Wind scattered dry leaves across the abandoned St. Margaret's Clinic. Joseph's group moved cautiously into the building, each person separating to search the rooms methodically.
Eventually, they came to a locked door. Despite several attempts to pick the lock, they failed.
They decided to force it open, working together to ram against the door until it yielded slightly.
"What is this?" Simon muttered, before ramming the door again.
As soon as the door cracked open, it revealed a black, viscous slime like vines blocking the way. The substance stretched and contracted as if alive. They held their lanterns closer; the slime reflected light with a glossy sheen.
They pushed harder until the door opened wide enough. Inside, black slime covered the entire wall, pulsating like parasitic fungi. A putrid smell hit their nostrils, like rotting vegetables. Against the wall in the center of the room sat a man.
He sat motionless, his gaze vacant, breathing in rapid, gasping breaths like someone drowning. The black slime appeared to emanate from his body.
"Henry..." Joseph whispered, recognizing the face. "Henry Blackwell."
Everyone stared at the seated figure in horror. This was the source of the explosion at the reception, now in a pitiful state—skin peeling, eyes vacant and lifeless.
...
In the Treasury Department, Christopher Darcy stood in the middle of the room, his eyes scanning around warily.
"Who's there?! Show yourself now!"
A mocking laugh echoed. "Oh... it seems you've forgotten me, Christopher." The taunting voice was laced with hatred.
Charles, still pinned to the floor, began feeling an odd sensation at his neck where the needle had punctured him. His skin started to itch before he felt something moving beneath the surface.
Suddenly, the tissue there began to swell, expanding grotesquely. Fiona, who had been holding him down, backed away, her eyes wide with surprise.
The fleshy protrusion grew larger until it took a distinct shape—a human face emerging from the flesh, followed by a neck, shoulders, and the rest of a body.
The entire form emerged from the tiny needle wound on Charles's neck, like a snake shedding its skin or a parasite detaching from its host.
When the naked man fully appeared, he stood with elegant poise, showing no embarrassment despite his lack of clothing. He raised his hand with a single flourish, and finely tailored clothes materialized on his body.
A brown coat, quality trousers, and polished leather shoes—an outfit that should have taken a minute to put on appeared on his form in an instant.
He was a middle-aged man with a clean-shaven face, a prominent nose, dark blond hair, and emerald green eyes.
Christopher froze in shock, trying to study the face of the mysterious man who had revealed himself in such an impossible manner. He searched his memories, feeling that he somehow knew this person.
Tracing back to events about nine years ago at St. Margaret's Clinic, a familiar face emerged in his memory—someone from the distant past he had almost forgotten.
"Isaac!" Christopher shouted, nearly losing his composure. "Impossible... you're still alive."
The distinguished Treasury Director stepped back unconsciously in horror.
"Fiona, kill him now!"
At his command, her body launched toward Isaac with a speed no ordinary human could track. Her fist aimed directly at his face but connected with nothing but air.
In that same instant, Isaac appeared behind Fiona, his sword slashing down at her neck. Though she dodged with incredible speed, the blade still cut deep into her flesh. Bright red blood spurted from the severed major artery.
Charles, who had just managed to stand, watched the scene in astonishment. What surprised him most was Fiona's expression—showing no hint of shock or fear. She remained calm as if this were routine.
The wound on her neck began healing with inhuman speed. Tissues and blood vessels reconnected within seconds—a regenerative ability no living creature on Earth possessed.
'An Ascendant... Mutant type,' Charles concluded mentally, his eyes carefully observing every movement. 'No wonder—what woman has that kind of strength?'
Christopher tried to escape through the window, but the latch wouldn't budge, as if something held it firmly in place. He pulled desperately until his hands trembled, but to no avail.
Fiona attacked again. This time, her nails grew long like a lion's—both sharp and strong. But her attack passed through Isaac's body as if he were an illusion.
After missing, she jumped backward to assess the situation and regroup.
But the moment her feet touched the ground, her body suddenly weakened, causing her knees to hit the floor with a thunderous impact. She clutched her stomach, feeling an abnormality as if pierced by needles, yet there were no visible wounds or weapons.
Through her increasingly blurred vision, she saw Isaac standing nearby. In his left hand, he held three syringes wedged between his fingers, the plungers fully depressed. She was certain she hadn't been hit during her evasion. The pain in her stomach had begun only when her feet were about to touch the ground.
"Phantom Hide, third stage," Fiona whispered before losing consciousness, her once-powerful body now as limp as a rag doll.
Charles ran to the door, trying with all his might to open it, shouting for help. But no matter how hard he tried, the door wouldn't budge even slightly. His shouts seemed to be swallowed by the air—no one heard, no one responded, as if the room had been completely cut off from the outside world.
Isaac glanced briefly at Charles before turning his attention back to Christopher, slowly advancing toward him.
Seeing the danger, Christopher quickly drew an ornate silver revolver with gold vine engravings from his coat—a rare weapon that few possessed. He pulled the trigger repeatedly, firing at Isaac.
The roar of the revolver echoed throughout the room as bullets flew accurately toward Isaac's form.
Charles, standing behind Isaac, immediately jumped to the other side, concerned that if Isaac was truly the mysterious figure from the forest earlier, the bullets would pass through him.
As expected, every bullet passed through Isaac's body as if he were air, striking the door behind him. They left only deep bullet marks, with none penetrating through the door.
Suddenly, Isaac appeared at Christopher's side, delivering a powerful blow to his ribs before grabbing him and violently throwing him onto the desk. The impact left Christopher gasping for breath.
Isaac flicked his wrist, and metal spikes materialized before he drove them through both of Christopher's palms, pinning him to the desk.
Though the desk was hardwood, the metal spikes passed through it as if it were an illusion before becoming solid the next instant, causing Christopher to scream in agony as blood seeped from his wounds.
Meanwhile, Charles desperately tried to escape. His eyes fixed on the seemingly fragile glass window.
He grabbed a wooden chair and hurled it with all his strength, but the chair bounced back as if hitting an iron wall. The glass showed not even a crack. Charles tried again, taking an iron candlestick from a nearby table to pry at the glass, but it was equally ineffective.
He backed away slightly, glanced at Isaac, then made a decisive choice.
"Hréoda!"
A shock wave burst from his palm, slamming into the window with force, but it only trembled slightly.
"Damn it," he muttered. With no options left, he turned back to observe the scene before him. Christopher lay writhing in pain on the desk, both palms pinned by metal spikes, blood flowing down onto the desk surface.
"What do you want?" Christopher asked, his voice trembling as he tried to mask his pain. But his pale face and the sweat beading across his forehead betrayed the torment he was experiencing.
Isaac stood over the desk, his face bearing a cold smile, a satisfied laugh rumbling in his throat.
"You should know well... what I want," Isaac replied in an icy tone, his eyes gleaming like a hunter enjoying his trapped prey.
Isaac flicked his hand, and a large curtain materialized from thin air. The fabric was soaked with oil, giving off such a strong smell that even Charles, watching from a distance, felt his nostrils burn. He spread it over both of Christopher's legs.
Christopher immediately struggled. "Stop! Isaac! We can talk! I'll give you anything you want!"
Suddenly, "Nur Kalla!" Isaac uttered the incantation, and flames erupted from his palm.
Christopher breathed heavily, his eyes widening with terror. "Please! Isaac! Don't do this! I'm sorry!"
Isaac didn't respond. He flung the fire in his hand onto the curtain covering Christopher's legs. The flames quickly engulfed the fabric, the smell of burning oil filling the air.
"AAAAGGHH!"
Christopher's screams echoed throughout the room as his body thrashed violently.
Isaac's cold eyes watched the flames gradually climbing up, scorching Christopher's skin through the curtain.
"Tell me what you want! I'll give you everything!" Christopher begged, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"What I want..." a slight smile graced his face, "is for you to taste the torment of being consumed by fire... just as I once experienced." He leaned down to whisper, "And after you... your family will be next."
Christopher lost all hope, screaming in extreme agony as the flames began to burn his flesh. The smell of burning began to spread. His screams reverberated throughout the room, but no one heard... no one came to help.