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Chapter 77: The Butchers in White
Chapter 77: The Butchers in White
The guild hall was still buzzing with talk of the twins’ first mission when Seraphis approached the request board. Her sharp white eyes skimmed the parchment tacked to the wall, searching for something worthy of her daughters’ growing skills.
Then, she found it.
"Elowen, Sylvaine," she called, plucking the request off the board. "We have another job."
The twins turned to her, their masked faces unreadable.
"What’s the target?" Elowen asked.
Seraphis smirked. "Three doctors."
Sylvaine tilted her head. "Doctors?"
"Not the kind that save lives." Seraphis’ voice turned cold as she handed them the request. "These ones take them. Word is they’ve been running a clinic in the nearby village, but the bodies that leave their care never wake up. Villagers go in for simple treatments and vanish. Those who investigate disappear next."
Sylvaine clenched her fists. "So they’re butchers."
Seraphis nodded. "And it’s time we put them out of business."
A Village Wrapped in Fear
Night had fallen when they reached the outskirts of the village. The streets were eerily quiet, the houses dark, windows shuttered. It was as if the entire town was holding its breath.
At the village center stood a large stone building—the clinic. A dim lantern flickered near the entrance, casting twisted shadows against the walls.
"They work late," Elowen murmured.
Seraphis nodded. "Predators hunt best at night."
From their vantage point on a rooftop, they observed the entrance.
A frail man approached, coughing into his hand. He knocked hesitantly.
The door creaked open, revealing a man in a pristine white coat. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken yet sharp. A smile stretched across his face—too wide, too forced.
"Come in, come in," the doctor said, his voice oozing with false warmth. "We’ll have you feeling better in no time."
The sick man hesitated. Something in his instincts screamed at him to run. But he had no choice—this was the only clinic.
He stepped inside.
The door shut behind him.
Elowen whispered, "He’s not coming out, is he?"
Seraphis’ voice was like steel. "No. But we are going in."
Silent Entry
They moved like shadows. Scaling the clinic’s walls, they reached the second-floor window. A single push—and the old latch snapped silently.
Seraphis went in first, her daughters following.
The air inside was thick with the scent of antiseptic—and something foul beneath it.
Blood.
They crept through the dimly lit hallway. The walls were lined with shelves filled with labeled jars. Elowen peeked inside one—her stomach twisted.
Preserved human organs.
Sylvaine pressed forward. "This place is a slaughterhouse."
At the end of the hall, a door stood slightly ajar. Inside, voices murmured.
"Did you see the last one? His lungs collapsed before we even started dissecting."
"Pity. I wanted to test the serum first."
The doctors were laughing.
Elowen gripped her blades. "Let’s make them the next experiment."
Seraphis raised a hand. "Quietly. No alarms. We kill them before they can react."
The twins nodded.
The First Kill
Seraphis moved first. She ghosted into the room, her blade flashing. The nearest doctor barely had time to register movement before her knife slit his throat.
Blood sprayed the papers on his desk. He gurgled, clawing at his neck before slumping forward.
The other two snapped their heads up.
"Intruders?!"
Sylvaine was already moving. She lunged at the second doctor, her twin blades slicing through his stomach.
He gasped, hands clutching his guts as they spilled onto the floor.
Elowen took the last one. The leader.
He reached for a scalpel—but she was faster. Her sword pierced his hand, pinning it to the table. He screamed, but she silenced him with a blade to the chest.
His breath hitched—then stopped.
The room was silent.
The Final Patient
A faint groan broke the stillness.
The sick man—the patient they had seen earlier—lay strapped to a table, pale and unconscious.
Elowen checked him. "Still alive. But barely."
Seraphis frowned. "We take him to the guild. They’ll handle it from here."
Sylvaine untied the man as Seraphis lit a match.
"What are you doing?" Elowen asked.
Seraphis tossed it onto the blood-soaked desk. "Burning the disease at its source."
Flames roared to life, hungrily devouring the clinic. By the time they slipped out the window, the fire had taken hold.
The village would wake to find the Butchers’ den reduced to ash.
Back at the Guild
When they returned to the Assassin’s Guild, the receptionist barely blinked at the blood on their clothes.
"Job’s done?"
Seraphis tossed three severed fingers onto the counter—each wearing a doctor’s ring.
The receptionist sighed. "You lot really love your trophies, huh?"
She stamped the mission papers.
"Well done. Another success."
Then she turned to Elowen and Sylvaine, a smile creeping onto her face. "You two really are your mother’s daughters."