“They haven’t been fully infected yet; there’s still a chance for a cure!”
Outside the wooden fence, Helm steadily retreated, firing his weapon to strike down the rats scurrying from within the crowd.
Across his chest hung a rectangular wooden case, accompanied by two makeshift satchels fashioned from old clothes.
They appeared to contain the very items discovered in the third-floor attic.
The street teemed with residents of Canary Street, many faces among them eerily familiar.
There were the market stall owners, the guild’s carriage drivers, patrolling agents, officers from Precinct Two, and even Chief Godfrey, alongside the female officer who had initially brought Konehl-Ghervil to 101 Lily of the Valley Street, Clovie.
Agony contorted their faces, and intermittent wails and screams pierced the air.
As the flashlight beam swept across them, a dark film could be seen coating the surface of their eyes, and their shadows merged into an unbroken expanse beneath their feet.
The red-eyed rats lurked just behind them, concealed within those encroaching shadows.
“Those damned beasts are using them as human shields!”
He swore under his breath, intending to vault over the fence, but a tug on his coat-tail arrested his movement.
His index finger pressed against the trigger, he turned to find a small girl, her eyes bloodshot and streaming with tears.
“Don’t leave… *sob*… please save my sister; she’s a police officer too.”
Her voice was a pitiable, broken sob.
Helm exhaled a shaky breath, momentarily at a loss. He couldn’t possibly fire upon a child, especially one who appeared to be free of rats and whose mental state seemed relatively normal.
“Is your sister… Officer Clovie?”
Konehl-Ghervil made to step forward, only to be halted by an outstretched hand.
She recognized the little girl as the playmate of the boy she had nearly collided with in the street that day.
Among the female officers in the crowd, only Clovie stared fixedly in their direction, one hand reaching out.
The swarm of rats paused their assault, and the commotion within the crowd subsided.
“Yes… Sister Nun, my name is Alina, and I’m truly sorry about that day… Xin’en and I should apologize to you. Please, you must save my sister. We just sleeping… but my sister suddenly went to open the door without a word, and I couldn’t stop her… Please make her go back, or she’ll be punished…”
Her words grew increasingly slurred, her voice ultimately swallowed by her tears.
Seizing the opportunity, Helm scrambled over the fence, his expression grim. He glanced at the girl with a frown, then cautiously aimed his gun at the crowd behind them.
Konehl-Ghervil’s heart felt as though it were clutched in a vice.
It was a blatant trap.
Yet, she found herself unable to remain indifferent.
“Is there no way to ascertain if something is wrong with her?”
She lifted her gaze to the woman beside her.
“Perhaps, but we lack the means, and certainly not at this moment.”
“We shouldn’t…”
“That’s so mean… *sob*…”
Upon hearing their exchange, the little girl gripped the wooden fence with both hands and burst into loud sobs.
“I already apologized, why won’t you help me?”
Her cries grew hoarse.
Konehl-Ghervil felt an imperative to act.
Whether to soothe or to save.
Even a lie would suffice.
She looked at the woman once more.
The answer remained a refusal.
“There’s no need to waste time here. We should proceed to the Sanctuary to stop the ritual; if a ‘riot’ erupts there as well, they might not be able to withstand it…”
“May I speak to her?”
Observing Konehl-Ghervil’s expression and gaze, Dr. Callan paused, momentarily taken aback.
‘Now she truly looks like a nun.’
She found herself unable to harden her heart any longer.
“As you wish… but don’t get too close.”
Having received permission, Konehl-Ghervil took a few steps forward, crouching about a meter from the fence, looking up slightly.
To prevent any unforeseen dangers, Dr. Callan remained close behind her.
“Alina,” she softly called.
“*Sob*… Sister…”
“Rest assured, your sister is fine. She will recover. Just think of this experience as a dream, a… rather unpleasant dream.”
“Really? My sister, she…”
*Splurch*—
The little girl, still wiping away tears, couldn’t finish her sentence before her head, along with her arm, was enveloped by a mass of black shadows, emitting sounds akin to chewing and gnawing.
Her cries abruptly ceased.
A headless corpse, gushing blood and missing an arm, collapsed to the ground.
Only then did Helm, standing to the side, notice a thin shadow extending from beneath the little girl’s feet, connecting to the crowd.
Without a moment to assess the girl’s state, he immediately fired into the agitated swarm of rats within the shadows.
*Bang*—
*Bang*—
Amidst the cacophony of human cries and gunshots, Konehl-Ghervil’s face, splattered with blood on one side, slowly turned ashen.
She seemed deaf to the surrounding sounds.
Every hair on her body stood on end.
Something seemed to constrict her throat, stealing her breath, and she instinctively gasped for air.
Her heart hammered faster, threatening to burst from her chest.
She caught the pungent scent of blood.
The cries, the vivid images.
They replayed endlessly in her mind.
A self-preservation mechanism in her brain triggered an uncontrollable churning in her stomach. Large beads of sweat trickled down her face, and her head swam as she dropped to her knees, hands bracing her against the ground, dry-heaving.
****
The crowd surged forward, and the rats, having arrived first, swarmed and devoured the headless corpse.
Without a word, a scalpel flew into the rat swarm, detonating a small burst of flesh and blood. Dr. Callan scooped up Konehl-Ghervil by the waist and sprinted towards the house.
Striking down several rats that scrambled onto the fence, Helm holstered his gun and followed.
They ran straight through the living room and backyard, leaping over the fence and into the forest. Along the way, Helm accidentally tore open an old wound, forcing him to endure the pain and slow his pace.
After running for an indeterminate time, the sounds of the crowd gradually faded. He caught up with the two in a small clearing.
Konehl-Ghervil remained in a dazed, almost catatonic state.
Wiping the bloodstains from Konehl-Ghervil’s face, Dr. Callan gently laid her on the grass to assess her condition.
Her breathing, body temperature, and all vital signs appeared normal.
Slapping her face, shaking her shoulders, calling her name—
None of these attempts succeeded in rousing her to consciousness.
“Hmph… perhaps she’s become like them after all…”
Helm, panting heavily and leaning on his knees, approached Dr. Callan from behind, his gaze fixed on Konehl-Ghervil’s eyes with a complex expression.
“What?”
Dr. Callan turned her head, wondering if she had misheard him.
She was merely startled; she hadn’t entered a dream, nor could she have been infected.
“I saw a thin shadow connected to the little girl’s back.”
“A shadow…”
She quickly pried open Konehl-Ghervil’s half-open eyelids, revealing a thin black film coating the surface of her eyeballs.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner when you saw it!”
She abruptly stood, grabbing the man’s collar with both hands.
“I only noticed after the incident occurred.”
“You should be calmer than I am at a time like this, Doctor. Getting angry at me won’t change anything.”
Having been roughly grabbed, Helm felt an inexplicable surge of annoyance, meeting Dr. Callan’s eyes with a low growl.
With a darkened face, Dr. Callan released him, then slammed a scalpel blade, clutched in her right hand, forcefully against a tree.
*Rustle*—
Leaves fluttered down, and blood streamed from her palm down her arm.
The agent was right; she needed to calm down.
She could always manage it in the past.
But tonight.
Ever since they encountered the trap in the valley, a restless agitation in her blood had been stimulating every cell in her body, making it difficult to maintain a steady mind.
If she had continued to restrain Konehl-Ghervil, this wouldn’t have happened.
Regret was useless now.
She could only force herself to calm down through sheer willpower and by letting blood.
After a while, having fully composed herself, she turned and crouched beside Konehl-Ghervil. A voice then spoke from behind her,
“These are what we found in the attic; they might be useful.”
Helm unceremoniously emptied the wooden case and satchels, spilling out various bottled elixirs, several silver crucifixes, iron implements, a few packets of unknown herbs, and two pistols.
“Thank you…”
Dr. Callan knelt, head bowed, and began sifting through the pile of items.
“Whether they prove useful or not, I must thank you… and apologize.”
“That’s more like it.”
With a slight smirk, Helm joined her in rummaging through the objects.
Given their age difference of over a decade, he felt that, as an elder, he ought to be more magnanimous in some respects.
After several minutes of searching, most items were discarded, save for two unfamiliar elixirs.
There were a total of seven elixirs: three were poisons specifically designed for condemned criminals or heretics, and two were hallucinogens, largely useless in their current predicament.
The pistols and crucifixes were merely dead weight.
They paid no further attention to the remaining objects.
Of the final two bottles, one held a deep red, odorless liquid that strikingly resembled blood.
The other was colorless, and its scent reminded Dr. Callan of the bottle Konehl-Ghervil used to alleviate her symptoms; not only the smell, but the container itself was remarkably similar.
“If this bottle contains blood, it might be Director Anthea’s,” Helm mused, holding the red vial up to the moonlight for examination.
Many elixirs with extraordinary effects utilized blood as a medium or component, so this one could well be among them.
“Blood would have a faint metallic scent,” Dr. Callan countered, raising the colorless elixir and taking a small sip.
“Are you out of your mind!”
Helm reached out, intending to snatch the elixir away.
Three of the seven elixirs were poisonous, and there was no guarantee this one wasn’t. If something happened to the doctor, he alone couldn’t possibly protect the nun.
But it was too late; he could only halt his movement.
The two of them waited.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Three minutes passed without any discomfort.
Finally, a breath of relief escaped them.
Supporting Konehl-Ghervil’s back, Dr. Callan administered two sips of the elixir. As they waited, a rustling sound, as if something was moving through the undergrowth, emanated from deep within the forest.
“They’re catching up.”
By reflex, Dr. Callan scooped up Konehl-Ghervil, ready to continue their escape.
A voice then spoke from behind her,
“There will always be a point when our stamina gives out. Perhaps we should consider another approach. In a direct confrontation, how confident are you that you can eliminate those beasts without severely harming the people?”
“The enemy’s abilities are unknown; I have little confidence.”
She turned, seeing Helm’s back as he faced deeper into the forest.
“What do you intend to do?”
“I’m wounded; I can’t outrun them.”
“That doesn’t sound like something a Level Five Agent would say.”
“What’s the range of your blood manipulation?”
“Three hundred meters.”
Her brow twitched; Dr. Callan vaguely surmised his intention.
“Farther than I anticipated.”
“Take these.”
The man tossed a wooden case, which landed at her feet, spilling out four glass bottles: one containing the red liquid from before, and three empty.
“Give me some of your blood, as much as you can fill. I have a way to make all those beasts drink it.”
“Consider it.”
“A grand gift for them.”