Shade: Unbound

“Here you go, ma’am,” the cashier said. “Have a nice day.”

“Thank you. You too,” the woman replied as she put the receipt in her shopping bag. She hoisted her groceries and walked off to her car, her steps trudging and weary as she made her way across the parking lot.

She heaved a deep sigh when she finally settled in the driver’s seat, taking a long look at her rearview mirror and seeing the stress lines on the face of her reflection. Her applied lipstick was slightly smudged, a testament to the frantic morning she had spent juggling supply runs she only trusted herself with and appointments with doctors who wouldn’t ask the wrong kinds of questions. She brushed a stray lock of brown hair, streaked with gray despite her relative youth, behind her ear, trying to collect herself. Genevieve Remy was a name few would associate with power or fear, but it was her reality, the mask she wore during the daylight hours.

Her hands rested on the steering wheel, but she didn't turn the ignition just yet. The time for her next visit was already nearing, and she knew there wouldn’t be many more before they either found a solution or…

No. They would succeed, no matter what. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched the wheel until her knuckles whitened. A few breaths later, the tension eased, and she began her drive. Traffic was light during this time of day, but that was to be expected, since her schedule was far from regular.

Genevieve navigated the streets of Apexia with practiced precision, her mind running through the list of tasks she needed to accomplish before the day ended. She still had to place a call to some of her people to consolidate resources now that they were pushing the experimental product harder than ever before.

She was essentially fighting a war on two fronts. Maybe even three. Ridiculous as it sounded, one of her more promising samples—not the most promising, those were kept far more securely—had been raided from a warehouse she had assigned a squad to. By a pair of upstarts. Aside from a brief stint with Homeland, they had been quiet since then, as they should. But Genevieve would not forget.

Viperia would not forget.

From Havoc’s report, she knew the little slut had been gravely injured, and could potentially have died. She doubted that latter part, but if it were true, that would be convenient for her. One less headache to worry about. One less problem to throw people at until it went away.

Truth be told, she was growing frustrated with the lack of results from their latest round of experimentation. Never mind that it was causing the DHD and Homeland both to up the pressure on her gang, the reason she was taking on more heat wasn’t even bearing fruit.

More failure and disappointment. It was sickening to admit those were becoming constants for her by now, but such was her life. She wanted to take more decisive action, but the last thing she needed was a dead hero being promoted to martyrdom and the inevitable backup she would have to deal with afterwards.

Unfortunately, the DHD was getting bolder with their grade schoolers, letting them patrol so close to her territory. Again, she was aware of the problem, and couldn’t solve it permanently without inviting even bigger problems.

Although, it wasn’t like she was entirely heartless. She didn’t want to kill kids. In a different life, she would never even entertain the notion. But here and now, the thought crossed her mind every so often. While she would leave them be for the time being, if they became too troublesome, she would strike them down with force. She couldn’t afford to be soft. She knew that to do so would be taking away someone else’s baby, but she would not hesitate.

Not when she was so close to losing her own.

The streets were growing quieter as she turned the corner away from the empty lot she just drove past. After a couple more turns, she pressed a button on her dashboard and a garage door opened up to her left. She drove in, parked her car in the middle of the massive empty space, grabbed her bags and got out.

She didn’t run, but neither did she waste time. Her steps across the pavement were brisk, the echo of her low heels resonating against the concrete, reminding her that every second counted. The weight of the world pressed down on her, but Genevieve Remy knew better than to show it. She had learned long ago that vulnerability was a luxury she could not allow. In her line of work, displaying weakness was akin to drawing a target on one’s back.

There’d been a time where she wasn’t involved in this life, but that was long past. She didn’t have a choice now, not when her only reason for living was in peril. She knew better than to live in fantasy.

Her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket, and she pulled it out, already knowing who was calling. The name on the screen read “Grimoire.”

With a tap, she answered, bringing the phone to her ear. “Talk.”

“Ah, Viperia, always so curt. You wound me.” Grimoire’s voice oozed with a practiced elegance, every syllable drawn out as though he savored the sound of his own voice. The cadence was part aristocrat, part arcane scholar—a man whose ego was large enough that he had turned his delusions of being a researcher of mystical arts into reality. “You know, a little 'hello' wouldn’t kill you. Well, most likely not.”

Genevieve clenched her jaw, her patience with Grimoire already thinning as she quickened her pace across the pavement. “I don't have time for your games, Alec. Where are we on the research?”

A low chuckle escaped from the other end of the line, a sound rich with amusement and a hint of condescension. “Ah, straight to the point, as always. How very... unmagical of you. But very well, since time seems to weigh so heavily on your shoulders—though I must say, it’s rather unbecoming of you to be so urgent when dealing with forces beyond your comprehension.”

“Grimoire,” she warned, her tone dropping to a dangerous level. He may have been her biggest hope out of all her lieutenants, but he knew it, and sometimes he needed to be reminded of his place.

“Tch, fine, fine. If you insist on being boring.” His voice lost its mocking lilt, replaced by something more serious. “Ah, progress… it's crawling, as you might expect with something of this magnitude. Even for one as gifted as myself, this is no simple incantation. Your offspring’s condition is… quite remarkable, truly. It’s as though his very essence—his soul, if you will—is shedding its former state, evolving into something far beyond what we’ve seen before. An unprecedented metamorphosis.”

Upon hearing that, her grip tightened. “And you can’t tell me what’s going to happen to him when that process is done?”

“At this juncture, the outcome remains shrouded in uncertainty. But I suspect you have little appetite for exercising patience while we await its culmination, do you?” he asked despite knowing the answer.

“No, I don’t.”

Grimoire let out an exaggerated sigh, as if truly disappointed in her lack of tolerance for the intricacies of his work. "You’re always so pragmatic, Viperia. A shame, really. If you embraced the unknown, just a little, you might find it liberating."

Genevieve didn’t respond, her silence icy and absolute, letting the weight of her expectations hang in the air between them. She could picture him now, lounging in some over-decorated study, draped in velvet or something equally insufferable, twirling a quill as he stalled for the sake of his own amusement.

“Very well,” he relented with a huff, his tone growing more businesslike. “I’ve been delving into the more… esoteric realms of alchemy, combining conventional science with what I call ‘existential transmutation.’ The process involves altering the very nature of a person’s essence—their being—at a fundamental level. Through that, I will be able to synthesize a counteragent to halt the transformation.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. "But before you ask, no, this isn’t some garden-variety serum or chemical concoction. It’s alchemy on a level most mortals would call madness. I, however, call it… innovation.”

His voice lingered on that last word, as if he found great satisfaction in the sheer audacity of it. She didn’t play along.

“And how long will it take?” was her reply.

“By my estimation? A month. Give or take, of course.” Grimoire’s voice dripped with casual arrogance, as if even time itself was a mere suggestion when he was involved. “But that, my dear Viperia, is hardly our greatest hurdle. No, no—what we need to focus on is the acquisition of… materials. The rarer, the better. Our current samples might suffice—in theory—but if we’re to guarantee absolute stability, I require something a bit more… exclusive.” He let the pause linger, savoring the last word like fine wine. "Think of it as the difference between using a common gemstone and, say, a flawless diamond.”

She knew it was pointless to question the demands of his ‘recipes,’ so she didn’t, instead saying, “Let me guess. The Hollowsworn?”

“Regrettably, yes. Only they can provide the purity I require.” Grimoire’s tone was measured, devoid of humor, as if the gravity of the situation had finally settled on him.

Her expression morphed into a scowl. She never liked dealing with those unsavory zealots. Someone else in the district had already tried smuggling one of their primebeasts in, and paid dearly for it. But she lacked the time and power to turn her nose up at them, much as that grated on her.

No reason not to go forward with this. “...See it done. You have my support, just don’t get the military involved.”

“As you wish. I’ll work quietly, in the shadows where I so adore playing.”

“You’ve never been good at quiet,” she shot back, her voice sharp. “Make sure this time is the exception.”

“Always so commanding,” he mused, undeterred by her tone. “But don’t worry. The Hollowsworn have their uses, and when properly… motivated, they can be very cooperative. Just be prepared for some additional expenses. Rare beasts don’t come cheap, and neither do their handlers.”

“We’re not dealing with live beasts,” she decreed. “Now. Get. Started.” And with that, she ended the call.

Putting her phone away, walked down the stairs into the underground complex and shook off her previous mood. Best not to be all dour-faced for this.

“Elise,” she said to the woman in front of the reinforced metal door. “How is he?”

“He’s been excited to see you ever since he woke up twenty minutes ago, boss.”

She bobbed her head once, then fixed her gaze on the door. “Open it,” she commanded.

Elise obeyed and punched in the code for her. Stepping through, the head of the Venin put on her best motherly smile. “Yves? I’m back. I brought your favorite.”

In the corner of the room, a small figure hunched in front of a television screen turned at the sound of his name being called. He had taken traits from both his parents, but his eyes, the one feature that most strongly resembled her own, were now replaced with solid black orbs. It didn't matter. He was her son.

“Mom!” Clawed, carapace-covered hands and feet scrambled to get upright. A quartet of translucent wings unfurled on his back, and he fluttered over to her, his expression one of elation.

“Mom,” he repeated. “I had a nap today, like super much longer than normal. I dreamed about piloting a spaceship and taking everyone to the moon. Noor was there. Can you believe that?”

Her heart clenched, but she didn’t let it show on her face. “That’s great. How long did you sleep?”

“Twenty-two hours. Why? Is something wrong?”

Worse than last time, she concluded. “No, nothing is wrong,” she assured him, pulling his inordinately strong body close and wrapping him in her arms. In her human form, she was just a normal person, but she could transfer light damage to her other form in this base state. At least he wasn’t using his power. That made things easier. “Mommy is here for you.”

Genevieve held Yves close, feeling the warmth and slight tremor in his body. She couldn't deny the unease settling in her stomach. Each day, the symptoms of his condition seemed to grow more pronounced, and the hours he slept crept longer and longer. Yet, for now, her embrace was enough to reassure him. His giggle resounded in the room as he nestled against her shoulder, content and unaware of the storm brewing inside her.

For years now, she had clung to the hope that that man would reappear, offering another miraculous remedy. But that hope had died a swift death when she caught wind of his demise. There would be no miracle drug this time, not unless Viperia got her baby boy one herself. And she could. Because she would do anything for her son.

Anything.

Even if it killed her.