Viktor's Wrath

 Snow had just settled by the time the they reached Renn's house. The night air was damp, heavy, but inside, the dim lantern glow cast shadows across the worn wooden floor.

Joren and Gavril dragged the captured man inside, his weight pressing against them as they hauled him through the threshold. His clothes were soaked; his face was bruised from Gavril's earlier blows. But his gaze remained empty, not defiant, not fearful. Just vacant.

Renn had just returned from his shift, shrugging snow off his coat when he noticed the scene before him. He didn't flinch... just let out a quiet breath and muttered,

"Another guest, I see,"

Kaavi nodded once.

Renn did not asked questions.  He never did. Instead, he motioned toward the far door leading beneath the house.

"Basements open. Built for guest like him."

Viktor blinked, catching the weight of those words.

"You planned for this?" Gavril asked, raising an eyebrow.

Renn smirked, a faint, knowing thing.

"I was a Hallow once, remember?" He tapped the worn floorboards beneath him.

"Some things from the past stays with you..., you will find what you ned down there."

Then, as if the matter was settled, he turned toward the Hearth and poured himself a drink, showing no interest in their prisoner.

Kaavi motioned, his voice calm and commanding "take him to the basement."

and the rest of the team moved towards the basement.

Veyl raised a brow. "He has a whole interrogation room down here."

Joren offered a dry smile. "You don't run jobs this long without collecting a few… contingency measures. Let's just say maybe he had worse under this roof."

The rest of the group descended into the stone-walled basement. It was cold and dim, lit only by a lantern in the corner. The bolted chair sat in the centre, stained from prior use. They strapped the prisoner down. Kaavi knelt in front of him; his hands steady.

Corren crossed his arms. "You'll try reading him too?"

Kaavi nodded once. Then, with deliberate care, he placed his fingers along the sides of the man's temples. His breath slowed. His mind reached inward.

At first, there was resistance...fog, static, jumbled impressions. Then, beneath the surface, the truth emerged.

Kaavi's brow furrowed.

"This…this isn't a normal mind," he said. "It's fractured. Hollow. Most of what's inside him is false."

Joren stepped forward, tense. "False how?"

Kaavi kept his hands in place. "Fabricated. His memories...stitched together from fragments. Manufactured narratives. It's not amnesia. It's design."

"He was made," Viktor murmured.

Kaavi nodded slowly. "Yes. He wasn't born in the natural sense. He was created... engineered through arcane or alchemical means. Not like a golem or automaton... but a living, breathing human shell. Something... or someone designed him to roam among us."

Gavril's voice lowered. "So, he's a weapon."

"More like a tool," Kaavi corrected. "Disposable. No sense of true self. Only directives. Obey. Deliver. Eliminate."

A chill settled in the room.

Kaavi pressed deeper into the man's subconscious, filtering through broken threads of memory and embedded commands. Most were looping fragments...static instructions, names without context, places without meaning. But one thing pierced through.

His eyes opened suddenly. "Whitehold."

Joren's head snapped up. "What about it?"

Kaavi stood slowly, tension running through his jaw. "It's fallen. Whitehold has been taken by the Maw."

The silence was immediate and sharp.

"Taken?" Corren echoed. "Whitehold's a fortress. That's not possible."

"They didn't breach the walls," Kaavi said. "They walked through the gates. People like this...crafted to infiltrate, to follow orders without question. They hollowed it out from the inside."

Gavril leaned forward; fists clenched. "How many more like him do you think are out there?"

Kaavi didn't answer immediately. Then he met Viktor's gaze.

"There could be more," he admitted. "But that doesn't mean we'll find them all. That isn't our aim."

Joren nodded grimly. "We deal with what's in front of us."

Kaavi turned toward the motionless body strapped to the chair. "He's useless now. Whatever purpose he had, it ended the moment we took him. His mind is degrading...collapsing in on itself."

Corren shook his head. "Like a candle burning out."

Viktor stared at the prisoner, unease prickling his spine. "This isn't just about one city, is it?"

"No," Kaavi said quietly. "It's about the shape of what's coming."

Then....

The prisoner jerked violently in the chair, limbs snapping taut against the restraints. His head whipped back; mouth open in a silent scream. Veins bulged along his neck, eyes rolling until only white showed.

Kaavi spun around, instinct already surging. But before he could reach him, the man's body convulsed again...and then froze.

A guttural, inhuman voice spilled from his mouth. Gravelly. Layered. Too deep for a normal throat to carry.

"Found you, Kaavi."

The air dropped ten degrees.

"You're in Branwyke."

The voice didn't belong to the man…it passed through him, as though he were no more than a speaker. His eyes glowed faintly, drained of humanity.

"You shouldn't have touched what's mine."

Kaavi's jaw clenched, hand reaching subtly for the hilt of his blade, but the voice only gave a low, rasping chuckle.

"Curious...you're still alive."

A final shudder tore through the prisoner's body...then his head slumped forward. The glow faded from his eyes, leaving only a lifeless husk.

Silence gripped the room like a noose.

".... What was that?" Corren whispered.

Kaavi didn't answer right away. He stepped closer, studying the dead vessel. The air still hummed faintly with whatever force had touched them.

Viktor looked to him, waiting.

Kaavi's voice came low.

"Someone was watching through him. Possibly the one who made him. And now... they know we're here."

The cold in the room deepened...not just from fear, but from the certainty of something far greater stirring behind the curtain.

Something with eyes.

Something with reach.