Bela's chattering teeth bore a snarl – even as they were concealed by her thick woolen scarf. She repeated with disgust, "Ladybug?"

Heisenberg shifted his weight from one foot to the other, tilting his head to get a better look at her from beneath the brim of his hat. He was perfectly indifferent to her reaction. "Yes, ladybug. Little summer bug eating other insects, devouring their heads first, so on and so forth," He gestured as he spoke, completely apathetic. "So, what brings you to my humble abode at this hour of late?"

From behind her goggles, Bela glared at the man, too taken aback to properly respond. His open coat flapped in the whipping wind as he stared right back. He stood there in the freezing cold without a single care in the world, waiting for a response.

The cigar between his lips illuminated his face as he puffed, and he observed, "You're freezing your ass off right now, aren't you?" He craned his head to the dog, who now sat patiently at his side. The canine met his gaze, and Heisenberg asked it, "Looks like she's gonna turn into a popsicle any minute now, huh?"

Bela's snark was on the tip of her tongue – what had given her freezing away? Was it her chattering teeth? Was it the way her entire body was trembling? Was it her arms wrapped around her body in a pathetic attempt at keeping warm?

The irate responses would have fired off, if it weren't for the fact she was a stiff wind away from death in this condition. Bela didn't believe it, but she actually missed the interior of the Duke's carriage, and her two moronic drivers.

"C'mon, I don't have all night. Spit it out, and you can be on your way back to your little castle to…" His shoulders came up in a shrug, "Play around with someone's large intestine, or whatever it is you do for fun."

"I don't play with anyone's intestines," Bela managed to hiss through her scarf, struggling to keep her teeth from chattering in the process.

"Huh." Heisenberg turned to his dog, "Look at that – a ladybug that doesn't play around with anyone's intestines. That's a new one." His eyes then narrowed over Bela's shoulder, at the sight of the Duke's carriage slowly departing the factory. He nodded in the vehicle's direction. "You, uh – your ride's leaving. Did you forget to tip 'em? Is that why they're rolling out without you?"

The man let out a little laugh and held his hand up, "No, wait – no. Don't tell me," Heisenberg paused to rub at his beard. Then he raised a finger and guessed, "Did my precious sister forget to give you spare change for the ride home? Is that why you're here – some money for the fare?"

Bela ignored the man's blabbering. Steeling herself and fighting the chatter of her teeth, Bela asked, "Can we speak inside?"

Heisenberg continued to watch her without moving an inch, taking a long drag of his cigar.

With teeth gritted, Bela hissed, "Please."

Heisenberg blew out a sigh, "Fine, fine." He turned and waved his hand, beckoning her. A gentle tug on the leash, and the dog – some breed of shepherd, Bela was able to note, now that it wasn't trying to maul her – followed along. "This way."

Bela stepped in tow, arms still firmly wrapped around her trembling frame. Heisenberg was leading them over to a wooden structure with a wide doorway, standing a short walk away. As their boots crunched down on the snow, the creaking of the carriage's wheels grew distant as they passed the gate and left the premises.

She gave her ride one last look before the silhouette disappeared beyond the compound. The gate rolled along to a final shut, and a loud buzz rang out, just as it had upon entry. It left her alone with the unhospitable weather and this man – similarly unhospitable.

But this oversized shack was a step in the right direction, and there was no way she was turning back now. She was seeing this through to the end.

Bela only hoped the carriage would actually be there to pick her up for the ride home. Their display of incompetence thus far didn't give Bela much reassurance. Add the bottle of vodka they had liberated from the tavern, and – well, with any luck, she would not have to walk home in the coming hours.

Before stepping in, Bela gave her surroundings another once-over. There was little to note outside the structure, other than the broken-down tractor and piles of scrap metal flanking the doorway. The garage – at least, Bela guessed it was a garage – had a roof of corrugated metal. Inside the garage were numerous crates, and shelves of old, miscellaneous tools and loose odds and ends. As a whole, the structure appeared to do an ample enough job of staving off the chill.

Hopefully.

Still, it was better than freezing her rear off in the outdoors.

Stepping up the ramp and onto solid concrete, they entered the garage, dimly lit as it was. Heisenberg soon corrected that with a flip of the switch by the wall. It brought to life a single flickering bulb on the ceiling. It cast a white, fluorescent light on the room – or at least, it did when it wasn't blinking. Bela occupied herself by stepping further into the room; away from the large doorway and the wind that was funneled in through it.

With a glance in her direction, Heisenberg grabbed a chain hanging by the door. Tugging on it caused the garage door to lower. Rusted gears cried out in protest as they ground together; the door descended and finally hit the ground with a resounding bang.

"You still need to get warm, right?" Heisenberg asked, casually unclipping the dog's leash from its harness as he did so. Bela shakily nodded in response, since she didn't trust herself to get a full sentence out amid the shivering.

Off leash now, the dog diligently padded after Heisenberg as he walked over to one corner of the garage. He pushed a crate over from atop a surface, allowing it to clatter onto the ground and reveal a metal barrel underneath. Craning her head, Bela glimpsed wooden planks and general refuse lying within the oversized can. Heisenberg grabbed a red gas can from the closest shelf and gave it a shake. The liquid sloshed within, and the man nodded to himself in approval.

He tugged the barrel over to the center of the garage, allowing it to loudly scrape against the concrete floor. The contents were summarily doused in gasoline, and the potent smell of the chemicals assaulted Bela's senses. From behind her scarf, she grimaced, and brought a hand up to her face for what little it would do to block out the scent.

The smell hit a little too close to home – from before. Back when corpses were burned in pyres at the height of the epidemic. She could blink and hear the crackle and snap of wood and bone alike as the fire raged on.

Reaching into the gas-soaked bin, Heisenberg haphazardly withdrew a wet ball of crumpled paper. Bela watched in mild alarm as he plucked his cigar from his lips, raising it to the now very flammable wad of paper.

The fire caught, and Heisenberg dropped the ball into the barrel, igniting the rest of the fuel within. The flames burst to life, and Heisenberg spread his arms in a theatrical manner. "Let there be warmth!" The cigar returned to his lips, and he stepped back, motioning to the fire as he did so.

The burning garbage and the black smoke wafting up to the unventilated ceiling would be bad for her health, if she had a semi-normal metabolism. Not to mention the smell – Bela was already grimacing, even if she knew she could not afford to be picky at a time like this. Anything was better than freezing – even the foreseeable struggle to get the smell out of her hair tomorrow.

Wordlessly, Bela stepped close to the blazing trashcan. She tugged her gloves off to free her hands first, then lowered her hood, spilling her blonde hair free. The scarf tugged low to reveal her flushed cheeks before Bela finally yanked the goggles off her face. The assortment of additional layers was stuffed into her jacket's pockets – something she admittedly enjoyed far more than her meager dress pockets.

With her hands warming over the makeshift fire, the garage was silent for a moment, save for the crackle and snap of burning wood. With the blazing heat in front of her, Bela felt the chill seeping from her figure. The previous numbness settling on her face – her punishment for tugging the scarf down in the middle of winter – was beginning to ease off. Bela let slip a small, relieved sigh as the heat spread throughout her body.

Heisenberg fiddled with his cigar for a moment as he stepped over to the closest concrete support pillar. He leaned his back against it, and a soft frown set into his face. His dog was less reserved, and took the time to walk around the fire to Bela. It stopped to her side, sniffing her jeans and snow-caked boots.

"So… it's Cassandra, right?" Heisenberg asked.

Bela's brows pitched together as she met the man's gaze. She let out a slight laugh and shook her head, "No."

Heisenberg pointed a finger and followed up swiftly, "Daniela?"

It took Bela a second to realize she could hardly blame the man for getting her name wrong. They had never met face to face before this evening. Mother had always made it a point to keep them distanced from 'that fool Heisenberg' as she'd put it. If anything, Bela could commend him for even knowing her sisters' names.

"Guess again." Bela told him.

Heisenberg took in a deep breath, and his mouth hung open for a beat. When no name came out, Bela went ahead and prompted him, "It's Be–"

"Bela!" Heisenberg laughed to himself, "I knew that."

She gave her own amused huff in turn, shaking her head. "Sure."

The sound appeared to have caught the dog's attention. It gave a slight whine before getting up on its hind legs, setting its paws on Bela's jacket and seeking attention.

Bela broke into a smile and couldn't help but oblige. "Hello there, beautiful…" She craned her head, peeking low, "Beautiful girl. Aren't you just gorgeous?" She ran her hands over the dog's soft, yet patchy white fur. Her tail wagged in glee as Bela gave her all the scratches she desired. It had been a long fifty to sixty-something years since the last time she'd gotten to pet a dog.

The last time was Misha. The runt of the litter who she herself had helped bring into this world. Misha's mother belonged to the local miller – who wasn't exactly the wealthiest of the village. At the time, she had been happy to accept Misha as payment for her help with the birth. That dog had been with Bela through thick and thin. Up until the very end.

Bela found herself frowning slightly as she stroked the dog's head.

She never did find out what happened to Misha. By the time Bela recovered her memories and returned to her senses years ago, Misha would have long since passed by then.

The dog's mouth opened in the approximation of a smile as its tongue lolled out to pant softly.

"What is this one's name?" Bela asked, giving the dog a good scratch behind her big pointy ears.

Heisenberg took a puff of his cigar, fond eyes settled on the dog, "Her name's Mut."

Bela's German was rustier than the piles of dilapidated scrap outside, but she recognized the meaning – courage.

With both hands giving the dog all the affectionate patting, Bela told her, "That is a darling name, Mut."

The dog had seen better days. Bela had not tended to animals in decades – and she was more used to checking out people's goats and cows – but it was hard to miss the signs. Mut was a skinny dog with little meat on her bones, easily several kilograms underweight for her size. Matching the apparent malnourishment was the rough condition of her fur. Numerous mangy patches persisted, and Bela could make out faded wounds on her skin that made it clear she had been through much.

Her hands moved of their own accord, and her eyes restlessly scanned – old habits that the passage of lifetimes and death itself could not extinguish. The dog's teeth were yellowed, but didn't show any signs of infection. Her ears were free of any bothersome ticks and parasites – but it would take a much more thorough inspection to detect any other lingering pests clinging to Mut.

One could assume Heisenberg was responsible for the dog's malnourished state – especially given how mother would talk about the man. She never shied away from lambasting her fellow Lord, calling him a disrespectful fool who could not be trusted. Mother couldn't even bear to have the man in the same room as Bela and her siblings – that said plenty for the reputation he must have had.

So far though, Heisenberg had ushered Bela into shelter and lit her a fire after a healthy amount of snark and hesitation. The way he looked at the dog so fondly – that wasn't something that could be faked. So, Bela was prepared to reserve her judgment of the man. At the very least, she knew he was not needlessly cruel or dismissive. She was willing to bet that he had taken Mut in, after finding her in even worse shape.

It was a mystery then how it was Heisenberg had gotten that reputation of his. Mother was irritated by the man simply breathing the same air as her. She said it was a pain just seeing his 'horrid face' when meeting with him and the rest of the Lords. Bela and her siblings had simply taken Heisenberg's allegedly terrible reputation as fact. They had done so rather blindly, if she thought about it. They had never been given reason to doubt mother in that regard. But aside from his sarcasm and attitude, there was little to hint at what it was that got mother so riled up – why it was she was practically allergic to the man.

"Not that I don't mind my dog finding new playmates – but I have to ask again," Heisenberg got Bela's attention, pushing off the pillar. The cigar smoke melded together with the small dark plume formed by the trash can. He took a small step to the side to make sure he had Bela's full attention, "What are you doing here?"

Still scratching the dog's head, Bela tried to sound casual, "I am looking for information."

"Really?" Heisenberg let out a slight laugh, "Ever tried Google for that?"

Bela did not have the slightest clue as to who this Google was – but judging by Heisenberg's tone and smirk, she assumed she was being made fun of. She leveled him with her highly unamused gaze in response.

Heisenberg crossed an arm over his chest, propping his other elbow on top of it – where he could easily take drags from his cigar in the process. Seriously now, he asked, "What sort of information?"

The Duke had said that Heisenberg was the right man to ask. Bela had come all this way, and she had to trust his judgment – even if his carriage drivers were inept fools. She had to trust that the Duke would not just send her all this way for nothing. She had to trust that telling Heisenberg the truth was not a death sentence.

Snooping like she was – about Miranda and Rosemary, all for her prisoner's sake – it was a sure way to dig her own grave if word got out to Miranda herself. She was putting a lot of trust in the Duke's lead, and in Heisenberg – who she barely knew beyond his name.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

She had come this far, and there was no way but to dive into the belly of the beast, and hope for the best. Bela took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

"I wish to know more of," Bela had to consciously apply the honorific, "Mother Miranda's plan. I also would like to know what Chris Redfield is doing in the valley."

Bela was met with a thick silence, only interrupted by the occasional crack of the fire.

Heisenberg's head tilted back, and he studied Bela from down the tip of his nose for a moment. The scrutiny brewed on his face with each passing second, and the cigar was left forgotten in his hands. There was a subtle curl at his lip when he asked, "Is that so? Came all the way here just for that?"

"Yes," She replied simply.

"Instead of… asking your mother all of that?" Heisenberg made no show of doubting her intentions now. His sneer was plain as day when he went on, "Is that just your excuse to be here while you snoop on me? You planning to report back to her everything you see here in my factory? Because if so, I've got a little surprise for you, which you would do well to remember," Heisenberg's voice grew in volume, and he took a step forward, teeth bared, "Contrary to your mother's opinion, I'm not a fucking idiot."

Now thoroughly thawed out, Bela found her grit returning to her. She had not taken a step back when Heisenberg advanced, and she was not about to take one now. The scoff came out easily when she replied, "That is preposterous – my mother has nothing to do with this."

"Uhuh," Heisenberg scoffed right back, giving a theatrical roll of the eyes, "That's a good one – really. Brava," He made a show of clapping his hands together in a dainty fashion before lowering them back to his sides. He turned the cigar over in his fingers, nearly grinding it in the process, "Do you actually expect me to believe that your mother is not aware that you, her precious daughter, are here in my factory, in the middle of the night? Sure. What's next?"

Bela had heard enough. The Duke had prepared her for this eventuality.

She removed her hands from the dog's patchy fur. It prompted Mut to free her paws from Bela's jacket, and sit down, head swiveling back and forth between them. Bela dug a hand into her jeans pocket. "Let us simplify this exchange then. I have something you want, and you have information that I want." Her fingers wrapped around the smooth, cold metallic cylinder in her pocket.

Bela tugged the small object out, keeping it hidden in her balled fist. "A mutual friend of ours alluded that you would very much like what I have to give you."

Aside from all the clothes and layers, the Duke also gave – or more aptly, sold at a discount – a final parting gift. Bela did not know much at all about electronics, but the Duke had called it a high voltage capacitor – saying it would be invaluable for one of Heisenberg's projects. He said it would be the perfect bargaining chip, and Bela intended to use it as such.

Hopefully, the Duke was right.

The capacitor was revealed, held between Bela's pointer finger and thumb. Heisenberg's eyes snapped to it and Bela cracked a grin.

Just as planned.

"I would be more than happy to hand this capacitor over to you, if you simply tell me what you know." Bela gestured with her free hand as she spoke. "I want all the information you have on Rosemary Winters, and what Mother Miranda wants with her. I want to know how she wound up in Castle Dimitrescu. I want to know how Chris Redfield is involved, and what his stake is in all of this."

With a breath, Bela reiterated, "You are not going to get this capacitor unless you talk."

Heisenberg watched her in silence for a beat, until finally releasing a slight huff. He shook his head, grumbling, "Sure. Do you want some French fries for the ride back? Maybe a Whopper for the road too – does that wrap your order up nicely?"

Bela narrowed her eyes. "What?"

A wave of Heisenberg's hand was all it took, and the capacitor was ripped from Bela's grasp. It flew across the small space between them, and straight into Heisenberg's hand. He caught it with little fuss and ran his eyes along its surface, turning it over in inspection.

The Duke had, apparently, left out the part where Karl Heisenberg had telekinesis. Bela made it a point to shut her dropped jaw and twist her face into a tight glare. Her hands balled into fists at her sides at the nerve of him – breaking apart negotiations as if they couldn't handle this like civil people.

From the corner of his eye, Heisenberg glanced at Bela. "Did you really think you could come into my factory," He turned to face her fully now, eyes narrowed, "And make demands? I like the audacity, really – but you've got another thing coming, ladybug."

With his cigar now burned to a stub, he flicked it into the fire. He spread his arms in open challenge, "What now? I've got your end of the deal in the palm of my hand. What're you gonna do?"

She could have swarmed to catch the capacitor mid-air, but she was sure her biomass had no bond to the clothes, new and partially synthetic as they were. She was not in the mood to flash the annoying old man, even if it did mean seizing her bargaining chip.

Heisenberg continued on, while Mut simply swiveled her head between the two of them. "What could you possibly have to offer in exchange for information?" He blew out a harsh scoff to add, "Information that – what – is it gonna go straight to your mother? Is she trying to get a mole into my factory to find out what I know? Is that your master plan? Because if so, I'm pretty disappointed – I thought Alcina was much smarter than that."

Bela found herself baring her teeth. She'd heard enough taunts and insults to last her the entire evening. She snarled back and let go of her sense of restraint, "Only an idiot would think my mother sent me out here in the freezing cold. Do you know how tightly she keeps us on a leash?" The palincă was fire in her veins, even if the buzz had all but completely subsided. The fumes of the burning barrel did not help, and only served to raise her voice, "We are not even allowed to leave the castle after dark – what more in the middle of a damn snowstorm, just to come here to this, this," She gestured to the burning trashcan warming the space, "This shithole!"

"Hey!" Heisenberg cut in, "This is my shithole."

Bela let out a humorless laugh, "Well, congratulations! What a cozy shithole it is!" Bela's frame trembled with subdued anger as the words continued to run free. "Truly a humble abode fit for a fool like you."

"A fool, huh?" Heisenberg glowered back at her.

"Yes – because you're every bit the fool mother says you are if you think she would gamble with our lives like this." The irritated stream of words paused only for Bela to take a breath in the attempt to steady herself, "She would never put us at risk like that, even if we volunteered for it – so, I assure you," Bela kept her narrowed gaze on Heisenberg as she spoke firmly, "I am here of my own volition."

"Well," He raised his arm in an exaggerated shrug, "You could also be lying to me – ever thought of that? Desperate times here in the village – the whole valley, really." He placed a hand on his hip and eyed the capacitor once again, "There's a lot at stake right now. More at stake than there ever has been, if we wanna look at the big picture. Any single slip-up would cost Miranda dearly."

Bela did not miss the distaste in his voice, and the absence of Mother Miranda's title.

The man's eyes remained fix to the device a moment longer as his shoulders began to lose their tension – as though he was just so transfixed by the capacitor. Heisenberg's voice was quieter when he began, "It's a fucking warzone out there," He gestured beyond the garage door. "Perfect time for any of us Lords to take a final dirt nap if we're not careful." His dubious eyes landed on Bela, looking her head to toe. He kept his head tilted back, scrutinizing her as though she were the greatest enigma to ever set foot in his garage. With a grunt, he continued, "Perfect time for Miranda's devoted, darling Alcina to finally," He raised his fingers in air quotes, "Get even with me. What better way to do that than to send her precious daughter over," Heisenberg let out a laugh void of any humor, "And dig up whatever dirt to use against me and take me out of the picture."

Bela snapped.

"I don't give a fuck about this…" Her hands came up in sharp gestures as she growled, "This stupidity – this inter-house rivalry." The dull palincă-induced headache was only spurring her on. "I could not care less if mother got a leg up over you in this," She scoffed, nearly in disgust, "Whatever this political or personal bullshit is between you and her. This is not about her. I am not here because of her." With her temper flaring, it was only honesty that she could spit out, "I'm only here for Ethan's sake."

Heisenberg's attention was visibly piqued. "Ethan?" The clarity crept up to his face. "Ethan Winters? The girl's father?"

Bela could barely think twice and acknowledge the fact she was spilling her guts to someone who could potentially turn her life upside down.

"Unless there is some other Ethan you are aware of, then yes."

This was stupid. This was dangerous.

But there was no stopping now with the fire in her veins and the burning need to finish what she started after coming all this way.

He was unbothered by Bela's sarcasm. He brought a hand up to rub at his bearded chin. "What's it to you? Why are you helping out your dinner? Shouldn't you be making that fine wine out of him right about now?"

Even with the cat largely out of the bag, Bela settled on evasion, "The why is not important. What matters is that I am here on his behalf, not my mother's. She would have a heart attack if she learned I was out in this weather all for…" Bela paused, and the tightness in her scowl diminished. She had already incriminated herself to hell and back – at this point, the best she could do was downplay her feelings for the man. "All for our prisoner." She gestured to the frigid landscape beyond the door using a sweeping hand. "She does not know I am here. Nobody knows. I was only able to sneak out because of the Duke."

In full momentum now, driven by the unholy amalgamation of the hangover, the gasoline fumes, and her own anger and desperation, Bela continued, "I am fully aware of just how much trouble I will land myself in if my mother, or Miranda herself finds out that I am asking questions like this. And all for Ethan Winters, of all people, who we are supposed to be locking up, no more, no less." She took a breath as her fingers fluttered at her sides with contained energy, "I was hoping you would have some answers, and…" She licked her lips for a beat, "And not tell anyone that I was here."

Or that she was here because of Ethan.

Heisenberg was still for a stretch of silence. Mut took the opportunity to take slow steps over to his side – as if trying to be discreet and unnoticeable with her movements. She stuck her snout into the man's hand, and he obliged, scratching Mut's head.

The unmistakable fondness Heisenberg had for the dog was a point of leverage that Bela did not want to pass up on.

"Mut is rather malnourished. Has she been dewormed? She may not be gaining weight because of the parasites." Bela watched with internal satisfaction as Heisenberg's expression grew serious. "I noticed her fur is not growing well – even where there are no visible wounds. Some medication may be in order." She parted her lips, allowing the sentiment to hang in the air for a second before adding, "I can make all the arrangements with the Duke, and you can treat her yourself."

With a small smile, she gestured to the dog, who continued to nuzzle Heisenberg's hand. "I would be happy to assist in treating her personally, but the trip here is a killer."

Heisenberg pursed his lips, looking towards the dog. Mut met his eyes, and after a pause, Heisenberg nodded slowly. He turned his attention back to Bela, returning the grin. "I think I like your spirit, ladybug."

"It's Bela," She reminded him with a slight wince.

"There's three of you, right?" Heisenberg counted off his fingers, "There's a book girl, a war-freak girl, and a smart girl – I'm gonna guess you're the smart one." He shrugged one shoulder and added, "Or, as smart as you can get after nearly freezing to death just to come here."

That was certainly one way to put it. With a wry smile, Bela nodded, still standing close to the fire, and thawing out the last chilly remnants clinging to her body. "You would be guessing correctly with both those statements."

Heisenberg raised the capacitor up to eye level, shaking it slightly for emphasis, "You know what this is, Bela?"

Beyond its name, she knew little. "Afraid not, Mr. Heisenberg."

It gave Heisenberg pause, and he grimaced. Raising a hand to stop her, he remarked, "Mister Heisenberg makes me sound like that meth cook. Just call me Karl. If you do that, I won't call you ladybug."

Meth cook? What?

Bela pushed the thoughts aside before she could voice her bewilderment. Instead, she made a show of casually shrugging and agreeing, "It's a deal, Karl."

"Good." He nodded. "Anyway – if you're not familiar with this capacitor, what's your forte then?" Karl squinted, eyes drifting to the side as he recalled and promptly relayed to her, "You worked with Miranda for a little while, right? I remember Alcina mentioned something about that."

It was jarring to hear Karl referring to her mother by name, considering barely anyone did so. Scratch that – Bela was certain that prior to this, only Miranda referred to mother by name.

And even more jarring was Karl's awareness of Bela's less-than-ideal past with Miranda. Bela assumed that was something only her family was aware of – not something that mother would easily divulge. Especially not to someone she was constantly flinging vulgarism at. Bela had to wonder if there had been a time Karl saw eye to eye with her mother. Sometime long ago, before mother exclusively referred to him as 'that fool Heisenberg', and not simply Karl.

"Yes, I…" She could sparsely remember the last time she relayed her credentials to anyone, "I know my way around the human body. Why do you ask?"

With some flair, Karl tossed the capacitor into the air, caught it, and tucked it into his trench coat's pocket. "Reasons." Karl eyed her for a final time. "That'll do." He waved his hand and began walking to a pair of steel double doors towards the back of the room. "Follow me, Jesse. Maybe you can help me out, and we can talk. I'll be needing those prescriptions for Mut too."

"What – it's Bela," She fell in step, narrowing her eyes at the back of his head. "Is that so hard to remember?"

"Yeah, yeah – forget it." Karl chuckled under his breath. "Hopefully your medical expertise is better than your TV knowledge."

Thoroughly bewildered, Bela paused, watching Karl approach the double doors with Mut at his side. "E-excuse me?"

Karl was indifferent to her confusion, simply parting the doors and waiting for her to follow. When it was clear he wasn't going to elaborate further, Bela resumed her pace. Before crossing the doorway, she glanced back at the burning trashcan. With any luck, it wouldn't burn down the entire garage by the time they got back. Given her drivers' ineptitude, they may be unable to find her when it was time for her pickup.

On the other hand, a blazing pyre was hard to miss, even for those two.

Shrugging to herself, Bela fell in step with Karl and Mut, who made it a point to stick to his side like glue. They arrived at a sizeable room – which appeared to only be this large to house the massive cargo elevator. The great, hardy doors were shut, and Karl paused by the elevator panel.

His expression turned serious – dark, even. Any resemblance of a smile was wiped from his face, along with any sarcasm and smirk. Void of all emotion, he spoke in a low voice, "I'm taking a risk with you here. Make no mistake, Bela." Her name could not have been spoken more clearly. His dour eyes narrowed, drilling holes into her own. "If you squeal a single word to your mother, or Miranda, I'll find out. This isn't a fucking game."

Before Bela could reply, he cut back in, speaking around a tight curl at the corner of his lip. "If you think the cold outside is scary, wait 'til I launch a storm of fucking steel right at your castle." Karl kept his head tilted back by a degree, ensuring his glare reached Bela from beneath his hat. "I'm gonna bust every single window in there, and blow the dungeon wide open. There's not gonna be a single warm fucking corner in that entire playpen of yours."

It had been a long time since she had last been threatened – not counting Ethan's mad raving the first time she locked him up. Karl's grim warning stirred something in her – a leftover from decades past. When the only logical response to danger was being the danger. There was that part of her – the part she suppressed and hid away from the world – that would snarl right back, and tell him without the slightest hesitancy – "Try me, bitch."

That vicious, dormant side of her had no time to rear its head before Karl added with a low rumble, "I know the stories about you. I'd be doing a service to all those people you killed by turning you into an ice cube."

Bela took a slow, long, deep breath, and made the conscious effort not to step back or break the simmering eye contact. She spent much time reflecting on her bloody past – castigating herself for it until her mind was raw and spent. To hear someone else shove it in her face was another matter entirely – a heavy blow, right where it hurt.

She knew Karl was right, in the end. That wholly irrational part of herself, and the completely uncalled for response in the back of her mind – those had to be shut away. She was the one trying to get into his good graces to begin with. In the past decade, Bela had made great strides to reconnecting with her old, rational, calm self. That part of her which spat fire and brimstone and responded to violence with more violence – it was largely tempered by now.

And now, freshly reminded of just who she was – what she was – Bela knew that if she ever met a grisly end, it would only be one that she deserved, whether it was at Karl's hands or anyone else's.

"You do what you have to do." Bela spoke above a whisper. "It would only be fair to all those people."

The silence hung in the air for a moment longer as Karl's dark eyes studied her. Then, his entire expression lightened, and he leaned back by a degree. All the ice and subdued violence in his being appeared to melt away. There was a sense of wonder in his expression and his tone as he remarked, "Well, well." He glanced at his dog, who met his gaze. "Look at that, Mut. Looks like Miranda failed with her, too."

The dog gave a soft yip in response.

To help ease the tension, Bela chimed, "Mother doesn't think I'm a failure."

It earned a short laugh from Karl. He hit the elevator's button, causing a soft ding to ring out, before the doors pulled apart. It revealed the sizable compartment with in, illuminated by the fluorescent light above. When it blinked awake, it stayed that way – unlike the flickering bulb in the garage. It hinted that the elevator perhaps got considerably more use than the dusty garage they'd come from.

Rather than allow her entry, Karl stood in front of the doorway. "One last question." When he was certain he had Bela's attention, he continued, "Do you really want to know just how deep the rabbit hole goes? All that for Ethan Winters?"

It was her last out, so to say. Karl was giving her the chance to step away and back into sweet ignorance, Bela noted.

This was a turning point. This entire night had been one. From the comfort, normalcy, and status quo of her castle, she was striking out, blazing her own path. Whatever lied ahead, and whatever information Karl had for her – that would be the final nail in the past's coffin.

Even right now, Bela could turn around and wait in the garage for the Duke's lackeys to return. She could go back home and pretend her nightmare of a life was a normal one. She could explain away her impulsive fieldtrip. The borderline treason against her mother's wishes, and Miranda herself – Bela had yet to cross that line.

This was that line, and Karl stood at the threshold. Together, they were at the precipice of whatever was to come.

But there was no turning back now. Thanks to the alcohol and the brief insanity that came with it, her mind was made.

Bela was not returning to that life. No more living day to day, stewing in the depression that was born of confronting every atrocity she had painted into the countryside in blood. No more securing victims, and attempting to keep them alive, all for Cassandra and Daniela to ruin the catch. No more wasting away, day by day, tormented by her memories that hardly felt like her own.

Ethan had given her a glimpse of a better life.

One that was actually worth living. One that had meaning and purpose.

Even if all that purpose, for now, was to help him and his daughter. It was enough. It was more than she'd had for a decade, and far more than the years of mindless slaughter before that.

There was no going back to that old life now. Not after everything. No way in hell.

Bela swallowed the tightness in her throat, and gave Karl a firm nod. Simply, she told him, "Yes. All that for Ethan Winters."

It was enough for Karl, apparently. He smiled, stepped to the side, and tipped his hat. His hand rolled out in flamboyant gesture. "Ladies first."

Bela filed into the compartment without a word. Karl walked in next, rubbing at Mut's head all the while. With a press of the button, the doors came to a shut, and Karl leaned against the wall opposite from Bela. Then, the elevator began to move, in the exact opposite direction she had expected it to go.

They were going underground. As far as she could tell when they rolled up in the carriage, the factory was largely above ground. That was where, to her knowledge, weapons and armor for the lycans were fabricated.

It didn't take long for her to learn there was much, much more to the factory than meets the eye.

The cargo elevator had one open wall. When they first stepped in, all they had a view of was the smooth cement finish. Now, in full descent, the opening on the side acted as a viewport.

Oil and grease – bitter and sticky in their scent – assaulted her senses. Metallic churning and clanging filled the air, and distant, flickering lights grew visible – and then the rest came into view.

Numerous conveyor belts and countless other machinery Bela could not begin to name – they were silhouetted by a bright white light in the far distant end of the underground factory. Trailing along each production line were limp humanoid shapes, cycled over from one end of the factory to the other. With her mouth slightly ajar, Bela stepped over to get a better look, craning her head up to see the catwalks, manned by shambling figures seemingly tending to the operations.

Smoke – exhaust, Bela realized – wafted up from various ports all around the factory, up to an opening out of sight. The sounds of industry – steel grinding, motors whirring, and steam releasing heat – they all filled the space. Bela got a hearty whiff of the metallic bite in the air – a smell she was a little too accustomed to, due to the similarity with blood.

The way mother talked about Karl – she had imagined him to be a crotchety old man with a hunched back and a mean lip. She pictured him banging two plates of metal together like some kind of caveman in the effort to supply the lycan armies. Just a rude, stupid fool only capable of simple labor and angering her mother.

Bela hadn't expected this. Not this sprawling underground operation. When Karl had gone heavy on his warnings, she had figured it was due to the questionable nature of passing around sensitive information. It made sense that punishment awaited them for the breach in confidentiality. But this – all of this she was seeing – it was far more than she could have envisioned.

"What is all this?" Bela could hear the awe in her own voice – but she couldn't help that. The sheer scope of the facility was a sight to behold.

A glance to the side revealed Karl had crossed his arms, and his eyes were similarly trained on the factory outside. "Something to turn the tides."

It was an army.

That much Bela could tell from the distant view she had. If Karl was industrializing the process of creating Cadou-powered soldiers, then Chris Redfield was in for it.

If it was even Redfield that Karl meant to turn the army towards.

It all fell into place in Bela's mind now. She hadn't at all missed how cagey Karl was being. At first, she'd thought it was simply how he was. She could understand his initial distrust, and the distaste in her – after all, there was clearly some bad blood between him and her mother. Bela had let that all slide and rolled with it.

Now, though – his behavior and his words took on a deeper meaning. He was hiding this army. From Bela, from her mother, from Miranda – from everyone.

If this army was meant to be deployed against Redfield, then he had no reason to be as secretive as he was. He wouldn't be dropping threats to keep her from leaking information to mother or Miranda. They should be fully aware of this army in the making if it was meant to be used alongside the hordes of lycans.

Her line of inquiry was shady and potentially reeked of betrayal, Bela was well aware of this. Karl had gone through some effort to parse her intentions and evaluate her motives before taking her into the inner parts of his factory. He would not have ultimately agreed to turn the information over if he was not a little bit shady himself. The Duke would not have sent her here if he had known Karl would refuse to cooperate.

Tie that all together with the clear disgust on Karl's face whenever he mentioned Miranda – and how he hadn't referred to her by the full title of Mother Miranda, perhaps the man was as disgruntled as Bela was. She would even hazard to guess that he was more disgruntled than she was, and that it ran far, far deeper for him.

Bela harbored no love for Miranda. Even before all the painful memories came rushing back, Bela never liked her. As long as Karl kept that army clear of Castle Dimitrescu, she had no qualms of him using it to tear Miranda apart. She only hoped mother would stay out of it and avoid getting hurt. A cruel, psychopathic bitch like Miranda did not deserve mother's devotion and support.

But she was kidding herself, wasn't she?

Mother was devoted to Miranda. She was devoted to a fault, Bela would even say. There was no way she would stand aside and allow an army to sweep through the valley to hunt Miranda down.

This endless army in the making – they would one day stand against mother, if things continued as they currently did.

The dread bubbled up within Bela with each body that rolled along the assembly line, and how pitifully unprepared the Dimitrescu House was to combat such a threat, if it ever came to it.

With a soft ding, the elevator halted, and there was no time to boil in her thoughts any longer.

The doors opened, and the heat from the machinery all around enveloped her. Karl wasted no time leading the way. The immediate landing acted as a viewing platform of sorts for the sprawling manufacturing complex. Karl didn't so much as glance at it as he waved Bela over, directing them to some hardy metal doors.

Karl, Mut, and Bela continued down the winding passages. Bela kept her head on a swivel, taking in the scenery around her – as drastically different as it was compared to her usual surroundings. Gone were the gothic spires and baroque interiors. Hardy concrete floors paved the way, and pipes crawled along the walls while producing subtle hisses and soft clanks. Not a candle was in sight as powerful fluorescent bulbs bathed the area with light, banishing the shadows.

They paused in a small room. Bela assumed it was a workshop, given the tables, mounted with vises, and the shelves lined with tools. A door stood in their way – though calling it a door felt like it did not do the contraption justice. A seemingly complex locking mechanism of intricately fashioned steel kept them from pressing on. Deep underground within this secret factory, surrounded by an army in the making, it was only appropriate that the door resembled a safe more than a door.

"Not again," Karl grumbled under his breath. "Always locking with a mind of its own."

Bela stood back, giving Karl ample room to work. She was joined by Mut, patiently sitting down to her side and stuffing her face into Bela's palm. She scratched the dog on the head as she watched Karl pop open a panel to the side of the door.

"I'm curious," Karl began. "How's the power in the castle?"

Not the small talk she had been expecting. Definitely not in the middle of this place.

Karl grabbed a handful of tools from the closest shelf and began tinkering with the panel of wild circuitry. "Been years now since your mom let me check out the wires I installed. I hope the rats didn't get into them. Would be a pain in the ass to repair it."

His brows raised to himself, as though having a little realization. He then voiced his thoughts aloud, "No – it would be a pain in the ass listening to Alcina bitching all day about how slow I'm working."

Bela chuckled softly at the curious image it formed – of her mother, tall and imposing as she was, hands on her hips as she glowered at the smaller man tinkering with an outlet. She hummed to herself in quiet wonder. Electricity in the castle was exceedingly sparse. Outlets were few and far between, but they existed, and they worked, Bela was well aware. They didn't need a plethora of them anyway, given how little they owned which actually needed electricity.

"Well, my hair drier and my refrigerator say thank you."

It got a sharp laugh out of Karl as he fiddled with the door's control.

In all those years, it had never really occurred to Bela where the power was coming from. She had always just assumed there was some part of the castle responsible for it. Maybe a generator somewhere. It was another reminder of how little she really knew of the surrounding area, and even her home, in the grand scheme of things.

"That was a pretty big job back in the day," Karl muttered. He leaned in close to the panel, running a gloved finger along the wires. "Hooked your castle up to the grid connected all the way to the dam. Just thinking about all that digging's making my back hurt all over again." He gave a slight glance to her as he added, "Glad to hear your power's intact, considering the shitshow in the village right now. Who knows when Redfield's gonna get the bright idea to try and cut off the powerline to the dam?"

It wouldn't impact the castle itself too badly in the long run. There would be the irritation of unenergized kitchen equipment, and wet hair taking painfully long to dry. It took Daniela's movie nights off the table. It would also put an end to that noise Cassandra considered music.

Maybe the lack of power wasn't so bad after all.

Karl's factory was another story, if Bela thought about it. Losing power would undoubtedly set him back. No amount of diesel generators could power the massive operation he was running.

A small spark lit up the control panel, and a loud click resounded from the door. Grinning, Karl shut the panel and dug his knuckles into a button next to the panel. A metal rod on the door slid back, and the massive gear to the side spun, allowing the door to creep to the side and grant them passage.

"C'mon. Not far now," Karl said as he climbed up the rusted metal steps.

If it wasn't the sturdy concrete beneath them, their boots instead produced echoes against the steel catwalks, suspended above all manner of machinery. A buzzing green light shone down on them as they marched through another door down the winding passageways.

After descending a final set of old stairs, Karl slowed his pace, approaching a banded metal door bathed in a warm orange light. Without further delay, he pushed the door open. He held a smirk on his lips, and his tone carried an upbeat lilt. "Welcome to the foundry."

The cacophony of smells hit Bela first – more oil and grease, this time mixed with coppery blood and burned hair. The wave of heat followed as Bela laid eyes on a number of tables – workbenches and operating tables alike – scattered across the space. A casting machine took up much of the far wall, already preheated and emanating warmth. Next to it was an illuminated mount, on which multiple x-rays were taped; Bela could make out a particularly damaged human skull on one, and a chest cavity on another. The walls were lined with shelves, home to countless tools and the occasional box of beer bottles. To the left of the room was a door, beyond which appeared to be a supply room. Further down and around the corner on the left were a flight of stairs leading to parts unknown.

The most striking thing about the room, however, was the gargantuan body in the center, taking up four operating tables pushed up against one another. Easily fifteen to twenty feet in height, Uriaș' burned, mangled corpse lied limp on the steel slabs.

"Would've taken Uriaș over here to the operating room, but honestly that's just one flight of stairs too many," Karl spoke nonchalantly, grabbing a bottle of beer from the closest box as he passed. Effortlessly, he popped the lid off as he approached the corpse. Mut appeared to be in familiar space now, as she trotted off from Karl's side to proceed to the corner by the x-rays. She climbed onto a makeshift bed – a throw pillow on top of a flattened cardboard box – and cozied down.

Bela had to consciously verify that her jaw hadn't dropped at the sight of Uriaș' body. She had seen the towering giant on few occasions – she knew just how imposing, all powerful, and nigh invincible he seemed. Mother had not stuttered when she relayed of the giant's demise – it was explicitly clear that Ethan had killed Uriaș.

But to see the tangible evidence with her own two eyes was staggering. She stood next to Karl in order to get a closer look at the body. It was plainly evident that Ethan had done a number on Uriaș – but even that was an understatement. The shock mixed with that – possibly misplaced – sense of pride brewing in her chest.

Little remained of Uriaș' face. Nothing but a squishy mess was left to pass for where his eye sockets had once been. White bone was exposed along his frontal cranium, down to the cheek, and all the way to what should have been his mandible. Half of Uriaș' jawbone was gone, and now replaced by a smooth, curved steel plate, molded to fit the shape of his skull. His previously full, wild head of white hair was burned, leaving torn and ruined skin in its wake. The similarly unruly beard was just as damaged, exposing the broken and missing teeth set in the bare bone of his still-intact jaw. His singed jacket and shirt were torn beyond much repair, and it appeared Karl had unbuttoned it completely.

Some manner of disc-shaped electronics and strange tubes were affixed to Uriaș' chest, which was peppered in buckshot. Bela was left to stare in wonder at the sheer scope of damage inflicted onto the giant, even before Karl started poking around with his electronics.

It gave her pause, though – seeing Uriaș' exposed skin, or rather, what was on it. The few times she had born witness to the towering lycan, he was clothed and bundled up. Now, she had an eyeful of the tattoos etched into his mottled skin. A prominent cross – very Christian – covered most of his chest right at the middle, along with all the angels and assorted fanfare. Words in Cyrillic joined the slew of tattoos covering his torso; their meaning was a mystery. Bela wasn't at all knowledgeable of the Cyrillic alphabet, but something began to stir within her at the sight of it.

Finally, buried and hidden underneath the fresh damage done to Uriaș' body, was an old, fading scar by the stomach. The pattern hinted at an animal bite – likely a wolf.

Just as they had a decade ago, the memories came flooding. Her knees buckled, and nausea swirled, rising up as bile in her throat. Her vision darkened at the edges, forcing her to grip the operating table in the effort to stay upright.

Bela let out a breath as the memories hammered at her brain at a staggering speed. Vivid. Uncompromising. Bittersweet.

Real.

A cold, snowy day. An accent – very thick and very Russian. It was coupled by the smell of copper in the air – blood; it was on her gloved hands and all over the operating table.

She had laughed then. With gallows humor, she had asked if tattooing the Holy Trinity to his chest helped keep the wolves away.

He had laughed right back, and told her that it was by God's good graces that he was able to find her clinic before it was too late.

She couldn't argue with that.

He was loud. Boisterous.

Yet at the same time, compassionate.

The smell of vodka was never far away when he was near, nor was his distinctive, thunderous laughter which livened up any who were lucky to share in his company.

The potent kick of vodka had filled her clinic in the midnight hours once. That time, there was no laughter. Only concern, hushed voices, and barely suppressed anxiety.

He was there. He was in the clinic – not for himself, though. (Not that time, at least).

He was the one who brought Cassie in.

It was thanks to him that Bela got the chance to patch her up. Cassandra wouldn't be here if not for him.

Even when the memories first came rushing back, Bela did have some recollection of him – that someone who was there for Cassandra when she had nobody.

But only now did the vignettes gain unmistakable clarity and vividness. Only now could she place a face to the mysterious figure, and all the hazy memories that came with him.

He was tall, broad, and as big as a barn – and with a heart to boot.

He was a good friend.

Bela gritted her teeth. The solid steel of the operating table deformed under her grip. The steady stream of consciousness – the life that was no longer hers – slowed down, and finally dissipated.

He was a good friend. One that had stayed with them, up until the very bitter end.

If only she could remember his fucking name.

Not that it mattered much at this point. Her old friend – Uriaș, now – was dead and gone.

Unless Karl had plans to the contrary, anyway.

With little else to ask, Bela gestured to the extensive damage and cleared her throat, not trusting her voice to assemble a complete sentence, "How?"

It appeared Bela owed Ethan one, strange as it may sound. No one deserved to be forced into servitude to Miranda after the death – the rest – they had been destined to have. Ethan had put her long gone friend out of his Cadou-powered misery. It was foolish to hope, especially since there was nothing to be done about any of it at this point – but she still wished Ethan had not hurt himself too much while dealing with Uriaș.

"How did our dearly departed Uriaș here bite the dust?" Karl asked, slapping a hand down onto Uriaș' shoulder. At Bela's nod, he took a sip of his beer, grinned, raising his brows as he stated, very matter-of-factly, "Your boy Ethan Winters is to thank for that."

"Yes – I get that. Mother told us, but…" Bela did not want to say Ethan was a largely unimposing and un-dangerous looking individual – but he was, at a glance. Two days ago, he was just this goofy nerd with a heart of gold. Her little one.

Her puppy.

When compared to hulking giants like Uriaș – most people would not put their money on Ethan. Bela would not put her money on Ethan. "How did he do…" She motioned to the body – burn marks, buckshot, exposed skull and all, "This."

Karl let out a low whistle, "That man is something, I'll give him that. Saw the whole thing from a way off using a pair of binoculars." He took a quick sip of his beer, grinning, "And what a spectacular show that was!"

Bela tightened her eyes a fraction when Karl stopped for dramatic pause. This theatrical nature of his was grating – but considering her mother shared in that, maybe Karl really was family. "There he was, running for his life – outnumbered maybe fifty to one!"

Her stomach churned with unease. Knowing that Ethan had survived should have calmed her down, but it didn't.

Bela cared about him. She cared a lot, and thinking of the odds stacked against him again was only tempting her to grab her own bottle of beer from Karl's box. Anything to dull the nerves which now gnawed at her to learn of yet another near-death experience of Ethan's.

Karl's hand came up to pause himself, "Oh – and this is after he got half his hand bitten off by one of the lycans."

That explained the missing fingers Cassandra didn't cause.

"You should have seen it! This guy's fighting like a man possessed. Even with a chewed-up hand, he's grabbing these guys and tossing them around like a fucking MMA fighter," Karl chuckled softly, "Then he puts them down just as easily with that pistol of his. He's got a whole gun-fu thing going on."

Still grinning toothily, Karl asked, "You ever seen John Wick?"

Bela's lips parted for a moment. Dumbfounded, she shrugged, "Dare I ask, what is a John Wick?"

"Are you kidding me? He's like Neo, but without the reality-bending and…" Karl pinched the bridge of his nose, hanging his head for a beat. "You have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, huh? What is it you even do in your free time besides eating people and running errands for your boyfriend?"

"He is not my –" Bela's cheeks burned hot, and Karl was quick to interrupt her, shaking his head and waving a hand.

"Never mind – anyway, the way Winters is fighting, it's not like he's the boogeyman, you know? It's like he's the guy you send to kill the boogeyman."

At Bela's unimpressed face at his choice of wording, Karl added, "It sounded better in the movie."

"Are you going to continue spouting obscure references?" Bela motioned to Uriaș' corpse in exasperation, "Or are you going to tell me more of how this happened?"

"Yeah, yeah," Karl waved her off. Resuming his story, he told her, "Winters runs like hell too – he should become a competitive sprinter if you don't eat him alive."

It got the slightest rise out of Bela. "I am not going to eat him alive."

Karl circled the table to stand by Uriaș' head, and continued unperturbed, "He goes house to house, using them for cover to buy himself time while scavenging for loose ammo and explosives. Any lycan that manages to bust through his barricades – boom, face full of lead or a knife through the eye socket and it's all over. And then, Winters found a shotgun." Karl tilted his head back taking a huge swig of beer before setting it down on the table. "If you thought he wasn't deadly enough with just that pistol and the tiny knife – you should've seen him swinging that boomstick around."

Bela blinked once, tilting her head and leveling her gaze on Karl – just to make sure she wasn't mishearing.

"After he got his hands on that, they didn't stand a chance." He put his own hands on either of Uriaș' shoulders, "Bodies start dropping left and right. I haven't seen anyone clean house like Winters until I got an eye on Redfield." Karl shrugged and added, "Which – well, that makes sense, since I hear Ethan trained under Redfield."

"He did?" Bela's eyes widened, and she was made aware of just how little she truly knew of both Ethan and the current mayhem in the village.

She knew a fair bit about him, sure – she knew how he liked his steak cooked (medium rare, and any other way was criminal, he'd once said). She knew his extensive history of getting picked on by bullies in school. She knew how his gentle, nearly imperceptible snoring sounded while he held her at night.

But perhaps her knowledge was still sorely lacking in the ways that mattered. She knew of Redfield and how Ethan had trusted him, yet the former had gone on to kill Mia for reasons unknown. It was news to her that Ethan had learned from Redfield himself how to dish out death so efficiently.

Ethan didn't talk about Redfield much. He relayed little to nothing from that part of his life – those three years after he'd met those 'bad people' and before Redfield shot his wife. All Bela truly knew of the elusive Chris Redfield was that he was deadly. How and why – she had no clue.

Rationally, Bela couldn't blame herself for the lapses in the information she had. She'd only known Ethan for just under two weeks – even if her attachment to the man was as frighteningly potent as it was. They had a long way to go, and at this point, she was in this – whatever this was – for the long haul.

As she had thought to herself earlier in the Duke's Emporium – she would find out every damn thing he wanted to know. And she would learn all about him and his past, tragic as it may be. All the better to help him through the demons he was fighting. Maybe one day, he could return the favor with the entire hell of demons that lurked in her very soul.

"Yeah," Karl got her attention once more, "I'll tell you about that after this," A gesture to Uriaș – even though Bela wasn't quite sure what it was they had in store. With a breath, he resumed his tale, "Anyway, big guy showed up not long after. I imagine all that noise from the fighting got his attention. Ethan kept doing what he did best – running and gunning. I didn't have a timer on me or anything, but it must have been an entire half hour of whittling away at Uriaș over here."

Back when Bela regularly sparred with Cassandra, going at it for a few minutes at a time was enough to get them both winded. Bela couldn't imagine a fight drawing out for as long as Ethan's had.

"Then Ethan makes his way just past the post office, and things get crazy from there."

Perhaps that explained the massive chunk ripped out the side of the office.

Licking her dry lips, Bela asked, "Were things not crazy up until this point?"

Karl went on, either not noticing or not caring for her distress, "He arrives at the pub and starts barricading it shut. Uriaș was lagging behind after a couple narrow escapes, so it bought Ethan time." That same, strangely excitable smile returned to Karl's bearded face. "You know how explosions happen in flour mills?"

There were a few close calls in the village, all those years ago. She gave a slight shrug and recalled, "Poor ventilation, too many particulates in the air, and an ignition?"

"Bingo!" Karl pointed a finger at her, "It appears Winters knew that as well, since he started dumping a shitload of flour into the air. I guess he had a pipe bomb on him or something, otherwise I can't imagine how he got the whole thing going. Once Uriaș broke in through the front door, Ethan set the explosion off and escaped out the back."

Bela spared a glance at Uriaș' utterly destroyed state – burned off hair and all.

"At this point, the big guy's already spent half an hour bleeding and getting properly fucked up. After the explosion knocks him flat on his ass, he's at death's door." With an exaggerated swing of the arm, Karl gestured a grabbing motion, "He manages to snatch Ethan up before he gets clear of the area."

Bela winced, and tried not to think of all the micro-fractures his bones may have gone through. She had witnessed Uriaș' horrific display of strength before – grabbing a man in a similar fashion. The terrified scream was short lived. It was overpowered by the crack of his bones, until he was nothing but a bloody pulp – looking more like raspberry jam left out in the sun, than a man. Despite all the carnage Bela had personally reaped, even that sight haunted her to this day.

"But… you can't keep our boy down that easily. He jams his shotgun right into Uriaș' face and unloads the entire tube into his head." Karl went through the motions, mimicking the pumping of a shotgun and letting out an audible bam-bam with each imaginary shell fired, "Uriaș drops hard and lets Ethan go. He barely even gave Uriaș a second look before he was off running again. Dunno if he even realized he killed the big guy, since Uriaș was crawling and trying to stand up with half his face blown off before he finally dropped for good."

No wonder Ethan had dispatched the Moroaice in the cellar like he did. Those odds were nothing compared to what he'd been through in the village. Judging by how well he had handled himself – and of course, the whole I-once-got-my-leg-cut-off situation – Ethan had obviously been through worse.

Cassandra should count herself lucky that the Great Hall housed no windows in the immediate vicinity. She – just like Bela – could fight. They were fierce, and the villagers did not whisper their nearly folkloric titles in hushed fear for no reason.

But their bloody reputations meant nothing if Ethan had even the slightest advantage over either of them. Being Strigoaica Întunecată counted for nothing when Ethan Winters was a force of nature that killed mutated wolfmen and towering giants like it was as easy as breathing. If Cassandra had accosted Ethan around a window, she would be dead – no questions asked. If Ethan had been saner and made the rational decision to open the dining room window, Bela would be dead.

The fear tingled down Bela's spine when she really thought of it – of just how deadly Ethan truly was. The window incident had been replayed and overanalyzed in her mind countless times by now. With Karl introducing this extra layer – unveiling the lethality at Ethan's fingertips – the dread was only amplified. Bela had not simply had a brush with death that day. Death had dangled her off a thousand-foot cliff before choosing mercy.

In spite of the newfound fear of her darling puppy, Bela's heart began to bleed for him all over again, as the gravity of Karl's tale sunk in.

The man needed a damn vacation already – preferably with herself attached to his side, but Bela was willing to let go of even that. She knew better than to hold onto pipe dreams such as those. They would only bring her more pain when they inevitably fell apart before her eyes. So, Bela was contented with just wishing he would find some well-deserved peace.

These were the steps to achieving that. Every bit of information put Ethan closer to being prepared when the time came wherein he could escape. Bela had no illusions to the contrary – she knew there would come a time where Ethan would either escape on his own accord or ask for her help.

Bela wasn't willing to acknowledge the other possible future that lied ahead – one that saw him drained of blood and doomed to wander the dungeons. It was a future she would fight tooth and nail to prevent.

But right now, the odds of Ethan's escape were not looking good considering Redfield was out on the prowl, and lycans still roamed the countryside; they both posed a danger to Ethan and his daughter if they set foot outside the castle.

Regardless of the when – and maybe it was the palincă's leftovers talking – but Bela was certain Ethan's exit from the castle would be inevitable. He would walk out one day, and she would not.

With a bitter gulp down her throat, Bela licked her lips and steered herself back on course. She had already resolved she would do every damn thing to help Ethan and see this through to the end. That was whether she walked out with him or not – and she wouldn't. Second chances like that were beyond people like her.

"What is, uh," Bela cleared her throat, "What is Uriaș doing here?"

"Glad you asked," Karl flashed a smile and gave the corpse a hearty pat on the shoulder, "I'm trying to bring him back."

Bela tried not to stare at Karl like he was insane.

She knew all too well that death was not the cruelest fate in this valley. Aside from her own personal, intimate experience with the matter – the Moroaice and the lycans themselves were evidence of this. Not all of the ghouls and wolfmen were infected and turned into what they were while they still lived. Others were resuscitated and reformed into the creatures they were today, after they had expired. There was no rest for the wicked, after all.

Although typically, the Cadou needed a far fresher, more intact host to revive and transform.

Uriaș was neither of these.

Bela decided to give Karl the benefit of the doubt, as it appeared he had something up his sleeve. "How do you plan on doing that?"

"Well, with this little gift of yours, I'm hoping I might finally make some headway." Karl plucked the capacitor from his pocket, setting it down on the operating table. He took the time to walk over to the nearby shelves, retrieving an assortment of tools and materials.

While Karl prepared his kit, Bela stepped over to get a closer look at Uriaș, and the old friend he once was, an entire life ago. She stopped at the head of the table, peering down at him.

Bela didn't know what to expect when she first stepped out into the frigid winter. It wasn't this, though. Never did she expect to do whatever it was Karl was planning to bring Uriaș back to life. Never did she expect to find a long-lost friend in the deceased giant.

A box of surgical gloves sat at the ready by one of the vacant tables. Drawing a deep breath, Bela helped herself to a pair before she could second guess herself. She pulled them over her hands and inspected the body. She set her hands on the cadaver's fractured and splintered skull, and the exposed brain matter that greeted her. Bela tilted his head to get a better look, sending a stale, dark ooze leaking out of his exposed skull.

Taking a shotgun shell at point-blank was one thing. Taking an entire tube of them was another.

Even her cursory inspection of the remains of Uriaș' brain made it clear that whoever was once in there – the proud, friendly hunter who had once saved Cassandra – he was gone. Long gone. Not a smidge of his consciousness could possibly remain intact in that splattered brain of his. Not anymore. Thank whoever deity who listened for that.

But before that? Bela had to suppress a shudder.

She was living proof that consciousness could survive the Cadou, regardless of whether she had actually died or not – and she still wasn't sure about that – so it stood to reason that a part of her friend had once lived on in Uriaș' towering form. Twisted into Miranda's service as a brutal enforcer – there was no way of knowing just how much of himself had survived the transformation. Bela ran a gloved finger along his jaw, from the smooth steel plate, to the rough, deformed, exposed mandible.

Had there been some quiet, muted part of his mind that had remained? Had it been forced to watch in horror from behind Uriaș' eyes as he delivered death with each swing of his hammer? Had he been completely powerless to resist the Cadou's whim under Miranda's orders, and forced to live as that terrible, hulking giant for all these years?

Or had her friend perished completely once the Cadou made its home in his body? Was this great and horrific creature on the table her friend in name only – reduced to nothing but a puppet of meat and bones; another tool in Miranda's arsenal to rule the valley with her iron fist?

Ultimately, Bela would never know. Maybe that was for the best. The burden of truth – whatever the truth was – would only torment her further.

Many times, she had pondered the loss of everyone that she had once known – some of them, she had even killed herself. But that was all Bela had considered. In her naivety, she had never once conjured the possibility in which the people she cared about suffered a fate worse than death – a lifetime of servitude as fodder in Miranda's army. It happened to Bela, after all – it stood to reason it could very well have happened to her old friends as well. Uriaș – whatever his name once was – he was only one of the many who were not granted the sweet release of death when their time came.

Until now, anyway.

Bela's hands shifted on his face, damaged and deformed as it was. Her thumbs settled on what remained of his cheeks, drawing slow strokes. She gulped down the slight lump that had formed in her throat.

Her memories always had a hazy, dream-like quality to them. Precise words and actions often changed day-to-day when she tried to really dig into her mind. Talking to Ethan restored a degree of clarity to some memories. Standing here, holding onto her lost friend – it had the same effect.

That big nose of his, still intact despite the slew of buckshot – it had once been flushed red from vodka and the chilly winter outside alike.

He'd broken the clinic's front door down in the middle of the night. Bela remembered being rather upset by that, but that was neither here nor there at the time – and he offered to repair it himself, so she'd let it slide. The anger dissipated very quickly.

Much more concerning was the profusely bleeding, frostbitten, half-dead brunette in his large arms.

His voice had been soft that night – quieter and meeker than Bela had ever heard him.

He paced like a madman while Bela toiled away on Cassandra's bloody arms, spending each second fighting to steady the gush of her blood. She alternated between that and periodically checking her other symptoms; the early stages of hypothermia were no joke, and the large hunter was acutely aware of this. Bela was nearly afraid he would bore a hole onto her floor with how intensely he'd been pacing.

His nose – and his cheeks – remained a bright red the entire time.

"Goodbye, old friend," Bela uttered, softer than a whisper.

Karl's heavy footfalls stopped by Uriaș' side. Clearing her throat, Bela removed her hands from his face, instead clasping them together in front of her. Glancing up, she found Karl's rather analytical eyes studying her. With a toolkit in one hand, he had a heavy-duty apron in the other – a welding apron, if Bela assumed correctly. Karl was wearing a matching brown apron over his off-white shirt, having traded his trench coat for the apron. His hat was gone as well, leaving his long, messy grey hair free.

"Not really a pair of scrubs, but this should help keep your jacket clean." Karl extended it for her to take.

With how hot the foundry was, Bela was due to shed a layer. No reason to be uncomfortably hot.

Wordlessly, Bela accepted the apron, while Karl continued to scrutinize her. Bela's stint of staring at Uriaș and cupping his face had, evidently, not gone unnoticed. With a slight grunt, she asked, "What?"

"You remember him?"

Bela liked to think she was not an open book. Briefly mourning a lost friend undid her usual mask of neutrality, apparently. Turning away from Karl, she took the moment to unzip and unbutton her down coat. She was left in her grey sweater as she tossed the coat onto a vacant operating table.

Begrudgingly, Bela answered, rolling up her sleeves. "A little bit."

"Interesting," Was all Karl said as Bela got the apron on.

As prepared as she was ever going to get, Bela gestured a hand to the deceased giant before them. "How do we begin, Dr. Frankenstein?"

Karl chuckled softly, opening up the toolkit he set down on the table.

In a way, it was reminiscent of the one time Bela had been forced to collaborate with Miranda. It's like she was playing lab assistant all over again. She only hoped Karl would be more transparent than Miranda, and actually cue her in on their assignment for the evening. If not, hopefully she would at least be given the information Karl had agreed to divulge.

Without looking up from his kit, Karl spoke, "As you can see, Uriaș suffered extensive damage from the fight. Aside from all the blood loss and the ruptured organs, the massive, critical damage to the brain is what finished him off."

Bela nodded slowly. "Figured as much. I am surprised he did not expire sooner from the shock and blood loss," She paused, recounting the explosion he had been present for, right at ground zero. "Or his organs liquifying from the overpressure of the blast." Watching Karl fumble with his tools, Bela asked, "How exactly do you plan on… bringing him back?"

"I already got most of that worked out," Karl drew a screwdriver and set a hand on the disc-shaped panel on Uriaș' chest. He paused to point the screwdriver at Bela, "Again – you let a single word of this slip out –" The screwdriver levitated in the air, stopping an inch short of Bela's face, prompting her to lean back in precaution, "Ice cube. Got it?"

"Crystal clear, Karl." Bela glared at the tool, but avoided moving any further back. The screwdriver promptly flew to Karl's hand.

"Good."

Karl unscrewed the panel's cover before waving his hand to telekinetically lift the slab of metal off. Burrowed in Uriaș' partially hollowed-out chest was a cylindrical cavity of steel. A soft, faint red glow emanated from within. The source was revealed when Karl reached in, plucking the device from Uriaș' chest.

The smooth metallic object was just barely larger than Karl's palm, shaped like a disc. It was rather thin, not more than a few inches in thickness. Several long slats ran across the top of the disc, above the faintly glowing interior of the device.

"This is the reactor," Karl turned it over in his hands. "Powers 'em up and keeps them in the fight. That is," He shrugged, "As long as it doesn't overload or overheat."

With equal parts care and nonchalance, Karl extended it out to Bela. She gave him an uncertain glance, prompting him to nod – as if to ensure she was allowed to inspect it.

Bela was exceedingly careful as she took the reactor in her hands. With this closer look, she was able to see the distinct shape of the Cadou within – vaguely resembling a fetus. Its silhouette was a stark contrast to the red glow surrounding it. All manner of electronics and circuitry were concealed within the inner wall of the reactor, and Bela could only wonder in silence how Karl had devised such a creation.

When she was done inspecting it, the reactor was set down next to Uriaș' head. Reaching into the cavity, Karl fiddled for a moment with something within, before tugging once. With a soft grunt, Karl yanked out a capacitor, blackened with apparent burn marks.

"Thanks to the size of the big guy, the reactor overloads and blows the capacitor each time I try to fire him up." Karl turned around and haphazardly tossed the capacitor into a box across the room. Facing Uriaș and Bela, he picked up the fresh capacitor, "Hopefully this is gonna have better luck."

So, the Cadou-infused reactor acted as a power source. The reactor worked overtime due to the energy needed to supply power to Uriaș' massive form. The old capacitors were unable to take the excessive load and compromised the system. If the new capacitor was all Karl needed, Bela couldn't help but ask, "Where do I come in, then? Was that all you needed?"

"Not quite. This just solved problem number one," The capacitor from the Duke clicked into place within Uriaș' chest cavity. Karl pulled his hand back to motion at Uriaș' half-destroyed head. "I don't have a lot to go with up there, in case you haven't noticed."

"… I have noticed," Bela muttered. She couldn't resist when she added, "That is something you two have in common, right?"

It got a sharp laugh from Karl. He bit down on his lip to stifle his laughter, giving a nearly approving nod, "That's a good one. You really are Alcina's daughter, huh?"

"Anyway," Karl shook his head to get back on track, "I've already got a prototype headset ready for him – helps stabilize the brainwaves and distribute the electrical signals to all the right places," Karl gestured as he spoke, then sighed, "Problem is the… you know, his central processing unit isn't in good shape. I can't attach the electrodes the same way I've done for the others."

"Others?" Bela asked, curiosity thoroughly piqued, "Those bodies on the assembly line outside – is that how you're reviving them?"

Once more, Karl appeared to hesitate for a moment, suspicious eyes looking her over. Ultimately, he nodded, "Cadou reactor in the chest, headset to keep them stable and under control."

Bela's eyes fell to Uriaș' exposed brain through his cracked skull. She concluded, "And those bodies do not have brain damage as severe as Uriaș."

"I won't lie – usually I just stick those electrodes in there and they mostly do the trick," Karl explained. "That doesn't work in this case, since part of his brain is mush." He twiddled his fingers and added, "Neuroscience 101 and all that."

Bela studied the exposed, plainly damaged top of Uriaș' skull. His cerebrum wasn't in any condition for saving, even if Bela was qualified for that – which she wasn't. The parts of his brain that weren't reduced to goo – Bela wasn't too confident in their current condition either. She would find more usable brain matter in those two moronic carriage drivers.

Taking a breath, Bela began, "I hate to tell you, but I am not exactly a brain surgeon, Karl." She paused and shrugged one shoulder, "I think the closest comparison for me would be a trauma surgeon, but still… I am not sure if I'm the right person for this."

"I don't need you to put Humpty Dumpty back together again," Karl drew another device from his toolkit. They were a series of electrodes, split into two sets of three large, sharp pins, all connected by a thick cord. "I just need you to try and stick these into whatever's left of his brain that'll give me the best results."

Hesitantly, Bela took the strip of electrodes in one hand, eyes running over the fine tips of each pin. Her mind ran a mile a minute, and she racked her brain for all the reading she had done over the past decade.

"You know according to the books, doctors usually do a CT scan or an MRI before doing something like this." Bela turned her head to the x-rays mounted on the wall across the room – scans of Uriaș' skull, she realized.

Those crummy x-rays would tell her little of what she had to work with. Her hands-on experience in this field was virtually nonexistent, and the little knowledge she did have was not exhaustive. The books she poured over in the past years had focused on adding depth to her existing expertise.

Not neuroscience.

Not bringing the dead back to life.

"Normally," Bela continued, eyes going to the electrodes in hand, "They install these to stimulate parts of the brain – helps with the treatment of Parkinson's symptoms…" Her light reading wasn't at all light by most standards. "They have computers to plan the electrode's trajectory – they even get a three-dimensional coordinate of their target." Bela's lips remained parted for a beat, and she shrugged, "Not that I would know how to use a computer if we had one."

Tilting his head, Karl finally spoke up to ask, "What's your point?"

"The point is that this procedure requires a level of precision I am completely unprepared for – and that is assuming I can determine what part of the brain to install the electrodes in," The mild frustration slipped into Bela's voice.

Surprisingly, Karl just gave her a cross between a scoff and a chuckle. "Relax. If Uriaș had Parkinson's, I'm sure he's well beyond treatment for that now."

"Hilarious," Bela deadpanned, even as it tugged a little smile across her own features.

Karl's own smile eased off, but his voice remained soft as he told her, "I just need you to try, Bela."

Being wasted hours prior didn't help much in her dive into pseudo-neuroscience. But if she tossed half of what she read from the books into the garbage and winged the rest – maybe there was some hope.

Uriaș' brain was severely damaged, but they could try and determine what exactly was salvageable. Maybe a craniotomy to expose more of the brain, then Karl could lend her an electrometer. The electrodes could be hooked up to the electrometer, and they could get some readings from the brain in a bastardized excuse of an electroencephalography. The electrodes' final placement would be finalized based on their preliminary readings, then that would be the end of that.

It was a long shot, but it might work.

It was mad science, yes – but it was all Bela could bring to the table at this point.

She was about to give Victor Frankenstein a run for his money. Mary Shelley would be rolling in her grave right about now.

"I… I cannot promise that this will work."

Bela prescribed simple medication and stitched people back together with the little tools she had. Poking around with people's brains – mutated or dead or not – was outside of her forte. Regardless of how hard she had been hitting the medical and anatomical textbooks, success was not a guarantee. None of those books covered bringing a gigantic lycan back from the dead by jabbing it in the head with electrodes, and stuffing the Cadou into its chest.

"That's fine." Karl caught Bela's attention with his still quiet tone. "I just need you to try. Even if you don't know much, it's still more than what I know, and that's enough for me. Just give it a shot, and I'll tell you what you wanna know."

Bela tore her eyes from the electrodes to look at Karl. His grey brows pitched together in a look of earnest pleading.

It was staunchly different from being bossed around by Miranda, that was for sure.

"Please, just try." Karl repeated, setting his hands on the operating table. "Whatever progress you make is gonna go a long way." Offering a little smile, he added, "And given what little I've heard from Alcina, you're good at… science stuff."

Bela didn't want to use the term 'desperation' but there was certainly a burning need to Karl's voice. This wasn't just an experiment to him.

Cautiously, Bela voiced her question, "Why is reviving Uriaș so important to you?"

Karl's eyes fixed to the open cavity in the giant's chest. He had to unclench his jaw before replying, "There's a fight coming and I need to win it." He took a breath and pushed off the table. "I need to win it or else it's all over, and it's all going to be for nothing."

Bela knew frighteningly little about Karl – or any of the other Lords, for that matter. That included her mother. She didn't have the slightest clue as to why he was as firmly opposed to Miranda as he was. Opposed was an understatement of its own – the man was building an army just to stand against her, after all. Turning the fight to her and winning – he had to have his reasons. Bela wasn't about to get a direct answer, so she settled on beating around the bush a little.

"After you win, then what?" Bela asked. "What happens then?

Karl narrowed his eyes at Bela, once more tilting his head back as he gazed at her – really studying every miniscule detail on her face, as if that would yield the answers he was looking for.

"You tell me first – I give you the information you want, and then what? How does this all end for you, Bela?" He gave a short, humorless laugh, "Ideally – of course. How does this end, assuming Miranda doesn't find out about this visit, and send every lycan in the valley after us? Or that Chris fucking Redfield himself doesn't serve each of us a bullet in the head?"

Earlier, Karl had been swayed when she told the truth and laid her cards down. Why she was here – or more accurately, who she was here for – that had an effect on Karl. She was beyond lying at this point. Maybe it was stupid being as honest as she was with Karl – but she was done lying. Especially to herself. If honesty was what would get her more honesty from Karl, then there was no other way forward.

"I'll tell him," Bela took a breath, and repeated with emphasis, "I'll tell Ethan everything I've found out. Hopefully some of it will be of use to him and…" Her lips hung open for a moment longer. Her shoulders raised to shrug, then sagged down in what felt like resignation. "Someday, he will get out. Out of the castle, out of the valley, with his daughter. Safe, sound, and whole. They can live a happy life far away from this nightmare we've trapped him in."

Karl watched Bela closely with his piercing eyes – keen to the tiniest micromovements that may show on her face. "You know Miranda would never willingly let those two escape, right? She'd rather set the entire world on fire than let them leave."

"I know," Bela replied. "But as you said – this is the ideal outcome."

"For them, yeah," Karl nodded, and allowed a pause to settle before gesturing towards her, "What about you? They escape, and then what?"

She would be in deep water if Miranda found out the Winters family escaped with her assistance. Not even 'clean the castle for a year' sort of deep water – Bela's head would be on the line if Miranda had any say in it.

Even if it pained her to admit it, Bela knew that her mother could not, and probably would not stop Miranda from delivering the punishment, if it truly came down to it.

Bela's actions put the entire family on the line. There was no telling if Cassie and Dani would be punished simply by extension – just to set an example. Miranda was exceptionally cruel, and Bela wouldn't put it past her to drag her two innocent siblings into the matter.

Bela would protect them in whatever way she could. Come what may – whatever punishment and death awaited when her treason came to light. As long as solely she fell to grant Ethan's escape, and her family was spared Miranda's brutality. That would be enough.

But her fate wasn't important. As long as Ethan got a second chance at life, far away from this cursed valley, it was fine by Bela.

"Doesn't matter what happens to me." Bela's eyes lowered, blankly staring at Uriaș. "All that matters is that they leave this valley alive."

"No," An unmistakable firmness set into Karl's voice. He ducked his head slightly to meet Bela's crestfallen gaze. "What happens to you should matter to you. I don't care what sort of pity party you got going on, but you need to look out for what's best for you, even if you're trying to help Winters out. Got it?"

Karl went on, "What you want for yourself, is just as important as what you want for Winters. So you better figure out what your endgame is before it's too late."

Bela's brows bobbed up in surprise at the unexpectedly encouraging sentiment. Mother had told them much about Karl Heisenberg. But she had neglected to tell them a lot of what mattered, apparently.

But If Bela allowed herself to indulge in that fantasy – and it was just that: a fantasy; there was no reality to it – she would hope to leave the valley with Ethan.

She loved her family, truly. Flaws and all, they were hers, and they had cared for her over the past half-century, just as she had cared for them.

But after ten years of debilitating guilt and self-loathing, it was high time Bela got away from it all. Somewhere far away where she need not be reminded of her litany of sins.

The very castle she lived in represented everything wrong she had ever done in this new life, before the tide of memories crashed back down on her. This entire valley had been her home for both her lives, and now it only reminded her of all she had lost. Every road, house, and even the sweeping forests – they were all laced with painful memories. Trying to be a better person and moving on from the past was an insurmountable feat when reminded of its presence every day.

Her murderous, sadistic self was reflected back in every maid terrified of her presence, and every Moroaică's distant groan in the dungeons. Simply walking from her bedroom and up the stairs was a reminder of the countless souls she had condemned to death and undeath in the dungeons. No amount of kicking and screaming would stop Bela from dragging them by the hair and down into the storeroom, never to be seen again. Underneath Ethan's cell, the storeroom's bottles of wine and blood stacked high; to think of how much of them she had personally delivered made her head spin.

Every room in the castle had been painted in blood, at one point or another. It did not take a lot to set her off. Someone had lost their head over a misaligned chair once. Such was Strigoaica Bălaie's mean streak. Back when the average maid's lifespan in the castle was two weeks, if they were lucky.

Daniela's nervous, reclusive demeanor – even that could be traced back to Bela's unhinged brand of sadism. All those times she had forced her younger sister to participate in the mindless slaughter, mocking her bookish nature and fondness for fairytales. Bela's stomach brewed with unease just to think of the adoration Daniela held in her eyes for her these days.

Such affection wasn't something Bela deserved. Not from someone she had hurt so deeply and so profoundly across the years.

Cassandra's cruelty – that may as well have been Bela's signature, scrawled onto the brunette's brain. Bela had seen all the fear and terror Cassandra held ever since they woke up on those operating tables. Bela had channeled Cassandra's emotions into sheer, unadulterated cruelty – teaching her to fight back and deliver death in rebellion against a world that had done the same to her. Bela was a monster, and twisting Cassandra into who she was now was simply Bela's way of ensuring she wasn't the only monster in the castle.

It terrified Bela how much she succeeded. Looking at Cassandra was like gazing into a mirror of her past.

With the haunting clarity that now made its home in Bela's mind – she had to live with it all. The knowledge that she'd bullied and strongarmed Daniela into their violent games whether she liked it or not. Even in her malice, Bela had been smart about it. She knew Daniela sought attention and companionship, and had promised Daniela as much, on the condition that she joined them. Bela had always made sure to take advantage of her insecurities and her shattered personality.

Bela hadn't the slightest idea how she could live with herself knowing what she'd done to Cassandra, either – taking advantage of her trauma to mold her into a killing machine at par with herself. Bela dragged her down, deep into the abyss. She sunk her claws into Cassandra's vulnerable mind, manipulating and lying her way into convincing her those terrible, fractured memories – that was all Cassandra had, and all she would amount to, unless she struck back at the world, harder, bloodier, and more vengeful than ever.

Bela had been a monster in every sense of the word, and if she couldn't fix it, she only wished she could get away from it all. Delude herself in the fantasy that the Bela who'd done all those unspeakable things was not her. Escape from this valley with Ethan, who accepted her but probably shouldn't, considering he didn't know the first thing about her truly vile past.

Karl was wrong. He didn't know either. Not the full extent, at least. What she wanted didn't matter. She couldn't afford to be selfish. Not when there were so many wrongs to right, because there was no running from the truth – that no matter how many memories stood in between the Bela she was today, and Strigoaica Bălaie, they were one and the same person. The same hands that prepared to operate on Uriaș had been the same hands that killed hundreds of men, women, and children. There was no running from the guilt. There was only picking up the pieces.

She could worry about what came after Ethan's escape, after he escaped. If he would successfully escape, whenever that may be. And Bela would ensure that he would. Whatever it takes.

The heavy silence was eventually broken by Karl. "If I win this, I'm out of here."

Bela could admire the simplicity to it. Getting out of here wasn't a bad plan at all. A small, bittersweet smile found its way to her face. Her voice was soft, "Just like that?"

"Yeah. Just like that." Karl nodded. "I'm blowing this joint and not looking back. If all goes well, you're never gonna see me again."

There would be no telling what the future had in store. She didn't quite have a definitive end in sight for herself, but she had one for Ethan, at least. And now, for Karl as well. The least she could do was work towards it. That was enough.

Bela turned the strip of electrodes over in her hands once more, nodding to herself with more confidence. She cleared her throat. "Let's get Uriaș up, then."

A/N: Hellooo there! Thanks so much for reading this behemoth of a chapter! Please do hit those fave and follow buttons, and shoot me a review to let me know how you felt about this one!

So, this chapter is long even by my standards, but I felt that the pacing worked, and I didn't want to split it and bog things down. It felt better to get the entire encounter with Karl underway.

A lot of revelations and happenings here. From the burning question of how Ethan killed Urias (he wanted that rare achievement/trophy for killing Urias in the first encounter), to Bela finding an unexpected long-lost friend, and sinking further into her mind. A lot of glimpses here into what drives her, and what torments her. There's been a lot of hinting at Bela's terrible past. This is just the tip of the iceberg.

I also see Karl as someone who is very up to date on his pop culture, at least - compared to the other Lords. Unfortunately for Bela, everything that isn't Shrek goes straight over her head.

There's also a bit of a... different take I'm going with Karl's strained relationship with Lady D. We'll see a little more of it in the future, but for now, we see a peek here of how easily Karl tosses around Alcina's first name like she isn't a noblewoman he hates to the bone. Inb4 they were boning - no. (Probably not)

Just so you guys don't feel jebaited - next chapter's taking us back to Castle Dimitrescu. After much rewriting and creative reflection, I decided not to give the blow by blow of Urias' surgery, so that my terrible pseudoscience doesn't catch too much flak, among other reasons. So we have a return to Ethan soon.

I think that's it from me for now. Once again, thank you guys so much for the support, it always makes my day to hear of y'all enjoying this creative endeavor of mine. Still got lots in store, and I'm glad to have a patient and interactive audience like you. Catch you all in about a week's time (or so). Stay safe out there!