Marion stepped into the overgrown greenhouse. The air was heavy with rot and humidity, the sweet-sickly scent of decayed flora clinging to her tongue. Her eyes swept the room and settled on a massive, hunched figure at the far end—a grotesque fusion of man and spider, limbs twitching with nervous energy. He stood by a cluttered workstation where arcane diagrams, broken glass, and decayed journals were scattered in barely contained chaos.

  “WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING?!”

  Another vial shattered against the wall.

  “I AM SO CLOSE!”

  Marion drew her bow and nocked an arrow as she stepped into the light. “Guess you weren’t meant to figure it out. Whatever it was.”

  The figure froze. Eight gleaming black eyes slowly turned to her. A thick mane of silver hair clung to the humanoid part of his face—human, but stretched and misshapen. The rest of him was nightmare: chitinous limbs, pulsating spinnerets, and a swollen abdomen that hissed with venom.

  “You...” he rasped. “You don’t understand. This was sacred work. I was chosen—blessed!”

  “Let me guess, Lilith?” Marion asked.

  His mouth curled into a fang-filled sneer. “Yes. How did you know? No, it doesn’t matter how you know. She gave me the seed. Said I could weave life from death. I will cure the corruption—the name Mohrhart will be feared.”

  Marion’s brows furrowed. “And you bred monsters. For soldiers I assume.”

  “You killed them,” he whispered. His voice cracked, trembling with rage. “I know what final ingredient I have been missing.”

  “That is too bad because it ends here.” Marion said, coldly.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Inigo let out a shriek that fractured glass overhead.

  He charged.

  Marion let her arrow fly. It struck deep into his right shoulder—but even before the shaft finished vibrating, she triggered Rapid Shot. Three more arrows screamed across the greenhouse, each one slamming into his abdomen with deadly precision.

  Inigo staggered, then bellowed—a roar so thunderous and primal the greenhouse quaked. Glass exploded above, and vines unraveled from the rafters, dropping around them like tendrils from some dying god.

  Marion reeled—momentarily stunned.

  He pounced.

  She rolled—too slowly. A jagged limb raked her thigh, tearing flesh. Pain seared through her, but she didn’t falter. She released her bow, gritted her teeth, and drew her kusarigama with one fluid pull.

  As she rolled beneath him, she slashed out—blades tearing through several legs. He shrieked in pain. Then with expert control, she spun and hurled the weighted dart upward—driving it between his abdomen and cephalothorax.

  Thick black blood sprayed across the tiles.

  “You’re not the only one who’s learned to adapt,” she muttered.

  He staggered, limbs faltering—but reached for a weapon on his belt: a gleaming black shuriken, etched with divine sigils long worn by misuse.

  “You ungrateful WRETCH!” he bellowed. “Lilith’s gift is MINE!”

  He hurled it.

  CLINK! Marion raised her chain just in time—the projectile shattered it inches from her face.

  Another whistled through the air. She dropped her shoulder—felt it slice through her cloak—and landed in a crouch. Before she could think, her muscles took over. She backflipped, twisting midair. The broken end of the chain snapped tight—and with the momentum, she hurled the dart again.

  It soared, whistling through the pollen-filled air.

  THUNK.

  Right into the base of Inigo’s throat.

  His body froze. The divine corruption that had sustained him for so long finally buckled under the weight of his own madness.

  “You… don’t… understand...” he rasped, blood bubbling past his lips.

  Marion stepped forward, gaze hard. “No. You don’t.”

  Inigo collapsed in a heap of shattered limbs and failed divinity. The greenhouse fell silent, save for the sound of dripping blood and creaking glass.

  When Marion pulled the dart out of Inigo, his corpse began to deteriorate at a rapid pace. In its place was a violet-colored flame bobbing gently in place. She decided to use {Identify} to see what it was.

  [Spark of Divinity]

  [This has been dropped by a broken servant. The Gift remains, even if it has been twisted.]

  Marion frowned, the words echoing.

  What gift and how was it twisted?