Alison clenched the pocket watch and stepped into the penthouse apartment. The dial glowed with an eerie blue light, and the marrow core's energy seeped into the gears like pitch. The moment the elevator doors opened, a hellish scene swathed in gold leaf surged forth: The banquet hall hung with scarlet silk, every crystal chandelier dripping human blood. Stemmed glasses filled with congealed plasma ringed the room, and guests in finery from different eras whispered in shadowed corners.
Charles Lancaster stood at the hall's center, his custom suit splattered with arterial blood. His glass eye shone brighter than torches as he raised a blood-stained flute in salute. "Welcome to my 'Blood Feast of Bargains,' my dear." His voice echoed among the wall mirrors, each reflecting a twisted version of him—some missing limbs, others sprouting tentacle-like appendages.
A chill ran down Alison's spine. The guests began to turn, revealing faces she recognized: herself in medieval garb, during the Salem witch trials, in World War II... Each face had sunken eye sockets, skin branded with identical alchemical runes. An 18th-century woman approached, her wedding dress torn to shreds, hissing through rotting teeth: "He's reaping us all... devouring our time."
"Silence, my failed creation." Charles flicked his wrist, and chains shot from the floor to wrap around her throat. "Alison, do you see now?" He sipped from the goblet, "These are souls across the centuries—every fool who refused to honor their bargain." The woman's scream in the cup faded to a whimper.
The alchemist emerged from a portal in the wall, his robe dripping blood from Salem's pyres. His eye pulsed in sync with Charles', and Alison's grip on the watch tightened. "You're next," he spat, but Charles' laughter drowned out all sound: "Patience. She still serves a purpose."
A mahogany chest was wheeled in, its hinges wailing like imprisoned spirits. Charles lifted the lid, revealing a spiderweb of time machine wiring, all converging on a marrow core energy crystal. "Choose, Alison: use the marrow to fuel your journey to Berlin... or let me absorb these fragments and achieve true immortality."
The room began to quake. Mirrors cracked open more fissures, and bleeding hands reached through the shards. Alison glimpsed a symbol on the chest lid—identical to the blood curse on her gown. The alchemist lunged for her, but Charles' chains snared his wrist. "Your betrayal is amusing," Charles chuckled. "After all, you're just another version of me—a soul trapped in the wrong timeline."
The alchemist's eye dimmed. "I protected her to stop you... not for her sake." A storm raged in Alison's mind. The watch face flashed memories: the Salem alchemist injecting cobalt-blue serum, the same formula as Charles'; his robe changing color over time. A horrifying truth solidified—every "ally" might be a shattered piece of Charles, each manipulating her toward his desired end.
"Time runs short." Charles pressed a dagger to her throat, its hilt engraved with her name. "Activate the marrow, or watch these 'yous' die." Alison felt the chains on her soul tighten. The watch corroded faster, its gears on the verge of stopping. She bit her lip, letting blood marrow core. Energy flared, warping the room into a temporal tempest.1942 Berlin: The Time AnchorAlison crashed into a bunker, skin seared by marrow energy. Swastikas covered the walls, and the central iron device— the "Time Anchor"—glowed ominously, veins of pipes pumping witch marrow. Soldiers charged, but she unleashed the watch's remaining power. A beam sliced through the crowd, carving a bloody path.
As she neared the machine, the anchor began releasing familiar energy. Images of Salem's pyres, the modern mirror hall, and cellar blood curses converged on its surface. Charles' voice boomed from the device: "You're walking into the trap as planned. The marrow you swallowed was bait—every use strengthens the anchor."
A Nazi scientist morphed into Charles' face, syringe of cobalt serum in hand. "This isn't Berlin... it's my lab of overlaid timelines." He injected the serum, his body mutating to merge all forms—tentacles, glass eye, alchemist robe melting into one. "Destroy the anchor, and you'll be sealed in the mirror prison forever. My true victory."
Alison's vision blurred. The marrow in her chest burned like acid. Versions of herself from all timelines materialized, bound in chains. "Join us," they begged. "End this," the alchemist's voice came from behind, his eye turning silver-gray. "Choose your fate—save us, or save yourself."
She raised the watch, its dial reflecting her modern self—lifeless. Charles' hand reached through the mirror, clutching her heart. Time expired. Alison shoved the watch into the anchor's core and recited the blood curse in reverse. The machine shrieked as all of Charles' avatars crumbled to ash.
But as the anchor collapsed, mirrors across all eras shattered. Alison was sucked into a vortex of bleeding glass. The alchemist's final words echoed: "You freed us... but you're trapped. Lancaster always wins."Back to the Modern Penthouse: The Mirror PrisonAlison stumbled back into Charles' banquet hall, now a of mirrors. Every shard reflected a timeline where she was imprisoned, screaming as souls were reaped. Charles stood at the center, for the first time in a complete body, whispering: "Welcome to eternal captivity." His kiss pressed against the mirror, and Alison felt a searing pain in her chest. The mirrors began devouring her memories—each claiming a segment of her life.
Amid the chaos, she noticed a symbol in a shard's corner—a heart engraved with her birthday. The Salem alchemist's words resurfaced: "When all fragments align..." A plan exploded in her mind. She focused on the symbol, reciting the blood curse backward. Mirrors began to bleed, and Charles' face cracked across the shards. "You can't break my prison!" But Alison's temporal soul fragments ,forging a time blade. She swung at the heart symbol, and the entire mirror prison collapsed.