Words Count: 4550

A/N: A free Ep because I'm in a good mood. Went home today to a bag of goodies at my door. Apparently someone in my building decided to gift every room with a bag. It's pretty nice.

Here's my usual spiel:

You can read from Episode 91 to 111 (And 12 Eps of the Sequel – Fate: False Sovereignty. Episode 12 incoming) in advanced. The Tier starts from as low as 1USD, try it out!

P a tr e on . com (/) LiamThePoor

'Why criminals… You got bias against them or something? You think just because they're criminals, they're capable of this?' In spite of how he phrased that, Angra didn't seem angry. In fact, his tone would indicate he was more bored than anything, which I could understand. We had gone from fighting Monsters, tearing them apart limb by limb to a bunch of political intrigues and investigation-works.

Knowing the Daemon, he thought it was too tedious, hence why the duration of his hibernations had grown twice, if not thrice as long compared to my stay in the Witcher-Verse. Whereas he was almost always active, looking and conversing with me before, the Daemon now spent the majority of his time hidden within my psyche.

'No, no I don't. It's just a logical deduction.' I told him, eyes flaring with Mana, [Observe] and [Structural Grasp] working at max capacity to search for any possible clue. Sure enough, there were damp, crimson trails under the eyes of the statue, wiped and scrubbed clean within the last week. Wearily, I continued with my explanation. 'Think about it, who else can… Elude the Police's grasp for so long but a seasoned criminal?'

My hands carefully touched the statue, 'He couldn't be someone from the Moonlit World. No Apostle except for the Ancestors would so blatantly provoke the Clock Tower while Lorelei is still in charge. Furthermore, their actions very clearly indicate they're somewhat familiar with the inner-workings of the Paris Police Prefecture…'

It was such an easy conclusion to arrive to that I couldn't quite contain the smirk creeping on my lips as I continued, hands gingerly sliding down Christ's soulless, lifeless eyes. 'Beside the Police themselves, who else but a criminal can achieve this? Of course, the culprit being a prodigy with a particular interest in True Crime podcasts and the likes is also a possibility, but…'

Silently, I thought back to [Future Calculation]'s prompt from the day before yesterday.

8.5%

'That's very unlikely.' I hummed, index finger and thumb rubbing together, commenting. 'It wasn't blood… What appeared to be 'bloody tears' were actually a mixture of chemicals and rusty iron. Either the culprit has stalked Isabelle for some time to set this all up, or their Innate Magecraft– The ones given to them upon their transformation into Apostlehood involve the ability to control and generate these factors.'

My sight moved from the motionless statue to our surrounding, focusing intently on the floor. "There seem to be traces of fighting here… Probably Isabelle trying to resist the Killer, but not much."

Scratches- Nails scratches, nigh unnoticeable to most, shone brightly under my Enhanced, Supernatural sight. "She didn't put up much of a fight. Could be a result of the Mystic Eyes of Compulsion, or he could have knocked her out before she was able to run away. There, look at that…"

I pointed at the seemingly clean floor, eyes blinking.

'… There's nothing to look at though.'

"Not to your eyes maybe." I replied. "One thing is clear though…"

'And what's that?'

"Isabelle did come to the Notre Dame, but she definitely didn't come back out, not by herself at least." The footprints, while faded and veiled by a thin layer of newer footprints, were clearer than the Sun to me as a burst colors crept into my vision. I massaged my eyelids, grimacing as I felt an uncomfortable bulge clawing away underneath. 'What's wrong, Leo?'

"It's nothing, it's just- I think there's something in my eyes." Opening my eyes, I shook my head. That was fucking weird, hadn't had an issue with my sight for quite a while now, but I supposed it only a matter of time. 'Uhmmm… Leonis?'

"Yes?"

'It might be the lighting, but I'm pretty fucking sure I just saw a second pair of eyelids in you.'

I scoffed. 'Very funny, Angra.'

'I'm not joking, what were you trying to do?'

Fine, I guessed there was nothing wrong with indulging Angra once in a while. "I was trying to find footprints, obviously."

'Try it again, and don't use any Spells.'

I looked again, ignoring the urge to activate [Observe] and [Structural Grasp], and almost immediately, I felt something crept into my vision, causing almost everything in sight to turn to a faded black and white colors, the footprints turning increasingly brighter- a neon red to be exact. 'Witcher's Sight?'

'Yup, you definitely have another pair of eyelids alright.'

Conjuring up a mirror, I looked at my reflection to find two thin, white membranes with web-like textures over each of my eyes. I blinked, and they were gone. "That's… Pretty cool actually, and really fucking creepy."

'How do you not know you had this?!' In my defense, I hadn't had much time experimenting with my new Body, and I was fairly certain this was only a mechanic in the Game, and not something the Witchers truly possessed. If I were to hazard a guess, this must be the result of the Trial of Grass, my Racial Advancement to High Human and [Mind's Eye]. 'How could I have possibly known my eyes are like a frog's? It's not like I check them daily or something!'

'Whatever–'

"Qui va là? / Who goes there?" A masculine voice entered our ears. I snapped my head towards the source of the voice, then blinked up the Cathedral's ceiling, my feet pressed against the small ledge to keep myself from falling. 'I think we should leave now… There's nothing left to investigate anyway.'

My gaze lingered on the priest who intruded on my investigation, then without another word, I returned to the hotel in a bright flash that would probably draw the man's attention. Not that it mattered, by the time he decided to look up, I was long gone, any mystical elements of my escape would likely be contributed to a trick of the light anyway.

The instance my feet touched the carpeted floor of the hotel, I bolted to the bed, hoping to get some rest, seeing as I wasn't able to get a wink of sleep in last night. Yet, my mind could not help but wander, 'I don't understand, why would the priests in the Notre Dame help the Killer hide evidences of their crimes?'

I hadn't spared the time to think about it properly before, but now that I was left with nothing but my thoughts and the Daemon, the questions kept pilling up. While the scent of bloods in the Notre Dame Cathedral had faded considerably, it was still very noticeable to my senses, which would not have been possible if it was little in quantity…

So, either the Killer cleaned things up before they left, or the priests of the Notre Dame did.

The first wasn't likely, given everything I knew about the Killer thus far. He or she could have hidden in the dark, they could have avoided the hassle of being pursued by the Police, yet they hadn't. In fact, I'd say they were purposefully taunting the City of Paris and its Prefecture by leaving the amputated, desecrated and bloody remains of their victims to be discovered.

They obviously wanted those found, else they would have hidden the body-parts some places nobody could ever hope to find…

And if the priests were responsible for the cover-up, it also wouldn't make much sense. I could fathom covering up the news of the Christ Statue crying bloody tears, but hiding a whole-ass murder-scene? That just seemed both extreme, and insanely stupid. 'Aren't you going to sleep?'

'Can't. There's just too much on my mind at the moment.' Despite those words, my eyes felt as though they were being weighed down by tons of leads. Sure, I could resist the allure of sleep quite effortlessly, but what was the point really? 'You know what?'

Not allowing Angra time to respond, I continued. 'You are absolutely right, Angra. There's literally no point to thinking about it now. All I have to do is wait for Crepsley to contact me back, and things will be fine. So… Instead, I'll enjoy the Devil's lettuce I just got my hands on to de-stress, then I'll take a nap.'

With a course of actions in mind, I slid open the drawer to look for the five pounds bag of weeds. Unfortunately, I didn't have anything to roll them with, hence why I had to make do with dumping the weeds in a cigarette. Once I was done emptying the cigarette of its tobacco, I immediately used [Spatial Manipulation] to telekinetically transfer the crushed Kush bits in place of the tobacco.

Smoking like this wasn't as satisfying due to the filtration material, but it would do when you were in a hurry and didn't have the necessary components to make a bong. Minutes later, I was finished dragging six to seven breaths, expecting to feel the high setting in already… Sadly, all I felt was the growing urge to drop unconscious, which did happen usually, thus I didn't pay it too much attention, but then time passed.

Five minutes…

Ten minutes…

Twenty minutes later…

I should have known advancing in the evolutionary scale would have consequences, yet it baffled me all the same.

"Oh-Gods. Oh-For fuck's sake! Don't tell me, I- I can't get high?!"

In response to my rhetorical question, the Daemon King cackled madly. 'Looks like you really can't, Leo-tan. This is fucking rich, all that efforts and money for weeds that can't even get you high!'

"Fuck. Fuck-Fuck-Fuckkk—!" I screeched,

Angra laughed,

And Chaos ensued.

— [Fate: DML] —

Alan didn't know where he was,

But he did know that should he stop running, his life was sure to be forfeited.

In his mind, he couldn't help cursing his past-self for ignoring the warnings of the Authorities. Having been born in the US, Alan McGee was used to being able to do practically everything he wanted, it was the 'Land of the Free' after all.

Hence, when he arrived to French for a vacation- a break from the nine-to-five job that was draining him of his very Soul, the salesman had completely disregarded the many cautions given… He should have listened, yet he hadn't,

And now, here he was, running for his fucking life,

Chased,

Taunted,

Hunted like a cornered animal,

And he had a feeling things were only going to get worse from here, a feeling of walls closing in on him, or a trap being slowly unraveled and sprung. He was going to die, Alan was going to die, that was almost- Nay, it was certain,

But he was damned if he would make it easy for the thing pursuing him… Unfortunately, that was exactly what it wanted. "You can run, but you can't hide, you fucking Yank. I'm going to tear out your spine, flay your skin and feast on your blood and flesh!"

Harsh breaths escaped his lips as Alan continued to run, his heart and lungs beating- aching painfully in his chest, his legs tangling together in a flurry of motions, causing the American to nearly trip and fall, which was sure to bring his demise ever closer. Behind him it- the thing that wore the skin of a man, jumped, leaped from building to building, from roof to roof,

Its cat-like crimson eyes shining through the veil of darkness of the night, brighter than the Moon indifferently watching over the both of them.

"Run… Run, little raton! Make this more enjoyable for me!" The sadism, the sheer amount of satisfaction it found in hunting Alan down made him shiver, trembling on his feet, though with anger or fear, the tourist knew not. "Perhaps I'll leave your legs for them to find, or will it be your heart?! I have yet to leave an internal organ, and severed limbs are starting to get predictable, don't you think?"

Alan couldn't understand how someone- anyone could speak of the acts of murder and mutilation with such little regard.

He knew there were fucked-up people in every nook and cranny of the World, Alan knew monsters like this likely made up a large portion of the population. Hell, he had gotten to witness the most deprave acts in the comforts of his Room through a screen, but to be faced with someone so utterly detached from their Humanity, detached from their innate feelings, emotions and empathy was a completely different story.

"Help- Help me!" How, how was it possible for no one to hear his voice? Alan could not help wondering. Sure, he was in a pretty desolate and, some would say, bad part of Paris, but it wasn't like it's abandoned. It was a residential area, someone must have heard him, right? Help must be on the way, he just had to– "Ark! Fuck– Arrgghhh!"

His train of thoughts was immediately cut off as something speared his both legs and blood splattered, causing Alan to tumble, rolling forth in tangle of limbs, his scream echoing in the empty street. "Aw-Come on, this is between us, little raton. You don't want to drag others in this mess, right? I am so disappointed in you…"

The thing, whom he hadn't even seen approach, whispered in his ear, its voice soft, breathy and uncomfortably gentle. It was the sort of thing Alan would expect from a convict in those terrible movies, straight from a scene where someone had stupidly dropped the soap. His mind couldn't help wandering to the darker places, and for a second, Alan sincerely contemplated unaliving himself to avoid that fate.

He might have spent his entire getting shafted by the System and, to a lesser extent, the company and his Boss, but Alan was not about to let himself get physically shafted, even if it would cost him his life. Thus, the tourist readied to bite off his own tongue, only to scream in pain when teeth- sharp and jagged like the fragments of a shattered bottle, pierced the soft skin of his neck.

"Gotta say though, I'm quite surprised, Yank. So far, you're the only one who hasn't asked me to stop or why I'm doing this, credit's where credit's due, right?"

"Fu- Fuck you, you damned abomination." Through the haze caused by his headache, his exhaustion and the blood-loss, the tourist was still able to force out the words, hands blindly reaching for something- anything to defend himself with. Sure enough, he fount it, a broken piece of brick that was a mere foot away from where they were, and with the last vestige of his strength, Alan brought it down like the Hammer of God on the fanged creature's head.

"God bless Americans, motherfucker!"

"Je vais te tuer, petit con! / I'm going to kill you, you little fuck!" Its claws tore straight through Alan's jaws, crushing his bones and giving him a wound that would undoubtedly permanently change his facial-structure, its next hit even more vicious as it shattered his Skull with little to no effort. Just as it was about to finish him, Alan heard noises in the distance- voices and hasty footsteps approaching.

And, if he could hear it, the thing must have as well, for it soon released the hold it had on his collars and raced away. By the Grace of God, Alan McGee had somehow survived, yet at what cost? He asked himself, all while his jaw laid detached from the rest of his Skull, his tongue hanging out and slobbering all over the nice, clean t-shirt he had put on in the evening and his legs bleeding profusely. He couldn't be sure, but Alan had a feeling one of his eyes had been gorged out too,

His life was going to be a mess after this, yet Alan found an odd sense of catharsis in his survival. Indeed, Life might be hard for the man going forwards, but at least he had proven to himself and everyone else he wasn't just a complete pushover, that he was able to stand triumphant against impossible odds, what was a few crippling injuries compared to surviving a vampire?

"Monsieur, tu vas bien?! / Sir, are you alright?!"

"Vous êtes sérieux?! Regarde-le, nous devons l'amener à l'hôpital! / Are you serious?! Look at him, we need to bring him to a hospital ASAP!"

Those were the last words Alan heard before his mind shut down,

He would not bother pretending to understand what was said, yet the sheer relief of finally meeting people- normal people not looking to tear his throat out was more than enough to lull him into the embrace of unconsciousness.

He did not resist, hoping that maybe, just maybe this being unconscious would save him the pains. Alan McGee promptly passed out, and would later be brought to the nearest hospital, saved from Death by a hair's breadth, marking the first time a victim was able to survive the now world-renowned and infamous 'Bloody Butcher of Paris'.

— [Fate: DML] —

"What is it Crepsley?" I asked groggily, my eyes wandering towards the clock. It was still six in the morning,

After realizing my inability to get high, I had spent hours hurling insults at my new Physiology and the World, then promptly falling asleep from noon to midnight, after which I had taken a stroll- I meant, after which I had patrolled the City in hope of bumping into the Killer.

As you might have guessed, not much happened, thus I went back to the hotel to re-check on all the information I had and catch some more sleep, leading to this very moment. "There's news about the Killer, an American tourist- one Alan McGee was able to survive an encounter with them, but he's badly injured and was on the operating table for hours, he's supposedly fine now, or at least that's the story they're going with, but truth be told, it isn't looking good... This hasn't been made public yet, I thought you might want to know."

And like that, my sleepiness was complete and utterly gone. I couldn't understand, why now? Why was he or she getting so sloppy? Was it really just a matter of being bored? Did they want to be caught? It made no sense whatsoever. "And where is he at?"

"He's at the Saint-Louis Hospital, I'm currently outside the place, was assigned to take a statement when- should he wake up." That was all I needed to know as I bolted out of the bed, getting dressed in but a second. Thank Gods High Humans didn't sweat or have morning-breath like normal ones did, meaning I'd not have to waste my time with the usual morning routine.

Obviously, I'd have to take a bath once I was done with works, but it wasn't a priority, unlike when I was still a normal, mainstream Human. "I'm on my way, please wait outside the hospital."

In order to take the man's statement, he needed to be in perfect health, something I could likely help with. Witcher's Potions were not an option due to their toxicity, but there were other Potions made by Mages of Nasuverse that could achieve the same effect, only con was they were stupidly expensive. Alternatively, I could simply return to Fuyuki, grab Avalon and hope for the best, but the Sheath was quite picky when it came to its User…

'Ah-Fuck it, I'm sure I'll be able to figure something out there.' Again, I had never been to Saint-Louis Hospital, but I had been near before, teleporting there was just a simple exercise of the Elder Blood and a thought. Silently, I appeared in an alley, much like yesterday, before sneaking into the hospital courtyard. "Psst… Crepsley."

"Leonis, you're here? Come on, let's go check on the guy." We walked at a brisk pace, ignoring the odd looks sent our way by the staffs. Thankfully, only a few tried to stop us, and those who did were quickly hushed away by Crepsley using his badge. "There's our guy."

… "Are you sure it's him? He- Well, he doesn't look quite as terrible as I had imagined." In my defense, the guy did look fine. There were signs of wounds, yes, but they looked old, like something he had sustained months ago and not yesterday night. His face was deformed, yet not as badly mutilated as I had expected. "Yes, it's him. Alan McGee, twenty-eight years old, he's an American on a vacation, or so his profile says."

"Alright…" I nodded as a foreboding sensation began to creep in. "Can you hold the door? I'll ask him a few questions."

Without waiting for an answer, I swiftly entered, only to poke my head out to tell Crepsley, "And tell the security to erase all footages of our visit. It's just a matter of time before the press gathers like flies to shits, and I don't want my existence in Paris broadcasted, understood?"

"Got it." The Officer sent me a thumb-up, turning to the hall and looking intimidating.

Then, I looked at the motionless, disfigured man on the bed. "Yup… Either it's an Apostle, or a very large dog decided to turn his face into its personal chew-toy."

Putting a finger on his wrist, I narrowed my eyes. "Weird, his heartbeats are surprisingly stable for a man who nearly lost his life last night… Skin looks healthy too."

In fact, I wouldn't have known he was attacked if not for the visible wounds he had sustained on his face, throat and legs. "Mr. McGee, are you awake?"

I questioned, poking his head. Sure enough, moments later the man woke up, seeming not even a bit worse for wear despite the traumatic experience he had undergone. "I- Who- Help! Help me–!"

Unfortunately, a barrier of Space surrounding us was more than enough to completely stop any sound from traveling outwards. Of course, I still pressed a hand on his mouth to muffle his screams, then using [Mesmerize] and [Axii], I attempted to silence him… "Cease your screaming, I just want to talk."

Keyword, 'attempted'.

"Shuck u / Fuck you." The man glared at me, his remaining eye bloodshot and veiny. Okay, now this was getting real fucking annoying. Remy Crepsley was able to shrug off my Mind-Control because he had a tumor in his brain, that I could understand, but how was some random-ass guy ignoring my Spells too?! I was well-aware I wasn't an expert in Mind-Spells, but this was getting ridiculous. 'I swear, this is bullshit.'

"How are you– Ah-Fuck it, never mind. Alan McGee, I'm here to hurt you, I can assure you that. I merely want to ask you about the… Creature that attacked you last night." I said in the gentlest tone my vocal cords could make and watched as he visibly calm down, his gaze shining at how phrased his assailant. "Why do you him creature?"

I shook, "I'm not at liberty to tell you that, but the gist of it is that there are things beyond the current comprehension of Mankind at this very moment, things who feast on our flesh, our blood and get off on our pains and sufferings. I believe you encountered one such being. And in order to kill it, I need your help to locate it."

We traded stares,

I could tell he was trying to see past me, must have been quite odd to see a teenager speaking about murdering what was possibly a monstrous Entity, but weirder things had happened in history, I saw nothing wrong about it.

"I'll tell you…" I was elated, until I heard his next words. "But on- only if I get to pay that motherfucker back for- Well, this."

Then, he pointed at his empty eye-socket, gestured at his throat and crippled legs. "I want to have a part in killing the cunt myself.

Was this dude serious? He was already a huge liability as a normal man, becoming a cripple was only going to decrease his odds, not increase it. "Mr. McGee, I can't–"

"That's my fucking price, you either pay it or fuck off!" He growled, interrupting me, his right eye seemingly tearing up, but I couldn't quite tell if it was due to him growing emotional, or the pain he was suffering. "I- Alright… I don't have a lot of time, do you think you can recover within the next two days?"

"I can." He said as a matter of fact, his arms raising to show his bulging biceps. "I know how I look, but I feel like I can lift a mountain right now. I want- Need to take part in killing that thing or die trying, else I'll never be able to live a normal life. You understand it, right? There are things a man must do, and this is one of them."

It was quite the sight, watching a crippled man be so determined. I did not have the heart to reject him, yet I couldn't let him go off to the Apostle to die either. The only option left was to lie. "I understand, the moment I find their location–"

"His location." Alan corrected. "That thing was a he."

"Any distinguish physical feature? Tattoo or–" I questioned, not knowing I wouldn't like the answer, not one bit.

"No, it looked like a normal guy. No tattoo, no scar, just a shaved head. It has red eyes, a dark crimson like aged blood and the biggest claws ever." Fuck… This didn't line up with Isabelle's testimony at all. Was it possible for multiple Apostles to stay in the same City and not kill each other? Or was a simple case of a shapeshifting Apostle? "Its voice was the cruelest, most sadistic thing ever… I stumbled on it near the Southern suburbs of Paris. That's all I knew."

His hand bundled up the sheet, his anger palpable in the air, his eye shining an ominous color,

"I need to kill it. I want that fucking dead, I want it to feel the same despair I felt."

Then, his nails pierced the sheet with little to no effort.

That moment, I immediately realized what was happening… "Alright, notify me the moment you're discharged, we will hunt it down together."

Faking a smile, I spoke. "I must admit, it's quite surprising to see someone who isn't doubting me because of my age."

'Alan' laughed. "I got attacked by a fucking vampire last night, a teenager telling he wants to hunt down an actual vampire is the last of my worries right now."

With that said, I gave him my number and silently stalked off to meet Crepsley.

"How was it?"

"Not good… Not good at all, Mr. Crepsley. I think I'll have to spy on the guy." I looked at him seriously. "Ask your superiors to be re-assigned."

"I can't–"

"If you value your life, and wish to see your daughter again, you'll not interact with Alan McGee, do you understand?" I could see his confusion, and all I had to tell him was, "I'm pretty sure the thing in there is no longer him… It's something else wearing his skin."

"Oh, la vache… / Holy-Shit… Shouldn't you–?"

"No. With any Luck, it will lead us straight to its nest."