The elite guards marched Pierre through the pristine corridors of Valerio's private wing. Four of them surrounded him, each sporting the emerald and gold trim that marked them as the artificer's personal security. They didn't speak, didn't touch him unless necessary, but their message was clear – run, and regret it.

"I can walk on my own, you know," Pierre said, his voice echoing in the marble hallway. "No need for the escort service."

The guard to his left – a bald man with a scar running from temple to jaw – remained expressionless. "Master Valerio awaits."

Pierre tugged at the sea-blue stone around his neck, drawing strength from its smooth surface. The darkness inside him, Hardy's legacy, stirred with anticipation. It sensed the danger ahead, feeding on Pierre's adrenaline, whispering promises of power if he'd just let go.

Shut up, Pierre thought. I'm not becoming a monster just because you're scared.

They reached the workshop doors Pierre remembered from his previous visit – ornate affairs of polished wood inlaid with gold and amber. Beautiful, like everything in Porto Veloce. Beautiful and wrong.

"Through here," the scarred guard said, pushing the doors open.

The workshop looked much as Pierre remembered it: a sprawling space filled with ships in bottles, navigational instruments, and exquisite wooden figurines. The afternoon sun streamed through tall windows, casting everything in a golden glow that made the room seem almost divine – a creator's paradise.

But Pierre's eyes fixed on what he'd glimpsed during his last visit: a heavy iron door set into the far wall, incongruous against the workshop's refined aesthetic. The guards steered him toward it, confirming his suspicions. Whatever lay beyond represented Valerio's true work.

"I'm curious," Pierre said, stalling as they approached the door. "Do you know what he does in there? What you're delivering me to?"

The scarred guard hesitated, just a split-second pause that told Pierre volumes. "Master Valerio improves things. That's all."

"Things?" Pierre asked. "Or people?"

The guard's jaw tightened, but he said nothing as he produced a large iron key and unlocked the door. It swung open with surprising silence, revealing a short corridor that ended at another door. The cool air that wafted out carried a clinical scent – antiseptic and something sharp, like ozone after lightning.

Pierre's instincts screamed danger. He planted his feet, refusing to move forward. "You know, I'm suddenly not feeling very social. Rain check?"

The guards exchanged glances, then the scarred one nodded. Two of them grabbed Pierre's arms, forcing him forward into the corridor. The iron door clanged shut behind them, its lock engaging with a heavy thunk.

I could drain them, Hardy's darkness whispered. Take their strength, break free.

Pierre gritted his teeth. That path led to becoming what he hated. Instead, he'd play this smart, find another way out.

The second door opened automatically as they approached. Pierre stepped into a world that didn't belong in Porto Veloce's golden paradise.

White tile covered every surface – walls, floor, ceiling – making the room feel both expansive and claustrophobic. Bright lights illuminated every corner, leaving nowhere to hide. The air tasted sterile, almost metallic.

But what stopped Pierre cold were the glass cases lining the walls.

In the nearest, a human arm floated in clear liquid, its muscles and skin intact but partially replaced with gleaming brass clockwork. Mechanical tendons pulled at metal fingers when Pierre moved past, tracking his motion.

The next contained lungs – human lungs – connected to a complex network of glowing amber tubes that pulsed like veins. They expanded and contracted in a horrible imitation of breathing.

"What the hell is this?" Pierre whispered, unable to keep the horror from his voice.

At the center of the room stood three operating tables arranged in a triangle. On each lay a person, conscious but vacant-eyed, staring at the ceiling. Their bodies... Pierre's stomach lurched.

The woman on the left had her ribcage opened and reconstructed with polished wood, her heart visible through the slats, beating against them like a caged bird. The man beside her had one leg completely replaced with sculpted marble, veins of gold tracing through the stone. The third subject's face was half-covered with amber, molded seamlessly into his skin, one eye replaced with a glowing crystal that darted frantically around the room.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

Valerio stood at the far end of the room, his fine clothes covered by a surgeon's apron splattered with substances Pierre didn't want to identify. The artificer's eyes shone with manic enthusiasm as he spread his arms to encompass his collection.

"The fusion of flawed flesh and perfect design." Valerio approached, his steps light and eager. "Human bodies are remarkable, but so limited by their organic nature. I'm transcending those limitations."

Pierre fought to keep his voice steady. "You're torturing people."

"No, no." Valerio frowned, genuinely perplexed by the accusation. "I'm perfecting them. They volunteered."

"Volunteered?" Pierre gestured to the half-amber man whose crystalline eye screamed what his mouth could not. "Like they volunteered to work off their debts forever?"

Valerio sighed, the sound disappointed rather than defensive. "You still don't understand. These are failed attempts – imperfect integrations. They're alive, comfortable. They feel no pain."

"They're conscious," Pierre said through clenched teeth.

"Of course! What would be the point otherwise?" Valerio moved to the operating table bearing the woman with the wooden ribcage. He stroked her hair with genuine affection. "Elena was a dancer with arthritis. I replaced her joints with amber hinges that will never deteriorate. Her ribcage was an... experimental addition. Beautiful, but ultimately not viable long-term."

The darkness inside Pierre roiled at the casualness with which Valerio discussed his victims. Hardy's voice grew louder, urging Pierre to unleash his fury.

"Why am I here?" Pierre demanded, though he already knew.

Valerio's face lit up. "You, my boy, are the key to the final masterpiece." He tapped his own chest. "Me."

The artificer moved to a workbench and lifted a sketch – a detailed anatomical drawing of a human body with extensive modifications. Amber pieces replaced vital organs, metal reinforced bones, and at the center, where the heart should be, was a space labeled simply: "Resonance Seed."

"Your ability to absorb essence," Valerio continued, "it's exactly what I've been searching for. I've replaced parts, enhanced functions, but the power to truly transform – to take the strength of others and make it one's own..." He shook his head in wonder. "That's the missing piece."

"And what happens to me after you take this ability?" Pierre asked.

"You'll become part of something greater than yourself." Valerio's tone suggested this was the highest honor imaginable. "Your essence will live on in my masterpiece."

Pierre stepped back, bumping into the scarred guard who still stood behind him. "I'll pass, thanks."

"I wasn't asking permission." Valerio nodded to his guards. "Prepare him. The procedure is complex and requires precise timing."

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