Chapter 13: Asylum Infiltration
The asylum crouched against the bayou darkness like a cancer given architectural form.
Gothic spires twisted toward storm clouds while Spanish moss draped the crumbling walls in funeral shrouds. Windows stared blind and empty, but the building pulsed with malevolent energy that made his newly awakened danger sense scream constant warnings.
"This place reeks of suffering," Voodoo observed, removing small cloth bundles from his coat pockets. "Decades of pain and madness have soaked into the very foundations."
"Cheerful," Henri muttered, checking his weapons for the third time in five minutes. "Remind me why we're not calling in an airstrike instead?"
"Because Sinister has hostages," the protagonist replied, watching pink energy flicker around his fingers as he counted his remaining playing cards. Forty-two left—would have to make them count. "Guild members from both sides. If we level the building, we kill everyone inside."
Marissa adjusted her tactical vest with the competent movements of someone who'd raided dangerous locations before, though probably nothing quite like this. "Standard approach—establish perimeter, identify escape routes, minimize civilian casualties."
"These aren't standard criminals," he warned. "The Marauders have enhanced abilities. Superhuman strength, disorientation powers, military-grade weapons."
"Then we adapt."
Voodoo finished his preparations, handing each of them a small charm made from carved bone and twisted wire. "Protection against psychic intrusion. Won't stop bullets, but astral attacks will bounce off."
"How reassuring," Henri said, slipping the charm into his jacket pocket. "Any other good news before we walk into the nightmare factory?"
"Shadow King grows stronger with each passing hour. If we don't act tonight, tomorrow may be too late."
They approached through the collapsed section of the asylum's east wing, where Hurricane Katrina had torn away part of the roof and left the interior exposed to years of Louisiana weather. Vines had grown through broken windows, creating natural camouflage for their infiltration.
His enhanced agility made the climb effortless—flowing up twisted metal and crumbling concrete like water flowing uphill. The others followed more carefully, Henri's Guild training serving him well while Marissa's police tactical experience kept her moving efficiently despite the treacherous footing.
"No guards," he observed quietly. "Either they're confident in the building's psychic defenses, or—"
"Or it's a trap," Voodoo finished. "Be ready for anything."
Inside, the asylum had been transformed into something from a fever dream of scientific horror.
The original patient rooms had been gutted and converted into laboratories filled with equipment that hummed with electrical current and otherworldly energy. Surgical tables occupied the center spaces, surrounded by monitoring devices and sample collection apparatus that belonged in a biotech facility, not an abandoned mental hospital.
But it was the occupants of those tables that made Marissa press her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry of revulsion.
Guild members—five that he could see immediately—lay strapped to the surgical surfaces with medical restraints that looked capable of holding superhuman strength. Tubes and wires connected them to machines that pulsed with the same pink-purple energy as his own powers, while overhead monitors displayed biological readouts that fluctuated with each heartbeat.
"Genetic sampling," Voodoo identified grimly. "He's extracting their biological essence, studying the hereditary traits that create Guild-level skills."
Henri moved closer to one of the tables, his face going pale as he recognized the occupant. "Marie Thibodaux. She's sixteen, just started training with the Assassins Guild last year."
"There," Marissa whispered, pointing toward another table. "Those two are from the Thieves Guild missing persons list."
The captives showed signs of long-term sedation—pale skin, muscle atrophy, the kind of listless unconsciousness that suggested they'd been kept under for weeks. But what truly disturbed him was the peaceful expression on their faces, as if they were experiencing pleasant dreams instead of being subjected to horrific experimentation.
"Shadow King's influence," he realized. "Keeping them compliant, happy even, while Sinister works."
"Magnificent, isn't it?"
The cheerful voice came from the laboratory's observation deck, where a figure in military fatigues stood watching their infiltration with obvious amusement. Scalphunter looked exactly like the comic book descriptions—weathered face, assault weapons, the casual confidence of someone who'd spent decades killing people for money.
"Subject 013, right on schedule. Sinister will be so pleased."
"Where is he?" the protagonist demanded, charging cards with energy that cast flickering shadows across the laboratory walls.
"Safe. Studying your development from a distance while we conduct field tests on your rescue capabilities."
"Rescue capabilities?"
"How far will you push your powers to save innocent lives? What new abilities emerge under maximum stress? How much Void energy can you channel before it starts channeling you?"
The words hit like ice water. This is all a test. The hostages, the location, even letting us find this place—it's all designed to study my powers.
"He's not alone!" Voodoo shouted, but the warning came too late.
Vertigo emerged from the shadows between laboratory equipment, her power striking like an invisible tsunami. The world spun violently as his inner ear reported conflicting information about gravity and direction. Henri and Marissa collapsed immediately, overwhelmed by disorientation that turned simple movement into impossible navigation.
"Fancy meeting you again," Vertigo said with the satisfied tone of someone settling an old score. "Time to see how those pretty powers work when you can't tell up from down."
The wall beside them exploded inward as Blockbuster made his entrance with characteristic subtlety. The massive Marauder moved like a freight train with anger management issues, clearing a path through laboratory equipment with his bare hands.
"Three against one," Scalphunter observed, raising his assault rifle. "Hardly sporting, but Sinister wants comprehensive data."
The fight erupted across the laboratory with desperate intensity.
He threw charged cards in rapid succession, creating explosions that forced the Marauders to scatter while avoiding damage to the captive Guild members. Pink energy flared as he manifested constructs faster than ever before—barriers deflecting Scalphunter's gunfire, rope bindings that wrapped around Vertigo's legs, platforms that let him stay mobile despite her disorientation field.
But it wasn't enough.
Blockbuster's charge shattered his energy barrier like glass, sending him tumbling across broken laboratory equipment. Vertigo's power intensified, making the room spin like a carnival ride operated by sadists. Scalphunter's weapons fire created a crosshatch of destruction that left him pinned behind inadequate cover.
"Impressive adaptation rate," Scalphunter called over the sound of automatic weapons fire. "But insufficient for current threat parameters."
I need more power. More control. More everything.
Instead of fighting the Void energy that surrounded his abilities, he deliberately opened himself to it. Let it flow through him like water through a broken dam, dark and strange and infinitely patient.
The change was immediate and terrifying.
His constructs solidified, becoming more real than energy projections. The barrier he created to block Blockbuster's next charge felt like steel rather than light, holding firm against superhuman strength. The weapon-staff that materialized in his hands carried actual weight, actual substance, lasting far longer than anything he'd managed before.
"Now that's more like it!" he shouted, using the staff to vault over Vertigo while she was still tangled in construct bindings. The weapon struck her temple with precisely enough force to drop her without permanent damage.
Blockbuster roared in frustration as the energy cage surrounding him proved unbreakable, at least by brute force. The massive Marauder threw himself against the glowing walls repeatedly, each impact sending shockwaves through the laboratory but failing to crack his prison.
Scalphunter switched tactics, targeting the hostages instead of him directly. "Surrender now, or we start executing captives—"
The threat ended when he charged every round in Scalphunter's ammunition belt simultaneously.
The chain explosion sent the Marauder flying across the laboratory, his weapons reduced to twisted metal and his tactical vest smoking from multiple small explosions. Not fatal—his enhanced physiology would survive—but definitely enough to take him out of the fight.
"Impressive adaptation, Subject 013."
The voice came from hidden speakers throughout the laboratory as Sinister's image appeared on monitoring screens. Even through electronic transmission, those red-on-black eyes radiated intelligent malevolence.
"The Void responds to your desperation beautifully. Each stress test reveals new capabilities, new levels of integration with dimensional energy."
"Where's the Heart of New Orleans?"
"Safe. Protected. Being prepared for its true purpose." Sinister's smile carried the satisfaction of someone whose long-term plans were proceeding perfectly. "You've served admirably as field test subject, but the real experiment begins soon."
The laboratory's lights began flashing red as automated systems activated throughout the building. "Thirty seconds until thermal charges detonate. I do hope you can evacuate everyone in time."
"Son of a bitch!"
He moved with enhanced speed and desperate efficiency, shattering the restraints holding each captive while his constructs manifested stretchers and emergency platforms. Henri and Marissa had recovered enough from Vertigo's attack to help carry the unconscious Guild members, while Voodoo provided mystical protection against any remaining psychic influences.
They escaped through the same breach they'd entered just as the asylum erupted in flames behind them.
The explosion lit up the bayou for miles, sending smoke and debris into the storm clouds gathering overhead. But the victory felt hollow despite the six lives they'd saved.
"Your eyes," Marissa observed as they caught their breath by the vehicles. "They're flickering with static. More than before."
He touched his face reflexively, feeling the energy that danced just beneath his skin. Each use of the Void-enhanced powers made the sensation stronger, as if something vast and patient was taking notice of his development.
"I'm fine."
"No," she said quietly. "You're not. But you're still here, still fighting for the right reasons. That's what matters."
The drive back to New Orleans passed in exhausted silence, everyone processing what they'd seen and survived. The rescued Guild members would need medical attention and psychological support, but they were alive. The Marauders were defeated but not captured. Sinister remained free with the Heart of New Orleans and whatever apocalyptic plans required a dimensional rift.
Two steps forward, one step back, he thought. But at least we're moving in the right direction.
Behind them, the asylum burned like a funeral pyre for secrets and suffering, while ahead, New Orleans waited beneath storm clouds that promised rain and revelation in equal measure.
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