[Salone]

Rasputin observed with unseen eyes as the servants and masters tread his turf. Things would be underway soon. His Master would have need of him. He would spirit her away and proceed to entrap and dispose of the other Servants. It was time to set the final mark of his territory in motion.

With a flow of mana from his territory, he broke access to the river running through Avignon. It swelled as it ran through trenches and ducts, crisscrossing paths mirrored on the streets above as riverbeds suspended themselves through emptiness. To any other observer, they would be senseless tributaries. But not to Rasputin. Seven paths, seven streams flowing towards the Church. At the empty spot where they met the church grounds, the streams stopped abruptly, the water tumbling in to the black oblivion down below through the openings of the hung cathedral. As the water moved deeper in, it began to chill and form icy flows. It would suck the very warmth and life out of a regular person at this temperature. It had certainly done the same to Rasputin. He grinned without a mouth at the work he had completed, checking the routes of all the tributaries and where they began.

Seven paths...but including his own, only six Servants. It seemed another was adept at masking their intents. So be it. Rasputin would choke the life out of all who would oppose him.