"Will we get to use this kind of high-tech gear too?" asked one of the soldiers, his thick London accent unmistakable.
He looked down at the rifle in his hands, then back at the Sisters' grenade launchers, unable to hide his envy. Unlike the other SAS members still mired in anxiety, Davis seemed far more at ease. The Immortal City had long since dug up his background—he liked rock music, beer, and football, and he was an old acquaintance of Hunter from Coulson's S.H.I.E.L.D. team. Among all the soldiers Mycroft had discarded, he was the only one without any family. He was also the youngest and most impulsive, someone who loved big guns that went boom. The Sisters' grenade launchers were practically made for him. Ever since he saw one of those weapons shatter concrete and vampire torsos with terrifying ease, he'd been looking for a chance to try one himself.
To a soldier, there's nothing more precious than a reliable weapon that can obliterate enemies on the battlefield. Even though he was a special forces operator, the British government never really prioritized SAS equipment. Because of the unique nature of this mission, the weapons issued to the squad weren't exactly top-of-the-line—his L85A1 rifle was subpar even among its contemporaries, let alone when compared to the advanced, savage, and brutal grenade launchers.
Those launchers were originally designed to rip through aliens, dark-magic creatures, and even beings from other dimensions. Against regular humans, they were pure overkill—and for the thin-blooded, degenerated vampires in London's sewers, they were even more so. Their brittle bones couldn't resist such terrifying firepower; they were torn apart like paper dolls.
From the moment they received their inferior equipment, the soldiers knew—they were being sent to die.
The Immortal City had no time to process the biomass of the vampires. They resorted to using flamethrowers for quick and dirty disposal.
The Sisterhood didn't stop. They had to coordinate with the mages of Kamar-Taj to round up the monsters that had escaped into the city. According to some idle speculation by bored Kamar-Taj spellcasters, the Thames might soon give rise to sharp-toothed vampire fish that actively hunt humans. Just like Solomon's caution with alchemical waste, any magical residue could easily mutate sewer life into unnatural aberrations. Maybe those mutants would die out quickly—but the worse possibility was that they'd enter the ecosystem and trigger human mutations.
Still, this wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Mutated genomes infused with dark magic would fade over generations. As long as the mutagens didn't accumulate too heavily, it might even result in humans with exceptional beauty, strength, longevity, and magical talent—hardly a terrible outcome.
When the pale pink sunlight rose beyond the city's dark silhouette, the mission of Kamar-Taj and the Immortal City finally drew to a close.
Mycroft Holmes washed up and got ready for work. He'd spent the entire night in his study chair making calls, receiving reports from subordinates, and only relaxed after a call from Solomon at dawn. Despite having pulled an all-nighter, his face showed no signs of fatigue. According to their agreement, he now had to use his political leverage to push a proposal to renovate the sewers beneath London. But as Cabinet Secretary, he could not claim this idea as his own. He was merely a humble vessel for the Prime Minister's will—this "great initiative" had to be proposed by the PM himself.
Sherlock Holmes was jolted awake by a rapid knock on the door. His roommate John Watson scrambled up to answer it, assuming it was who they'd been waiting for all night—Mycroft. Sherlock knew what had happened in London last night. As a civilian criminal consultant, he had no authority to intervene—but the unraveling of that mystery had led him to seek Mycroft's help, which in turn dragged him and Watson into a harrowing adventure in the sewers. As far as he knew, even a special operations team had been deployed.
"I knew you'd come." Sherlock was already waiting in the small, cozy sitting room when Solomon stepped inside, clad in power armor caked with mud and blood. The mage carried a grenade launcher in one hand and a longsword in the other. The metallic tang of blood immediately overwhelmed the room's air freshener and the scent of old books.
"Tell me—what were those creatures?"
"They're from another world." Solomon handed the still-damp grenade launcher to John Watson. The retired army doctor struggled to support its weight, his face registering disbelief. "You were never supposed to dive that deep. Your role was to observe from the edge. That was already incredibly dangerous for you. The reward I had prepared was supposed to be safer." He plopped down in an armchair, armor and body weight creaking the frame. "But Mycroft ruined everything. Your test is canceled."
"You still haven't answered my question, Mr. Damonet. I already knew the victim wasn't your relative. So why did you come to me?"
"Because everything you saw is real. Those monsters are what my organization has hunted for centuries. The Eleanor case was just one of many we've dealt with over the millennia. I personally cleared out every creature in a village when I was a teenager. But the number of monsters in London's sewers was too high. We could've taken our time clearing them—until your reward and Mycroft's loose tongue enraged them. They didn't expect humans to be more ruthless than vampires. So—"
"Vampires? So Count Dracula is real, then?" Watson raised an eyebrow. "And you lot are Van Helsing?"
"This isn't the time for that, John. Can we get some tea, please? Continue, Mr. Damonet."
"So... in short, Sherlock Holmes, there's another world beneath the surface of this one. I tried to introduce you to that world so your brilliance could be used on a grander stage." Solomon leaned forward slightly. "I believe you'd find it fascinating—after all, there are so many mysteries still unsolved in that other world."
"Why me?"
"Because you have talent."
"That's not enough," Sherlock shook his head. "That's not enough to be your motivation."
"Because you're the right fit," Solomon said. "I need you to compete for a certain position. There's another candidate. I can't tell you more about how the selection works, but think of it as an exam. You are one of the candidates. Before the exam, I need you to understand the laws of the other world—otherwise, you might get others killed once you take that position. The other candidate is arrogant and conceited. You've got your own issues, but you also have a sense of social responsibility. People say you're antisocial, but that's not really a problem. Your real issue is your uncontrollable curiosity. Eleanor's case was crafted to correct that, Sherlock Holmes."
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