I hadn't had the chance to sit down and properly sift through all the loot I'd earned, but I'd snuck a peek or two. Just as the quest summary promised: Morphogen, skill points, and bonus stats. Oh, and two fresh levels from wiping out that whole elf squad. Solid haul, but the real prize was tucked in the spellbook I'd gotten, and whatever rare skill was dangling behind that "one skill point" paywall. Plus, the Morphogen meant further... internal renovations.

Especially for the shiny new organ I'd cultivated—one granting, bluntly put, self-replication. Yeah, that was going to be fun once I saw the upgrade tree. Still, this wasn't the time or place to start poking around in my own guts. All of that needed a bit more privacy than I currently had. So, mental shelf it went.

Outside, night had dropped in, and snow had started falling, light and lazy. I was holed up in Lysska's so-called "office," with Vyra sprawled across the now-repaired sofa. She was notably unimpressed that I'd broken her favorite one. I wisely avoided mentioning its terminal decrepitude and settled for a curt apology.

Viper was there too, slumped in the back, leaning against his salamander beast. Pretty sure he wasn't part of my fan club, my utterances earned, at best, a guttural acknowledgement. Vyra, however, maintained her barrage. What warped my appearance? Alchemical volatility, I lied. How did I evade her strike and materialize at her throat? Trade secret. Which, according to Lysska, was an acceptable answer around here. Vyra didn't push it further.

We also maintained radio silence on that other incident, the unintentional full exposure show for a salamander, a child, and his mother. That narrative operated under strict "deny-or-die" protocols.

What I critically required was attire harmonized to my dimensional resonance—gear that wouldn't get embarrassingly left behind mid-phase. The ability functioned seamlessly in full draconic form (nudity: feature, not bug), but in my drakkari form... let's just say it created problematic modesty situations.

And for Vyra's future reference, phasing though stuff ranked embarrassingly low on the list of my newly acquired talents. Not that they needed that dossier just yet.

Right now, though? Peace. Finally. Just the hush of falling snow outside. I was physically fine, but my brain felt like it hadn't gotten five minutes of rest in days.

The fireplace was burning for the first time. I had a blanket—surprisingly plush, considering the rest of this place—and maybe it was the warmth, maybe the quiet, but something in me really wanted to knock out and sleep.

Bad idea, though. We had a bound, very naked elf still parked in a chair. His poison was nearly burned through, which meant rest time had a ticking clock.

No sign of Lysska yet. She was still using that crow of hers to talk through Vyra, so she was definitely around—just not here.

According to her, she was safe. Or so she claimed. I had no idea how long she'd be gone, but I was a little too curious for my own good about what kind of story she'd spun.

More importantly, I wanted to know the current situation at the Alchemy Tower. Whether I could actually go back. My room there was basically a fortress for mutating safely. One set of wards blocked any divinator's peeping eyes. Another made sure no mana, no residue, not even a flicker of magic, leaked outside. Which meant I could go completely off the rails with potions and research without worrying about fallout—literal or otherwise.

Cramped? Absolutely. Yet I'd developed a perverse fondness for that sterile, secured cube.

Speaking of the Tower, I still needed to talk with Gwen. I was waiting on a reply from her. Hopefully she was alright. I mean—it was Gwen. If anyone could handle whatever mess was unfolding, it was her. I was just itching to hear what was going down.

For now? We sat on simmer, awaiting our elf captive's cognitive reboot. You know, so I could commence… information extraction. Professionally.

That moment finally rolled around. He started with a low mumble, head wobbling side to side as the bindings kept him still. Honestly, regular rope wouldn't do squat to a red core, but Lysska—being the ever-resourceful shadow queen of the Lower District—had the good stuff: enchanted bindings.

I'd held one earlier. It felt like I could snap it with a good twist—but then again, my strength had gotten a little...uncalibrated lately. I really wished I had a proper scale to measure it. Especially now that I'd picked up two levels from wiping out that elf patrol, which honestly didn't feel like it should've been that rewarding, given how easy they dropped.

Then his eyes blinked open.

By then, all three of us were standing right in front of him, radiating menace. Plus the salamander, trying its best to look fierce with those dark scales—though I could sense a flicker of unease in it, directed at me. Mental note: reptile diplomacy required.

Priority: interrogation.

I stepped forward to speak—and the elf immediately let out a blood-curdling shriek.

Then came the struggling. He thrashed in place, trying to break free, and while the chains held just fine, he did manage to smash the chair he'd been tied to. Great.

"Don't worry, the room's warded against noise," Vyra said casually, giving me a thumbs-up. Good to know. My ears were still ringing.

Now on the ground and still wrapped in those enchanted chains, the elf stared up at me, wide-eyed and horrified. I smiled down at him. That should've been enough to get the message across—he wasn't going anywhere.

I crouched, violet irises locking onto panic-green. First objective: muzzle any premature confessions like 'a dragon shredded my squad!' Because… accuracy was inconvenient.

Capitalizing on his daze, I forced a truth serum vial down his esophagus. Confusion flashed; overpowering his jaw required negligible effort. Compliance achieved.

"Now," I stated, rising and dusting off non-existent grime, "vocalize only when prompted. If, uhh, continued respiration is desirable."

Continued respiration was off the menu, naturally. But false hope greases the interrogation gears.

Part of me hoped he'd argue. A few phalanges begged for kinetic readjustment.

I cleared my throat and got ready for the fun part.

"Can I take the questioning this time?!" Vyra piped up from behind me, practically bouncing. "I can do this." She bent her fingers back with a wet squelch that made Viper's stomach twist from his expression. "and I'm very good at torture."

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I stared at her, deadpan. Yeah, I was good at torture too. I think. "No. Let me handle it. I actually know what's going on, so I might, you know, not botch it."

Viper stayed silent in the background, doing the whole mysterious-and-deadly thing. Which, sure, wasn't exactly accurate, but image was everything—especially to a delirious elf strung up in enchanted chains.

Still… I kind of wished Lysska were here. She was good at this stuff. We weren't. Ugh.

I crouched again, eyes narrowing on our guest. "First off—what the fuck were you guys trying to achieve with today's attack?"

His expression twisted, hesitation written all over his bruised features—then his eyes glazed over slightly. Finally. The truth serum was kicking in.

I may have overdosed him a bit. But red core bodies burned through normal doses like candy, and I wasn't about to let him shrug it off. Usually, you'd give a few drops. I gave him the whole tube.

Worked like a charm.

"Wus… o-order… to reduze ze stability of the city… zomehow," he slurred.

Destabilize Varkaigrad? If the Vor'Akhs had succeeded, 'destabilize' would be a euphemism for 'convert to a smoldering caldera.'

I drilled down with a few more pointed questions. Turns out they'd been waiting for a signal from some Vor'Akh operatives in the Upper District. Signal absent, this tactical genius opted for unsanctioned chaos deployment—full kinetic spectacle, squad included. Textbook insurgency logic.

"Where exactly are you from?" I asked, tightening my focus. That was the key question. Was he from the House of Valendris—the same one whose fortress the portals led to? The same one Alice and Belle were currently infiltrating?

"I am… an azziztant professor… in the Avalon," he muttered, head lolling.

"Avalon, as in Avalon Academy?" That was Viper—speaking up for the first time since this whole thing began.

"Yuz," the elf mumbled.

That actually got a reaction out of all of us.

Avalon Academy wasn't just prestigious—it was the academy. The highest of high-tier institutions on the continent. Just getting in was considered a once-in-a-lifetime achievement.

So what the hell was an assistant professor from Avalon doing leading a suicidal elf strike force?

The Academy lay nestled in the Free Lands between Lithrindel and Aurelia—neutral territory, officially unaffiliated with any nation. Didn't make its influence any less terrifying.

With a headmaster who was a Gold Core—and not the only one—Avalon was less an academy and more a gathering point for monsters in human (and non-human) skin. Multiple professors at Gold Core.

Aurelia empire barely had enough Gold Cores to count on two hands.

Avalon had a dozen. From every race. Humans, elves, dwarves, beastkin—you name it. It didn't make sense, but maybe that was the point. Avalon's existence was absurd. A crucible of talent where, if you got in, you were ascending—no question.

Truth be told, I never really considered the place before. A few months ago, I didn't even have magic.

But now?

Now this half-dead elf claiming to be an assistant professor from there was setting off every alarm in my head. This wasn't just some rogue necromancer playing dress-up. No wonder his construct had been such a nightmare.

"Is there a future attack you all are planning?" I asked, leaning forward.

"I don't know," he slurred.

"Why?"

"Planz chanzed… after what happened. I was yet to receive another order."

Great. Of course we'd catch the one guy before the next wave of instructions dropped. I rubbed my eyes. Perfect timing.

Still, the next question followed logically enough. I should've thought about it more, maybe. But I was riding the chain of logic like a runaway cart.

"I'm assuming you're following someone's orders. Maybe a professor at Avalon too. Who is it?"

His mouth opened, jaw moving. But no sound came out. His lips shaped a name—or something—but there was only silence.

I crouched down, voice sharpening. "I asked you a question. Who is your leader?"

Again, his lips moved. But still, no sound. Then his throat twitched, and he began coughing. Violently. Dry, hacking coughs like his lungs were on fire.

I took a sharp step back. Vyra did the same.

"What the hell—?"

"Do you think he's under some kind of hex? One that stops him from revealing names?" Viper finally spoke, quiet and thoughtful.

That made way too much sense. "But I've never heard of—"

And then it hit me.

The memory came sharp and fast—Gwen. Showing that elf a soulbound contract after she obliterated that Gold Core abomination in the dungeon. I remembered her words. Soul magic.

What if this guy was bound by something similar? A magical contract, reinforced by the soul. Not a simple gag spell, but something deeper. Something that'd cause real damage if violated.

That... complicated things. I'd have to be more careful—reframe my questions, maybe lead him sideways instead of head-on.

I was still thinking that through when I smelled it.

Before I felt it.

That rot. THAT SAME FUCKING ROT!

My instincts screamed. I didn't need to see—I knew. My nose wrinkled, every muscle tensing as I snapped my head toward the elf.

He was choking. No—convulsing. And that stench—

The same rot I'd smelled on that Gold Core abomination. The same vile decay that clung to Iron and his twisted gang. The same corruption that made every fiber of my being blaze with raw, violent hatred.

INTRUDER!! PURGE THE FILTH!! EXCISE IT FROM EXISTENCE!!

A growl tore from my throat before I even realized I'd moved. My claws flexed. Vyra and Viper had already backed off, sensing something was off.

The elf was full-on spasming now, limbs jerking unnaturally as his skin began to bulge, then split. Sickly, wet pops echoed as strange, petal-like growths forced their way from beneath his flesh—mutating him with each grotesque twitch.

A System notification immediately blazed across my vision.

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