The Edinburgh Network – Betrayal, Love and Ancient Power
By Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 16: Payment in Blood
Part 1: The Shot
Sunday, 01:44, Ravencroft Lodge
The sound came after the impact – a sharp crack that shattered the solemn moment. Callum’s chest erupted in a spray of crimson as the high-caliber round tore through him from behind, the force spinning him toward Jenny.
“No!” Her scream ripped through the great hall as he stumbled forward. The fungi’s network flared with desperate intensity, but too late to stop what had already happened.
“Jenny-” Callum’s Scottish burr was wet with blood as he reached for her. His tactical training told him exactly what had hit him – a .338 Lapua round, probably from one of the professional teams they hadn’t accounted for.
The survivors reacted instantly, their elite training kicking in as they moved to secure the hall. Through the Victorian windows, more shots cracked through the night, but the fungi’s defensive barrier stopped them cold.
“Stay with me,” Jenny’s academic composure shattered as she caught him, lowering them both to the floor. Blood spread across his shirt, too much blood, too fast. “Callum, please…”
The phosphorescent light pulsed with frantic energy, responding to her desperation as she pressed her hands against the wound.
“I’m sorry, lass,” his voice was growing weaker. “Should’ve… checked the high ground…”
Sunday, 01:44, Ravencroft Lodge
Callum’s knees gave way as his tactical training abandoned him. The Victorian floorboards caught his weight with a dull thud that seemed to echo through Jenny’s very soul. Blood spread across the ancient wood, mixing with the fungi’s blue light in terrible patterns.
“No, no, no,” Jenny’s academic mind raced through everything she knew about battlefield trauma, her hands pressing desperately against the wound. “Stay with me, stay with me…”
The survivors moved with professional precision, securing windows, checking angles, protecting them. But Jenny barely registered their presence. Her world had narrowed to Callum’s fading heartbeat beneath her bloody fingers.
“The shot came from the old bell tower,” an American operator reported tersely. “Team moving to secure now.”
“Jenny,” Callum’s Scottish burr was barely a whisper, his hand finding hers despite the weakness spreading through him. “The power… you have to…”
“Don’t you dare,” her voice cracked as tears mixed with his blood. “Don’t you dare say goodbye.”
The fungi’s network pulsed with shared anguish, its light reflecting off the growing pool of crimson beneath them.
Sunday, 01:45, Ravencroft Lodge
“Quite the shot, if I do say so myself,” Mark’s polished voice cut through the chaos as he emerged from the shadows, the high-powered rifle still smoking in his hands. His usual charm had been replaced by something cold, something calculated.
The fungi’s network flared with violent intensity as Jenny looked up from Callum’s bleeding form, her academic composure transformed by pure rage.
“You,” her voice carried deadly promise as Callum’s blood dripped from her hands. “After everything… you choose this?”
“Business, darling,” Mark’s smile was sharp as he kept the rifle trained on them. “The Council might be gone, but there are other players. Other powers interested in controlling Edinburgh’s… unique properties.”
The survivors moved to intervene, but Mark’s position was too well-chosen. One twitch of his finger would end any resistance.
“He had to go,” Mark continued, nodding at Callum’s fading form. “Too much of a wild card. Too… principled. The new management prefers more practical approaches.”
Callum’s breathing grew more labored as Jenny held him, the fungi’s blue light mixing with his blood in increasingly desperate patterns.
Part 2: Winter’s Rage
Sunday, 01:46, Ravencroft Lodge
As Callum’s blood soaked into the ancient floorboards, something changed in Jenny. The fungi’s network responded to her transformation, its gentle blue light hardening into something crystalline and deadly.
“Your last mistake,” her voice carried a chill that made even the hardened survivors step back. Gone was the academic warmth, replaced by something older than winter itself.
Mark’s professional smile faltered as the temperature in the great hall literally began to drop. Frost patterns, eerily similar to the fungi’s network, started spreading across the Victorian woodwork.
“Now, Jenny,” his attempt at charm cracked like ice. “Let’s be reasonable about-“
“Reasonable?” The word frosted in the air between them. The fungi’s light pulsed with her rage, but it wasn’t the warm, living glow of before. This was the cold fire of ancient stars, of spaces between worlds.
Callum’s blood began to crystallize beneath her hands as she gently laid him down, rising to face Mark with eyes that held the chill of centuries.
“You never did understand what power really was,” her words carried the weight of glaciers. “Always playing your little games, thinking control meant strength.”
The network’s patterns turned sharp as icicles around them, and Mark’s confident pose began to show the first tremors of genuine fear.
Sunday, 01:46, Ravencroft Lodge
“I warned you about playing games, Mark,” Jenny’s voice carried arctic chill as she rose from Callum’s bleeding form. The fungi’s crystalline light cast harsh shadows across the great hall.
“Come now, darling,” Mark adjusted his grip on the rifle, professional mask slipping. “You know how this works. Business is business.”
“Business?” Frost crackled across the Victorian woodwork as she took a step forward. “Is that what you call shooting an unarmed man in the back?”
One of the survivors, a Russian operative, whispered to his American counterpart: “The network… it’s changing.”
“Because she’s changing,” the American responded softly, watching ice patterns spread across the ancient stones.
Mark’s confidence wavered as the temperature plummeted. “Jenny, be reasonable. There are powers at play here that-“
“That what?” Her laugh frosted in the air. “That justify betrayal? Murder? Your endless manipulations?”
“You don’t understand the bigger picture,” Mark tried, but ice was forming on his rifle barrel.
“No, Mark,” Jenny’s words carried millennia of winter. “You never understood. Power isn’t about control. It’s about truth.”
“The truth is,” he raised the rifle, “sometimes sacrifices-“
“The only truth,” she cut him off as the fungi’s network turned razor-sharp around them, “is that this was your last mistake.”
Sunday, 01:47, Ravencroft Lodge
Behind Jenny, the fungi’s network flowed like living frost across Callum’s wound. The bleeding slowed, then stopped as ancient power merged with torn flesh.
“Fascinating,” Jenny’s voice carried lethal curiosity as she took her first step toward Mark. “The network responds to need. To truth. To justice.”
Mark’s professional demeanor cracked further as ice crystals formed on his expensive suit. “Jenny, think about what you’re doing. The people I represent-“
“Will learn what happens when they mistake cruelty for strength,” she advanced another step, the fungi’s crystalline light making her shadow impossibly long.
An American operator whispered urgently: “His wound… the bleeding’s completely stopped.”
“The network’s healing him,” a Chinese survivor responded, watching blue light pulse through Callum’s chest.
“Stay back,” Mark raised the rifle higher, but his hands were shaking now. “I’m warning you-“
“Warning me?” Jenny’s laugh shattered like icicles. “After everything you’ve done, you think you have the right to warn anyone?”
Behind her, Callum’s breathing steadied as the fungi’s power worked through him. The network’s glow turned colder with each step Jenny took.
“The games are over, Mark,” her words frosted in the air. “No more manipulation. No more lies.”
Sunday, 01:48, Ravencroft Lodge
The rifle’s crack echoed through the great hall, but this time, the fungi’s network was ready. The bullet froze mid-air, encased in crystalline blue light before shattering like glass.
“Wrong choice,” Jenny’s voice carried winter’s judgment. “Again.”
“Impossible,” Mark’s professional mask crumbled completely as he fired again and again, each round meeting the same fate. “This isn’t- you can’t-“
“Can’t what?” Ice spread from her footsteps as she advanced. “Can’t protect myself? Can’t fight back? Can’t be more than your little academic puppet?”
The Russian operative murmured to his teammates: “The temperature’s still dropping. Metal’s starting to crack.”
“Your games,” Jenny continued, frost forming with each word, “your manipulations, your bloody schemes – they all end here.”
Mark’s rifle clicked empty, the mechanism frozen solid. “Jenny, please… I was just following orders-“
“Like you followed orders when you seduced those other women?” Her words cut like arctic wind. “When you recorded our intimate moments? When you shot Callum in the back?”
Behind her, the fungi’s healing light pulsed stronger through Callum’s chest as Mark backed away, genuine terror replacing his calculated charm.
“The thing about winter, Mark,” Jenny’s smile was colder than space, “is that it shows no mercy to those who deserve none.”
Part 3: Winter’s Justice
Sunday, 01:49, Ravencroft Lodge
Mark’s rifle clattered to the frozen floor as he raised his hands, professional demeanor completely shattered. Ice crystals formed in his perfectly styled hair as Jenny’s power filled the great hall.
“Jenny, please,” his voice shook with genuine fear now. “I surrender. I’ll tell you everything – who I work for, what they want, all of it.”
“Now he wants to talk,” a Chinese operator muttered. “When the knife’s at his own throat.”
The fungi’s crystalline network pulsed around them as Jenny continued her inexorable advance. Behind her, Callum stirred slightly as the healing power worked through him.
“You always did this,” Jenny’s words frosted in the air. “Play the victim when your schemes fell apart. Beg for mercy when control slipped away.”
“It’s true, I admit it,” Mark backed into a corner, ice spreading up his legs. “I manipulated everything. But I can make it right. I can help you understand the bigger picture-“
“Still trying to negotiate?” Her laugh crackled like breaking frost. “Still thinking you can talk your way out?”
“What do you want?” His teeth chattered as the cold intensified. “Name it. Anything. Just… please…”
The fungi’s light turned sharp as needles around them, waiting for her judgment.
Sunday, 01:50, Ravencroft Lodge
Ice crackled beneath Jenny’s feet as she closed the distance, each step making Mark press further into his corner. The fungi’s crystalline light cast harsh shadows across his terrified face.
“The love of my life,” her words carried deadly softness. “The one person who showed me what real trust feels like. And you shot him in the back.”
“I didn’t- I mean, I was ordered to-” Mark’s teeth chattered as frost crawled up his expensive suit.
“Like you were ordered to seduce me?” The temperature dropped further. “To record our intimate moments? To play with my heart while plotting Callum’s death?”
Behind her, the fungi’s network continued its healing work on Callum, its blue glow pulsing with steady purpose.
“Jenny, please,” Mark’s professional mask had completely crumbled, leaving raw fear. “I’m begging you-“
“Begging?” Her laugh shattered like ice. “Now you understand what begging feels like? After all the women whose lives you destroyed? After shooting an honorable man in the back?”
The Russian operative whispered to his American counterpart: “The cold… it’s reaching temperatures that shouldn’t be possible.”
“Mercy?” Jenny’s voice carried winter’s judgment as she reached Mark’s corner. “You want to talk about mercy?”
Sunday, 01:51, Ravencroft Lodge
The freezing began at Mark’s feet, ice crystallizing through flesh and bone with excruciating slowness. His first scream echoed through the great hall, raw and primal.
“Please, Jenny, PLEASE!” His professional polish shattered completely as the cold crawled up his legs. “I’ll do anything- AAAGH!”
The fungi’s network pulsed with cold fire as Jenny watched, her academic detachment turned to arctic fury. “Anything? Like Callum could do anything when you shot him in the back?”
“The pain-” Mark’s voice broke as ice reached his knees, freezing him inch by agonising inch. “Oh God, make it stop!”
The American operator turned to his Russian counterpart: “Should we intervene?”
“No,” the Russian’s response was grim. “This is justice. We all saw what he did.”
Mark’s screams turned to sobs as the freezing continued its methodical ascent. The fungi’s crystalline light showed every detail of his torture, every moment of his suffering.
“Jenny,” he managed between screams, “I loved you- I really did-“
“Love?” Her laugh was colder than the ice claiming him. “You wouldn’t know love if it froze your heart. Which, incidentally…”
The freezing reached his chest, and Mark’s final scream cut off as ice claimed his throat.
Sunday, 01:52, Ravencroft Lodge
Mark’s frozen form shattered with a sound like breaking glass, fragments of ice scattering across the Victorian floorboards. In an instant, Jenny’s arctic fury dissolved into desperate concern as she rushed back to Callum’s side.
“The temperature’s normalising,” the Chinese operative reported, watching frost recede from the ancient walls. “Network’s stabilising too.”
The fungi’s light softened back to its usual gentle blue as Jenny fell to her knees beside Callum. Her hands, moments ago capable of freezing a man solid, now trembled as they touched his face.
“Come back to me,” her voice cracked with emotion. “Please, Callum. I can’t- I can’t lose you too.”
The American survivor checked his tactical thermometer: “Room temperature returning to normal. Whatever power that was…”
“Was protecting what matters,” the Russian finished quietly, watching the scene unfold.
The network’s healing glow pulsed steadily through Callum’s chest as Jenny cradled his head in her lap, her tears falling onto his face.
“Jenny?” Callum’s Scottish burr was weak but present. “Did you just… turn my would-be killer into an ice sculpture?”
