useful in war. None of the clans would complain if she fed on their enemies, right? She could imagine the battlefield, chaos unfolding around her as she stalked through the carnage, feasting on fear and flesh alike.
For now, though, she had to keep herself in check. Tonight wasn’t about indulgence—it was about proving herself, making a statement without drawing too much attention.
She glanced at Renzia, who followed closely and silently at her side, her presence a steadying force in Vivienne’s tumultuous thoughts. "Let's make this quick," she murmured, mostly to herself. "And... clean."
Renzia tilted her head, the faint crackle of her joints the only sound as she shifted her posture. Her slate emerged from her sleeve, the word Clean? scrawled in precise, looping letters.
Vivienne smirked, her sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. "Clean enough," she clarified. "Let's not make a stew out of this one, hm?"
Renzia gave a slow, deliberate nod, though it was unclear if she understood the humor or was merely acknowledging the command.
Vivienne’s grin widened. "Good girl."
The merchant's estate came into view, its shadowed silhouette looming against the starry sky. Lights glimmered faintly through the windows, and the faint murmur of guards’ voices carried on the night breeze. The scent of aether was faint but present—a thread of potential feeding into her hunger.
"Let’s get to work," Vivienne whispered, her voice low and sharp, like the edge of a blade.
The shadows clung to Vivienne like an old friend, her bare feet making no sound as she moved across the cobblestones and into the cover of the merchant's estate walls. The night was thick with stillness, save for the occasional rustle of wind through the trees and the muted voices of guards stationed at various posts. Vivienne flicked her tongue out, tasting the air—aether faint but present, mingling with the unease of those stationed within.
Renzia followed her lead without hesitation, her movements eerily fluid and silent despite her wooden frame. The mannequin clung to the darker recesses of the path, her glowing, stitch-like seams barely visible in the dim light.
The estate was modest for a merchant of Drevaris's ambitions, but well-secured. High walls surrounded the central house, and the faint glow of lanterns revealed several patrolling guards. Vivienne counted their movements, noting their rotations and the brief windows when they were obscured from one another’s view.
“This way,” she whispered to Renzia, motioning toward the corner of the estate where a small garden sat in bloom, its hedges tall enough to provide cover.
Once concealed, Vivienne crouched low, her sharp eyes scanning the guards nearest the house. The entry points were limited—windows barred with wrought iron and a heavy wooden door flanked by two sentries. Her mind raced through possibilities.
The back entrance might offer less resistance. Vivienne pointed to it, and Renzia tilted her head in understanding. Together, they moved with the grace of predators, slipping past the light and sound of the patrols until they reached the rear of the estate.
Here, a kitchen door stood ajar, likely left so by servants needing fresh air in the warm evening. Vivienne allowed herself a small smile at their carelessness. She pressed her ear to the crack, listening for signs of life within. The sound of clattering dishes and low conversation drifted out—servants busying themselves in preparation for the morning.
She slipped inside, her movement seamless and unnoticed. Renzia followed, her presence like a shadow, barely registering to the oblivious staff. They moved deeper into the house, keeping to the edges of the rooms and listening carefully to every voice they passed.
Vivienne’s sharp senses led her to the heart of the estate—a study on the second floor, faint light spilling through the crack under the door. She pressed her hand against it, leaning in just enough to hear.
Inside, two voices carried on a heated conversation. One was unfamiliar— though with the way he was speaking, it was likely Drevaris himself—while the other belonged to a nervous subordinate.
“They’ll come for me eventually, you know that!” the merchant spat. “I’ve muscled in too far for the clans to ignore. It’s only a matter of time before they send someone like Lyssandro.”
The subordinate hesitated. “Then... maybe it’s time to pull back, sir? Consolidate what we have?”
Drevaris let out a sharp laugh. “You think that will stop them? No. I’ll show them I’m not to be trifled with. Increase the shipments to the western district, and make sure we have reinforcements ready. If Lyssandro or his lackeys think they can intimidate me, they’ll regret it.”
Vivienne’s lips curled into a wicked smile. This was better than she’d hoped. He was clearly aware of Lyssandro’s presence and already preparing for confrontation.
She gestured to Renzia, signaling her to stay close as she slipped away from the door and into another shadowed hallway. More information might solidify her approach. Drevaris’s tone hinted at arrogance, and arrogance could be exploited.
The thought of using her charms to extract more details flitted through her mind. Her plump, curvaceous form and the predatory allure she exuded could easily lower his defenses. But for now, she needed to find his quarters and ensure she had every angle of his operation mapped out.
Vivienne moved silently, her senses sharpened as she ascended to the third floor of the estate. The merchant’s private quarters would undoubtedly hold the most valuable information—letters, ledgers, or artifacts that might confirm his dealings and ambitions.
Renzia followed close behind, her fluid, almost ghostly movements ensuring she made no sound. The two reached a large oak door at the end of the hallway, faintly illuminated by the flickering glow of a sconce nearby. Vivienne ran her fingers lightly over the handle, noting its intricate design—a symbol of wealth, though perhaps not wisdom.
She nudged the door open slowly, the faint creak masked by the distant clatter of the kitchen staff below. The room beyond was spacious but cluttered, a stark contrast to the calculated demeanor Drevaris displayed. Papers and books were strewn across the desk, while shelves lined with ledgers and curios dominated one wall. A small fireplace crackled faintly in the corner, its warmth giving the space a deceptively inviting feel.
Vivienne stepped inside, her bare feet silent against the plush carpet. Her sharp eyes scanned the room, drawn first to the desk where an open ledger lay. She skimmed its contents, her gaze narrowing as she took in the figures.
Drevaris wasn’t just expanding his trade; he was overextending himself, leveraging dangerous loans and relying on shipments that hadn’t yet arrived. A single disruption could topple his fragile operation.
Her smile widened. Lyssandro will find this very useful.
“Keep watch,” she murmured to Renzia, who stationed herself by the door, her movements seamless and mechanical.
Vivienne turned her attention to the shelves, running her fingers lightly over the spines of the ledgers. One, in particular, caught her eye—a worn, leather-bound volume with the word Private embossed on the front. She plucked it from its place, flipping through the pages to reveal detailed accounts of bribes, illegal trades, and names—plenty of names.
“Oh, Drevaris,” she whispered, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You’ve been very naughty.”
She tucked the book into the folds of her dress, careful to leave no sign it had been disturbed. Her search continued, her predatory instincts leading her to a locked drawer in the desk.