The Legend of Nightshade Manor: Arsène Lupin and the Eternal Duel

Told as a Legend in the World of 4EverMore

In the shadowed corridors of time, where the world of mortals and the World of 4EverMore intertwine, there exists a tale whispered through the ages—one of wits sharper than any blade, of a thief who could not be caught, and of a detective whose mind rivaled the most cunning of creatures.

This is the legend of Arsène Lupin and Herlock Sholmes, and their fateful duel in Nightshade Manor.

A Meeting of Shadows and Steel

In the year 1919, as the Outerworld was still reeling from its great war, Nightshade Manor stood undisturbed in the heart of The City of Shadows, a place where secrets clung to the air like mist and darkness lived in the very stone of its towering spires. It was a place known only to those who belonged to the immortal world of 4EverMore—a world hidden within the mortal one, invisible to those who lacked the gift of eternal blood.

And it was here that two legends clashed.

The first was Arsène Lupin, a Day Walker of unparalleled charm, a rogue of unfathomable cleverness, a master of deception who could slip through walls like a phantom and steal the unstealable. A gentleman thief, a trickster, a mystery unto himself—Lupin danced through the annals of 4EverMore, his name both a whisper of admiration and a warning.

The second was Herlock Sholmes, the relentless Watchman, a mortal detective whose mind was sharper than the keenest enchanted blade. He had solved the unsolvable, seen the unseen, and defied the very notion that mortals could never best the immortal. His existence was both an enigma and an anomaly in 4EverMore, a reminder that some mortals were not so blind after all.

The Heist of Nightshade Manor

Nightshade Manor was not just any house. It was a living entity, a sentient, brooding presence within the City of Shadows. The manor whispered secrets in the dead of night, its hallways shifting, its staircases leading nowhere, its mirrors reflecting things that should not be. For centuries, it had been home to the most powerful of immortals, each leaving behind relics infused with ancient magic.

And there, within the most forbidden chamber of all, lay the Moonveil Diadem, a relic of the first immortal queen—a crown of silver and opals, said to grant dominion over the Veil itself. A prize that no mere thief could hope to steal.

Unless that thief was Arsène Lupin.

The night he chose to strike was bathed in an eerie blood moon, and as the sky wept crimson light over 4EverMore, he slipped through the veil into Nightshade Manor, his cloak billowing like the wings of a raven. But he was not alone.

From the mortal world had come Herlock Sholmes, the detective who had hunted him across lifetimes. A mortal among immortals, he was both feared and respected for his mind. No magic fueled his brilliance—only relentless deduction, an uncanny ability to see through the grandest illusions. It was he who had predicted Lupin’s next move, he who had traced the master thief’s whisper on the wind.

And so, within the cursed halls of Nightshade Manor, the greatest duel of intellect and cunning began.

A Game of Shadows

Lupin, with his gift of illusion, weaved through the shifting rooms, laughing as he outmaneuvered the living walls. Portraits whispered his name, but in reverence or warning, none could tell. He relished the chase, the thrill of outwitting not just the Manor but the greatest mortal detective to ever live.

Sholmes, undeterred, relied on sheer intelligence. He knew that the Manor would seek to mislead him, to tangle him in its spectral grasp, to confuse him with shifting staircases and vanishing doors. But he had studied the immortal realm, learned its rules, and most importantly, he had studied Lupin.

With every step, they left riddles for each other—marks of their presence, symbols scrawled in dust and whispers of laughter that danced through the air like fading echoes. Lupin’s prize, the Moonveil Crown, was hidden deep within a vault lined with obsidian and guarded by shadows that could not be fought with steel. But he had a plan, for he always did.

Lupin, ever the trickster, played his grandest ruse. As Sholmes pursued him through Nightshade Manor’s twisting halls, the master thief shattered a mirror. The reflection of himself scattered into a hundred shards, each a false Lupin moving independently through the manor, creating a maze of misdirection. The detective, though mortal, understood immediately. He closed his eyes, listening, breathing, feeling the air around him.

And then, without hesitation, he raised his cane and struck at the one shadow that did not waver.

A laugh rang out, rich and pleased. A single figure emerged from the illusion—a silver crown in his gloved hand. “Bravo, mon ami,” Lupin purred, “I almost believed I was everywhere at once.”

Sholmes, unamused, took a single step forward. He had outwitted the thief, but now came the true test—could he catch him?

The Chase Through 4EverMore

What happened next is still sung by the wandering minstrels of the immortal world.

The thief and the Watchman vanished into the shadows, reappearing on the rooftops of Eclipsora, the great City of Day Walkers. They leaped between the glittering towers, their chase a dance of darkness and light, with the blood moon casting long shadows beneath them.

Lupin led the way, twisting through alleyways, phasing through walls, using his magic to send phantom copies of himself in all directions. But Sholmes did not waver. With every turn, every illusion, every trick, the detective countered, predicting Lupin’s moves with eerie precision.

As the chase neared its climax, Lupin found himself cornered upon the highest spire, a thousand feet above the moonlit city. Sholmes had him—there was nowhere to go. And yet, the Day Walker only smirked.

“Tell me, Detective,” Lupin said, adjusting the silver crown upon his head, “Did you ever stop to think… that I wanted you to catch me?”

Before Sholmes could react, Lupin leaped backward off the tower, his form dissolving into a mass of ravens that scattered into the night. The only thing left behind was an elaborate calling card, floating gently to the cobblestones at Sholmes’s feet. It read:

Better luck next time, dear friend.

The detective scoffed, but a smirk twitched at the edge of his lips. The city, its secrets, and its stories endured, and so would they. After all, what was eternity without a worthy adversary?

And thus, the legend of Nightshade Manor, and the battle of Lupin and Sholmes, lives on in the World of 4EverMore, a tale retold in shadows, a duel that is said to still echo through the corridors of time, a battle of immortal wit and guile, played over and over, never ending, never won.

And so the legend goes…