"Wait! You’re not supposed to be down here!" the first doctor stammered, trembling the clipboard in his hands. "Security! Brothers!"

"They’re busy," Kurt said. "And don’t bother pleading to your Goddess. She isn’t taking calls tonight."

Suddenly, he moved with a burst of speed that bypassed the doctors’ ability to scream any further. He gripped the first doctor by the throat, sinking his fingers into the soft flesh, and slammed him onto the very stainless-steel table where the children had been bled. The man’s spectacles flew across the room, shattering against the tile wall.

"Please! Mercy! We were only following Tobias’ orders!" the second doctor cried, dropping to his knees and raising his hands. "We’re men of science! We can be useful to you! We specialise in Hematology! The study of blood! Longer life, a boost in strength, you name it and it’s yours!"

Kurt ignored his pleas. He looked at the rack of tools the first doctor had reached for. The serrated knives and the extraction needles. He picked up a long, hollow silver tube used for spinal taps.

"Science," Kurt whispered, looking down at the man pinned to the table. "I’ve always admired the... intricacies of it."

"W-Wait wait wait wait! HA–HAAAAAH–"

What followed was a systematic reclamation. Kurt used the doctors’ own equipment with terrifying irony. When the first man tried to beg, Kurt used a heavy-duty surgical stapler to silence him, the metallic thud-click echoed throughout the tile walls and into the stone chamber. He worked with a grim focus, ensuring every ounce of terror they had inflicted on the children was returned in kind. He didn’t let them go quickly. He made sure they knew exactly what it felt like to be a "blood bag" before their eyes finally glazed over.

......

When the theater went silent, Kurt reached around the dead doctor’s neck and pulled off a set of iron keys.

’Must be the keys to those cells.’

He turned toward the cells where the children huddled at the back of the iron cages, their skeletal frames blending into the shadows. As he approached, the rattling of the keys caused them to collectively flinch.

"No... please," a young girl whispered dryly. "Not me today. Please, I’ll be good."

Kurt stopped. His heart felt like it was being squeezed by a cold hand. He knelt, fumbling with the locks. "I’m not one of the doctors," he said, trying to soften his gravelly voice. "I’m here to take you out of here."

The cell door swung open, but the children didn’t move. They crawled further back, huddling into a singular mass of shivering limbs and sunken eyes. To them, any change was a precursor to pain.

"I’m a friend," Kurt urged. He crouched down and reached out a hand, but they only shook harder. He realized he still looked like a monster. Bloody, scarred, and wearing the robes of their tormentors. "Do any of you... do you know a girl named Hope? Blonde ponytail? Blue eyes? .....Well, I guess that description really doesn’t say much given that you all practically have blonde hair and blue eyes, haha..."

A boy in the center of the group hitched his breath. He looked up, his gaze flickering with the ghost of a memory. "Hope? She... she was taken back to the playroom. She didn’t come back."

"She’s upstairs right now." Kurt said, and for the first time, he let a genuine, tired smile reach his eye. "She’s the one who showed me the way. She’s waiting for you."

The boy crawled forward an inch, his eyes searching Kurt’s face. "R-Really? You’re not... you’re not lying?"

Kurt reached up and pulled off the blood-stained cultist hood and cloak. He showed them his gentle smile and the weary humanity beneath. "I’m telling the truth. My name is Kurt. And I’m taking you home."

The silence broke. It didn’t break with a cheer, but with a quiet sob. The boy slowly crawled forward and wrapped his thin arms around Kurt’s neck, followed by the others. They clung to him like drowning survivors to a raft, their tears hot and stinging against his clothes.

"W-We want to go home... *Sob* Please, take us home... U-Uaaaa!"

"I will," he promised, pulling them all closer. "I swear it on my life."

Once they calmed down, Kurt pulled back gently, his eye catching the glint of metal around the girl’s neck. A heavy, black iron collar was fused around her throat, etched with glowing runes.

"What are these for?" he asked, pointing his finger at the cold metal.

"The bishop," the girl whispered, her hand instinctively flying to the collar. "If we misbehave, he makes them hot. They shock us. And... and if we don’t listen to the doctors, he presses the red button and the collars go bang. He did it to Toby. Toby’s head went away..."

’... What? But they’re just innocent kids. How could he... No. I know why. It’s because he’s evil.’ Kurt’s jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might shatter.

"Mr. Kurt?" the boy asked, sensing the sudden, violent shift in the man’s aura. "Are you mad at us?"

"No. Never at you. I’m just... thinking." He snapped out of his dark thoughts.

He then looked at their spindly legs, the way their knees knocked together from malnutrition. "Just checking but, can you guys walk?"

They tried to stand, but their legs buckled under the meager weight of their bodies.

"It’s okay," Kurt said, steadying them. "Listen to me. I know you don’t want to but I need you guys to stay here in the cells for just a few more minutes. I’m going to go find the bishop’s remote. Once I have it, I can take these off. And don’t worry, those doctors won’t be coming for you anymore."

"""Ok, Mr. Kurt."""

"Haha. Just ’Kurt’ is fine."

He moved through the basement, unlocking every door, whispering the same promise of "Hope" and "Home" to the broken children within. Once they were all secure and instructed to stay low, he pulled a new cultist disguise back on and ascended the spiral stairs.

Kurt emerged from behind the grandfather clock in the study. The estate was eerily quiet, the sound of the storm outside providing a constant, low-frequency roar. He stepped out into the hallway, his boots making no sound on the plush carpet.

As he turned a corner near the kitchens, he nearly collided with a servant carrying a silver tray. The tray held a decanter of deep red wine, a plate of roasted pheasant, and a bowl of exotic fruits.

He pulled his hood low, casting his face into total shadow. "Where are you going with that?"

The servant jumped, the silver dome on the tray rattling. "Oh! S-Sir... I-I was taking dinner to Bishop Tobias. He requested it be served in the master chambers tonight."

"Hmph, I see. Carry on then." Kurt grunted as he stepped aside.

The servant hurried past, his shoulders hunched in fear. But as he walked down the long, gilded hallway, he realized the cultist was walking right beside him, his stride synchronized with his own. The servant slowed down, his heart racing.

"Is... is there a problem, sir?"

"Ignore me," Kurt said, fixing his gaze straight ahead. "Keep moving. I’m on perimeter duty."

The servant, too terrified to argue, continued toward a pair of massive, inlaid doors at the end of the hall. As they drew closer, a sound began to filter through the wood. It wasn’t the sound of prayer or administrative work. It was the rhythmic, sickening sound of grunting and the frantic thrusting of a struggle.

Kurt stopped next to the servant, turning his gaze toward the door. The sound was unmistakable. Tobias was "indulging" himself before his meal.

The servant cleared his throat, his face flushing with embarrassment. "My Lord Bishop?" he called out, his voice trembling. "Your dinner is prepared."

The sounds from within didn’t stop immediately. For another agonizing minute, the grunting continued, followed by a sharp, wet slap and a feminine cry of pain. Then, the sound of scurrying footsteps approached the door.

The ivory door flew open. A young female servant, her hair disheveled and her eyes red with tears, bolted out of the room. Not looking at Kurt or the other servant, she ran down the hall barefoot on the cold stone with a sob escaping her throat.

"Come in." Tobias’ tired voice called from within. "And bring the wine. That girl was as useless as a stone; I need something to take the edge off."

The servant with the tray started to move forward, but Kurt’s hand shot out, catching him by the shoulder. He didn’t say a word. He simply pushed the servant aside. He then reached down, took the silver tray from the servant’s hands, and stepped into the room.

The master chamber was an explosion of black and gold silk. Incense burners filled the air with a thick, cloying smoke that smelled of lilies and decay. Tobias stood near a massive canopy bed, his back to the door as he slid on a silk dressing gown embroidered with the image of a bleeding heart.

"Leave the tray near the bed," Tobias commanded, adjusting his collar, not bothering to look back. "And tell the cook the pheasant better be tender this time. I won’t tolerate mediocrity on a night of such holy significance. My heart still weighs heavily from the sins of my mistakes, but I’m sure this is all part of the Goddess’s plan."

Kurt walked forward, balancing the silver tray in his hands. His footsteps were steady, thudding along as Tobias expected.

Until they stopped.

Directly behind him.

Tobias paused, sensing the change in proximity. A frown touched his lips as he began to turn. "I said the bed, you simpleton. Are you deaf as well as—"

SHATTER!

Kurt smashed the wine bottle across Tobias’ head, shattering the glass with a deafening spray of red wine and crystalline shards. The force of the blow sent the man sprawling across his own bed. Red wine, looking indistinguishable from blood, soaked into his white hair and black gown.

Tobias groaned, clutching his head, his vision swimming. He tried to scramble backward, but his hands slipped on the silk sheets.

Kurt reached up and pulled back his hood, his face illuminated by the flickering candlelight of the chamber. He looked down at Tobias with a cold, terrifying clarity.

"Hello, Tobias." Kurt smiled blankly. "Dinner is served. I hope you savor it."

"Y-You! Rosanna!"

"Because this is your last supper."