I reached for my spatial inventory rings, intending to store the fifteen completed chemical spheres, but my analytical consciousness quickly flagged a critical constraint. I probed the localized dimensions of the artifacts; the internal storage metrics were entirely saturated. The spatial compartments were already packed to maximum capacity with my primary combat gear, including Means of Communication, Don't Ask?, my newly forged mist-bayonets, and my tactical ammunition reserves. There wasn't a single cubic millimeter of free space left to stabilize fifteen volatile glass bottles.
I looked down at myself. My heavy vanguard cloak was thoroughly saturated with the dense chemical residue of the evening's synthesis, radiating a heavy, stinging odor of concentrated onions, garlic, and horseradish. Since the velvet curtains were tightly pinned and the interior of House 132 was completely isolated from any external surveillance, I didn't need to maintain my human guise for another second.
With a fluid, unbothered motion, I unlatched the stained cloak from my neck and let it drop heavily to the floor. Free from the restrictive fabric, I let the raw power of my core surge. With a sharp, low hum of kinetic energy, my massive, crimson blood wings violently unfurled from my back, stretching outward into the dim, shadow-filled air of the dining room, their dark, undulating light reflecting off the toxic fog lingering near the ceiling.
I knelt beside the dropped cloak, looking at the thick, reinforced canvas fabric of the inner lining. Using the enhanced physical strength of my restored hands, I gripped the edge of the material and ripped it into long, highly durable structural strips.
Taking the first glass sphere of tear gas, I carefully wrapped a strip of the tough fabric around the wax-sealed neck, knotting it with absolute, tight precision. I repeated this tactical fabrication process systematically, taking one bottle after another, securing the knotting vectors until all ten tear gas spheres and all five mustard gas spheres were firmly bound together in a continuous, heavy-duty line.
By the time I finished the final knot, I had successfully engineered a custom, reinforced grenade belt. Instead of standard explosive ordnance, this harness was packed with a catastrophic chemical payload capable of liquefying respiratory systems and dissolving cellular regeneration matrices on contact.
I lifted the heavy, clinking bandolier, wrapped it securely around my 5'5" frame, and strapped it tightly across my waist. The fifteen glass spheres sat perfectly against my hips, easily accessible for rapid, high-velocity deployment during close-quarters combat. My wings flared slightly behind me, adjusting to the new center of gravity. My inventory was optimized, my chemical weaponry was physically mounted, and the midnight deadline was finally here. It was time to leave the capital behind.
Suddenly, the heavy iron deadbolts clicked and the front door burst open. My instincts flared to life, my right hand dropping instantly toward the grenade belt at my waist, expecting a tactical breach by the Capital Knights.
But it wasn't the military. It was my sisters.
Evelyn kicked the door wide with a loud, joyful bang, her face bright with an energetic grin as she held up a large, woven wicker basket piled high with steaming, freshly grilled meat skewers.
"Big sister, I'm ho… "
Her sentence was violently cut short the exact microsecond the heavy threshold broke. The dense, yellowish chemical cloud of mustard and tear gas that had been trapped inside House 132 rolled out into the night air like a breaking dam, hitting them dead in the face.
Unlike my absolute toxic immunity, neither of my sisters possessed a natural resistance to high-tier chemical agents. Both of their faces contorted in instant, agonizing discomfort as they forcefully slammed their hands over their mouths and noses, coughing violently as the acrid, garlic-and-onion vapors hit their respiratory systems.
Elicia, her divine aura flaring instinctively as she gripped her white-gold staff to purge the airborne toxin from her immediate space, was the first to loudly complain through her sleeve.
"Eirene! What in the absolute world is the meaning of this?! Are you trying to systematically poison your own family?! The entire block smells like a localized bio-hazard!" Elicia gasped, her eyes watering rapidly as she backed out onto the front porch
Evelyn joined her on the porch, hacking loudly as she fanned the air with her free hand, though she didn't look nearly as shocked as Elicia. Having lived under the exact same roof with me for the past few months, Evelyn had grown painfully accustomed to the bizarre, pungent aromas that occasionally drifted from my workspace. To her, this was just another unhinged culinary disaster.
"Again, Eirene?! That is the third time this month! Look, if you wanted onions that badly, just eat them regularly! Don't vaporize them and feed them to the entire household through the ventilation system!" Evelyn yelled through her collar, her voice thick with pure, unadulterated exasperation.
Because I had always deceptively labeled my alchemical tear-gas extractions as "concentrated onion reduction experiments" to keep my operational profile hidden, Evelyn genuinely believed I was just a terribly incompetent cook with a bizarre obsession with root vegetables. She had absolutely no idea that the yellow, oily liquid currently strapped to my waist in a custom grenade belt was actually weaponized mustard gas engineered to liquefy a purebred vampire's cellular matrix.
I stood perfectly still in the dim center of the dining room, my massive, crimson blood wings fully unfurled in the shadows behind me, the fifteen glass spheres clinking softly against my hips as my sisters stared at me in absolute, watering bewilderment.
As the toxic cloud continued to roll out from the open doorway, Elicia didn't waste another second. Raising her staff, she channeled a brilliant flash of divine energy. A refreshing, translucent barrier of high-tier restoration magic washed over both herself and Evelyn. The spell immediately neutralized the airborne irritants in their immediate respiratory systems, granting them a temporary, absolute immunity to the stinging vapors.
With her eyes no longer watering, Elicia's expression hardened into one of pure, matriarchal fury. She lowered her staff, locking her gaze directly onto me through the hazy yellow gloom.
"Young lady, you are very close to crossing the line, I will scold you, little Ren. Your reckless behavior in this household ends tonight." Elicia declared, her voice echoing with a terrifying, melodic authority that completely filled the room.
With a heavy, aggressive stomp of her boots that completely ignored the lingering stench of horseradish and garlic, she marched straight across the dining room floor. Her sudden stride was so fast and commanding that my vanguard reflexes barely had time to register her intent before she breached my personal space. Completely bypassing my custom grenade belt, she reached around my 5'5" frame and firmly grabbed the sensitive joints where my massive crimson blood wings connected to my back.
She pinched the primary muscle clusters with an uncompromising, iron grip.
A sharp, jangling shockwave of pure discomfort shot straight up my spine. My wings twitched violently, their dark light flaring against the dining room walls as I instinctively tried to fold them away from her reach.
"Big sister, let go! Don't touch that!" I protested sharply, my cute, childish voice completely losing its icy deadpan restraint as I winced under her grip.
"I am scolding you, Eirene! I don't care if you've been blessed by the offspring goddess or if you're hunting down the worst monsters in the continent. You do not vaporize weaponized 'onions' in the kitchen and expect to walk out of this house without a lecture!". Elicia snapped back, refusing to loosen her pinch as she leaned in closer, her face the absolute picture of a furious older sibling.
The intense, localized pressure on my wing joints didn't just trigger a physical reflex; it sent a sudden, vivid fracture of memory slicing straight through my analytical consciousness. Standing there in the dim, hazy center of House 132, trapped under Elicia's uncompromising glare, I was instantly dragged back to our childhood years… back to the days before the world broke, before the shadow-woven cloaks, the S-rank combat registries, and the cold, unyielding silence of a weaponized life. I remembered the exact tone of her voice from those simpler times, a melody of strict, fiercely protective maternal authority that had survived every trauma the world had thrown at our family. Even back then, whenever my early alchemical curiosity got the better of me and turned our shared living space into a chaotic hazard of bubbling residues and strange, pungent fumes, she would stand over me in precisely the same manner, hands on her hips, completely immune to whatever excuses I tried to formulate.
"Eirene, fix this mess this instant! This kitchen of yours has officially ceased to be a place of culinary nourishment. It has completely become a full-scale, volatile laboratory, and I will not tolerate my little sister operating a chemical containment zone under our roof!" Elicia commanded, her voice snapping me back to the present reality of the toxic dining room as she maintained her iron grip on my sensitive crimson appendages.
Out on the front porch, still holding the large wicker basket of steaming meat skewers, Evelyn let out a joyful, thoroughly amused cheer. She bounced on her heels, completely delighted to see the usually terrifying, untouchable phantom of the underworld getting thoroughly grounded by our eldest sibling.
"Go, big sister! Teach her a lesson! Scold her until she promises to never touch another root vegetable as long as she lives! She's been getting entirely too comfortable turning the house into a swamp!" Evelyn shouted through the doorway, her face lit up with a mischievous grin.
"Don't touch, big sister! Let go of the joints!"
I protested aggressively, my cute, restored voice pitching upward into a rare, childish panic as the discomfort flared across my back. I twisted slightly, trying to preserve the structural alignment of my custom grenade belt while my wings flapped uselessly against the air.
"If you want the fumes gone, open the windows! Open the windows to let the air out!"
But Elicia wasn't about to let me escape that easily. Instead of releasing her grip, she used her leverage on my wing joints to physically steer my 5'5" frame across the room, pulling and guiding me like a stubborn toddler toward the primary ventilation vectors.
"Oh, we are absolutely opening the windows, Eirene, And you are going to help me unpin every single one of these velvet curtains that you so meticulously locked down." Elicia muttered through clenched teeth, her heavy boots clicking firmly against the floorboards as she forced me toward the front parlor.
Working together under the absolute duress of her grip, the thick, light-blocking velvet drapes were violently yanked aside. One by one, the heavy glass windows were thrown wide open to the cool, evening air of the 3rd District. The sudden atmospheric shift created a massive, sweeping draft through the hallways of House 132. The dense, yellowish cloud of improvised mustard gas and concentrated tear gas… which had completely saturated the interior with the biting, volatile scent of garlic, horseradish, and onions… was rapidly sucked outward into the night sky, dispersing harmlessly into the high-altitude currents of the residential sector.
Only after the last visible trace of the chemical fog had entirely cleared from the dining room ceiling did Elicia finally, slowly remove her fingers from the sensitive joints of my wings. My crimson appendages instantly folded back against my spine with a soft, rustling sigh of relief, the dark light fading as I instinctively adjusted the clinking harness of fifteen poisonous gas spheres strapped tightly around my waist.
But before I could even take a single step toward the door to begin my midnight flight to the Sisiphon desert, Elicia planted herself directly in front of me, crossing her arms over her white-gold staff as she commenced a thorough, unyielding, and utterly relentless lecture.