Surgery!

After a brief exchange with Soros, Luther bid him goodbye and, flanked by the two men, began his trek along a rugged stone path. The path was uneven, lined with gnarled roots and stray rocks, leading him toward an isolated wooden building on the west side of the manor. In the distance, Soros moved with purpose toward the main house, his footsteps echoing against the cobblestone pathway as he disappeared into the manor's grand entrance.

Inside the lavish manor, Elizabeth sat at a round table, the soft light glinting off the polished silver of her revolver, which she caressed absentmindedly. Her gaze was cold, calculating, and her expression hinted at both impatience and anticipation.

Soros entered, bowing slightly, his voice steady but deferential. "Miss, the doctor has arrived."

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes narrowing as she considered the weight of his words. "Good. Go make the preparations," she instructed, her tone even, almost detached. "And make sure the men downstairs stay vigilant. I want every movement monitored."

She paused, the grip on her revolver tightening slightly. "We were fortunate to capture one of these... creatures from the blood plague town. But during the procedure, I need you all on high alert. If anything; anything; goes wrong, kill it on the spot." She gave Soros a hard look. "I may prefer them alive, but I want control. Only those I command belong to me. Understood?"

Soros straightened and nodded. "Yes, Miss," he replied firmly, before retreating to mobilize the staff.

Meanwhile, in the dimly lit room on the west side, Luther stood by the operating table, his eyes scanning the array of strange instruments laid out before him. Each tool seemed more bizarre than the last; sharp metal devices with jagged edges, clamps with foreign mechanisms, and a hefty hammer accompanied by thick, rusted nails. He recognized a few from his readings in obscure medical texts, but many were entirely unfamiliar.

One instrument caught his eye; a small hammer with matching nails. His memory stirred, recalling an old medical text that mentioned similar tools, used for trepanning, or drilling holes in the skull. The very thought made his stomach turn. Was it truly possible to drive nails into a person's skull and expect them to survive?

His grim contemplation was interrupted by the hurried entrance of a servant. "Dr. Luther, the injured individual is on his way. Please prepare yourself," the man said breathlessly before darting back out.

Luther nodded, his gaze shifting to the familiar scalpel resting in his hand. Unlike the grotesque instruments on the table, this blade was a tool he understood; a tool he trusted. He took a steadying breath, the cold metal grounding him as he mentally prepared for whatever twisted task awaited him.

Moments later, the door opened once more, and four burly men entered, carrying an unconscious figure. The man's belly was grotesquely distended, his abdomen stretched taut as if he were nine months pregnant. They lowered him onto the table, and Luther leaned in, his scalpel at the ready but his mind racing with questions.

He glanced at the swollen belly, muttering to himself, "What in the world did you do to yourself?" He squinted, examining the patient's body more closely. "Bloating? Internal bleeding? Fluid buildup?"

But then something caught his attention; the man's tongue, visible as his mouth lolled open. It was... wrong. Horribly wrong. Where a normal human tongue should be, there was something else entirely. Instead of soft, fleshy tissue, he saw thick, writhing appendages; tentacle-like growths that were far thicker than anything human. They reminded him of the parasitic mutations he had seen in another patient, Carol, but this was somehow more grotesque, more evolved. Each tentacle was thick, almost the width of two fingers, writhing independently as though it had a mind of its own.

A chill ran down his spine. Could there be another parasite inside this man, like the Eagles larva he had once removed? His suspicions deepened as he considered the swollen abdomen. Whatever lurked inside this man, it wasn't natural.

Just then, Soros entered the room, his expression cold and detached. "Dr. Luther," he said in a clipped tone, "your task is simple. Extract whatever is inside him."

Luther's grip on the scalpel tightened, his eyes narrowing behind his mask. "And why can't you do it yourself?"

Soros scoffed, a hint of impatience flashing in his eyes. "Because, Doctor, I need someone with your... particular expertise." He gave Luther a pointed look, as if daring him to refuse.

But Luther had other ideas. He put on a convincing show, his body trembling as he dropped the scalpel, letting it clatter dramatically against the floor. With a shaky breath, he bent down, feigning fear and timidity, his entire demeanor that of a frightened, unremarkable man. "I... I'm not sure I'm up to this," he stammered, his voice wavering. "This… this is beyond me!"

Soros sneered, a look of utter contempt crossing his face. "Relax, Doctor," he replied coldly, dismissing Luther's supposed cowardice. "He's already on the edge of death. You can take a moment to collect yourself. I'll call you back in when it's time."

Without waiting for a response, Soros reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small vial. He opened it and shook out a tiny red pill, which he promptly forced between the man's lips. As the pill slid down the man's throat, Luther watched with thinly veiled horror as the effect took hold almost immediately. The man's stomach contracted sharply, and a grotesque, writhing movement began beneath his skin, his abdominal cavity twisting and convulsing as if something alive was struggling to break free.

Luther's eyes narrowed, bloodshot with intensity beneath his mask as he watched. He recognized that red pill; the very one Carol had described to him, a catalyst for unnatural transformations. His heart pounded, not from fear but from a dark thrill of discovery. Here, in this grim, hidden corner of the manor, he was staring directly at the answers he had sought.

As he steadied himself, keeping his breathing calm, his mind whirled with realization. "Well," he thought with grim satisfaction, "it seems I've found what I was looking for. Or rather, it's been delivered right to me."

The creature inside the man shifted again, pushing against the flesh of his belly, desperate to escape. Luther knew he had to act quickly.

"This Pill…"

"We need to test it…" Luther murmured to himself, barely suppressing the surge of dread that rose within him. His emotions teetered between horror and morbid fascination, his pulse racing as he forced himself to move. Trembling, he stumbled over to a nearby chair, barely managing to lower himself onto it, perching with only half his weight as though the slightest movement might shatter his composure.

He sat hunched, head bowed, his left hand gripping his thigh tightly to steady his shaking. His breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps, each exhale betraying the intense struggle to keep his facade intact. After a few moments, he looked up, eyes wide with a carefully crafted fear, and managed to stammer, "M-Mr. Soros… that pill… the one you just gave him…"

Soros turned his gaze sharply toward Luther, his eyes narrowing with contempt. A smirk crept onto his face, cold and mocking. "There are things, Doctor, that are beyond your comprehension. Some knowledge can only hasten your demise." His voice was like ice, each word dripping with disdain.

"Yes, yes! Of course, I understand! I saw nothing, I heard nothing!" Luther's hands flew up to cover his head, his voice pitching higher with each word. He knew he had to play the part of the terrified, simple doctor if he wanted to deflect suspicion. Inside, his mind churned, analyzing Soros's words, trying to piece together the intentions behind this twisted experiment.

He backed up further, making a show of his terror, then let himself stumble dramatically, falling to the ground with a yelp. "A-ah! I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to… please, forgive me!" He glanced around at the others, eyes wide, feigning a raw, visceral fear.

Soros scoffed, dismissing him with a snort. "Hmph, typical; frightened out of your wits by a little show of power, aren't you, Doctor?" A ripple of laughter passed through the room, and Luther sensed their judgment, their mocking laughter that labeled him as one of the "simple-minded folk from the backwoods." They saw him as no threat, a coward unworthy of their regard.

Beneath his mask, Luther allowed a small, hidden smile to curl his lips. 'Perfect,' he thought. 'Let them think I'm harmless.'

Slowly, he clambered to his feet, brushing off his coat with exaggerated care, keeping his head bowed submissively. This time, instead of sitting, he stood a few paces away, shoulders hunched, adopting a posture of obedient submission as he waited.

Then a wet, grotesque sound echoed through the room; the unmistakable noise of flesh tearing and bones cracking. All eyes turned toward the man on the operating table. Something beneath his skin moved, bulging, twisting, as though trying to escape. Whatever was inside him was alive, feasting, devouring. Some of the onlookers shifted uncomfortably, glancing at each other with unease; a few even wore expressions of sorrow, for the man on the table had once been their companion, before his fate had turned him into this... sacrifice.

But they all understood the stakes. The sacrifice was deemed necessary. If Lady Elizabeth could attain transcendence, if she could rise above the mortal coil, then the price: even the life of a fellow servant, was one they were willing to pay.

Finally, the grisly chewing sounds ceased. Soros moved closer, leaning over the man's face to check his breathing, his expression cold and clinical. Satisfied, he turned to Luther with a brisk nod. "He's ready. Begin the procedure."

Luther gulped, putting on an act of hesitant obedience as he stepped forward. One of Soros's men handed him a scalpel, and he took it, his hands visibly trembling. As he approached the operating table, he noticed that the man's face had begun to shift, the skin rippling in unnatural waves. His facial features distorted, merging, twisting together in a horrific contortion. The eyes seemed to sink back, the nose stretched, and his mouth quivered as though something inside was trying to force its way out.

Luther froze, his entire body quaking. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, laced with fear and forced obedience. "L-Lord Soros… m-maybe we should… reconsider?" he stammered, barely managing to get the words out as his hands trembled so violently that the scalpel slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the floor.

Soros's expression darkened, and with sudden, intimidating force, he slammed his hand against the metal table beside Luther, making the instruments rattle. He leaned in close, his breath hot against Luther's ear as he whispered menacingly, "Next time you hesitate, Doctor, I'll make sure this hand lands on your head."

Luther swallowed hard, nodding fervently, his voice barely a whimper. "Y-yes, sir… of course, please… have mercy."

Soros straightened, watching him with disdain. "Now," he hissed, "get to work. I won't ask again."

With a deep, shaky breath, he placed the blade against the man's abdomen. Just as he prepared to make the first incision, the man's face twisted again, his mouth stretching unnaturally wide. A low, guttural noise escaped his throat, and then… silence. Whatever was inside him lay dormant; for now.

But Luther knew that it was only a matter of time. Whatever creature Soros had unleashed in this unfortunate soul was a ticking time bomb. And as he leaned in, his hand steadying the scalpel, he whispered to himself beneath his mask, hidden from prying eyes.

'Soon,' he thought. 'Soon I'll learn your secrets, Soros, and then, we'll see who's really in control.'