"So, another hunter trained by Henry..."
The words were spoken slowly, each syllable carrying the weight of disdain and intrigue. The dim candlelight flickered against the damp stone walls, casting jagged shadows across the long wooden table at the center of the chamber.
On the high-backed chair at the head of the table, a man reclined, fingers absently playing with a silver ring adorned with the sharp curves of fangs. His complexion was deathly pale, reminiscent of a drowned man pulled from murky waters, his hooked nose and narrow pupils giving him an air of predatory intent. He wore a meticulously tailored double-breasted black wool coat, the dark fabric unmarred except for faint reddish-brown stains on his polished leather boots—stains that hinted at something far less mundane than spilled wine.
Across from him, a stout, trembling man hunched over, unable to meet his master's gaze. His clammy fingers clutched at his coat as he stammered, "M-Miss Wadoma... she—she was taken by the White House."
The pale man's expression remained unreadable, but the veins along his forehead darkened, crawling like ink beneath his skin. "Is she alive?"
"Yes! Alive!" The fat man answered hurriedly, as if the speed of his response might spare him punishment. "We don't know her exact location, but President Lincoln wants information from her. He's holding her somewhere."
The name seemed to slither off his master's tongue, as if tasting its significance. "Howlett... Howlett..." He muttered, as though rolling the name over in his mind like a coin between his fingers.
Then, in a voice colder than the stone around them, he spoke again. "I will handle Wadoma personally. As for the Canadian boy—gather as many as you need. Bring him to me. Alive or dead."
"Yes, Master Adam."
---
The Invitation of a Different Kind
James barely had time to react before a familiar voice rang out behind him.
"I swear, Master Howlett, you spend more time locked in that basement with Victor than you do out in the daylight. If I didn't know better, I'd say—" O'Hara trailed off, her emerald eyes flashing with mischief.
James sighed, already regretting what was coming next. "O'Hara..."
The red-haired woman tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to ponder. "What could you two possibly be doing down there for hours at a time? Experiments? Forbidden alchemy? Or—" She gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her heart. "Could it be some deep, dark, unmentionable secret?"
James groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I train, O'Hara. I train."
"Training! Ah, yes." O'Hara smirked, leaning lazily against his desk. The soft curves of her silhouette were framed by the flickering lamplight, and her fiery red hair cascaded over her shoulder. "And yet, every time I ask you to take a simple afternoon tea with me, you refuse. A lady like me, rejected time and time again." She huffed, crossing her arms. "Unbelievable."
James exhaled heavily, shaking his head. "Fine."
O'Hara blinked. "Wait. Really?"
"Yes, really. But only if you stop making ridiculous accusations."
She didn't wait for further confirmation. "I'll get everything ready!" she announced gleefully, gathering her skirts as she practically skipped out of the room.
James could only watch her go, amusement flickering in his eyes.
---
The Weight of Power
The rhythmic clang of metal against stone echoed through the underground chamber.
Victor exhaled sharply, sweat cascading down his massive frame as he completed another squat, the towering barbell across his back bending under the strain. The dim torchlight glistened off the deep ridges of his muscles, his inhumanly broad shoulders tense with exertion. He was a beast of a man—standing nearly 2.2 meters tall, built with terrifying density.
As he pushed himself harder, pain crackled through his legs, a deep ache setting into his bones. The weight was too much, even for him—small, hairline fractures formed and then healed within moments. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
The scent of blood lingered in the air as tiny rivulets seeped from his skin, mingling with the sweat dripping onto the stone floor. He welcomed the pain. It was a sign of growth, of progress.
After finishing his training, Victor scooped up a wooden bucket, filled it with water from the underground spring, and dumped it over his head. The icy shock was bracing. Water sluiced over his broad shoulders, streaming through the grooves of old scars and fresh wounds alike.
Somewhere above, James' voice carried down through the stone corridors, smooth and measured.
"The fragrance of this flower has faded, like the breath your kisses gave me..."
Victor scowled.
---
An Uninvited Visit
Outside the Howlett estate, the wind stirred uneasily through the trees.
A dozen riders approached on black horses, their wide-brimmed hats shadowing their unnatural, pallid faces. Beneath the moonlight, they resembled specters—figures pulled from a half-forgotten nightmare.
The leader of the group, a broad man with sunken cheeks and a thick beard, pulled his horse to a stop. He swept his gaze over the towering walls of the manor, the turrets and bunkers hinting at fortifications far too grand for a mere landowner.
"This is the home of a simple aristocrat?" Marcus muttered to himself.
The scout beside him nodded. "Yes, sir. This is Howlett's estate."
Marcus exhaled slowly, the glint of his teeth catching in the moonlight. "A man who surrounds himself with fortifications must have enemies. Let's see if his walls protect him from us."
The group advanced, their horses' hooves thudding against the earth.
But as they neared the gate, the torches illuminating the manor's perimeter flickered—then vanished, one by one. The courtyard ahead, which had been bathed in a warm glow just moments before, plunged into eerie darkness.
Then, the gates creaked open.
Inside, two figures stood waiting in the shadows.
James exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "They're not even trying to be subtle, are they?"
Victor licked his lips, his grin widening into something wicked. "Good. I was hoping for some fun."
The gates shut behind the riders.
And then, the night swallowed them whole.