The Londonix Butcher

Location: Londonix Duchy, The Kingdom.

The twin moons Orionis and Galadria dominated the night sky, hovering over the land like celestial sentries, watching over everything basked by their light.

Their combined moonlight streamed through the windows of Francis Tumblety's high-rise suite, bouncing off his gold watch and making it glitter.

His hands shook as he clasped his glass, the smooth, clear spherical ice in the glass clinking as he took a shaky sip of the amber liquid.

Despite the precise climate control in the suite, he was sweating profusely. The ends of his rather magnificent mustache, which he always maintained carefully, were now frayed from nervous chewing.

The living room of his suite was lavishly decorated with artifacts from all over the world, but they were not your typical souvenirs.

Ancient apothecary jars covered in arcane symbols stood on oddly shaped desks, and taxidermied ardimals were mounted on the walls, their creepy beady eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming through the windows.

Multicolored crystals and crystal balls glowed from their display stands, their distorted light shimmering over the ceiling and walls.

Framed certificates and awards dominated one portion of the living room wall, their contents faker than the glowing arlants allegedly taken from the floating landmass of Jotunis, home of the giants.

But any sane person would wish that some of the more garish and grotesque decorations were fake, like the long and pointed ears of an elf, perfectly preserved in a cylindrical glass case, or the huge and magnificent wings of a fairy, their intricate veins faintly glowing from residual ardor amidst the translucent membrane.

The most horrifying thing in his suite, however, was cleverly hidden behind a massive bookshelf spanning an entire wall.

With a touch of ardor, the mechanism would activate, sliding the bookshelf apart to reveal a hidden shelf containing his grotesque collection. 

Arranged methodically in glass containers were what he considered his trophies. Human organs, with nearly half consisting of the uteruses of women he had 'treated.'

Tonight, he had put his disturbing collection on full display, certain that this would be the last time he'd see them.

"You have a disturbing hobby, Doctor." 

The masked man in the pinstriped suit sat across from him, his voice neutral but edged with something unreadable.

Francis Tumblety shot him a glare. "I hired you and your men to protect me, not to judge me."

Despite his sharp words, his voice quivered with nervousness and something more primal.

Fear.

The mercenary leader leaned forward, picking up on the underlying fear. "No need to be so nervous, Doctor. My men are highly trained A-rankers with a high mission completion rate." 

He spoke with calm confidence. "The Royal Police and that detective are a force to be reckoned with, but they stand no chance against us."

He straightened his tie. "It doesn't matter who you are, whether a lowly murderer or an Axial Family member. We'll take the job as long as the price is right."

Tumblety swallowed, taking another shaky sip of his drink. The liquid barely made it past his lips before he placed the glass back down, his fingers trembling.

"It is not the detective or the authorities I am worried about." 

He stood up and went over to pour himself another drink, though his unsteady hands spilled more on the counter than into the glass.

"It is the one they asked for help."

He brought the dripping glass to his lips, but he didn't drink. Instead, he placed it forcefully on the counter, cracking the rim.

"Nothing will stop her," he said, turning around to the mercenary.

The mercenary merely scoffed. "You mean the bastard child of Adrian Karsus? The one they call the Blackrose Knight?"

Tumblety didn't say it, but his silence spoke volumes.

The masked man chuckled. "I know she's an S-rank, but she is a novice in that realm of power while my men are A-ranked mercenaries."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Even if she is an S rank, she will have a really hard time getting to you."

Tumblety grunted. "That's why I am paying you."

"Then I guess you're just wasting your money, Francis," a female voice spoke out of nowhere.

Both men froze in their place, and a terrifying chill went down their spines as they registered the words of the voice.

Fear gripped Tumblety, paralyzing his body as his eyes darted toward his precious collection. The soft illumination of the shelf outlined the silhouette of a figure standing before it.

Her long black hair cascaded down her back, almost blending into the dark fabric of her coat before transitioning into a bright blue that glowed faintly. 

The soft ceiling light and the illumination from his collection cast a glow over her fair face, her bright blue eyes fixed on his trophies as if she were admiring an art exhibit.

Wisps of darkness curled around her figure, rising and falling like tendrils of living shadow. 

She wore a black turtleneck, blue jeans, and sleek black-heeled boots, her movements effortless and composed.

The piercings on her ears glinted as she turned, her bright blue eyes meeting his.

Tumblety could not move.

Her gaze locked onto his, and in that instant, fear crushed him like an unseen force pressing against his chest.

"Quite the collection you have here, Francis," her voice, casual and playful, coiled around his neck like a venomous serpent, its fangs ready to sink into his flesh.

A powerful gust of wind whipped into the room, and in an instant, the masked mercenary was right behind the young woman, his dagger slicing through the air toward her head.

Only to find himself frozen mid-strike.

Thin black threads of ardor wrapped around his limbs, suspending him in place like a marionette.

Yet he was unfazed.

"Dame Iris Lefay. You're quite far from Blackrose Island," he said, testing the threads with a surge of his own power, but they didn't budge.

Iris glanced back at him, her blue eyes glowing softly. "Just helping out a friend."

She tilted her head, looking amused. "The Mercenary Guild of the Syndicate, I presume? I didn't know you guys to stoop so low as to protect the Londonix Butcher."

"We don't care about the identities of our clients or what they did," the masked mercenary replied, voice steady and professional. "Doctor Tumblety paid us to protect him, so we will protect him."

Iris smirked. "Professional. I like that." She folded her arms. "Perhaps I should consider your services in the future."

"We'll be happy to do so." His tone darkened. "But I must inquire. How did you get in? This building has strict security. With my men posted, an intruder getting inside should have been impossible."

His voice turned sharp. "What did you do to them?"

Iris's blue eyes danced with mischief. "Relax. I only knocked them out."

A powerful force slammed into the mercenary, hurling him backward. He crashed into the wall, shattering the fake certificates as rubble and debris rained down.

"I don't kill people willy-nilly," she said lightly, brushing dust off her sleeve. "Unlike a certain someone."

Her gaze shifted to Tumblety.

The doctor flinched as her glowing eyes locked onto him. He struggled to breathe, his chest rising and falling in panicked gasps.

"I've got to say, Francis." Her voice coiled around him like a noose. "You really made fools out of the Londonix police, enough that they had to call in the Royal Police and my overworked friend."

Tumblety's knees trembled.

The weight of Iris's gaze alone was suffocating, but it was the way she looked at him, casually, almost amused, that sent ice crawling down his spine.

He tried to gather his thoughts, tried to speak. "H-how can you accuse me of being the Londonix B-butcher? W-where is your evidence?"

"Oh, we have plenty of evidence," Iris sighed dramatically, gesturing at his 'trophies'. "Looks like overtime for the Forensics."

Her tone hardened. "And even if we ignore your disgusting and depraved hobby, you'll still be arrested for these."

She pointed at the fairy wings and Elven ears.

Iris took a slow step forward, the air itself thickening with tension. "The wings of a fairy are sacred. Vital to them. And you?"

"You dare defile them by displaying them like a showpiece?"

The room trembled as Iris's aura pressed down on Tumblety, bringing him down to his knees.

The medicine jars shattered, and the suite windows cracked as her aura intensified.

"Please! I'll do anything!" He squealed, his face contorted in terror as he struggled against the immense pressure

He tried to resist, tried to push back with his own aura—but what was a mere intermediate B-ranker against an S-rank?

The suffocating aura immediately dispersed, and the smell of urine wafted up Tumblety's nose as he raised his head to see Iris looking down at him, her azure gaze piercing into him.

"You'll do anything?" Her lips curled into a sadistic smile, and for a second, insanity flashed in her eyes.

"Then can you die like your victims?" 

Tumblety froze at those words.

Images of his victims swarmed his mind, faces twisted in agony, eyes pleading, mouths frozen mid-scream.

Their voices flooded his skull, shrieking, crying, cursing him.

His breathing turned heavy, and his body refused to move a muscle due to how much he was trembling.

"Pathetic."

That single word hit him like a blow to the chest.

She loomed over him. "This? This is the Londonix Butcher who terrorized the Duchy?"

Her laugh was soft, cruel.

"I expected a monster who reveled in his own depravity. Not a sniveling quack."

Each step she took sent fresh waves of fear and panic crawling up his spine.

If only he had an opening.

Just as he was about to succumb to his despair, he heard the sound of movement.

The rubble near the shattered wall exploded. Concrete and marble fragments rained down as the mercenary rose from the wreckage, his suit torn, blood dripping from his lip.

A vortex of sharply spinning air currents surrounded his dagger, slicing into the marble floor as he rushed at Iris.

"Run, Doctor!" he yelled, aiming at her torso.

Iris barely spared him a glance as black appendages of darkness unfurled from her back and shot toward her attacker faster than thought.

In an instant, he was pinned to the massive bookshelf, his limbs pierced by the black appendages.

He gritted his teeth as the pain radiated all over his body and his mind swirled with his thoughts.

Didn't she just become an S-ranker, and also, didn't she lose her memories of being a Deathwalker?

Could it be that she recovered them?

No. That doesn't seem to be the case.

If it were, she would've slaughtered him and his men already, bathing the entire building with their blood.

Such was the brutality of a Deathwalker.

If she is this strong without her memories…

He shuddered at the thought of Iris Lefay regaining her memories.

"You stay put, my friend," Iris said, her glowing blue eyes locked onto him. "I don't want to kill you and get the Syndicate on my tail."

"Then… you have nothing to worry about. My contract is with the doctor. If I die, it'll be on duty. My death won't be used against you," the mercenary managed between heavy breaths.

Before Iris could respond, the sound of shattering glass brought her attention to Tumblety, except he wasn't there.

The hole on the massive suite window stood open, shards of glass glinting in the night air.

"That little weasel jumped out of the bloody window," she muttered, almost impressed by the sheer audacity of her prey.

She let out a breath.

"This is going to be annoying."