Hello there, people of the internet!

First and foremost, let me thank you for your sweet comments, and your critiques. Without you, I probably wouldn't have gotten this far.

Now, to reply to a few of those comments:

TR Kurtis Trent: Zip doesn't know Kurtis. He only knows what has been written about him in his file, and frankly, the comments his overseer made weren't exactly on the constructive side ;)

Ferilium: I think I already thanked you on tumblr, but: Thank you again! Yes, Lara has other things to worry about — things addressed in this chapter, hahhaha! And again, Zip doesn't know him yet, so… who knows? ;)

Clairesail: Yes, exactly like Kurtis' Chirugai! I like where your head's at, haha. Thank you very much for your review!

And a shoutout to the quiet readers, of course — I see you're there, and I'm glad you're enjoying this fanfiction. :)

I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter — though I should warn you, there is some graphic content. Nothing bad, and nothing too detailed, but… just fyi!

All the best,

Yelena xxx


She wasn't sure if she was still breathing.

Within seconds, her body had grown taut; her left fist clenching and unclenching at her side as Lara stared at the monitors arranged before her, a mask of utter calm and indifference plastered over the first ripples of her terror. There was only so much havoc Karel could cause, she reminded herself, only so much he could do to her through a gods-damned computer screen — and even then, she could avert his attacks as easily as flipping a switch. Quiteliterally.

And yet, for all her stubborn reasoning, he was the first to break the looming silence. "Did you drop the warrior, or has he gone into hiding?"

"I drowned him in the bathtub," Lara lied, forcing herself to drop the pendant and brace both her hands against the glass table behind her. "He talked too much. Wasn't worth the trouble of keeping him around."

From the corner of her eye, she caught the distraught look on Zip's face; the grinding of his jaws as he stared at his toys, a tablet in hand, and beheld the uselessness of them. Unplugging the damned thing seemed to be the last thing on his mind.

She acknowledged the flicker of amusement on Karel's face a breath before he spoke again. "What a delightful lie," he commented, his voice like torn parchment in her ears — like the smoke that seeped into her own throat now, rich and suffocating and so horribly real… "And one I'd gladly believe, if it weren't for his nose buried in my business — our business."

A memory came to her, as sharp and unrelenting as the daggers in his gaze, but she chased it away. She didn't have time for this now.

"Ah." A cocky smile stretching across her lips, Lara raised her brows and cocked her head to the side, the movement entirely feline. "But I wouldn't want Gunderson to feel left out."

He seemed to consider her words for a heartbeat — then shifted and mirrored her arrogance with the same careless ease that usually meant someone was about to go for her throat. It was an effort not to bristle in response, not to scan the room for intruders as Karel leaned forward and exhaled in a long, brittle breath…

…and raised his head less than a second later, presenting his mangled face to the camera — to her.

Even in the dim light, Lara could see the dead tissue barely clinging to his cheeks, the puss and blood mingling beneath ulcers and inside open wounds scattered around his nose and jaw — as if he were nothing more than a breathing, walking corpse. A man decaying from the inside out.

It was enough to make her stomach rise.

"Gunderson has failed me one too many times," he breathed, his eyes bright and menacing beneath the drooping eyelids, the burned, oozing brow. "And he'll learn his lesson soon enough. You, however…" A pause; as if he were gathering strength, power. "You're a work in progress. And when the time comes, not even your beloved Lux Veritatis warrior will be able to rescue you."

The words resonated in her head, her heart.

But before she could reply, before she could even think to open her mouth in response, the screen went black, and the tightness in her chest eased. Eased, almost as though…

"Lara." She looked up — the movement alone leaving a raw, sharp taste in her mouth. But it wasn't the screen Zip was looking at, or the the pendant nestled between her breasts. No, he was focused on something else entirely, lower, and—…

Lara hardly registered his hands grasping her wrists and pulling them away from the table, a crust of burnt sugar covering her palms. No, not sugar — and those weren't stains on the table behind her, either.

She had burned clean through the glass panel.

...

There was a glimmer in the darkness — faint, shuddering, but there, burning like a nightlight against the cool, sodden darkness surrounding her. A spark of hope, despite the roaring in her ears and the pain thundering inside her head. She watched it, skittering across the small ray of moonlight in her cell, ducking back into the shadows, dancing before her very eyes. Urging her to stay awake.

She deigned to offer the thing a soft nod. Weak, pathetic, and entirely human; as though her bones were too brittle for her to risk moving too fast or using too much strength. And it understood. The damned little thing understood.

As if sensing her discomfort, it shot back into the hallway — and returned moments later, shining brighter, as though it had feasted on the torches burning there. And for all her bewilderment, all her wonder, she found it watching her right back. Staring at her, at her chest, at…

Not at the amulet. At her heart, weakly slamming against her ribcage.

Lara felt, more than saw, the glimmering speck of light land on her bloodied knees, one tendril of warmth, of… magic stretched out, toward her. Prodding at something deeper, something… something she knew she had, but never touched. But now — now that she was here, as close to Death as she had been a year ago, she couldn't give less shits about the ifs and buts. The plausibility of it.

So she raised her hand, her broken forefinger grazing the light on her knees, and sent a burst of power into the frilly little thing. Breathed light into it, light and fire and crackling embers, until it shot off through the barbed window; until she felt empty once more, and cold, and thoroughly useless. Until she found she didn't recall if she had been awake, or hallucinating.

She didn't hear the footsteps approaching. She wouldn't have cared, either way.

"Send Brianna down to clean her cell," a raw, male voice hissed just beyond her reach, even despite the worry and rage woven into his words. "And make sure she gets a new set of clothes."

He approached her with due care, as someone would approach a skittish deer. As though she had anywhere else to be. Anywhere else to die.

But when he knelt beside her, head cocked to the side and his brows furrowed, she realized he didn't much give a damn about her emotional, or physical, state. No — that was fear, actual fear, shimmering in Gunderson's eyes. And lots of it.

"I brought food," he stated, and indeed, that was a bowl of stew in his hands. Rabbit, if she could still trust her senses. "And a message. One of my men will escort you to the showers tomorrow morning — and back down here in the afternoon. Plenty of time to… regain your bearings."

There was something different about his voice, something she couldn't pinpoint. But then again, Gunderson hadn't exactly given her a reason to properly listen to him.

But there was no was no syringe in his hands tonight; no drugs, no ill intent. Nothing that would have made her recoil, or try to, at the sight of it.

As if reading her thoughts, he mumbled, "You'll need your wits about you. Don't waste this chance."

"… you're helping me." Not a question. But not a serious statement either, considering the soft, mocking laugh that tumbled from her lips. "What for? Did Winston offer to pay you for it?"

"No," he snapped, his face hardening at the sight of her ill humor. Or was it the smoke oozing out of her nostrils? It would most definitely be amusing if he could join in on her delusions. "There are worse things than Nephili and Angels and Demons — and He's going to wake all of them. Breed them. And he'll use you— break you, destroy your soul, and with it… The world needs you, Lara Croft."

She didn't remember falling asleep that night — but in her dreams, in those dark, wrath-fueled dreams, it wasn't Gunderson's voice urging her onward.

No, the voice she heard was much more familiar. Soothing. And for the first time in weeks, she clearly recalled reaching for it, running for it, until the other's cutting glare stopped her dead. Until she looked at her, sighed, and left her standing in the abyss.

Putai.

...

"What the hell was that?" Zip barked, his hand trembling as he plucked another shard of glass from her burnt, mangled skin — and snarled at the blood welling up in its wake. "And what the hell did they do to you in there?"

She didn't reply. She wasn't entirely sure if she could.

There were too many variables, too many things to consider from here on out; and she was not only running out of time, but running out of resources. Even with the damage done to Karel's face, the decay that had set in, he didn't seem any weaker, any… more human. If anything, he'd seemed stronger, harsher, and decidedly more feral. A beast that had picked up her scent, had followed it anywhere she'd gone in the past few months, and was now lying in wait — until the day when it would pounce, and possibly swallow her whole. If his pets didn't tear her to bloody ribbons first.

Uncoiling to her feet before Zip could do so much as wrap a fresh gauze around her palm, Lara stamped off toward the main entrance hall — where she halted, almost hesitant, and turned back to face her friend. There was only so much she could tell him without breaking his trust; and for now, seeing Karel… seeing that decaying face, those tendons peeking through ruined skin, was enough. For both of them.

"Thank you," she murmured, if a bit half-heartedly. "I appreciate your… efforts." A pause — then, "Double… triple your firewalls and keep looking. Should anything out of the ordinary happen, unplug the damn thing and read a book."

At least that would eliminate the threat of Karel crawling through the screen, or leaving cryptic messages for Zip to decipher. Messages even she didn't entirely understand.

Shaking her head in an attempt to clear his voice from her mind, Lara dipped her chin and stalked off, heading toward the cozy library at the far end of the south-eastern corridor. Zip didn't call after her, didn't demand answers — maybe because he knew she had none to offer, or because he'd felt her own discomfort at the damage she'd done; the power she'd used, however unwillingly. And perhaps, just perhaps, he knew she didn't understand it either. And didn't wish to understand it.

It would still be a week, perhaps more, until Kurtis would risk meeting her again; a week during which she would have to come up with something worthwhile, something beyond flimsy fire tricks and memories she couldn't trust. Something, she thought, that would help them defeat Karel.

Or, at the very least, disable him for a while.

Locking the heavy double doors behind her, Lara pressed the balls of her thumbs against her temples and loosed a sigh. Too much. It was all too much, her thoughts too cluttered for her to focus. Nothing lined up, nothing made sense, and the harder she tried to remember, tried to push beyond the fog in her mind, the more her head hurt. As if her subconscious recoiled at the mere thought of reliving that specific nightmare.

She'd have to find another way, then. Another way to get past whatever wall she'd built to keep Karel out, and let herself in. It was clear that her stay at his… hideout had either shook something loose, had unearthed something inside of her very soul, but — she had to know what it was, what that power consisted of, before she could even consider figuring out what he needed it for.

Or, she mused as she gazed across her messy desk, where the bloody thing had come from in the first place.

Lara forwent the desk for the phone she'd dropped beside it the night before, dialled, and waited. If there was anyone to contact about this, anyone who'd help clear her mind…

"Lara?" His voice alone worked wonders to soothe her racing heartbeat — the steady stream of thoughts flowing in. "I haven't found anything useful yet, but—…"

She didn't bother with pleasantries. "I just… melted glass paneling." A breath, then another, then— "And— Karel knows where we are, what we're trying to do. He's allowing us to close in on him. Whatever precautions you took, screw them."

There was a sullen silence at the other end of the line; and for a heartbeat, Lara feared he wouldn't respond. "Glass — you melted glass," he echoed eventually, his voice heavy with sleep and exhaustion. "That explains a lot."

"Such as? Your annoying platitudes? Or your undying need to be omniscient?" The words were sharper than she'd intended, but she refused to take them back regardless. He could handle it. "You won't find anything of importance in your father's notes; staying in France means wasting time we don't have."

No; this was a game without rules, and if Konstantin had died protecting the world from Karel, then the latter would most certainly have made sure he'd have an advantage if he ever managed to return — decaying or not. Werner… Werner had died because he'd gotten too close. And Bouchard, Luddick…

She chased the thoughts away as quickly as they came. If he considered the lives of millions a game, well — the rules had just changed. And she had no intentions of letting him get out of this alive.

"Are any of your father's friends still alive?" A dangerous question; tip-toeing the edge of their trust.

Kurtis remained silent a second longer, as if considering. "Two — or three, maybe," he murmured. "Four if we're lucky. The warriors all passed in the great war, but their wives…"

His mother. She hadn't thought to ask if— "Most of them went into hiding afterwards. Sold their belongings and moved to the most rural places, halfway across the globe. But many of them didn't even make it there."

"Most," Lara repeated, absent-mindedly wrapping her hand in what she hoped was her own discarded shirt. "And those three… women, you mentioned?"

He hesitated — an engine howling to life nearby. "They're still in hiding, but I do have their addresses. I have to warn you, though; they're hostile, and probably don't want anything to do with the Lux Veritatis or the Cabal — or strangers, for that matter. And I only trust one of them."

A lot of red tape, she thought. But better than being stranded with no answers, no assistance, and an immortal bastard breathing down their necks.

Kurtis loosed a sigh, then shut a door with a loud thump. "I'll be there as soon as I can." And that was that.

She didn't bother wrapping her injured hand in a proper gauze, but kept the shirt pressed against the wound — careful not to smear blood all over the documents she'd brooded over the night before, however useless they'd turned out to be. There had to be something she'd missed — something that could explain the molten glass and the delusions she'd suffered. Something Karel knew, and she didn't.

Dropping into the armchair by the cold, unlit fireplace, Lara scowled. Before her imprisonment, before he'd tried to control her, she'd never come into close contact with magic like this — magic that should have exceeded both, her mental and physical capabilities. Kurtis had wielded some sort of power, yes, but… he'd never shown her just what he was capable of doing with it, besides threatening her life or decapitating mutants. He'd never had a proper reason to.

And she highly doubted that her own misery counted as a proper reason. Even less so if Karel had somehow triggered this — caused this.

What was it Putai had said?

Demons will always find new ways to unsettle you. Their creativity knows no bounds.

And neither did her rage. Whatever horrors she'd lived through that her mind now rejected, whatever it was he'd done to Von Croy, she'd make him pay for it — in blood and gore. She'd make him suffer and beg, and enjoy every second of it.

Thumbing the pendant around her neck with her right, mostly uninjured hand, Lara shook her head and frowned; once at the fireplace, then at the warm weight between her fingertips. A blessing and a curse, that amulet. A lifeline and her own damnation. Taking it off was impossible — and, if Putai had told her the truth, cutting the worn leather strip from her neck would result in her immediate death, in one way or another. And for cowardice or mere indifference, she'd never bothered to try her luck.

But in the past few months, during the time she'd needed its lingering strength most… it had remained cold, lifeless, against her skin. Where the gold now seemed to glow, it had been unresponsive, like a dead weight on her chest; nothing more than a useless talisman, given to her by the best liar she'd ever met. The best friend she'd ever had.

Perhaps it reacted to her circumstances. Or the presence of something greater, wilder — someone like Kurtis, or Karel, or even Eckhardt. Someone who had been reborn, or remade, or gifted.

Although… she couldn't quite remember if it had ever felt this warm, this much like its own, sentient being, when Karel had been closest to her. When he had grasped her shoulders and come close enough for them to share breath, and when… no. No. There.

...

He'd gotten closer this time; she could feel his mental caress against the wall she'd built, brushing against the edges, testing for cracks. Against that towering wall of glittering adamant, that protective shell she'd formed around her brain.

Out— she had to get him outoutout, before he could get any closer.

"Gunderson," Karel barked, his voice near guttural as he tightened his grasp around her shackles and pulled, hardly bothering to notice her trembling body crushing against his own, knees buckling. Useless. Her body, her muscles… they were useless in here, weak and shivering and pathetic.

How had she ended up here? "Prepare another 10 CCs."

Her mind recoiled at his words, but she couldn't remember why. He'd given her something… was planning on giving her something, and she couldn't fight it, couldn't—…

Yes, she could. She could — and she would.

Why are you here, Lara Croft? I don't know.

He tugged again, beckoning her closer to that needle, to his body.

You are not weak. You are More. I am I am I amIamIam…

There — a tendril of strength, and… he didn't guard his face. His heart.

Now. Go.

She let her feral side take over. Both hands braced against his face, Lara pushed, pushed, pushed, until he stumbled back in pain or fear or disgust, or whatever else he was capable of feeling. Like an adder, quick and lethal, she lunged for him again — again and again and again, leaving his face in bloody ribbons and welts, as though she had not only cut him deep, but burned him to the bone.

Burned him, she realized, with her own two hands.

What are you looking for?

Among the blood and sweat and gore, Osiris' amulet —Putais amulet— shone like a dying star against the darkness. But that voice, that beautiful, ethereal voice… where did that come from?

Remember who you are. Remem—

You rutting bitch

His curses flooded her mind like a tidal wave, like a warm caress against the coldness in her limbs, the heaviness of her bones, drowning out the Other, that strange presence in her mind. And she let them in — let him past that threshold, just for once, just into an antechamber of her mind. A place where their bodies didn't exist, and where he could cause no havoc, no further damage.

And through the fog in her brain, through the physical pain and mental onslaught, all she could do was offer him a grin. "Checkmate."

...

His face — the shreds it had been left in, the welts and puss and blood seeping out of his wounds… she had caused it.

She had gotten past his defences, if only because that Presence had urged her onward, spurred her to lunge for him. And if she had done it once

Lara bolted upright before she could remember to be careful with the makeshift gauze, the fresh wounds, but swallowed the yelp of pain threatening to rise in her throat. He'd stumbled backwards — he'd looked at her with fear in his eyes, the same fear she had seen on Gunderson's face that same night. He'd went as far as breaking her fingers one at a time for it, as far as beating her to a pulp, but… she'd still gotten past his shields. Had gotten past them, and dragged him out of his mind, and into her own.

And if there was one thing she knew, one thing she was irrevocably certain of, it was that she could do it again.

And when the time came, she'd make him suffer for it. For everything he had done.


PS: Nope — not her power. That would be too easy ;) All will be revealed, but— patience!