The Scarlet Maison

Bolts of prismatic light shot towards the imposter as Apollo focused all of his intent at her.

He had discarded all forms of discipline and training, solely firing at her like a turret.

The tunnel vision was like the barrel of his weapon, gunning her down with everything that he had.

Suddenly, all he could see was red.

An annoyed, slitted red that banished his anger and replaced it with a slow, trickling fear.

Surely but slowly, Apollo felt that numbing sensation crawling over his body. His form slouched and was being tugged up into the air by the back of his neck.

He hung limply there, like a marionette by its strings.

Baleful crimson eyes stared him down, making Apollo wish he could retreat into himself. Anything to get away from that scrutinizing gaze.

"So", the regal man began. "You're the little blade that's been hiding in my home. What business do you have here?"

He raised a palm, pressing it against the black bodysuit. Apollo bit back a wince of pain, feeling something thin prick deeply into him.

"My, how unprofessional of you." He taunted. "To leave a mark alive. Though, your honor is unusual. I expected you cutthroats to be more pragmatic."

The amused grin slipped away into a more chilling, empty expression. "I see. To think, you were to the one to be delegated with that chore."

That last word was said with such loathing. Apollo could not repress the shudder that escaped him.

"I suppose it would fall upon my shoulders to... reprimand you."

Never before had Apollo heard his heartbeat so distinctly. It came quickly, a rapid ba-thump in fast tempo.

Then, it changed.

The assassin screamed with a closed mouth as a red gash poured from his left shoulder, something felt as though it was stretching both his fabric and skin.

Pain reached a new plateau as blood splattered down around him, the murky red puddles steaming as it sizzled on the formerly cool floor.

The monster before him forced Apollo to turn his head slowly, his eyes widening at what he saw.

His shoulder was now adorned with some sort of cancerous growth the size of a fist, the flesh was pulsating with its own bizarre beat. Numerous pustules covered it, yellow slime oozing slightly from the pores.

'What... WHAT IS THAT?! WHAT HAS HE DONE?!'

Apollo seethed in shudder breaths. The pain was beyond excruciating.

He felt every little throb it made, his closed eyes tensing with each tremor.

"Ah, yes." That condescending voice began. "The other rat that crawled into my home. I didn't think you two were collaborating. Do you wish to join him?"

Apollo felt something wriggling deeper, reaching into intimate places he never that he had.

"Interesting. So you call yourself Azrael. How presumptuous."

Then it twisted, causing Apollo to cry out in agony.

"So Azrael," the monster purred. "What brings you to my home? You came with that other woman, yet you two do not share the same agenda. It makes me curious."

Before Apollo slumped into unconsciousness, he whimpered feebly and choked slightly on his own spittle.

The speck in the air was circling above the east wing, as did a thin layer of vapor.

It then condensed, gathering into a torso and limbs.

Mari burst through the smog around her, sprinting as quickly as she could through to rubble.

She was careless, letting him get past her guard.

That was not going to happen again.

"How charming", Wallachia mused. "A mother hen towards her little bladeling."

He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the roar of something approaching. The Lord of the Manor turned to see a pale blue fireball coming down the hallway, feeling the heat from even where he was.

With a flick of his wrist, the fireball was batted away, crashing into the wall right of him. Tongues of flame licked across the carpet and wallpaper and flickered out of life.

"While I have enjoyed our time together", Wallachia leered to the source of the attack, amber eyes glaring back. "It is time to put an end to this."

To his left laid Apollo, sprawled over the lush carpet of the soon to be battlefield.

'So she's got more than just than just parlor tricks. I should've known.'

Both had shared the same line of thought as they felt the familiar distortion of psionically torn space.

"You should've escaped while you had the chance, my dear." Wallachia leaned forward, a knowing sneer draped across his lips. "For now, you truly are in the maw of the beast."

The hallway began to quiver and shake, transforming into something else. The textile patterns of the wallpaper faded away, now leaking some viscous fluid. Hairs and fibers retreated into the floor, replaced by something pulsing and warm.

"Did you not think it was strange, for an estate this grand, to not have any staff or servants to maintain the grounds?"

The air grew more humid and moist, the lighting above beginning to tint red as a thin layer of membrane covered it in its film. Windows were engulfed by the shifting meat-like masses of the wall.

"The answer to that is quite simple:"

Mari turned around to see her entrance and escape was now gone, leaving only a tunnel of flesh.

"The staff IS the estate."