A guttural groan ripped from Milena’s throat, her body slumping further against the crates. The leather volume, dark with old bloodstains and fresh crimson, slid from her grasp. Dagnija caught it with a practiced snatch, her gaze flicking over the Vlas seal, then back to Milena’s ashen face. “The log is worthless now,” Milena choked, a thin thread of blood bubbling at her lips. “It’s not a poison log… it’s a procurement manifest. He was collecting something else. Something for *him*.” Her eyes darted wildly, then fixed on Dagnija, bright with desperate urgency. “The pure marrow. The uncorrupted stock. Old Man Vlas, he’s been hoarding it. For years. Keeping it in his private vaults, beneath the estate. Guarded by… by his spliced aberrations.” Ignat knelt beside Milena, his medical pack already open, a shimmering stitch-needle glinting in the dim light. “Aberrations? What fresh obscenity is this?” “Not just grafted hounds,” Milena gasped, flinching as Ignat’s needle pierced her skin. “True patchworks. Human and beast. Twisted, loyal. Grown from stolen tissue. He drains them… for their core fluid. Claims it’s for ‘rejuvenation therapy’ for his own decaying flesh. But it’s pristine. Untainted.” She coughed, a wet, rattling sound. “It’s the antidote. The uncorrupted seed.” Dagnija’s eyes, though, were already on the leaves, flipping through pages filled with precise, almost obsessive notations. Dates, quantities, tissue types. “The quantities… it’s enough. More than enough.” A grim satisfaction twisted her mouth. “He thinks to outlive us all, does he? To sip youth from the veins of monsters.” She snapped the book shut. “Milena. Rest. We’ll finish this.” “No, you won’t,” Milena rasped, grabbing Dagnija’s sleeve with a blood-slicked hand. “He’s expecting you. He put out word. A reward for your head. He’s already moved the stock. It’s in his manor. The central vault. Tonight.” She collapsed back, consciousness fading. Outside the Sanctorum’s vaults, a new layer of fog had descended, thick as curdled milk, muffling the distant tolls of the city’s midnight chimes. They moved like wraiths through the deserted passages, Dagnija leaning heavily on Ignat, Milena cradled in the arms of a junior apprentice Ignat had mysteriously summoned. The bound leaves were tucked safely beneath Dagnija’s belt. “The manor’s defenses will be formidable,” Ignat murmured, his breath pluming white in the chill air. “Ward-shields, Praetor sentries, and these… monstrosities.” “Good,” Dagnija retorted, her voice a dry rasp. “Less chance of an audience.” She pulled a pouch from her coat, the small glass vials inside rattling. “These are the unstable compounds I extracted from the hound fluid. A little heat, a little pressure, and they’ll detonate with enough force to shatter reinforced steel. Enough to breach Vlas’s precious manor walls, I think.” Ignat raised a brow, a flicker of admiration in his intense gaze. “You’ve been busy.” “Necessity,” she said, shrugging, then immediately stiffened as numbness locked through her left leg. “And desperation.” They stood before the looming, wrought-iron gates of House Vlas, silhouetted against the swirling, green-tinged fog. The air thrummed with the faint hum of power-wards, and the distant, low growl of unseen beasts. Dagnija placed a vial against the cold iron, a timer ticking softly. Ignat did the same at a support pillar. A muffled *thump-thump* echoed from within the manor, a heavy, rhythmic stride. A spliced terror. Or worse. “Ready?” Ignat asked, his hand resting on the hilt of a concealed blade. His mouth set in a thin, merciless seam. “Always,” Dagnija replied. Her right hand, though, felt strangely heavy, slow to respond. A premonition. The vials detonated with a series of sharp, concussive blasts, ripping through the wards and tearing a gaping hole in the ancient stone wall. Alarms shrieked, red emergency lamps strobing through the fog. They surged through the breach, moving with practiced efficiency, Ignat leading the way, Dagnija a breath behind. The manor’s interior was a labyrinth of shadowed hallways and opulent, gilded rooms. Praetor watchmen, roused from their posts, swarmed them. Dagnija moved with an almost dreamlike precision, her left hand still fluid, her right a little less so. She deployed another charge, sending a crystal chandelier crashing down onto a phalanx of sentinels. Ignat, a whirlwind of calculated strikes, disarmed and incapacitated with brutal economy. They pressed deeper, guided by the familiar Vlas family crests that marked the path to the central vaults. Casimir Vlas, however, was waiting. He stood before the massive, reinforced vault door in a silk dressing gown, his face puffy, a sheen of sweat on his brow. Behind him, two hulking, vaguely human-shaped brutes stood sentinel, their limbs unnaturally thick, their heads too small for their bodies. Spliced sentinels. “Dagnija,” Casimir whined, his voice thick with false grief. “You’ve come. I knew you would. I knew you’d return to me.” He extended a hand, palm up, a small, intricate glass ampoule cradled within. “The core essence. It’s all here. Pure. Untainted. A king’s ransom. Yours, if you’ll just… reconsider. Take me back. Restore my name. We can be together again, Dagnija. Like it was meant to be.” His eyes flickered to Ignat, then back to Dagnija, a pathetic, desperate plea. Dagnija looked at him, her expression utterly devoid of emotion. Her right arm, heavy and unresponsive, felt like dead weight. She forced it forward, the motion stiff, unnatural. Her hand, a rigid club of petrified flesh, connected with Casimir’s throat with a sickening crunch. He staggered back, gasping, hands clutching at his windpipe, the glass ampoule falling to the polished marble floor but not shattering, miraculously. “I’d rather die,” she stated, her voice flat, “than share a breath with you again.” Casimir collapsed, gurgling. The two flesh-grafted brutes, their faces contorted into feral snarls, surged forward. Ignat moved to intercept them, his blade flashing, but another sound ripped through the opulent hall – a deep, resonant growl that vibrated through the very bones of the manor. A composite colossus of stitched-together sinew and bone, larger than any hound, its multiple eyes glowing with predatory cunning. It was a grotesque fusion of wolf, bear, and something far more ancient and predatory. Its fur was patchy, its claws long and razor-sharp, and a twisted, bony growth jutted from its spine. It moved with unnatural speed, a blur of dark shadow and grinding muscle, slamming into one of the hulking sentries, tearing it limb from limb in a spray of viscera. The surviving sentry froze, whimpering, before the beast turned its attention to Dagnija and Ignat. Its roar was a physical force, rattling the sconces on the walls. It lunged, its massive jaws snapping. Ignat shoved Dagnija aside, his movements a blur as he met the beast head-on, his blade carving a shallow furrow in its tough hide. But the creature was too fast, too powerful. It lashed out with a clawed foreleg, sending Ignat sprawling, then spun, its gaze locking onto Dagnija. Her right forearm was fully petrified, fingers frozen into chalky rigidity. The calcification had consumed it entirely. She tried to raise her left, but a fresh jolt of agony shot through her leg. She stumbled, defenseless, as the brute bore down on her, its jaws gaping, dripping with ichor. “Dagnija!” Ignat screamed, scrambling to his feet. With a primal roar, he threw himself between her and the monster. The beast's jagged spinal spur, sharp as a lance, plunged into Ignat’s chest with a wet, tearing sound, impaling him. He grunted, a strangled cry escaping his lips, but even as his body began to crumple, he brought his blade up, plunging it deep into the creature’s exposed throat. The beast shrieked, a sound of agony and rage, before collapsing, twitching, then going still. Ignat slid to the floor, pulling the bony spike free, a gush of dark blood blooming across his chest. He looked up at Dagnija, a weak, blood-flecked smile on his face, before his eyes fluttered shut. The glass ampoule of pure marrow lay beside him, untouched, reflecting the red emergency lights painting the floor in a macabre tableau. It was enough to finish her cure. Or save his life.

Chimera and Bone