The seconds raced against minutes and hours within the pocket watch of the gentleman inside the wooden carriage.
The neighing of black horses shattered the silence enveloping the muddy road through the dark forest. Their hooves churned the filthy mire, leaving iron-shod imprints as markers for the lost. He lowered his hand, gazing out the carriage window.
He called to the driver, "Have we arrived, Bezal?"
A blond, braided head appeared from the front carriage window. The man tipped his hat and replied, "Worry not, Dr. Izik. We near Lord Adelous' castle."
Dr. Morgan observed the castle emerging in the moonlight piercing the placid clouds. He retrieved his notebook from a leather satchel, murmuring, "I pray we arrive in time."
Opening the notebook revealed a tattered envelope marked with the initials (K.R). He touched it gingerly, inhaling its scent.
*'Violet roses...'* he whispered, tearing the envelope with his fingers. Inside lay a letter penned in crude, almost unpracticed handwriting.
He read silently:
> *Dearest Izik,*
> *I implore you to return to the castle at once. Uncle Adelous has gone mad. He never ceased the research you began together—he continued after you left. In the name of all that is good between us, come to my aid. He has committed unspeakable horrors. Please, end this nightmare we started with him. I beg you.*
> *Yours,*
> *Caroline.*
Finishing the letter, his thoughts dissolved like a burning candle. Memories flooded back... A time when he was a worthless boy... Izik Morgan, apprentice to the village apothecary—a profession far from honorable, as one might assume. He worked among the vilest of men, caring only for coin. He often sold remedies piecemeal or gave patients the wrong concoction to ensure their return.
Yet, he helped people freely, untouched by the corruption of that swine, Augustus Klan. He endured punishment and abuse for his defiance.
Until the day he was thrown into the street, mud-smeared and cursed: "Damn your pauper's face! You're good for nothing but wasting my fine ingredients on your filthy beggars!"
*He* appeared then—dressed in nobleman's attire, bearing the insignia of one of the realm's most prominent families: Lord Adelous Gierman.
His sharp chin matched the intensity of his blue eyes as he addressed Izik:
"Are you the apothecary's boy spoken of in the village?" Kneeling, he continued, "I hear you possess knowledge of herbalism, chemistry... and *ancient alchemy*?"
Izik met his gaze. "Of course I know of them. I surpass all in these arts."
Then came the honeyed words, like a devil baring fangs: "Do you wish to enter history through its widest gate? If so, come to this address." He handed Izik a small paper. A towering footman in fine livery opened the carriage door.
As Izik entered, the lord called, "I shall await you with bated breath, Mr. Morgan."
Chaotic memories surged—blood, human flesh, dismembered limbs, chemical reactions, surreal and terrifying images—until a violent impact jolted the carriage's right side, wrenching him from the abyss.
He drew ragged breaths, whispering, "*Forgiveness, O God. Only forgiveness.*" Agony etched his face.
"Bezal! What happened?"
"Unsure, Dr. Izik. Some beast struck us—strangely apelike. Odd, for no apes dwell here." Bezal's voice trembled near fainting.
"And what makes you think that?" Izik adjusted his black glove.
Bezal forced a smile. "Uncertain. But my eyes caught a shadowy form moving... almost like a man sprinting. Or perhaps the gloom deceived me."
A moment of silence. Izik gazed out the window, then muttered, "Could it be...?"
A bone-chilling roar sundered the night. Horses shrieked as the carriage veered toward a bridge.
There, *before* the bridge, it stood—shrouded in black, eyes burning ruby-red. Its stance was eerily simian. The voice echoed through the dark woods:
**"Welcome back... Dr. Morgan!"**
"What in hell's name is that?!" Bezal yanked the reins.
Dr. Morgan was already prepared. He loaded his long-barreled revolver—engraved with runes reading *Divine Punishment*—and pressed it to his forehead, clutching his blue gemstone pendant. Softly, he hissed: "I've missed you, Zuko."
Bezal trembled. "Who in blazes is Zuko?!"
Dr. Morgan climbed onto the carriage rear, kneeling. The beast charged like a predator. He raised his weapon, voice clear:
**"May your soul run in God's earth, and your heart find peace."**
He pulled the trigger—
***BAAAAAAAAAANG!***
The bullet flashed like an arrow through the void, striking the charging abomination's skull. It crumpled, rolling toward the steadily advancing carriage.
"Fine shot, Dr. Morgan!" cried Bezal.
Izik cut short his relief. "It's not over."
A shapeless figure stirred within the trees. Bezal stared at the corpse ahead, screaming: "How?! It's still down—!"
Dozens of phantoms now moved from every shadow and corner. Bezal and Izik faced this hellish spectacle—caged amidst a troop of fiends.
"Wha—what are these, Dr. Morgan?" Bezal stammered, terrified.
Izik descended beside him. "They are wretches... victims of a sick man's cruelty."
Bezal gasped, "Meaning?"
"No time!" Izik pointed to the wooden bridge. "Drive at full speed! Escape comes first!"
His eyes locked onto Zuko—the creature whose skull his bullet had pierced—now standing, *watching* them with blood-crimson eyes that fed on fear.
Bezal drew a small pistol, aiming at the beast. "Haven't you died, you bastard?!" Their combined gunfire riddled the monstrosity like a sieve. Drenched in blood, it knelt and shrieked:
**"Run, Dr. Morgan! My master awaits you!"**
Dread seized Bezal. "Damn this demon! All that lead... and it lives?!"
"FASTER, BEZAL!" Izik roared. "We must crush it—maim it enough to halt pursuit!" He gestured to the woods. "And we must flee *them*."
Bezal glimpsed countless pairs of red eyes—dancing madly behind the gray curtain of mist at the forest's edge.
He whipped the horses. Neighs pierced the air as the carriage accelerated. The abomination stood directly before the steeds. An instant before impact, Izik whispered:
**"It's not over... It has only just begun."**
Iron-shod hooves trampled the ape-thing's face. Wooden wheels finished the grisly work, grinding it to mincemeat—leaving only remnants: shreds of hands, fragments of a face, and eyes *still watching* the carriage speed toward the bridge.
"Dr. Morgan!" Bezal pointed behind them.
Izik turned to see a horde of semi-human, semi-simian horrors—Zuko's brethren.
"Push the horses, Bezal!" Izik shouted, climbing inside. "I'll handle this!"
As the carriage neared the bridge gate, Bezal glimpsed the monstrous pack closing in, roaring like rabid lions. Izik emerged holding an oak box fitted with a clock.
"What's your plan?!" Bezal yelled.
Izik adjusted his hat. "To free them from torment... and deliver us both."
He hurled the box as they crossed the bridge. Dr. Morgan stood observing, his eyes lifting to the flawless moon:
**"From clay you were made... to clay you return. None escape destiny... None!"**
*Tick... tock... tick... tock... tick... tock...*
**"May God forgive your sins,"** he uttered, emerald eyes gleaming. Then—
***KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!***
A lotus of fire bloomed, engulfing the savage apemen, opening their path to hell's depths. Their anguished madness faded... faded... into silence.
Izik sat beside Bezal. "May you run in peace."
Bezal patted his back. "Well done, Dr. Morgan. Brilliant work!"
Izik smiled faintly. "Thank you, Bezal." His expression hardened. "Now, to White Castle. As *Mr. Zuko* said, Lord Gierman awaits me... and I don't intend to keep him waiting long."
"Understood, Dr. Morgan," Bezal replied, driving the carriage toward the white spires ahead.