The moment he entered the secret chamber, Durand suppressed his excruciating pain. Groping in the dark, he used the sword-and-shield decorations on the wall to brace against the hidden door before igniting a kerosene lighter. Looking down at his flank, he saw a deep laceration continuously oozing blood that had already saturated a large portion of his nightshirt.
From the assassin's infiltration speed, the killer must have been inside the house when Durand activated his slumber ability. Yet the assailant remained awake, and the strength required to thrust a sword through both bed and floorboards far exceeded human capability.
Durand realized with absolute clarity - this man, like himself, was a Transcendent!
His own abilities favored stealth assassination, but frontal confrontation against a killer showing signs of physical enhancement would prove disastrous, especially wounded...
Clutching his bleeding flank, Durand saw no alternative but to resort to that method.
......
Yvette twisted the mechanism Durand had previously activated. Though clicking sounds emanated from within the wall, the door remained immobile - blocked by some obstruction.
Why complicate matters? She lifted a kerosene lantern from the mantel, drew a tongue of flame from the fireplace to ignite the wick, then cranked the valve to maximum intensity.
Channeling the lantern's fierce blaze through her left hand, she pressed her right palm against the hidden door - transforming fire's scorching heat into irresistible force.
Groaning metal protested as the antique sword-and-shield ornament warped, yielding a narrow passage barely sufficient for her frame.
Lantern in one hand and rapier in the other, Yvette advanced into the pitch-black corridor. Beyond lay a chamber matching the parlor's dimensions, its rough stone walls webbed with ancient cobwebs. Raising her light source, she illuminated a horrific tableau at the far end:
Durand cradled an opened canopic jar, extracting a stillborn infant steeped in sanguine fluid. The fetus clutched a grotesquely malformed tumor veined with pulsating membranes - some unnatural organ parasitizing its abdomen.
Noticing her entrance, Duran fixed her with venomous eyes: "You destroyed my wealth and status. Now you'll die through unbearable torment - taste my wrath!"
With that, he viciously bit into the eldritch organ - devouring the mass in savage gulps.
This putrid flesh represented his own excised kidney. The "Hydra" cult had employed forbidden rites to condense his Quintessence into specific viscera stored in Egyptian Soul Jars - vessels originally crafted for pharaohs to preserve essence and soul for resurrection. Failing to perfect organ preservation, Hydra practitioners improvised with dark sorcery: linking the flesh to newborn infants drowned in kin-blood as sustenance. This explained the Red Mill Family massacre - their recent childbirth provided convenient victims, while Durand's acquisition of their land at bargain prices created development opportunities.
Separating his second Quintessence via kidney extraction lowered Durand's position in the Tree of Life sequence, anchoring him closer to the Material Realm and reducing risk of distortion from eroding humanity. Without this precaution, his warped psyche would have long since deformed his mortal shell. Yet corruption's path knows no end - senior Hydra members who conducted more profane experiments had excised two Quintessences. Though unable to remove the final foundational Quintessence [Kingdom], they still manifested mutations.
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Now the second Quintessence reintegrated. As Durand swallowed, his flesh contorted: skin withering into sagging drapes, facial bones elongating, nose stretching, lips receding to expose a herbivore's crooked molars.
Yvette drew her revolver. Five specialized rounds filled the cylinder - one Spiritsilver Crystal for phantoms, one anti-armor steel penetrator, two lead slugs, and a frangible expanding round. Spinning the chambers mid-draw, she unleashed her planned trio: standard, expanding, then armor-piercing.
Durand raised a distorted limb - *clink-clink* - two lead pellets dropped harmlessly. Though the steel round perforated his palm to embed in his forehead, dark ichor merely oozed around the intrusion.
Was this...Distortion?
Legend stated Discarded Ones shed humanity's constraints to amplify Transcendent abilities. Now beast and man merged into abomination. Despite the horrific visage tempting retreat, Yvette held firm.
*"Victory shuns fearful countenances. Cowards never gain glory. Keep your blade ever toward foes."* The combat teachings of Ulysses echoed through her mind.
Indeed. Fear serves no purpose. *He fears me enough to risk transformation - my threat outweighs his horror of monstrosity!*
Maintaining eye contact with the nightmare creature, Yvette leveled her sword in silent challenge. Smashing the lantern between them unleashed blazing kerosene. Through flame's curtain, she accelerated toward Durand - interrupted by shadow coalescing into smokey lupine form.
Her thrust met smoke. Phantom!
The wolf dispersed...only to reconstitute as python fangs behind her. Though twisting aside, serpent's kiss tore palm-sized flesh from her nape. White lace collar blossomed crimson.
Agony.
Observing undulating shadows throughout the chamber - at least eight more potential threats - she recalled Ulysses' lesson:
*"Never reveal pain. Disdain your wounds, lest enemies gain confidence."*
Pain tolerance? She'd mastered this in past life's cancer battles - daily plunges into despair masked by sunshine. To spare family grief, compartmentalize pain. Become two selves - weeping inner child veiled behind radiant smiles.
*Simple. Pain belongs elsewhere.*
Tasting bloodied fingers, she embodied Ulysses' swordsmanship maxim:
*"Blade-art demands terrifying presence. Become living flame - every movement screaming bloodlust, destroying enemy composure."*
Success showed in Durand's flickering gaze.
Fire's backlash ignited tapestries, revealing shadow-wolves skulking in corners. Through flames, both combatants measured each other - Yvette seeing a bestial mockery of man; Durand confronting not the dandyish French noble from yesterday's encounters, but a battle-honed predator.
Now reinvigorated at Quintessence Level [Foundation], Durand commanded nightmare entities built from mortal templates - faster, stronger, regenerating in seconds. Twenty such horrors should secure victory.
Yet time pressed. Albion's Secret Constabulary lurked everywhere. But Yvette shared his urgency - the spreading fire would draw villagers. Both sought swift resolution.
Simultaneously they moved. Shadow-wolves converged as Yvette launched impossible vertical leap, snatching rusted chandelier. As canid jaws snapped below, the pack shifted - muzzles elongating into raptor beaks, forelimbs reknitting as wings.
Without hesitation, Yvette pendulum-swept over guardian wolves. Mid-air, her pistol fired backward - propellant force converted into momentum boost surmounting defenders. Crashing into Durand, she drove her blade through his chest, the steel's piercing runes flaring cold light.
Twisting the grip, Yvette withdrew the sword. Dying spasms sprayed lifeblood across stones. Phantom wolves froze mid-air, dissolving like sundered mist. Firelight dancing on blood-smeared cheek, her aquamarine eyes glittered with primordial ferocity.
At the inn, Oleander drowsed beside his comrade when hoofbeats shattered the night. Emerging, he witnessed the universally detested Sir Ulysses dismounting a magnificent black stallion with starburst forehead and four white socks.
"Gratitude for aiding my friend. Where's Arrowwood...I mean, Faulkner?"
"Following. I rode ahead upon receiving my nephew's letter."
Since London's social season approached in April, nobles currently circulated between country estates. That Ulysses arrived in impeccable evening wear spoke volumes about his priorities. Oleander checked the legendary steed - this was indeed "Starbreaker", the four-white-legged shadow feared across three kingdoms.