Visha Morticia Tanith hummed contentedly to herself as she poured the last shimmering drops of [Elysium] into a slender glass bottle. The concoction glowed faintly, a deep iridescent hue that danced between hues of emerald and silver, pulsing with a subtle, dangerous energy. She held the bottle up to the dim light of her lab, admiring the lethal beauty of her latest creation. To anyone who drank it, [Elysium] would taste like paradise distilled—its effects as blissful as they were deceptive. Beneath the euphoria, the drinker's body would endure the hidden torment of seven stages of hell, as every nerve, every cell, was twisted by the alchemical horrors she had brewed into each drop.
A faint prickle of sensation caught her attention, and she looked down to see one of her venomous spider familiars crawling onto her hand. The furry creature, kitten-sized and sporting a mottled pattern of green and black, tilted its tiny head at her as it settled in, its thorn-like legs pricking lightly against her skin. It emitted a delicate wisp of green poison from its fangs, a subtle greeting she had come to recognize.
The spider dug its tiny legs into her palm, just enough to draw blood, and images instantly flooded her mind—a dark forest, shrouded in mist, dangerous and dense with strange energies. Figures moved through the fog: armed men and women, bearing a familiar crest… the Crimson Lions.
"I see… good work, little one," she cooed softly, watching as the spider eagerly lapped up a few drops of her blood, a potent reward that pulsed with the energy of her poisonous abilities. "Go on, you deserve a treat after such a good job." She watched, amused, as the spider drank greedily, its tiny fangs gleaming with her venom-laden blood—the most poisonous substance known, and the foundation of her darker creations. When the spider had drunk its fill, it skittered off, leaving Visha to consider the images it had shown her.
Wiping her hand with a cloth, she activated [Spectral Ascension], feeling the familiar cold ripple through her as she shifted from the shadows of her underground laboratory to the lavish confines of her mansion above. Her senses expanded, sharpening as the ability carried her effortlessly up the winding passageway, phasing her into the elegant gloom of her private chambers, which were filled with rare, eerie plants, preserved specimens, and shelves of vials and poisons.
"It would appear I have a visitor," she murmured, amusement flickering in her eyes. She moved lazily to the front door, her steps slow, as if making her guest wait a little longer was part of the greeting itself.
She opened the door to find Algea—one of her first and more durable creations—standing there. The Wraithborne servant fidgeted, his form flickering faintly, his dark eyes darting nervously from one side of the threshold to the other as he stood before her. His skin had taken on the slightly translucent, grayish hue of the Wraithborne, and his posture betrayed the reverence and fear he felt for her. Algea was a quiet success from her early experiments with her [Pestilent Harbinger] class, an obedient yet sentient creation whose loyalty and strength had proven surprisingly durable.
"Hello, Algea," she drawled, her voice smooth with an edge of cold amusement. "What do the guilds have for me this time? I certainly hope for their sake it's interesting. You know how I detest interruptions in the middle of my work."
Algea's voice wavered slightly, betraying the nervousness that still clung to him despite his altered nature. "Mistress Visha, the Crimson Lions have sent a request… or, rather, a summons of sorts. It seems their guild master, Ryker Lios, is dealing with… unique creatures in Crisanto Forest." He paused, his translucent brow creasing. "Specifically, basilisks. And they're not ordinary; they appear to be… thriving under some sort of twisted mana influence."
Visha raised an eyebrow, interest sparking in her otherwise detached gaze. "Basilisks… and twisted mana, you say?" She glanced at the faint green poison still glistening on her hand from her spider familiar. "Go on."
Algea's eyes darted up, relief at her interest apparent. "The guild master requested you specifically, Mistress. He offered…" he hesitated, as if the notion itself seemed strange to him, "the basilisks themselves as compensation. All of their components would be yours."
A dark smile curved on Visha's lips. The idea of basilisk venom, scales, and even bones to experiment with was undeniably enticing, not to mention the acidic properties she could potentially enhance within her own toxins. "Interesting. I suppose Ryker is finally catching on to what's valuable," she murmured, half to herself. "Tell me, Algea… did they mention if she would be there?"
"She?" Algea blinked, puzzled.
"The guilds love to throw around the Pestilence Sovereign and the Death's Handmaiden when things go sideways. Never together, of course," Visha said, with a faint roll of her eyes. "Which means I'd be collaborating with the Crimson Lions' precious Ryker Lios and his merry band, but also dealing with that other… wonderfully unhinged operative, Dabria Abdul. If so, this will be the first time we get acquainted."
At this, Algea visibly stiffened, his expression a mixture of awe and apprehension. Even among the Wraithborne, Dabria Abdul—Death's Handmaiden—was infamous, known for her void abilities and her near-clinical detachment toward life and death. "They didn't specify, Mistress," he managed. "But… if she's involved, would you still go?"
Visha chuckled, a low, chilling sound. "If she's there, I'll consider it a bonus. I've been curious to see who they'd deem madder—the Pestilence Sovereign or the Death's Handmaiden." She drummed her fingers on the doorway, lost in thought for a moment, before glancing back at Algea. "And it's been a while since I've had the chance to work with something as… challenging as a basilisk. Besides," she added with a slight smirk, "it's been ages since I've seen Ryker squirm. I can only imagine the headache he'll get from having the two of us on the same field."
A flicker of something close to fear passed over Algea's face, but he gave a dutiful nod. "Shall I tell them you'll be there, Mistress?"
"Yes, Algea," she replied, her gaze glinting with something between curiosity and dark amusement. "Inform them that I'm accepting the invitation. Tell them I expect to have every part of those basilisks—no matter what. And do remind Ryker to bring enough Hunters to clean up the mess."
"Yes, Mistress," Algea said, giving a slight bow before retreating, his form vanishing into the shadows beyond the door.
Visha watched him go, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of the doorframe as a thoughtful smile played at her lips. Basilisks, twisted mana, and the possibility of crossing paths with Dabria Abdul for the first time. This was a playground of opportunity, ripe with potential to test her alchemical prowess and her deadly abilities.
She turned back inside, closing the door behind her as she moved with slow grace back to her laboratory. The idea of taking on basilisks had already sparked a series of new ideas. There would be potions to prepare, concoctions that would heighten her immunity to the creatures' venom, and perhaps even a few enhancements to her usual toxic arsenal. As she reached her lab, she gazed fondly at her various poisons, venomous pets, and experiments waiting to be perfected.
"Yes… this will be quite the expedition," she murmured to herself, already mentally cataloging the ingredients and tools she'd need. The Pestilence Sovereign would be ready, and if she got to see Ryker Lios and Dabria Abdul battle their own reputations as much as the basilisks, all the better.
With a final, gleeful glance at the shimmering [Elysium] she'd just bottled, she set to work.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Five minutes prior,
Outside, Algea stood, his form flickering slightly, his pale skin tinged with the translucent sheen of the Wraithborne. He waited, his posture one of dutiful patience, though internally he felt the slightest twinge of unease. He had been through the familiar ritual of serving as his mistress's go-between many times before, but this visit felt different. This time, he carried word from the Crimson Lions—one of the few organizations powerful and bold enough to seek Visha's help directly.
Earlier that morning, he had been contacted by the Crimson Lions' secretary, Lena, through one of the hidden paths of communication he maintained with the guilds on Visha's behalf. He had been perched in his usual haunt just outside the edges of Visha's property, observing the boundaries where the miasma thinned and the world faded into ordinary, untainted land. The sudden arrival of Lena's message had surprised him, its contents intriguing him even as it unsettled him.
The message had been brief but direct, in true Crimson Lions fashion. Lena's tone was calm but firm, her words edged with a formality that Algea had come to expect from the guild. "Algea," she had said, her voice steady, "there's a matter of great urgency. We require Mistress Visha's presence to handle a unique threat: multiple basilisks in Crisanto Forest, thriving on twisted mana. The guild master has authorized her full compensation in materials from the basilisks themselves."
Algea had sensed an unspoken tension beneath Lena's calm exterior, an uncertainty that told him even the Crimson Lions were apprehensive. But he had assured her that he would deliver the message without delay, concealing his own doubts. He knew what this would mean for his mistress: a new opportunity, a challenge worthy of her skills. He also knew that Visha rarely hesitated to respond to summons like this—provided they offered her a reward she couldn't resist.
After receiving the message, Algea had set off immediately, traversing the expanse of Visha's front yard to her mansion, his Wraithborne form moving smoothly and soundlessly through the landscape of eerie beauty. The yard had once been a barren, toxic wasteland when Visha had claimed the property, overrun with caustic soil, dead foliage, and sulfuric air that had withered anything it touched. But over time, Visha's presence had transformed the land, making it her own in a way that was both beautiful and treacherous.
Now, thick purplish miasma clung to the air like a tangible shroud, drifting across acidic swamps that dotted the grounds, their edges bubbling faintly with corrosive poison. Strange flora thrived here, twisted and unique, with thick, thorny vines and dark blossoms that emitted their own faint glow. It was a garden in which only the resilient and the deadly could survive, a reflection of its mistress's lethal beauty and intelligence.
Algea moved past clusters of these blooms, barely glancing at them as he walked, his focus instead on the house itself—a dark, sprawling mansion of shadowy stone and sharp architecture, perched like a watchful predator over its domain. Around him, Visha's other Wraithborne servants moved about their assigned duties with silent efficiency. They tended to the plants, adjusted the acidic pools, and maintained the barriers that kept the more volatile miasma contained within the property. Each servant had been granted a specific task by Visha herself, and they went about their work with the kind of precision that only devotion—or fear—could inspire.
He passed by several of them as he approached the entrance, nodding to a few of his fellow servants. Lues and Morbus were trimming some of the thick, thorny hedges near the edge of the swamp, their forms flickering faintly in the miasma. Limus and Lupe were busy near one of the acidic pools, adjusting the flow to prevent overflow onto the narrow, winding paths that cut through the yard. Algea could tell by their relaxed postures that none of them were aware of the urgent message he carried.
As he reached the door, Algea felt a familiar mix of admiration and trepidation toward his mistress. Visha Morticia Tanith was the force that had given him purpose, a mind of unfathomable genius whose power and beauty were as intoxicating as they were terrifying. He knew that to the outside world, she was known as the Pestilence Sovereign, a dark legend spoken of in hushed tones. But to her servants, she was a figure of reverence—a creator and destroyer, one who held their loyalty with the same venomous touch that could bring death to her enemies.
He waited for her response, his Wraithborne patience tempered by the knowledge that he would not rush her. To do so was to invite her wrath, something even her most loyal servants preferred to avoid. Finally, he heard the faint, almost lazy shuffle of footsteps from within, the sound amplified in the silence of the property. Algea kept his gaze low, suppressing the flicker of apprehension that surfaced as he sensed her presence approach the door.
The grand doors opened with a slow creak, and Visha appeared, her gaze sharp and assessing. Her silver hair spilled over her shoulders, a stark contrast to the dark elegance of her attire. She looked at him, amusement dancing in her eyes, as if savoring the moment she had kept him waiting.
"Hello, Algea," she drawled, her tone soft but edged with a cold amusement that sent a shiver down his spine. "What do the guilds have for me this time? I certainly hope for their sake it's interesting. You know how I detest interruptions in the middle of my work."
He dipped his head in a slight bow, choosing his words carefully. "Mistress Visha, the Crimson Lions have sent a request… or, more accurately, a summons." He kept his voice steady, though he could feel the weight of her gaze on him. "It seems their guild master, Ryker Lios, is facing a unique threat in Crisanto Forest. They've encountered basilisks—multiple basilisks—thriving under some form of twisted mana influence."
Her eyebrow arched, and he could see the spark of interest in her gaze. "Basilisks… and twisted mana, you say?" She tilted her head slightly, glancing at the faint green poison still glistening on her hand. "Go on."
Algea hesitated briefly, then continued, "The guild master specifically requested your assistance, Mistress. He has authorized full compensation in the form of… the basilisks themselves. Every component would be yours."
A dark smile spread across her lips, and Algea felt a flicker of relief that his mistress was intrigued. The idea of basilisk venom, scales, and bones was an enticing offer, one he knew few alchemists—especially not Visha—could refuse. "Interesting. I suppose Ryker is finally catching on to what's valuable," she murmured, half to herself. She glanced at Algea with a knowing look. "Tell me, Algea… did they mention if she would be there?"
For a moment, Algea was confused. "She?"
"The guilds love to throw around the Pestilence Sovereign and the Death's Handmaiden when things go sideways. Never together, of course," Visha replied, rolling her eyes faintly. "Which means I'd be collaborating with the Crimson Lions' precious Ryker Lios and his merry band, but also dealing with that other… wonderfully unhinged operative, Dabria Abdul. If so, this will be the first time we get acquainted."
The name sent a shiver through Algea, and he stiffened, a mixture of awe and apprehension flooding his mind. Dabria Abdul—the Death's Handmaiden—was as infamous as Visha herself, known for her void abilities and clinical detachment toward life and death. "They didn't specify, Mistress," he managed, "but… if she's involved, would you still go?"
Visha chuckled, a low, chilling sound. "If she's there, I'll consider it a bonus. I've been curious to see who they'd deem madder—the Pestilence Sovereign or the Death's Handmaiden." She drummed her fingers on the doorway, lost in thought for a moment, before glancing back at Algea. "And it's been a while since I've had the chance to work with something as… challenging as a basilisk. Besides," she added with a slight smirk, "it's been ages since I've seen Ryker squirm. I can only imagine the headache he'll get from having the two of us on the same field."
Algea's pulse quickened, and he gave a dutiful nod, his relief evident. "Shall I tell them you'll be there, Mistress?"
"Yes, Algea," she replied, her gaze glinting with something between curiosity and dark amusement. "Inform them that I'm accepting the invitation. Tell them I expect to have every part of those basilisks—no matter what. And do remind Ryker to bring enough Hunters to clean up the mess."
"Of course, Mistress," he said, bowing low before retreating. He left the mansion, the familiar unease settling over him as he stepped back into the thick miasma that filled the yard. The path back to his place outside the property stretched before him, lined by acidic pools and the soft glow of lethal blossoms. His mind churned with thoughts of the upcoming encounter, the intrigue of seeing both Visha and Dabria in the same mission—two deadly forces brought together by necessity.
As he glanced back at the mansion, he felt both dread and admiration for the woman he served. His mistress would soon face a threat worthy of her power, and Algea had no doubt that Crisanto Forest, and all within it, would feel the weight of her presence.
"Mistress is scary," he said with a fanatic smile.