Fendrel trudged back toward his workshop, the guild contract tucked into his vest pocket. The weight of new ingredients pulled at his arms, glass vials clinking with each step. The terms weren't perfect, but coin was coin.

He rounded the corner onto his street and froze. A cluster of guards surrounded his workshop door - city watchmen in their leather armor arguing with the crisp uniforms of House Blackthorn. Between their boots lay a crumpled form, blood pooling on the cobblestones.

No. Not again. Not here.

One of the city guards reached for Fendrel's door handle. It wasn't as much the idea of them finding the corpse in his workshop, compared to the man dropping dead as well in front of them all.

His feet moved before his mind caught up.

"Stop!" Fendrel rushed towards the circle of the guards, nearly dropping his packages as he panted after the short run.

"Here he is," a Blackthorn guard said, adjusting his collar. "The current owner of our workshop."

Fendrel's eyes darted between the faces surrounding him, throat tight. "What happened?"

"What does it look like to you?" A city watchman snarled. His weathered face shifted as recognition dawned. The guard spun toward the Blackthorn men, jabbing a finger at their chests. "Even Blackthorns can't justify corpses in front of their doors in the middle of the fucking day."

The dead man's clothes were simple wool and cotton - a commoner. Blood had soaked through his sleeves and his hand were visibly eroded.

Fendrel stared at the corpse, his mind racing. The man's eroded hands matched the effects of the resin.

Yeah right, what kind of commoner would come to my door and try to open it?

"It's on the street, which makes it clearly your problem." The Blackthorn guard crossed his arms, his polished armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. "We're merely here to protect our interests."

The city guards bristled, hands tightening on their weapons. The tension crackled between the two groups like static before a storm.

"You're an alchemist, aren't you?" The grizzled city guard who'd recognized Fendrel stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "Do you take us for fools? For weeks now, the city's been plagued with mysterious poisoning deaths, and suddenly a corpse appears right at an alchemist's doorstep in broad daylight?"

Fendrel shifted his packages, keeping his voice steady. "The lower district isn't exactly what you'd call safe. People drop dead here all the time from bad food, tainted water. Could be anything."

Steel rasped against leather as the city guards drew their weapons partway, faces darkening with rage.

The lead Blackthorn guard barked out a laugh, giving Fendrel a contemptuous look. "You honestly think this pathetic wretch is your master poisoner?" He gestured at Fendrel with a dismissive wave. "Lady Elena Blackthorn took pity on him, dragged him out of the gutter for whatever reason. But let's be clear - he's nothing but a novice who can barely brew a healing potion."

The Blackthorn guard turned to face the city watch, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt. "If you want to push this issue, go right ahead. But be prepared to explain to your superiors why you're harassing House Blackthorn's interests."

To Fendrel's momentary relief, the guards on the edge shifted their weight, ready to leave. The captain's eyes darted between Fendrel and the body on the ground once more.

"Yes, we'll see what bullshit you try after this." The city guards moved toward the doors, ready to go in.

Fendrel watched in growing horror as the guards pushed the corpse to the side with their boots. One of them reached for the door handle.

The Blackthorn man standing next to him looked Fendrel over. "How bad is it?"

"If they walk in, get ready to kill them all." Fendrel met the man's eyes. "Don't touch anything in there."

The two Blackthorn guards exchanged looks as one pulled out a short sword and the other gripped a long dagger.

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It happened fast. The guard at the door glanced at his gloved hand for a moment before stepping inside.

"My hand! Shit, my hand is burning!" His scream cut off as he collapsed just past the threshold.

The Blackthorn guards burst into action, shoulders lowered like battering rams. The first guard slammed into his target with enough force to send them both stumbling through the workshop entrance. The second followed, blade already drawn.

Steel clashed against steel. Screams erupted from inside the workshop, punctuated by the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood.

Fendrel backed away from his door, his mind spinning. The street remained oddly empty despite the violence unfolding in broad daylight. No curious onlookers. No concerned citizens. Just the sounds of death echoing from his workshop.

What kind of city lets noble guards murder city watchmen in the middle of the day?

The thought nagged at him as more crashes came from inside. The Blackthorns must have deep roots in the city's power structure to act so boldly. The implications made his skin crawl.

How many other "accidents" have they covered up?

The workshop door creaked open. One of the Blackthorn guards peered out, blood coating the side of his face. His left arm hung limp at his side, and his breathing came in ragged gasps.

A shadow moved behind him. Metal flashed in the sunlight. The guard's eyes widened as a blade punched through the side of his throat. Blood spurted from the wound as he collapsed, revealing another person standing in the doorway.

Fendrel stared at Eryndra standing over the dead body.

"Come in, Solinar." Her blade dripped fresh blood onto the floor.

"No." He stepped back, his eyes darting between her and the corpse.

She lowered the dagger, blood trickling down her sleeve. "I didn't come to kill you, but my patience has limits."

Fendrel's fingers twitched. This woman had helped him before, even if her motives remained murky. "When will my debt to the Cabal be settled?"

"Spare me the nonsense." Her jaw clenched as she shifted her weight, revealing a growing crimson stain on her hand. "You owe Cabal far too much to just smooth it over without proper compensation. Get in, now."

His workshop lay in ruins again - shattered glass crunched under his boots as he entered. Bodies sprawled across the floor, their blood seeping into the floorboards.

"This is insane." Fendrel's gaze swept over the destruction. "Why does everything keep spiraling out of control?"

"Save your crisis for later." Eryndra slumped against the wall, her breathing labored. "Got any healing potions?"

"Few." Fendrel moved toward his shelves but froze mid-step.

The thought crept into his mind like poison: I could end this annoyance now. Switch her healing potion with something else, like that cleric.

Fendrel sighed and picked up one of his glyph healing potions. Turning around, he saw her watching him with clear doubt in her eyes.

"I thought about it, yeah. But I don't have any interest in your death." He handed her the potion and she drank it.

The tension in her body relaxed as surprise crossed her face at the potion's effect. "No wonder they wanted you alive so badly. This stuff is way too advanced for a slum-dwelling alchemist to brew."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Fendrel leaned on the table, watching the woman. Blood matted her hair and her clothes were torn in several places. "What is it this time? I told you to let me know ahead of coming."

When she didn't respond, he motioned to the doors. "I imagine you were lucky he was the one who tried to open them first before you?"

"I was right. You are getting smarter, Fendrel. But you keep playing your own little game of potion making without looking at what is out there." When Fendrel just looked at her confused, she sighed, pushing off from the wall and sitting at the table. Her eyes swept over the dead bodies around them as she mulled something over in her mind.

Blood pooled beneath the corpses, seeping into the cracks between the floorboards. The metallic scent filled the air, mixing with the acrid smell of spilled chemicals. A broken bottle near one of the bodies leaked a viscous green liquid that ate into the wood with a quiet hiss.

Fendrel's workshop had become a graveyard once again. The thought should have bothered him more than it did. Instead, he found himself calculating how long it would take to clean up the mess, or if it is even worth it.

Eryndra's shoulders slumped. The words spilled from her like water from a broken dam. "The Cabal's changed. Our leadership - they're not who they were. Necromancers infiltrated the ranks, replaced key figures." Her fingers drummed against the table. "No one noticed until it was too late."

Blood spooled steadily from the dead bodies on the floor. Fendrel watched the growing puddle while she spoke, his mind racing through the implications.

"They're methodical about it." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Anyone with specialized skills or knowledge gets a choice - join them or disappear. Bodies keep turning up in the sewers, drained of life essence."

The familiar itch of his glyphs intensified as she mentioned the life essence. His skin crawled with the memory of his own transformation.

"And you're next?" The question slipped out before he could stop himself.

She paused mid-sentence, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face. "Why am I not surprised that you are aware of them?"

"One of them got in contact with me recently." The words hung in the air between them. Her hand shot to her dagger, muscles tensing. Fendrel raised his hands. "I don't work for them or with them. It was just some joint research that benefited me as well."

"Really?" Her grip on the dagger didn't loosen. "Who are you really? Who is Fendrel Solinar?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but stopped. The question echoed in his mind, bringing with it a flood of memories - the parasite, the transformations, the deaths he'd caused.

Right, who am I at this point?

The glyphs under his skin pulsed, a constant reminder of how far he'd strayed from the failed alchemist he'd once been. The corpses cooling on his floor were just the latest evidence of his transformation.