“Feed me more, little poisoner.”
The rasping voice echoed, not just in the air, but in the very marrow of Vekesh’s bones. The golden energy, his refined karma, continued its descent, a shimmering current swirling into the floor grates with an insistent hum. The celestial voice promised elevation, yet siphoned every scrap into the stone below.
Sloane stood, chest heaving, her pupils shrunk to hard points against the institutional glare. Her fingers curled until her knuckles pressed white against her coat. She opened her mouth, a sharp question already forming on her tongue, but the cafeteria door burst open before she could utter a word.
“Ah, Sloane, still fraternizing with the lunatics, I see.”
The voice, smooth as polished granite, cut through the lingering silence. Julian Vance, Bram’s cousin, strode in, his tailored suit a stark contrast to the sterile, utilitarian room. He was a portrait of manufactured aristocratic arrogance, all sharp angles and condescending smiles. Behind him trailed two stern-faced lawyers, their briefcases clutched like shields, and Dr. Armitage, the asylum’s Chief of Psychiatry, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“Julian,” Sloane said, her voice tight, her posture stiffening against the intrusion. “This is a restricted area. What are you doing here?”
The visitor smirked, raking his gaze over Vekesh, who leaned against the stainless steel and measured the man's throat. “We’re here on official business, cousin. Dr. Armitage has arranged a preliminary review for Bram’s competency hearing. A formality, really. Just look at him.” He gestured broadly at Vekesh. “Still lost in his little fantasy world, no doubt. Probably thinks he’s a mystical kung fu master, doesn’t he?”
The facility director cleared his throat, adjusting his spectacles. “Mr. Vance, we prefer to use clinical terminology.”
“Of course, Doctor.” Bram's cousin flicked an idle hand. “Severe delusional disorder, then. Grandiose type, with likely paranoid features. Shame, really. All that Vance legacy, wasted on a mind that can’t tell reality from a comic book.” He took a step closer to Vekesh, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, though loud enough for everyone to hear. “Still seeing invisible monsters, Bram? Still performing your little ‘healing rituals’?” His gaze lingered on Vekesh’s chest, a cruel glint in his eyes. “Perhaps you even believe you can ‘cure’ people. A grandmaster, aren’t you? In… *poison*?” He snickered, a high, brittle sound.
Vekesh pushed off the counter, straightening to his full height. His gaze hardened into iron. He took a slow breath, his gaze sweeping over Julian with an unnerving intensity. His cousin shifted weight under the unblinking appraisal.
“A grandmaster of poisons I may be,” Vekesh said, his voice a low rumble, devoid of any of Bram’s usual timidity. “But even a novice in my world could smell the rot on you, aristocrat.”
The smug curl on the intruder's lips thinned. “What in the blazes are you talking about?”
Vekesh stepped closer, circling Julian slowly, his head tilted. “Your breath, it carries the faint tang of sulfur and burnt sugar. Your skin, though meticulously powdered, shows a subtle pallor around the eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor in your right hand. And your pulse,” he reached out, a blur of motion, and briefly touched Julian’s wrist, then pulled back, his brow furrowing. “Rapid, yet weak. An imbalance of fire and dampness, a severe depletion of vital essence.”
Sloane held her footing, tracking the diagnostic sequence while the legal aides edged backward. The medical director simply stared, mouth half open.
“You are not merely afflicted with a delusion,” Vekesh continued, his voice now laced with a chilling authority. “You are afflicted. A persistent, invasive parasitic infection that has burrowed deep within your lower palace. A classic case of the Crimson Bloom.” He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, “Or, as your modern medical texts would likely call it… advanced *Syphilis*. And by the severity of the systemic symptoms, it is far past its primary stage. You have been neglecting it for quite some time, haven’t you?”
The colour drained from his face, leaving it a sickly grey. The sneer collapsed into gray, slack disbelief. His highly secret, deeply embarrassing venereal disease, whispered about only in hushed, privileged circles, had just been declared in a cafeteria, by the cousin he was trying to declare insane.
“You… you lying madman!” Julian shrieked, his voice cracking. All pretence of composure shattered. “How dare you! You filthy, insane—” He lunged forward, a wild, flailing attack aimed at Vekesh’s face.
Vekesh didn’t even bother to step back. As Julian’s hand came within inches, Vekesh’s own hand moved, a precise, almost delicate tap to the centre of Julian’s chest, just above his sternum. It was a pressure point known in the Shattered Peaks for violently stimulating the excretory functions.
A sickening gurgle erupted from Julian. His eyes bulged, wide with a sudden, unbearable agony. A dark stain soaked through the Italian wool, spreading down his knees. The smell hit first, acrid and overwhelming, then the sound—a wet, desperate gush. Julian froze, his entire body seizing up, before he let out a choked cry, collapsing onto the linoleum floor in a heap of shame and liquid filth, convulsing faintly.
Silence. Thick, horrified silence. The retainers stumbled back against the meal carts, hands clamped over their faces. The chief of psychiatry tripped on his own heels.
Sloane stared, first at the crumpled, defiled form of Julian, then at Vekesh, whose face remained carved from mountain granite. She stepped into the center of the tiled aisle. This was *her* patient, *her* responsibility. And Julian Vance had just made a very public fool of himself trying to humiliate him.
“Get out,” Sloane said, her voice low, dangerous, and barren of compromise. Her eyes, usually cool and measured, blazed with an intensity that made the attendants flinch. “All of you. Now. Dr. Armitage, escort these… individuals off the premises. And then call for a hazmat team and a full biohazard clean-up for Mr. Vance.”
[Karma purified: A major affliction has been purged. Subject: Julian Vance. Cultivation Reward: Heavenly Ascension Tier 1. Current Seal Integrity: 50%.]
The system’s message flashed, sharp and sudden, but Vekesh barely registered the promised power. His attention snapped to the last line. *50%?*
A low rumble began, not within the drains this time, but beneath his very feet. It started as a distant growl, quickly escalating into a violent, shuddering tremor. The fluorescent lights flickered erratically, casting the cafeteria in strobing chaos. Glassware rattled on shelves, then crashed to the floor. The entire asylum groaned, a monstrous sound of straining steel and cracking concrete. Sloane stumbled, reaching out to Vekesh, her face pale with terror. Deep in the sub-basement bedrock, ancient stone sheared apart.