Unknown

The man stood in a basement laboratory, the fluorescent lights above reflecting off the shiny metal table before him.

He’d just watched their researcher leave through the door in the back of the room. He was a weasel of a man, his face pinched and hair mousey. The man had hated the researcher from the start, but they’d been stuck with him. At least, until now.

They’d taken every precaution to ensure Alvemach’s transition to the material plane would go as smoothly as possible. So far, no one had raised a fuss except for that weasley man.

The man would have just killed him, but Alvemach would not allow it. There was a system of balance, he’d said, between them and those who were part of their plan. Balance didn’t matter to the man, but he couldn’t disobey Alvemach and Alvemach couldn’t disobey him. Their agreement was mutual, so their decisions must be as well.

It ultimately didn’t matter who killed the researcher. Alvemach had promised he’d handle it. The man knew he would.

But that was not their issue at the present moment. Their issue was what the researcher had left behind.

“We’ve gotten what we need from Van Alder,” Alvemach said, clasping his hands behind his back. The man had to admit, the humanoid form he’d taken was much more pleasant than his demonic form. “He was useful for our genetic research, but I don’t believe he has the skill to proceed to the next steps.”

The man had little patience for roundabout talk, but he knew Alvemach wouldn’t leave him hanging for long. The next steps required someone with more ambition than the researcher had ever shown. It didn’t help that he had been a thorn in their backside for several years now. The mousey man had fought them every step of the way and questioned every decision the man and Alvemach had made. The man’s patience had worn thin long before Alvemach's.

The man huffed. “Can we continue without him?”

Alvemach smiled. “Yes. The researchers we have are skilled enough for the next phase. We are close enough to begin actual tests. But I have my eye on someone who may be an ideal partner to round out the final testing and implementation.”

The man cocked his head, but didn’t pry further. Alvemach would offer the information when he deemed it necessary. He was in charge of this portion of the plan, anyway. The man had little patience for detailed research, which was why he’d trusted Alvemach to handle it.

But something itched in the back of his mind. He was restless. They’d been at this for several years already, but his vision for the future seemed as far away as it had the day he’d summoned Alvemach.

It wasn’t that he’d lost faith in the demon’s abilities—in fact, Alvemach had proven time and time again that he was the perfect choice. He was simply frustrated. Maybe with the annoying researcher out of the picture, it would make their plan move along much faster.

Alvemach’s smooth voice cut into his thoughts. “I’d like to show you something.”

The man smiled, the corners of his lips curling dangerously upwards. Now this…this was more like it.

***

Kellan

2nd of Blossom Moon

Suddenly, the world slowed to a crawl. What had this mysterious man just done? Had he truly recognized the scent of belladonna and simply walked away? Or had he heard Kellan’s mask and decided to retreat?

Kellan didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He couldn’t let him just walk away.

He followed the man’s retreating footsteps down to the first floor, then out the back door. The clock in the corner of his visor read five minutes and twenty seconds until the cameras were operational once more. He needed to get this over with as quickly as possible.

He opened the back door and saw the man retreating through the garden. He flipped his dagger, readying his aim, then released it, letting it fly at the man’s head.

The man dodged, slapping the dagger out of the air with a flick of his wrist, a small spark flying as metal grated on metal. Kellan hadn’t even seen him draw a knife. He ignored the swoop of surprise in his belly in favor of drawing a second dagger from the holster strapped to his thigh.

He didn’t throw this one. He circled the other man slowly, carefully observing him and every breath he took, every twitch of his hands. The elven man stood casually, apparently content to let Kellan observe rather than attack first. His behavior was strange. Why was he here? How had he known to retreat when he’d smelled belladonna? Who was he?

A thought settled in Kellan’s mind as he came behind the elven man. Maybe he’d been sent here to kill him. Maybe he’d pissed off the governor. Maybe this Van Alder guy was more important than they’d expected. There were simply too many questions, and Kellan had no answers.

He risked satiating his curiosity. “Are you here to kill me?” he asked, stopping behind the man’s back.

The man didn’t move, nor did his expression change. “No,” he answered simply, but didn’t elaborate.

“Then why are you here? Did the governor send you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“You’re not being forthcoming, you know.” Kellan couldn’t help but express his frustration. The man was being obtuse, and he couldn’t decide if it was purposeful, or if this was just how he was. What was he supposed to do? Kill him? That course of action seemed like his only one; although, based on how quickly he’d deflected the first dagger, it wouldn’t be an easy task.

The man simply shrugged, seemingly unruffled.

Kellan had had enough. “If you won’t talk, then I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”

The man looked from his face to his dagger, then back to his face. He sighed. “I really didn’t want to fight you, but it looks like I have no choice.”

Kellan smirked, the familiar rush of adrenaline washing over him in anticipation of the clash. He’d enjoy this challenge.

The man lunged, a sword still strapped to his back, a dagger in his hand. So he wouldn’t use the advantage of a longer weapon? Interesting.

Kellan rolled out of the way, just barely fast enough to avoid the man’s incoming attack. He felt him brush against his shoulder but didn’t feel any pain from a slicing blade. The man rounded on him again, unfazed by the evasion.

They circled each other, blades at the ready, but Kellan didn’t go on the offensive right away. He waited, observing the elven man’s movements with a scrutinizing eye, waiting for an opening, or any sign that he would let his guard down.

But the man was good—too good, if Kellan was honest with himself. His movements were smooth, practiced, and calculated, and he found himself lost as to what to do next.

The timer was getting dangerously close to zero, and he’d made no further progress in taking care of the man before him. He tried a different strategy.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but I can’t let you go. You know too much,” Kellan said, relaxing his stance just a touch. Enough that he knew the man would notice.

The elven man finally threw him a confused look, relaxing his own stance in response to Kellan. “And it seems you know too little.”

Kellan cocked his head at the man’s words, confused. But he didn’t have time to ponder for long—the man crouched again, then leaped forward with no warning. Kellan scrambled to move out of the way once more, but this time he wasn’t quite fast enough.

He waited for the familiar sting of the blade to cut into his skin, but once again felt nothing. As he waited for the cold steel to cut his flesh, something hard connected with his temple, and he crumpled, his vision fading to black.