'Adeluna City, you're familiar with that place aren't you? I'll be sending you back to your old city to clean up the streets. Normally you're not allowed to hunt, but this time I'll make an exception. So go on, let loose–paint the town. Just remember not to partake of the blood you spill. Eat and drink nothing within the city walls; I've given you provisions for that.'

Bedlam ruled the streets of what was once his home centuries ago. Chaos and wanton bloodshed almost reminded him of Kurayo, but this was a much less ordered example. In a grotesque madness, the citizens gorged themselves to the point of death, and were driven by nothing else. But there was an even greater threat than people drinking themselves in ale until their livers burst. The point of a claymore burst out from the chest of the twisted body of a horrific amalgam of beast and man. The face had contorted and lengthened to the point that it was more like a poorly formed lycanthorpe, and he tore the two-handed sword out of its body. Still not satisfied, he severed the head for good measure. From the upper body down, there were the legs of what once was a human. There were more screams of terror and pandemonium in the air everywhere, and the vampire lord wore a smirk of self-satisfaction as he went to search for his next quarry.

It felt good to finally do as he pleased after such a long time. Taking the dark chalice granted to him by the deity, he whispered a word and blood began to fill to the brim. Taking a deep, long drink he stood amidst the carnage with a blood-encrusted claymore as the bodies of the mutated nobles were left rotting on the pavement. His fatigue and minor wounds were ebbing away, and he took hold of his sword as another deformed hybrid of hellhound and man emerged from one of the taverns with something mangled in its maw. Grinning, he bared his fangs as the two hunters acknowledged each other's presence before preparing to battle for dominance. "The sweet blood, oh it sings to me…It's enough to make a man sick."

"Stupid city with their stupid drunkards and stupid alcohol stinking up everything…" A masked figure grumbled sourly as an axehead cracked open a barrel of ale, causing gallons of pints to pour out into the street. She was in disguise, like usual and had come back to check on how the vampire lord was doing. There were more dismembered mutants in the streets than when she had dropped him off, so that was good. Fortunately for her, she was stubborn–so the intoxicating atmosphere that drove people to excess wasn't getting to her. Also there was the fact that she was madder than a bull, with the awful stench and nausea making her extremely irritable. Shiloh just about had it with the noise and mindless fools rapidly drinking themselves to death. She might not have the proper moral justification to put the entire city on a fast, but she sure as the Circles could get rid of all the alcohol.

There was also another reason why she was so angry. She had learned that when it came to the mind, most people couldn't contain more than one conflicting emotion in great intensity at once. So her being boiling mad served a double purpose in warding off any lingering effects the Circle of Gluttony could have. She was also channeling her anger into Sylvain as well to keep his psyche occupied. But at the rate they were going, it would take ages to clean this mess up. Searching for another tavern to ransack, she came across one of the citizens, staggering drunk. He was barely standing and still had a tankard full of beer in his hand. Beneath her mask, her lower eyelid began to twitch. Grabbing it from his hand, she dumped it into the pavement before flinging the tankard into the distance. "Huuh–Eyy! What wassat fer–" A swipe from her hand sent the drunkard flying into the wall, sobering him up instantly. "Stop it!"  She hissed, having cleared up any numbing effects the alcohol in his system had from backhanding him.

Going up to him, she grabbed the man by the head and produced a small, pill-sized morsel of a coalesced shadowy substance. Forcing it into his mouth, she let go and he dropped to the ground writhing in agony while moaning about a splitting headache. "Drinking yourself out like a fish doesn't feel so great now, doesn't it? Now sit down and think about what you've done while you suffer the consequences." The fragment she had forcibly given him would trigger the mother of all hangovers until he got rid of every last drop of strong drink in his body, without any of the dulling effects alcohol had. It was a rather heavy-handed way of enforcing temperance. She figured if she was able to make them associate the experience of drinking with something incredibly unpleasant, it would produce an anathema so strong that they'd swear off the bottle for life. That was the plan as she stalked the streets of the port city for more addicts to sober up.

Soon she realized that this wasn't enough. Even if she re-educated every alcoholic in the entire kingdom, this wouldn't do anything about preventing new cases to fix. The issue here wasn't the drunkards…but the drink. With all the chaos in Canelux, shipments naturally were slowed and disrupted–and that meant the supply of alcohol was limited. Instead of wasting time targeting individuals, she had to pull out the weed by the roots. "So you sorry saps still want to drink? Fine…you can drink to your hearts content–but you'll never get another taste of alcohol until the Circle recedes." 

Moments later confusion broke out within all the taverns in the city as all the taps and kegs produced potable drinking water. Even the bottles of wine in cellars poured out water instead of their original contents. Standing on a rooftop watching the city folk search for alcohol in vain, Shiloh crossed her arms and looked on in satisfaction. Finally, things were as they should be. They were going to die if they kept drinking anyways, so though she was doing them a favor that didn't mean they wouldn't suffer. It was all pain and no pleasure, but it was for their own good. It was high time they got a hard lesson in temperance and self-restraint.

The stench of blood hung in the air as the cleaved corpse of a monster fell with a thud. His armor was blood-splattered and he was tempted to taste, but resisted. It was tainted, and besides–he already had his fill. Just when he was growing bored with the bloodbath, a fresh wave of bloodlust surged through him. If this was too easy, then he should find something with a bit more bite to it. Culling the newly-mutated creatures was quick and dissatisfying. Sylvain was unaware that the Steward had returned to Adeluna to see his progress, nor was he privy to her subtle mental influence upon him. All he felt was a powerful desire to tear into something. Scaling the walls of a building, he was on the rooftop in the blink of an eye. From above, he looked down searching for more a more fulfilling hunt with more suitable prey. The blood on his blade was beginning to dry.

With a hint of dark humor he found it amusing how the people still went about their business like all was well, despite the nobles suddenly turning into monsters. They ate and drank, making merry while acting completely oblivious to the world being thrown into chaos around them. The sounds of a struggle caught his attention, and he leaped from eave to eave towards it. Upon arriving he was met with a pleasant surprise. A middle-aged man dressed in furs was doubled over on the ground, and soon his body began to contort beneath his velvet cloak. Two fanged canine heads burst out from his back as the rest of the body quickly underwent mutation into a twisted monstrosity. The man himself was now hanging off of the neck of a two-headed hellhound, and his legs had turned into the bent haunches of an infernal beast. Finally, something worth fighting.

This mutant was far larger and aggressive upon its emergence, and the heads picked up his scent immediately. Raising his claymore, he leaped off the edge, aiming his sword for the larger head's maw. Its reactions were quick, and it swiped at him, knocking the vampire against a brick wall. That did little to deter him, as Sylvain was already charging with a glaive before the dust could finish settling. The glaive's reach was longer but it didn't give the same feel as the sword with each swing. However, there was no harm in sacrificing a little power for agility. The two-headed beast roared, raging as he cut into its foreleg with a slash. The remnants of the original body also cried out, but they fell on deaf ears. All the vampire lord could hear was the sweet call of blood that needed spilling. The bloodlust and rage channeled into him made him ignore his minor wounds as long as he was in the heat of battle. 

All this time, Shiloh was keeping a watchful eye on her employee from the shadows of a faraway rooftop. "He really did cut loose like I told him to. Good…he's learning." Although he'd never believe her if she admitted it, everything she said and did towards him was engineered with his best interest in mind. She could very well be an insufferable dictator if she wanted to, but that wasn't why she had contracted him. He was still proving himself a stubborn and obstinate man, and she had been spending hours poring over books to find the 'perfect' way to approach him. In his current state he'd likely get himself killed. An important part of a relationship between an employer and employee was trust. If he didn't trust her, he wouldn't accept if she tried to give him benefits and he wouldn't listen when she gave advice. More importantly, he'd rebel if she told him to stay out of things. It was as frustrating as telling a wild animal not to touch an attractive-looking piece of poisoned bait. 

Whether he knew it or not, she had been observing him nearly at all hours of the day and knew more about him than he thought. Shiloh was well aware of his unresolved resentment towards her, and that he was barely keeping himself in line. So rather than continue with the stick, she switched to the carrot. If punishment wasn't a strong enough motivator, then the promises of a reward might be the solution. There was still a fine line between success and failure on that front, so she didn't put too much faith in it. He needed time to vent his emotions properly. This was why she assigned him with the task of cleaning up the streets of Adeluna's latest mess–letting him do something he knew he was good at, while making headway in improving the vice-addled city. Though until Dalanesca decided she was done, what they were doing here was no better than pest control. They were pulling out tops of weeds without taking out the roots, so to speak. 

Even if he was a vampire, he was taking injuries as he went along. And since he couldn't feed readily with the city in chaos, he didn't have any additional advantages. She waited, choosing not to intervene when the dual-headed hellhound threw him against a wall. His life signature was still strong enough that she didn't need to worry. This was for him to get all that pent-up anger and negativity out of his system; a much-needed session of catharsis to purge his mind. The vampire lord had never trained himself to keep his emotions all in day in and day out, like she had. But she wasn't a very good example of an 'average' human either… You had to be strong enough–or strange enough to have the right mental conditions to hold in things that would consume and kill a person from the outside in. In a way she was like a hollow vessel, a suitable container with a rather airtight seal. Living like this had its costs too. The strain on one's mind and body meant you had to keep yourself ahead of it. And even someone as experienced as her didn't pull this off perfectly every time.

While Sylvain fought, she was analyzing the mutant beast. So far she had seen horrific partial transformations, each case with varying degrees of corruption. She had taken a trek through the Nine Circles once, and she was trying to see if what she had observed then was applicable now. These hellhound hybrids seemed to lack the ability to regurgitate those they devoured back into the world whole, so it was likely that detail was something the Reaper had added to punish those in Gula. Even so, it was still disgusting. Sylvain had things handled, so now it was time to finish the job. As ugly and hideous the hellhounds were, leaving their bodies lying around was both unsanitary and off-putting. Breathing through her mouth underneath her mask, she unsheathed a flaming sword and began the slow and messy process of cremating them. Then when they were all reduced to ashes, she'd rinse the streets off with water and vinegar. Whatever was in those mutant beasts shouldn't be allowed to contaminate the city any further.