Chapter 9: Sweet Revenge
Asker and Peggy left the hotel, strolling along Theodosia Avenue.
“I don’t understand,” Peggy said, her brow furrowed. “You want to recruit her, right? Why discourage her from becoming a Transcendental?”
“I didn’t discourage her,” Asker corrected, shaking his head. “I merely informed her of the risks. Have you heard of the ‘foot-in-the-door’ technique? It’s easier to convince someone to pay nine silver coins after they’ve already paid one than to ask for ten upfront.”
“In essence, the conflict of becoming inhuman is a matter of self-perception. It’s the least significant of the negative consequences faced by Transcendents. I haven’t even mentioned physical mutations and mental breakdowns, the true dangers that can lead to their downfall. If I had told them everything, they would have run for the hills.”
“What are physical mutations and mental breakdowns?” Peggy asked, her voice laced with concern.
“To reach the pinnacle of a bloodline path, you need to reach level 10, which means consuming ten elixirs,” Asker explained. “There are many elixir sequences, and most of them clash with each other. The further you progress, the greater the risk of instability. Physical mutations can transform you into a monstrous being, while mental breakdowns can drive you to madness.”
“And the two vampire paths you mentioned…?”
“Those are the result of extensive experimentation by an ancient, secretive organization,” Asker said, sighing. “They’ve identified combinations that offer the greatest benefits with the least risk. Even today, knowledge of these two paths is incredibly rare. Don’t reveal it to anyone else.”
“You already told them,” Peggy pointed out dryly.
“It’s fine. They’ll join us,” Asker said confidently.
The Golden Oriole Tavern.
In an era where location was paramount for businesses, the Golden Oriole Tavern, situated near the city walls, had fallen into disrepair. Only a handful of old-timers frequented the establishment, reminiscing about its glory days and wondering when it would finally shut down.
Unbeknownst to them, the tavern served as a secret intelligence hub for the Seljuk Empire, operating within the heart of the Eastern Solomon Empire. It would never close due to “poor management”—unless it was discovered by the Imperial Intelligence Agency.
Morbius, a vampire, walked down the third-floor corridor, her face etched with sorrow. She reached a room at the end of the hallway and knocked on the door, using a specific rhythm.
The door opened.
She slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Dropping to her knees, she pleaded, her voice trembling, “My master, the outpost at the Achilles residence has been eradicated by the Church. I failed you…”
“You have no right to make excuses, Morbius,” a cold, feminine voice responded from behind a curtain. “You were to be punished—your limbs broken, your ethereal energy sealed, and your body thrown into the sulfurous arena for the Demon Lord to decide your fate. However, I interceded on your behalf.”
“My benevolent master, I thank you. I am eternally grateful,” Morbius gushed, kissing the floor in a display of subservience.
“My benevolence comes at a price, Morbius.” A wheeled table emerged from behind the curtain, bearing a single vial filled with a viscous, swirling liquid.
The elixir was a cloudy concoction, streaks of crimson swirling within its milky depths. Orange-red vortices pulsed within the vial, evoking an unsettling sensation, as if one’s flesh was crawling.
“Is that… a Flesh II elixir?” Morbius asked, her voice barely a whisper. A flicker of desire warred with fear in her eyes. “My master, I requested a Mind Control I elixir…”
“Do you think you have the right to bargain in your current state?” the voice asked coldly. “Drink it, or die.”
Most elixir sequences had two levels. Level II offered significantly greater power but also carried a higher risk of conflict with other sequences. Like most novice Transcendents, Morbius had planned to delay her first level II elixir, as it would significantly increase the risk of future mutations.
However, circumstances dictated otherwise. She had yet to fully integrate the power from her level 1 elixir, while the figure behind the curtain was already a level 2 Transcendental.
Fighting was futile. It was either Flesh II or death. Her master clearly valued a level 2 vampire operating within Constantinople, regardless of Morbius’s personal desires.
She had no choice.
With trembling hands, Morbius picked up the vial. Her face was a mask of despair as she uncorked the vial and downed its contents in a single gulp.
The transformation began with her head, flushing crimson as if engulfed in flames. The heat spread down her neck, her entire body convulsing.
Flesh II was a brutal power, as untamed as the nomadic tribes of the steppes. It surged through her veins, invading every cell, overwhelming her with its raw, primal energy.
Her flesh rebelled, screaming in agony. Itchy welts erupted across her skin, while other areas developed patches of dry, necrotic tissue.
The power penetrated deeper, ravaging her muscles, connective tissues, mucous membranes, and internal organs. The pain was unbearable, spreading like a virus. She felt like a volcano on the verge of eruption, its molten core already tearing her apart from within.
The transformation finally subsided after two-thirds of her skin had been ravaged by welts and necrosis. Morbius lay on the floor, her body wracked with tremors, on the verge of unconsciousness.
Throughout the ordeal, the figure behind the curtain remained silent, observing her struggle with detached indifference. Morbius, weak and trembling, rose to her feet and bowed shakily towards the curtain.
She stumbled towards the door, desperate to escape.
Consuming Flesh II before fully integrating Flesh I had taken a heavy toll on her body. She needed to find a safe place to recover, to stabilize her ethereal energy, or risk another, potentially fatal, mutation.
If she lost control, she had no doubt her master would end her life without hesitation.
“Damn that old hag!” Morbius thought bitterly as she descended the stairs. “If only I could reach level 3…”
“I would lock her in a coffin, insert needles into her most sensitive areas, and let the lowest blood thralls feast upon her…”
She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked up. Standing at the entrance were Asker and Peggy.
Their eyes met. Morbius’s expression was a mixture of surprise and delight. Peggy’s was pure, unadulterated rage. As for Asker…
Asker’s face was a mask of calm, as if he had simply encountered a predictable boss in a video game.
“You’re dead!” Peggy roared, abandoning all reason as she charged, her speed amplified by her fury. Morbius simply flicked her wrist. Her arm transformed into a massive, fleshy whip, slamming into Peggy, pinning her to the ground.
Countless bony spikes erupted from the whip, impaling Peggy. Morbius screamed as a sharp pain lanced through her head.
Asker had shot out her right eye, leaving a gaping hole in its place. He swiftly shifted his aim, his automatic pistol, Aphrodite, trained on her remaining eye. While Flesh II eliminated vital points, losing both eyes would still render her temporarily blind. Morbius reacted instantly.
Flesh Transference!
A Flesh II Transcendental could freely relocate their organs. Her remaining eye sank into her skull, reappearing on the fleshy whip just as the bullet pierced through the empty socket.
Peggy, impaled and struggling to breathe, could only watch in horror as Morbius raised her whip once more, preparing to deliver a fatal blow.
Any professional esports player observing the scene would have scoffed at Morbius’s foolishness. Her fear of losing her remaining eye had led her to relocate it to the rapidly moving whip, but this also resulted in a constantly shifting field of vision, creating momentary blind spots.
Asker, a professional himself, wouldn’t miss such an opportunity. He sidestepped, the whip whistling past his ear, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he reloaded his pistols.
Morbius, her vision obscured by the whip, couldn’t see Asker’s movements.
A deafening roar echoed through the tavern as Asker unleashed a barrage of .50 caliber hunting rounds. Morbius’s head exploded like a watermelon.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Asker continued firing, methodically reloading and emptying his Desert Eagle into Morbius’s mangled remains. Even in this state, her body twitched and spasmed, the flesh attempting to knit itself back together. Flesh II was a potent force indeed.
Asker, however, was prepared. He drew his longsword and swiftly quartered Morbius’s body, dragging the pieces to opposite corners of the room and pinning them down with furniture.
Even Flesh II couldn’t overcome this. With a final, mournful wail, Morbius’s life force extinguished, leaving behind four pulsating crimson orbs—her supernatural essence.
Peggy, still lying on the ground, stared at the scattered remains. Asker approached, collecting the orbs.
He crushed each one in his hand, absorbing the raw power within. The familiar sensation of ethereal energy coursing through his veins was intoxicating, like a starving man finally feasting.
He picked up the final orb, but instead of crushing it, he turned and placed it in Peggy’s mouth.
Peggy devoured it, her teeth grinding as if she were chewing on her enemy’s flesh. The power surged through her, revitalizing her depleted ethereal energy.
Then, she burst into tears.
“Save your tears for later,” Asker said, his hand resting on his sword. “We have work to do.”
Peggy rose to her feet, wiping her tears. Her wounds had already healed.
“Let’s go,” she said, her voice hoarse.
They ascended the stairs to the third floor.
“Guard the stairwell. I’ll be back shortly,” Asker ordered.
“Understood,” Peggy replied.
