Kormann Manor had been on alert since the incident in the city.
Double guards at the entrances.
Protective circles active in the main corridors.
No visitors without prior announcement.
Henrik was crossing the west corridor when he saw someone standing near the tall windows.
Isaac.
In profile.
Watching the dark garden outside.
"You came without notice?" Henrik asked, surprised.
The figure turned slowly.
The gaze was the same. Calm. Analytical. Slightly distant.
"I don't usually give notice when it's important," he replied.
The voice was correct.
The tone as well.
Henrik frowned slightly.
"Important how?"
Isaac walked a few steps forward, hands behind his back, posture relaxed.
"The city is becoming nervous. Nervousness creates mistakes. Mistakes create problems. I prefer to resolve things before they grow."
It was exactly the kind of sentence he would say.
Henrik relaxed a little.
Ulrich did not.
Ulrich remained a few steps behind, attentive.
He was not only the manor's head guard — he was a Mage of Wrath, a veteran of ancient wars, known for reacting first and asking questions later. Tall, hair already marked with gray, hard gaze. He had protected the Kormann family for more than a decade.
And at that moment, something did not fit.
"Lord Isaac," Ulrich said firmly. "You did not pass through the gate."
The figure tilted its head, as if the question were irrelevant.
"Gates are for formal visits."
The answer was good.
Too good.
Ulrich stepped forward.
That was when it happened.
No warning.
No gradual shift.
The "Isaac" lunged in a sudden movement, far too fast to be human.
His hands seized Henrik's face with violent force.
Not like someone pushing.
Like someone fixing something in place.
Henrik did not even have time to scream before he felt the skin of his own face being pulled.
Not torn.
Pulled.
As if something were trying to peel off every inch at once.
The pain came after.
Sharp.
Disorienting.
He raised his hands to his face and felt the skin slipping beneath his fingers, separating from his cheekbones, from his temples.
"Aa—!"
The scream came out incomplete.
Ulrich reacted.
Wrath ignited instantly beneath his skin. Red lines appeared along his arms like incandescent fractures.
He crossed the distance in a heavy step, the floor cracking under his boot.
The first strike went straight into the creature's torso.
The impact made the false Isaac release Henrik for a second.
Enough.
Ulrich grabbed Henrik by the collar and hurled him backward, away from the creature.
Henrik fell to his side, clutching his face. Part of the skin was displaced, held only at the edges. Blood ran warm between his fingers.
He was breathing in panic.
Ulrich positioned himself between him and the thing.
"You are not him."
The "Isaac" looked at him.
And smiled.
"I learned quickly," it replied, in the same controlled tone as always.
Then it attacked.
The fight was not elegant.
It was brutal.
The creature moved like someone imitating motions learned only minutes ago — fast, but imperfect. Each strike was almost correct, but slightly out of time.
Ulrich blocked an attack that should have reached his throat. He felt the force — it was not human.
He countered with the short blade at his waist. The rune engraved in the metal flared bright red as he channeled Wrath.
The cut went through the creature's shoulder.
Isaac's skin tore.
But there were no bones.
Beneath it, something was reorganizing.
The creature stepped back half a pace, looking at its own arm as if assessing damage.
"Interesting," it murmured.
It tried to replicate the glow in its own hand.
It failed.
Ulrich advanced before it could learn.
He burst forward, releasing the accumulated energy in a downward strike. The blade hit the base of the neck.
This time, there was a reaction.
The skin began to slip.
Isaac's face distorted.
The features lost symmetry.
The jaw shifted beyond human limits.
Ulrich gave it no space.
He grabbed the creature by the torn collar and drove the blade in again, releasing all remaining energy.
The impact was internal.
The entire structure collapsed like something poorly sustained.
The "skin" fell to the floor first.
Isaac's face lay there, empty and expressionless.
What remained underneath was not flesh.
It was unstable mass, trying to hold shape for brief moments that did not last.
Then it dissolved.
Silence.
Henrik trembled on the floor, the right side of his face partially detached, the skin still clinging in painful points. His eyes were far too wide.
Ulrich breathed heavily, runes slowly fading beneath his skin.
He looked at what remained of the creature.
Then at the false face on the floor.
There was no doubt.
That had never been Isaac.
But someone — many, perhaps — would only see the beginning of the scene.
And not the end.
The body of the first man killed by the Mimic was taken back home before the news spread completely.
Two guards.
A simple cart.
No announcement.
The house stood in the poorest southern part of the city. Dark wood, worn door, a small window with cracked glass.
The wife opened the door before they knocked.
She did not ask anything.
She only looked.
When she saw the covered shape on the cart, she brought her hand to her mouth. There was no immediate scream. Only a sound caught in her throat.
Isaac stood across the street.
Not too close.
But close enough.
He had no reason to be there.
And yet he was.
The daughter appeared shortly after. Too young to understand what had happened in the city. Too young to understand anything beyond absence.
"Father?"
Her voice was normal. Confused.
The mother fell to her knees beside the body as the guards placed it on the floor of the room.
The girl stepped closer.
Tried to pull back the cloth.
One of the guards hesitated, but did not stop her.
When the fabric was moved aside, the face looked… wrong. Not mutilated. Not grotesque.
Empty.
As if something had been taken from within.
The girl stood still for a second.
And then she began to cry.
It was not loud.
It was not a scene.
It was a small cry. Broken. Repetitive.
She called for her father as if he might answer if she insisted long enough.
Isaac did not look away.
He had already considered the consequences.
He had already accepted the risk.
But thinking was not the same as hearing that.
There was no system there.
No strategy.
No plan.
Only a child understanding that her father would not rise.
He remained until the crying weakened into sobs.
Then he turned and left.
The streets were tense.
Patrols passed more frequently. Conversations died when someone in armor approached. The rumor was already spreading: the creature had used his face.
That was enough.
Isaac was walking along the central avenue when he heard his name.
He stopped.
The guards were already positioned. They did not rush in. They were already there.
The captain stepped forward and unrolled a parchment.
"Isaac Ardent Valerian."
Several people nearby looked more closely upon hearing the full name.
"You are under arrest for representing a threat to the security of the State."
The voice was firm. Without provocation.
"Order signed by Albrecht, Markus, and Elias."
Three names.
None of them acted on impulse.
One of the guards stepped forward, expecting resistance.
There was none.
Isaac extended his wrists.
The shackles closed with a dry click.
Some watched from the windows. Others pretended not to see.
As he was led away, he glanced briefly at the captain.
There was no smile.
No outrage.
"I will resolve this," he said quietly. "As always."
It was not a challenge.
It was habit.
The guard at his side tightened his grip more than necessary.
Isaac did not react.
The carriage door was opened. He entered without difficulty.
The doors shut with a hollow thud that carried down the street.
Some windows closed.
Others remained slightly open.
The carriage began to move.
Isaac sat in the back, hands restrained, gaze fixed ahead.
The city passed by outside the small window.
He did not look back.