The Alchemist: A Portal Progression Fantasy Series

Book 9: The Alchemist

by Roman Romanovich

Genres: Superheroes

Synopsis

The deeper the alchemist delves into society, the more entangled in its intrigues he becomes. Influence brings more enemies, and now even assassins come knocking on his door. The protections he so carefully arranged proved useless. Someone has found a way not just to slip past them, but to prod at the very fabric of his craft.

And that means he needs to get back to work. New research, unique artifacts, stronger defenses.

Facing the challenges that the enemies throw at him will require all his efforts. Especially when there's not just one enemy, but an entire organization united against him. Every time he removes one piece from the chess board, another unexpectedly pops up to take its place.

Despite all the danger, he still has his own ambitions. Founding his own city, a shining hub for the alchemy of tomorrow. Even the Emperor agreed to it, gifting him land.

If only he had more time to focus on it... That is one resource he seems to constantly be lacking. Enemies are always plotting, a new kind of gifted has appeared in the world causing a stir.

The young alchemist will have to fight for the right to live in peace.

Read more

Release date: December 9, 2025

Publisher: Independently published

Print pages: 369

Sample

PROLOGUE

Two dark figures moved silently through the bushes until one of them halted. The other immediately froze as well. “What is it?” a quiet voice whispered. “Something strange. I can’t quite make it out. I’ve never sensed anything like this before.” “This is the land of the gifted one,” the man replied. “It might be his doing. Can you figure it out?” “I’ll try.” A few minutes of tense silence followed, and then a woman’s voice spoke softly. “Done. Surprisingly easy.” “That doesn’t mean much. He might have noticed your presence.” “Then they’ll be coming for us soon.” “Should we wait?” “Yes, let’s wait for a while.” An hour passed in wordless anticipation. The girl went by the name Ursa. The man was called Night. Their real names were different. Very few in the world knew of them. “Shall we move on?” the man asked. “You mean crawl on?” she asked flatly. “Don’t start.” “I don’t like this.” “What part exactly?” “All of it.” “Are you just nervous, or do you actually sense something?” “I haven’t decided yet.” “Then keep crawling. Do you feel anything now?” “No.” Over the next half hour, as they made their way toward the house, Ursa discovered several more spots that pulsed with strange tension. Whenever possible, they avoided them. When they couldn’t, she used her power to destroy these clots. Soon they were near the house. Night focused on thickening the surrounding darkness, ensuring no one could detect their presence. “This is definitely his power,” Ursa whispered. “The house feels... tight. Like it’s holding its breath.” Night didn’t fully understand what she meant, but he trusted her instincts. Right now, his focus was on the task. The reward they’d been promised — more than enough to last a lifetime — was worth the risk. “Can you handle it?” “If I could handle it before, I can handle it now. Are you ready?” “Yes.” “And the gift?” “Ready. As long as we don’t get caught in the crossfire.” “Let’s go through the garage.” When Ursa reached the designated spot, she pressed her hand against the wall. She released all the tension from her body first, then unraveled the wall itself, crumbling it into dust with a thought. That was how the assassins entered the house.

Chapter 1

BURIAL AND CONFLICTS

“What’s next?” I asked Rodion once the operation was complete. “Interrogation.” “Everything went too smoothly, don’t you think? I expected more resistance from one of Sixth’s overseers.” “Defense isn’t always about fighting. Some men rely on shadows and reputation. Once those crumble, they would rather bargain than fight.” “I just hope it isn’t another dead end. Or that we weren’t being lured into this and used to clean up their mess.” “Anything is possible in this world. But for now, I say you call it a night. It’s almost morning. Get some rest, Edgar. Tomorrow I’ll fill you in, and we’ll dig into what we’ve found.” “Alright.” Opening the portal home had taken more out of me than I expected. Three days of relentless hunting after Sixth’s subordinates, and capture of the Baron had left their mark. Fatigue, as always, had a way of creeping up on you. In some ways, I welcomed the break. I gritted my teeth and almost stepped through. But the moment stalled. A knock sounded at the door, and one of the officers stepped inside. I had seen him more than once before, and his impressive mustache caught my eye every time. “The Baron is ready to talk. But he is demanding Sokolov.” I exchanged glances with Rodion. That was new. None of the other captives had ever asked for me personally. “It could be a trap,” Rodion said, stating the obvious. Then he turned to the officer. “How did the prisoner behave?” “Politely. He showed no signs of aggression. He sat quietly for a while, then simply said he would only speak to Sokolov. That was it.” 

I had transferred the overseer from his estate to the casemates, where the imperial specialists took over. He had been searched and placed under surveillance. A preliminary interrogation should have followed. It wasn’t hard to see why they were willing to indulge the Baron’s demand instead of continuing on their own. Torturing Higher demons was always tricky, and if there was a chance to get answers without the use of force, it made sense to take it. I closed the portal leading back to my home. “I think it is worth hearing what he has to say.” “I will be nearby,” Rodion replied, and we headed to see the Baron. *** Ursa crouched silently in the corner of the house. Her brother stood beside her, enveloping them both in a shroud of darkness. Had anyone switched on the light, they would have seen only faint, blurred shadows. But the house remained quiet. The residents were asleep. According to the information the assassins had received, at least six people were inside. Their client had claimed that the target of the operation would be temporarily away. The plan was simple: enter, eliminate everyone inside, set a trap, and kill the target upon his return. Suddenly, a light snapped on in the hallway. Soft footsteps echoed through the corridor. Ursa touched her brother’s hand, signaling him. She slipped away from his side and positioned herself on the far side of the doorway. A glint of steel flickered in her hand. *** Olga Gvozdev was asleep. She slept as soundly as someone unknowingly caught in a deadly conflict could. Waking yet again, she listened carefully to see if anyone was sneaking up on her. Silence. “Damn you,” she muttered softly. Shifting slightly, she reached out and touched her husband, habitually checking his heart rate, blood flow, muscle relaxation, and depth of breathing. Unlike her, Sergei slept like a baby. “Yup, like a log,” she whispered, then admitted to herself that she would have to get up. It was all because of the tea. She had too much tea before bed. Unfortunately, the power of healing couldn’t help with bladder control. She got up and left the room, heading downstairs while scolding herself for being paranoid. As she stepped into the hallway, she activated her gift, just in case. Her eyes widened as she sensed the presence of intruders. But they were faster. Two shadows moved quicker than she could follow. A hand clamped over her mouth. Steel flashed. Olga’s throat was cut. *** The Baron, known as Samuel Ars, sat chained to a plain metal table in an empty room. “You asked to see me.” “Edgar Sokolov?” the man looked up at me. “It is unusual to have a polite conversation with someone in full armor. Could you at least remove your helmet? Forgive an old man, I am used to looking people in the eye.” “No, I could not. Will that affect your willingness to speak openly?” “I never said I would do such a thing,” the man smiled. “I said I wanted to talk to you.” “Then what is the point?” “Well... you are right. Perhaps we should both be honest.” “Then I suggest you start by telling me where to find Sixth.” “I already told you, young man, I don’t know. Torture me if you like, but that won’t change my answer,” he tapped his finger against his gray head. “Maybe that is true. Then tell me everything you do know about the Organization,” I insisted. “Of course,” he replied with a smile that was both wild and unhealthy. There was something about all of this that made me uneasy, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on what. What threat could the old man possibly pose? Had he been marked by a Walker, allowing them to sense our exact location? Could he act as an activator, needing only time to set something in motion? Could he trigger an attack from outside, or unleash something from within with the help of shapeshifters? In truth, a scenario like that involving these metamorphs would almost have been interesting. Still, I was sure we were ready for shapeshifters. The recent capture of the assassin who had come for the Tooth Puller had already given us more than enough. I had refined our detection methods. If they tried using their gift against us, it would fail and only give us more data to sharpen those methods. There was no way they could slip past us. Not anymore. Was there something else I was missing, something that could justify this uneasiness gnawing at me? Could the old man possess some hidden power capable of shattering seals, meant to weaken my defenses before a stronger strike? Possibly. But I had been preparing myself for an opponent like that. The question was whether he would dare to attack me himself. And what weapon could he possibly wield? According to our data, the Baron was strong. But I had long since stopped being just an ordinary demon. “What is it that such a determined young man wants to know?” the Baron asked, still smiling. “The names and locations of the other Keepers.” “I can’t tell you that,” he replied, spreading his hands. “Then I will have to make you.” “Are you going to torture an old man?” “If I must. I have no illusions about your innocence.” “And about your own?” “Nor about mine.” “What astonishing honesty,” he laughed. The laugh cut off mid-breath, as though he had sensed something. “Sixth asked me to tell you that you will never be able to outplay him...” The moment he finished the sentence, an explosion tore through the air. *** Ursa slit the woman’s throat and eased the twitching body to the floor. Getting inside had required the use of her gift, but she didn’t need it to kill a non-demon. A simple knife had been enough. She gave her brother a nod, then moved toward the hallway from which the woman had come. She didn’t like this place. The house was huge, but the energy inside felt so tight and suffocating. Ursa sensed that if she focused just a little more, she would see glowing lines tracing every surface around her. She was relieved that the master of the house was absent. She had no desire to face him, not until they had set up a trap and unraveled the strength woven into this place. Unable to suppress the urge burning in her chest, she stepped forward and reached toward every knot of tension she sensed, unraveling each one. Her justification was sound: she wanted to strip the enemy of any potential advantage. But the truth was that she could not bear being caught in the web of someone else’s power. She and her brother hadn’t gone far. They had just reached the stairs when they heard a faint sound behind them. Both turned at once and were met by a surreal sight. The woman whose throat she had cut was slowly rising from the floor. Ursa didn’t lose her composure. She threw the knife, and it struck the woman straight in the heart, sending her sprawling backward. But instead of dying, the woman grabbed the knife, pulled it out, and as she fell, slammed her palm against the floor with all her strength. There was a sharp pop. Without paying attention to the noise, Ursa darted forward, ready to finish her off for good, only to watch in disbelief as the gash across the woman’s throat began to seal. They had clearly encountered a demon with masked abilities and delayed regeneration. A moment later, another sound echoed through the house, this one deeper and different in tone. A Walker had moved to the first floor. *** The explosion spread like a blue wave from the Baron. It began by tearing through his stomach. I had just enough time to see the upper half of his body lift into the air, the twisted smile still on his face, before he was blown up to pieces. A table flew across the room, flung me backward and slammed me into the wall. Then the explosion hit the building itself, tearing through the walls as effortlessly as it had torn through flesh. Its effect had been narrowly focused, radiating outward in a circle, parallel to the floor. At first, I didn’t understand what was happening. But then I realized — the load-bearing walls were gone. The ceiling came crashing down.

I managed to throw my hands up, but it did little good. The explosion had already wiped out all my remaining protection. They had obviously hit me with something specifically designed to nullify every safeguard. When tons of concrete began to fall, I had nothing left to resist them. In less than a second, I was buried alive. *** Catherine woke to a strange sound. She felt safe in the house, but Edgar was out on a night mission, and she had been waiting for his return. Her hearing was excellent. If she wanted to, Catherine could listen to a heartbeat on the other side of the house. Now, she picked up on heartbeats. Many of them. She heard the heart of every person in the house. But there were two more than there should have been. As she jumped out of bed and prepared herself, she teleported to the first floor. The first thing she saw was a blurred shadow charging straight at her. Catherine raised her hand, and in the next instant, several things happened at once. The ring artifact activated, and the shadow that had taken the form of a female figure nearby was thrown back. A second later, everything went dark. Catherine lost her sight completely. Though she remained in the same place, her vision was gone. Instinctively, she teleported to another part of the house, into the workshop. Whatever had happened, however the enemies had gotten inside, didn’t matter now. She acted without hesitation. Just as Edgar had taught her. Armor first, everything else later. *** Olga was thinking about how having her throat cut was far from a pleasant sensation. Fortunately, she was no longer the same person she had been at the beginning of her journey. At a certain level, a healer became incredibly hard to kill, almost comparable to demons, though their regeneration worked differently. For demons, healing was instinctive and effortless. For healers of Olga’s rank, however, regeneration required preparation. They had to activate an energy pattern within their bodies before receiving a mortal wound and force that healing to ignite the instant the fatal blow landed. And as the blade cut her throat, two thoughts flashed through her mind: she had encountered a Higher demon, and she had managed to do everything in time, against all odds. Sadly, the healing gift alone granted her very little in terms of speed or sharpened reflexes when compared to strong demons. She had assessed the situation with a clear, almost detached mind. In a fair fight, she stood no chance. So she didn’t fight. She didn’t even flinch. She let herself be killed, praying they would not tear off her head. They didn’t. Instead, they lowered her body gently, careful not to make a sound, and then moved on, their steps drifting upward toward the room where her husband and son were sleeping. Olga gathered herself, twitched, and tried to do something. She had no strength left, and the demons were fast. A dagger flashed through the air and pierced her heart. All she managed to do was fall with a crash. Her life would have ended there had help not arrived. Olga saw Catherine appear and activate the artifact, and then one of the enemies triggered their gift, swallowing Catherine in darkness. What Olga saw felt wrong. A thick cloud of shadow hung in the light streaming from the hallway, as if refusing to let the brightness touch it. The first shadow had been thrown back by Catherine’s attack and slammed into the kitchen cabinet, and if nothing earlier had woken the house, this certainly did. But a second shadow remained. Barely visible. Completely still. Its presence pressed against Olga’s senses, cold and heavy, and she felt it with every cell in her body. She let her paranoia loose, sharpening her perception, and began preparing to unleash her gift against them. Yet Catherine teleported again, vanishing in a blink and leaving her alone with them. The cloud of darkness disintegrated, and the cast shadow rose, shaking splinters from its form like a creature roused from sleep. It spoke, a distorted whisper of words, but Olga couldn’t make them out. Instead, she focused every bit of her power on the two assassins. Her healing energy pierced their bodies, revealing the processes unfolding within them with frightening clarity. For a healer like Olga, inflicting serious damage required only seconds, but when dealing with a Higher demon, seconds equaled eternity. One of the shadows reached her before she could blink. It raised a hand, the force building for a blow that would have taken her head off, but a shot rang out. A perfectly ordinary shot from a firearm, only from a large caliber. The shadow’s head jerked; the military helmet offered no protection. Hot blood splashed across Olga. The wound began closing at once, and the assassin leapt aside with inhuman speed. More shots followed, sharp and frantic, but they quickly fell silent. And then the second assassin plunged the room into darkness again. *** Everything had a limit. in my world, that applied to both living beings and to every crafted item. If the armor reserves had not been drained by the explosion, if I had not been so exhausted, if I had a tad more luck, I might have escaped. Instead, I lay pinned beneath tons of rubble, as if the entire underground complex had collapsed onto my back. We had been stationed in an underground base, the place where our valuable prisoner was kept. Honestly, who decided that interrogations should take place below ground level? It could have been worse; the armor had held for the most part. But the pressure on my chest, lungs, and right arm kept mounting. My air supply was dwindling, and I felt it with unsettling clarity. A little longer, and suffocation would set in. A stray thought crossed my mind. Perhaps it was time to rethink the almost absolute guarantees I attached to the armors I sold. Lately, my enemies had been smashing through mine with alarming ease. And if anything like that ever happened to my customers, they would all come demanding free repairs, something I had no intention of spending my life doing. Visibility was zero. Absolute darkness surrounded me, heavy and oppressive. I could barely move — only my fingers twitched inside the armor, stiff and numb. My first thought was to turn a blank seal within my breastplate into a seal of destruction and try reducing the debris above me to dust, as much as my energy would allow. With luck, it would give me enough room to move, though I understood all too well that it might just drive the rubble down and bury me even deeper. I could also have tried forming a transformation seal from the same blank and reinforcing the surrounding space with a support structure by transforming it, but that was difficult, almost impossible, under such suffocating pressure. Teleportation was out of the question until I cleared at least some space around me. Right now, there simply was no room to maneuver. I forced myself not to think about how many people might have died. Only now did it become clear that it would have been wiser to isolate each valuable prisoner in a separate location, but that required proper infrastructure, fully equipped holding sites, trained personnel, and reliable security systems. In the end, we worked with what we had. This base held several dozen prisoners, a fair number of guards, and the essential staff needed to maintain it. The Baron had been taken to the lowest level. That was the most secure area. Or so we thought. No one could have imagined he would turn himself into a human bomb. If my assessment of the destruction was correct, then most of the people stationed here were already dead. There was no time left to hesitate. I chose the solution that offered the best chance of success — the destruction seal. Risky, but no worse than any other. Steeling myself, I shifted the big finger of my right hand ever so slightly, turned the blank drawing on my chest plate into a seal of destruction, and, using it as a fulcrum, sent a wave of destruction straight upward. I thought of two possible outcomes. Either the energy would run out before I destroyed enough of the debris that was crushing me and I would waste my only way out, or my plan would succeed. What I ended up with was something in between. I was exhausted and pinned beneath the remnants, but I had avoided being crushed entirely. The worst had passed. All I needed now was to wait, gather some strength, and dig myself out. Once the immediate danger faded, another thought crept in. If Sixth had turned his man into a bomb, he might have planted other traps as well. That idea struck a deep note of unease. There was an instinct in me, quiet but persistent, urging me to move. I needed to get home. Immediately. *** Nino tumbled out of bed before she fully registered the tremor that rattled the house in the middle of the night. There was no time to think. In their current situation, hesitation was a luxury they could not afford. The only weapon she had was a small gun, tucked away in her purse. After the considerable number of incidents that had been happening around Edgar recently, she had begun carrying it secretly, without telling Matvey or anyone else. Her fingers closed around it before her thoughts could catch up. She burst out of the bedroom and vaulted over the stairs, landing heavily on the floor below. She fired before she truly understood what was happening. Intruders were in the house! The enemy’s head jerked with the impact of the bullet, but a cold certainty settled in her gut. These were no ordinary intruders. And if that was true, then the gun would not be enough. She was right. There were more of them. From the corner of her eye, she caught movement. She twisted, instinctively trying to evade, but the strike came too fast. She managed to block with her elbow, and pain exploded through her arm. It was sharp, but it grounded her thoughts. Nino wasn’t a powerful demon, but she loved to fight. Blades glinted in the dark. Knives flashed around her, leaving jagged wounds. Nino snarled and hurled herself forward. She knew she couldn’t defeat her opponent, but she could buy some time by grounding the enemy. She rushed into the darkness that was enveloping her enemy, but the shadows swallowed her and her hands closed on nothing. A sudden blow crashed into her back, hurling her across the kitchen. She skidded across the tiles and slammed into the countertop hard enough to rattle her bones. Blinking through the haze, she spun around, arms rising on instinct alone. Steel bit into her palm instead of her skull. She screamed, her hand slick with blood, her whole body straining against the brutal strength of her attacker. “Let her go!” Matvey’s voice tore through the kitchen like lightning. And her fiancé — gentle, clumsy Matvey — hurled himself at the assassin with everything he had. The pressure on her hand surged for one unbearable moment, then suddenly vanished. The attacker let go. But what came next froze her from the inside out. Nino was not afraid of her pain, but hearing Matvey’s scream... Hearing him being torn apart, limb by limb, shattered something inside her that no blade ever could. Pulling the knife from her palm, Nino tried to rise and go to his rescue. But the second assassin appeared close by, and something strange washed over her. The blow struck her chest. Her clothes split apart, and a searing, corrosive sensation spread across her skin like acid. She screamed, crumpling onto the tiles, clawing at her chest in desperation, trying to tear the pain away with her own nails. Matvey didn’t come to her aid this time. A burst of light flared through the room, and Nino caught a glimpse of him lying nearby, his body twisted and broken. *** Catherine jumped into her armor, waited for the series of mechanical clicks that signaled activation, and quickly teleported back toward the kitchen to assess how much the situation had changed. Olga Gvozdev, soaked in blood, was crawling away, trying to reach safety. Nino was pinned under one of the attackers. Matvey had tried to help, attacking from behind, but his effort had lasted about a second. Catherine saw him drop to the floor with his neck bent at an unnatural angle. A single thought flashed through her mind: a weak demon could survive something like that for thirty seconds to three minutes. If someone quickly set his neck and administered healing, there was still a chance. But there was no time. Catherine could barely distinguish vague silhouettes. Everything was reduced to guesswork and instinct rather than sight. “Stop!” she shouted, clapping her hands together. The cry was not meant to startle but to activate the embedded command — one of the features Edgar had installed just in case. Her armored gloves flared with fierce, intense light, instantly driving the darkness back. In that same instant, Sergei Gvozdev charged down the stairs. He tore through the kitchen and hurled himself at the larger of the two attackers. Foolish, Catherine thought. He had just done more damage to her plans than to the attackers themselves. The male assassin, now stripped of his disguise, moved with effortless precision. He sidestepped, caught Sergei by the arm, and flung him across the kitchen. Sergei crashed into the cabinetry and disappeared beneath shattered drawers and boxes. The two assassins turned to face Catherine. “Come here, you bastards,” she hissed, leaping forward. Her hand shot out, and a metal thread unfurled from her gauntlet. *** Ursa was starting to get angry. She wasn’t afraid, only increasingly irritated. With each passing moment, the assignment felt more wrong, and everything about the victims felt wrong as well. First, the one who was supposed to die had raised the alarm. Then something strange struck her, as if a mountain had dropped onto her shoulders. The one responsible vanished before she could retaliate, and in their place came other small, infuriating interferences. She had intended to finally finish off the risen woman, but someone shot her in the head. It wasn’t fatal, but it slowed her for a moment, and it was unpleasant. The helmet softened the blow, and her regeneration quickly repaired the damage. Ursa returned to the fight and saw that her brother was already about to take care of the shooter. He had nearly finished off the girl with the gun when a man in underwear appeared and attacked him from behind. Ursa had seen many madmen in her time. Some had been strong. Some experienced. Some extremely dangerous. This one belonged to the same kind. All instinct and blind fury, throwing himself at Night with the desperation of a cornered beast — even in those absurd boxers with little hearts and shouting for his woman — he still fell into that familiar category. Brave. Reckless. Driven. But not strong enough. The absurdity didn’t distract her. She summoned the power of her gift and struck the shooter in the chest. Regeneration could do little against that kind of blow, at least not quickly. Only a Higher demon could survive the destruction of the flesh. This girl was not one of them. Suddenly, light filled the room. At first, Ursa thought someone had flipped a switch, but the glow came from the hands of someone in armor. Judging by the shape of the suit, it was likely a woman. The client had warned her that the owner of the house might possess such armor. But this was not the owner — it was his wife. “I will deal with her,” Ursa said and launched forward. Night offered no reply, focused entirely on the man who had dared to attack him. That promised no good ending for the man. Ursa rushed ahead, but before she could reach her target, something struck her in the gut and hurled her backward. She crashed into the wall and stayed there, pinned like an insect. Her hands felt the familiar tension forming around her body. She struck at it with her gift, sensing the protective suit begin to give way. Her skin remained untouched; she had long since learned not to injure herself when directing her own gift at her body. Dropping free, she let out a low chuckle and launched herself at the armored opponent again. The woman clearly hadn’t expected such a quick recovery and hesitated. That moment of uncertainty allowed Ursa to close the distance. Her opponent blocked the blow with surprising skill, but it wasn’t enough to stop an experienced fighter like her. The armor practically radiated strain under the impact, and Ursa struck it with all her strength. She wanted to see what the lady of the house would do once her armor was gone. *** Olga cursed under her breath as her husband crashed across the kitchen, destroying what little remained intact. She was thankful for Sergei’s courage, but she had a few things she wanted to say to him about leaving their son alone and unprotected and throwing himself into a hopeless fight. But she would do that later... after they were safe. Still thinking of her husband, Olga continued with the task she had carried out so many times that it had become second nature. She reached Nino and used her power to accelerate the healing process around the wound in her chest. The girl’s screams stopped, and she suddenly sat upright, drawing the attention of the male assassin. At that same moment, the second assassin, who had been briefly pinned to the wall, broke free. Olga glanced over in time to see Catherine confronting the woman and turned her focus back to the injured. She moved quickly, crawling to Matvey next. He was trembling, trying to rise, but his coordination was failing him. His weak regeneration could not overcome a broken neck on its own. Olga shifted her grip and pulled him close, directing her power with precision. With a sharp crunch, she fused the torn tissue, realigned the bones, and corrected the internal damage. Matvey gasped and stopped shaking. As soon as he had recovered enough, he shoved Olga aside and rushed to help Nino, who was now grappling with the male assassin. A frying pan clattered to the floor nearby, and Olga caught a glimpse of her husband beginning to rise — doing well enough, just a tad too slow for the pace of this battle. Judging that Catherine was in the least danger and could handle the woman, Olga reached out toward the male attacker. The assassin had thrown aside Nino and Matvey and was preparing to finish them when he suddenly froze, swayed, and fell face-first onto the floor. Nino snatched a knife from under the rubble and drove it into the back of the fallen man. She twisted it, pulled it out, and thrust it in again.

At that moment, a deafening roar tore through the room. Olga turned and saw Catherine flung backward, smashing through the wall. Her opponent was still standing as if nothing had touched her. Sergei rushed at her, but despite the difference in size, she easily grabbed him by the neck, crushed his larynx with a single brutal squeeze, and threw him aside. “No!” Olga screamed and reached out toward her husband. *** Catherine sensed something was wrong when the armor first grew heavier, then heated up, and only after a few moments returned to its previous state. It seemed the assassin hadn’t expected the armor to recover. She had been counting on something else, but Catherine wasn’t going to waste time guessing. Taking advantage of the moment, Catherine released five spikes. The woman deflected two with a knife and dodged two more, but the fifth spike struck her in the stomach. Catherine’s naivety had vanished the moment her honeymoon was interrupted by an attack. Ready for a hard fight, she activated the built-in blade and slashed the woman, intent on finishing her. The assassin jumped back, pressed a hand to the wound, looked at the scarlet blood, and shook her hand to fling off the drops.

Her wounds began healing immediately. The assassin shifted her stance, and Catherine could tell she was preparing to attack. But as if sensing something, she quickly turned her head and saw her partner lying face down while Nino continued stabbing him again and again. Cursing, the woman lunged at Catherine. That was when Catherine knew the games were over. The world turned upside down as she was thrown into a short flight and crashed through one of the partition walls. The armor protected her, and she quickly jumped to her feet before the assassin could follow through. The woman chose Nino as her next target, but a thread Catherine had released intercepted her mid-rush. And once again, not even a second had passed before the assassin, who should have been sliced in half, broke free. But the brief moment was enough for Catherine to teleport and place herself between the enemy and her guests. A shot rang out, and several bullets struck the assassin. Catherine didn’t turn around to see who had fired, knowing it would be a fatal mistake to take her eyes off the enemy. Instead, she charged forward, trying to cut the assassin off and engage her. The woman dodged to the side, attempting to slip past her, but failed. The lady of the house was slightly faster than the uninvited guest. The next instant, the assassin spun around and hurled herself at the window. She smashed through it, which was strange, considering Edgar had reinforced that part of the house as well. “Everyone to the bunker!” Catherine commanded before making her next move. Edgar had always insisted on one rule: the first thing to do was either put on the armor or run straight to the bunker. If killers had already made it inside, then the house was no longer safe. Ideally, she should have made sure that everyone was evacuated and safe, but Catherine, caught in the adrenaline of the moment, teleported outside instead, determined to stop the fleeing assassin. They clashed, exchanging blows before leaping apart. This time, the assassin took the worst hit. Bones were definitely broken. It meant little in a fight between Higher demons, but Catherine remained completely unharmed, and that made this round hers. The assassin no longer seemed interested in fighting her. She feinted and sprinted again. When Catherine teleported to intercept her, the assassin slipped aside and kept running. The glowing metal gloves still pulsed with light from the strike she had used against the darkness gift, a thin thread of hope that the Emperor’s forces stationed at the perimeter might notice the disturbance. And once they did, the Guard would not take long to arrive. Catherine’s only task was to prevent the assassin from escaping. 

They clashed two more times. In the first, Catherine managed to cut her opponent and draw a generous amount of blood. The second encounter nearly cost her. Her armor suddenly grew heavy and refused to return to normal. For a heartbeat she was exposed. The assassin missed the opening and missed her chance to finish Catherine, choosing instead to vanish into the night. Catherine exhaled, but didn’t really have time to feel relief. An explosion came from behind her. She barely had time to register it before the blast wave hit her and hurled her forward. ...