Lord of the Mysteries - Fountain of Blood (Fanfic)

Lex stood frozen in the dim light, staring at Nigel. He, in turn, met her gaze with an unsettling calmness before flashing a sharp smile—a grin too wide, too knowing. A look that could be mistaken for welcoming, if it wasn't for the glint of something darker behind his eyes.

"Well, I guess that means we'll be working together, Lex," Nigel said, his voice smooth but laced with something akin to mockery. "Come with me. I'll show you around."

As he turned, the air seemed to grow heavier, like an invisible weight pressed down on the room, stifling. Nigel's hand brushed past Mr. H, who stood silently in the background, expression unreadable. He opened the door with a creak that reverberated unnervingly through the space.

Beyond the threshold, a hallway stretched before them—long, desolate, and coated in a thick layer of gloom. The pillars that lined the corridor were chipped and cracked, their once deep gray hue now marred by years of neglect and decay. Some pillars were completely crumbled, leaving jagged ruins behind. The walls, too, seemed to have lost their fight against time, peeling away like dead skin.

Every door they passed bore strange, esoteric symbols, each one promising more than its surface would suggest. Twenty-three doors in total.

Nigel stopped at the end of the hallway. Lex's eyes narrowed on the last door, a blackened mass at the far end. Unlike the others, it seemed... new. Unsettlingly so. She could almost feel its weight, a presence that stirred unease in her chest.

"Well, looks like that one's for you," Nigel muttered, his voice darkening slightly. "Usually, the Order makes you share lodging with others on the same pathway. That way, if you ever feel the need to kill someone to advance, you have a... captive audience. And, of course, you learn more by talking and strategizing with others. But since that door just appeared, you'll be on your own. A solitary existence. Bit of a rare thing around here, I'd say."

He paused, scratching his graying beard. His eyes flicked to the door, and for a fleeting moment, Lex could have sworn she saw a hint of envy in them. Then it was gone, replaced by a hollow chuckle.

"Guess that's one perk of being the new blood," he added, though his tone was far from reassuring. "But trust me, you'll get used to it."

As he turned, Nigel's voice trailed off. He beckoned her forward, urging her into a connecting hallway that led to the dining area. The hallway felt suffocating, the walls pressing inward as though the building itself was closing in around them.

The dining room, when they arrived, was vast. Monumental. A place built for hundreds, maybe more. It was eerily quiet, despite the size. The long, empty tables stretched out in a sea of cold, polished wood—uninviting. The space felt too large for comfort, as if it was designed for a crowd that would never come.

"Two meals a day," Nigel said, his voice an unsettling monotone as he gestured toward the cavernous room. "Dusk and dawn. The Order ensures you get your rations. But don't get too comfortable. It's a way of controlling you."

Lex didn't respond. She wasn't interested in food.

Nigel pushed her along, guiding her further into the bowels of the facility until they reached a small, inconspicuous cellar door. It was old, rusted. The kind of door that whispered secrets to those who dared to open it.

Without a word, Nigel unlocked it. The air below was cold—unnaturally so, like stepping into a tomb. The darkness inside was thick, oppressive, swallowing any light that dared to venture too close.

They descended into the shadows. The stairs creaked under their weight, each step more strained than the last. Lex felt her heartbeat quicken, the oppressive darkness gnawing at her sanity. She could almost feel eyes on her—unseen, but not unfelt.

At the bottom of the stairs, the light from a dim bulb flickered weakly, casting distorted shadows against the walls. And then she saw him.

Monty.

A figure so unnaturally tall that he looked like a twisted mockery of a man. His limbs were long—too long—and his gaunt, spindly frame seemed to stretch on forever. His face was pale, the skin ashen, hollowed out like something long dead. His eyes, a dull red, locked onto her the moment she stepped into the room.

He was sitting on a leather couch that looked as though it had seen better days—cracked, worn, like the rest of this place. On the table in front of him lay a dark red revolver, its black wooden handle almost gleaming in the dim light. The man's posture was unnervingly stiff, as if his very form had been forged rather than born.

"Ah, Lex," Monty's voice cut through the silence, smooth but chilling. "I assume you've got some questions. But let me explain first." He rose, his movements jerky, unnatural. With a sudden fluidity, he extended a hand to her. "Do sit. Would you like some tea?"

Lex hesitated. She didn't want to touch him. She didn't want to touch anything in this godforsaken place. But Monty's smile, sharp and calculated, seemed to mock her hesitation. He was far too composed, too in control.

But before Lex could respond, she heard a strange sound—soft at first, then rising in intensity. It came from Nigel.

In the corner of the room, Nigel had fallen to the ground, his body wracked with spasms. His hands pressed against his head, his fingers clawing at his scalp. His muttering grew faster, incomprehensible, an unholy chant in some tongue that Lex couldn't place. His breath came in ragged, strained gasps, like he was suffocating.

And then, with a bloodcurdling scream, Nigel bolted from the room, crashing through the door, leaving a gust of disturbed air in his wake.

Monty didn't even flinch. He simply sipped his tea as though the scene had been nothing more than an annoying distraction.

"Don't mind him," Monty said, his voice unsettlingly calm. "It's part of his... sequence. A necessary ritual. I don't expect you to understand." He took another sip. "Anyways, welcome to the Aurora Order."

The words hung in the air, as cold as the cellar. The name, Aurora Order, sounded like it was of a guiding position, devoted to something or someone. But Lex didn't care. Not yet.

"And what do we do here?" she asked, amusement lacing her tone despite the odd feeling gnawing at the back of her mind. She had a feeling this was just the beginning.

Monty's grin widened. "We do the dirty work. The jobs no one else wants. Assassinations, primarily."

Lex raised an eyebrow. "And what's in it for me?"

Monty leaned back, his hands resting on the armrests as he surveyed her with predatory eyes. "It depends on the mission and your contribution. As for me? Well, I'm a Sequence 7 Serial Killer." He smiled again, a dark, twisted thing. "Both of my advancements came from... rewards."

Lex didn't blink. It wasn't the first time she'd heard such words. She almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. A serial killer in a place like this? It felt like a sick joke.

"Okay," she said, her voice hardening. "I'm in. When do we start?"

Monty's smile never faltered. But just as he was about to respond, something unexpected happened.

Lex raised her hand. Not her own, but the grotesque, blood-soaked appendage that hovered unnaturally in the air beside her.

The de-gloved hand, as she liked to call it, floated with sickening grace. Its raw, exposed muscles and tendons twitched and rippled as it reached out, a horrifying spectacle. It grabbed the teacup from Monty's hand, and with a steady, deliberate motion, it brought the steaming liquid to Lex's lips.

Monty's eyes widened. His jaw went slack, and for the first time since Lex had entered the room, the unflappable man was visibly shaken.

"Fascinating," he whispered, his voice soft, as if trying to hide his words,