"…Let's go."

Princess Celestia rose, still trembling from the shock but resolved. "We can't stop here — not after what we learned."

Her eyes were like cracked glass: fractured, but catching the light all the same; whatever had broken her, it also made her burn brighter.

"…Yes." Elisha and Mariella straightened, faces set. They fell into step behind Lucien.

They didn't have to walk far. The door opened onto a room that smelled faintly of ozone and old blood. Rows upon rows of glass cylinders lined the chamber, each one holding something between sleep and rot. They took human shapes but weren't human—twisted, pallid forms suspended in viscous fluid, veins like black filigree, mouths slack and wrong.

"Oh."

The voice came from the shadows. An old man in a stained white coat stood by a console, half-hidden behind coils of tubing. He looked up as if the interruptions were an inconvenience. Paper-thin skin clung to his skull; his eyes, a clever yellow, darted over them like a predator measuring prey.

"To get past all those creatures and still make it here," he said, amusement in his voice, "you lot must have some considerable skill." He bowed a little, mocking politeness that said he expected intruders. "Surprising. I didn't expect guests."

Lucien scanned him fast. This was the lab's architect—Professor Halden. In the game Halden never fought; he engineered traps, deployed interception wards, and delighted in watching the protagonists struggle through his devices. Little physical threat, huge nuisance. A brainy antagonist who loved a good snare.

Can't let him tinker. Strike when he's off-balance.

Lucien stepped forward, smiling something that wasn't a smile. "Greetings. Shall I—"

The old man's hand slipped toward a device on his wrist, a small remote studded with runes. Lucien didn't finish the lie.

Bang.

The shot cracked through the lab like a snapped bone. The bullet tore into the wrist; the remote exploded against the tile, a shower of sparks and a high, whining pop. Hot, metallic blood spattered the floor. The doctor's mouth opened in a raw, animal sound.

"Aaagh!"

Lucien moved like a thought. He shoved the old man off balance and, with a practiced kick, sent the ruined remote skittering across the floor toward Elisha. Then he planted his boot on Halden's forearm and stomped down hard. Bone—and with it the last bit of the doctor's composure—snapped.

"Aaaaaagh!" The scream tore through the room, high and ragged. The glass cylinders trembled, and for a heartbeat all motion in the lab seemed to freeze: droplets hanging mid-air, the hum of machines caught between beats.

Lucien didn't hesitate. Close the distance, secure the lab, find the fail-safes. A villain knew how to remove another villain's toys.

"Eldric Malvorn," I said, letting the name hang in the air. "Genius alchemist of the Royal Alchemy Tower. Honorary baron. A celebrated researcher in synthesis magic."

The man in the lab recoiled as if struck. He clutched at the ruined sleeve where the blood was already spreading. "How—how do you know my name?"

I watched him flinch and kept going, each word a deliberate blade. "I wonder how your fellow scholars will react when they learn that every atrocity in those journals was born from human experiments. That your 'breakthroughs' came from orphans."

Color drained from his face. For a moment he looked smaller than his title, like a fraud revealed. In the game Eldric had been the grieving father—tender, desperate, searching for a cure for his sick child. What a convenient lie. Pathetic, really.

"You know of me?!" he spat, voice breaking between accusation and pleading.

"Yes." I kept my voice cold. "A heretic. You perform forbidden alchemy to create better—more obedient—'sacrifices.'"

His reaction was exactly what I wanted: panic, denial, then bluster. "Y—You filthy imperial dog! Who put you up to this? The Church? You have no divine mana about you—no right to interfere!"

Good. Let him believe I was a threat from above. Useful leverage.

But I had little patience for speeches. He was stalling, laying traps with words. I aimed at his ankle where a rune-etched soleplate peeked from beneath his boot—an obvious trigger for whatever contingency he'd planned.

Bang.

The shot shattered the charm and tore the sole free. The boot flew off; Eldric's foot jerked uselessly. He screamed, a raw animal sound. The magic circle embedded in the sole fragmented in a shower of sparks.

"Just kill me!" he screamed, voice high with hysteria.

"Not yet." I leaned closer so he could taste the contempt in my words. "I know you wired a self-destruct to trigger on your death. Thought you could take this place down with you, didn't you? Sacrifice the evidence and the kids for your legacy?"

His eyes widened. The confident mask slipped. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "Wha—Who are you—"

I smiled without humor. "Who? Just another villain, like you."

I grabbed a handful of his thinning hair and yanked his head back. He howled.

"Speak," I said. "Can you reverse the fusion? Can you restore the children?"

He spat out answers between chokes and curses. "L-let go! I— I can't— it's— it's impossible— once tissue is fused—"

"Talk," I forced. "How do you stop it? How do you save them?"

His voice collapsed into tremors. "The remote— the lab control. It's the key. Third row, middle button— no— bottom— bottom button!" He'd been eager to misdirect; now he scrambled for any offer that would spare him.

He answered too fast, too eager. He thought panic made him clever. I slammed his head into the floor. Bone cracked against stone; blood flared from his nostrils. Teeth clinked down onto the tiles.

"Don't lie." I pressed the heel of my boot into his shoulder to keep him pinned, watching his lips tremble.

"S-stop! I was wrong— I was wrong—"

"Which button?" I demanded.

"Top row. Top center!" he gasped.

He'd broken under pressure. The trio of children—silent, wide-eyed—watched my brutality with mouths shut tight. Their terror was a constant thrum in my ears; their fate, the real reason I'd come.

For a moment, standing over him, something loosened inside me. This wasn't heroic. It wasn't noble. It was necessary—and filthy—and it felt oddly… satisfying. A villain removing another villain's mask. Clean, simple. Refreshing.

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