Lord of the Mysteries - Fountain of Blood (Fanfic)

Monty sank into the chair across from Lex, his movements unnervingly deliberate. He pulled on a red leather glove with eerie precision, the snap of the fabric settling around his fingers punctuating the stillness of the room. His gaze never left the monkey's hand in front of him—tattered, mummified, and exuding an unnatural aura. The embedded gem in its palm flickered to life, casting a harsh crimson glow that swallowed the space, drenching the walls in blood-hued light. The air grew thick, suffocating, as though something in the room was waiting, watching.

Lex's eyes were drawn to Monty's face. His features, usually so controlled, were tight with strain. He leaned forward, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the relic. As his fingers brushed the hand, his breath stuttered—like a man stepping into a nightmare he could not escape. His eyes glazed over, unfocused, drawn into the depths of whatever power the relic contained. It was as if the hand spoke to him, whispering in languages that gnawed at the mind, dredging up ancient horrors.

And then, just as suddenly, Monty snapped back, his body jerking as if from a violent shock. He recoiled, blinking rapidly, his pupils wild and dilated. Fear clung to him like a second skin.

"I've received our mission," Monty muttered, almost to himself, his voice hoarse, like he had spoken words he shouldn't have. "We're headed to Midseashire. We'll set up an underground gathering. Mr. H will arrive after us to... help."

He swallowed hard, wiping his forehead as though he were trying to expunge the chill that had taken root inside him. His hands, steady now, placed the monkey's hand back into the box with a softness that belied the tension in his muscles.

Monty leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing, his jaw clenched. "First, we need to secure a location for the gathering. Then… we ensure its permanence." His lips curled into something that could almost pass for a smile, but there was no warmth in it. "Any threats to our mission need to be dealt with. Pruned. Harshly."

Lex's brow furrowed. "What do you mean by pruning?"

"Anyone or anything that stands in our way," Monty replied grimly. "We're not just establishing a gathering. We're drawing them in, pulling every string we can. For the Order. But there's more to this than you know." His eyes flicked nervously to the box containing the monkey's hand, and then back to Lex. "This mission… it's a test. And the cost is higher than you think."

Lex didn't respond immediately, sensing the weight of his words. She had grown accustomed to danger, to stepping into the shadows, but something about this felt different. More... alive. Dangerous in ways she couldn't fully grasp.

"What's the deal with Mr. H?" she asked, her voice steady, though a chill ran through her as she spoke his name.

Monty's eyes darkened. He leaned forward again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mr. H's sequence... it's unlike anything I've encountered. I don't know how far along he is, but I'm sure it's beyond anything we could imagine. That's why we're working under his shadow. Be careful around him. He's more than just a man—he's a force."

Lex felt a shiver trace her spine. This Mr. H sounded less like an ally and more like a dangerous riddle, one whose secrets would drive a person mad if they delved too deeply.

"When do we leave for Midseashire?" she asked, trying to push the unease to the back of her mind. "Is there anything I should bring?"

Monty stood abruptly, moving toward a small table in the corner of the room, his movements stiff as if he were fighting against something. When he returned, he placed a heavy metal box on the table in front of her. The room seemed to contract as he opened it.

Inside was a revolver, crafted with unnerving precision. The bronze gleamed under the flickering light, a stark contrast to the worn birch handle. It was a weapon that demanded respect. Below it were several boxes of ammunition, each one fitting perfectly in the heavy grip of the weapon.

Monty's voice was low, almost reverent. "This is your gift—myself and Nigel's gift. You'll need it."

Lex hesitated, fingers hovering over the revolver. The weight of it was immediate, a presence that didn't belong to her. She had carried weapons before, but this felt different—more than just a tool. This was a message.

"You're going to need to get comfortable with it. I suggest you take the next week to practice. There's a range in the staircase," Monty said, his tone flat, almost mechanical. "But only Nigel can guide you there."

Lex glanced up at him, her confusion momentarily overtaking the unease. "Why only Nigel?"

Monty's eyes flashed, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Because Nigel's a listener."

The word landed with weight. Lex had only heard it in passing, whispered in the lobby by Nigel when she asked. She knew Nigel was a listener, but she had never really understood what that meant, not in any practical sense. There had been no mention of others, no hint of what it truly entailed. Nigel had always seemed... different, yes. But the rest of the world around him? She had never dared to ask.

Monty, seemingly sensing her thoughts, added quickly, "Only listeners can navigate the staircase. It's part of the Order's... structure. You'll see when you go down there. Trust me, it's better if you leave it to him."

Lex's stomach twisted with an odd mixture of intrigue and dread. What was it about the staircase? What was so special about Nigel's role that only he could lead her into its depths?

Monty gave her a final, piercing look before turning and heading toward the door. "Be prepared, Lex," he said, his voice hollow. "You're not just walking into a gathering. You're stepping into a game much darker than you think. And when it starts... there's no turning back."

With that, he left, the door clicking softly behind him, leaving Lex in the dim glow of the red gem, the revolver still gleaming in front of her. The air felt heavier now. The mission loomed ahead, but it was more than just the logistics of travel, or even Mr. H. Something deeper, darker, was pressing in on her—waiting to unfold, layer by layer.

She wasn't sure what awaited her in Midseashire, or what exactly made Nigel able to navigate those stairs, but she knew one thing for sure: she was about to be swept into something that would leave no part of her untouched.