After a moment of silence, Jay and the girl stepped into the church.
The entire structure shimmered under the pale glow of white marble, its vaulted ceiling made of stained glass that told ancient tales of the Merciful Mother—each panel a story of divine warmth and compassion.
But those stories felt like lies today.
Before them, a crowd had formed—a murmuring cluster of horrified onlookers encircling something grotesque.
They weaved between the rows of wooden pews, placed for prayer and supplication. The air, once meant to carry incense and reverence, now reeked of something far more visceral.
With every step, the scent of blood grew heavier. They knew what they were walking toward. Still, they had to see it with their own eyes.
And when they did, the image scorched itself into their minds—an eternal, waking nightmare.
Two women, lifeless and grotesquely posed, were displayed in a twisted mimicry of sexual intercourse. Their skin had been flayed—ripped away everywhere except their faces, breasts, and buttocks. But it was their bellies that drew the eye, round and unmistakable.
They were pregnant.
"What—"
Jay opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. Still, he held himself together. He had witnessed horrors before. His hands trembled, but he didn't break.
The same couldn't be said for the girl beside him.
For her, it was the first time she had seen death so intimately—except, of course, for her own.
Her eyes widened, her stomach clenched, and something warm and sick rose in her throat. She staggered back, one hand to her mouth, before bolting toward the exit with a wet sound behind her.
Jay turned away from the crime scene and approached Jin, lowering his voice as if afraid the corpses might overhear.
"Wh-What is this…?"
"Someone killed them," Jin replied, his voice flat and cold.
"I—I can see that. But why? And in this way…?"
Jin didn't answer. His crimson eyes stared into the corpses without flinching, the color in them as calm as still water—yet somehow more unnerving than panic.
Nearby, Nana lit yet another cigarette, the smoke curling from his lips like an exorcism ritual. He inhaled deeply and exhaled even deeper. Maybe that was the only way he could keep himself from falling apart.
Most thought inspectors got used to death. But this was something else. You needed a buffer, a crutch, a ritual. For Nana, it was tobacco—his only ward against madness.
A squad of ORDER agents were already attending to the scene. Specialists in divination worked in near silence, their hands weaving invisible patterns into the air.
Nana approached them.
"Anything?" he asked, his voice rough with smoke.
An older woman—stern-eyed, gray-haired, and bearing the sigil of the Divination Corps—shook her head.
"Nothing. Whoever did this is a master of anti-divination Arts."
"Damn freaks," Nana muttered, teeth clenched tight. "They always leave a mess like this."
The woman didn't respond. She merely looked past him and muttered, "You've got another headache approaching."
"What headache—?"
He followed her gaze.
An old man shuffled toward them. His robes were pristine white, marked with delicate golden thread. Wrinkles framed his small, sunken eyes. His expression was one of feigned serenity, masking contempt.
"The holy fossil arrives," Nana muttered.
The old man stopped before the group, casting a judgmental gaze over the ORDER agents. He stood expectantly, waiting for someone to greet him.
No one did.
Such was the tension between Awakened and clergy.
"They send mannerless Awakened into this sacred grounds," the old man said, voice brittle with insult.
"This 'mannerless Awakened' happens to be the lead officer on this damn investigation," Nana shot back. "So I suggest you cooperate."
"The will of the Great Mother must prevail," the priest muttered darkly, placing three fingers on his chest—the symbol of the Merciful Mother. One for purity. One for femininity. One for mercy.
Nana rolled his eyes. "Spare me the theology. When did you discover this?"
"This morning. At first light, when the gates opened for prayer."
Nana raised an eyebrow.
"The gates open with the birth of a new sun," the old man clarified, sensing the inspector's skepticism. "And we close at its fall."
"Yeah, I know how your religion work. Why were the women inside?"
"It is custom. Two pregnant women remain with the Mother during the night—to remind her of herself, so she does not forget her nature in the dark."
Nana scribbled that down, though his mind scoffed at the absurdity.
'Why make things so damn complicated?'
The interrogation dragged on. Each answer birthed more questions, tangling the case like roots in a dying forest.
But then came the most disturbing revelation.
The corpses had no shadows.
Not even under direct light. The diviners had tried everything—arcane tracing, reverse binding, even mirror-matching. Still, nothing. No outline, no silhouette. As if the concept of shadow had been stolen.
He stared at the floor beside the bodies, his expression unreadable.
'Gone… no, not gone. Taken. But by what?'
The question lingered in the church like incense—bitter, cloying, and without answer.
***
Jay narrowed his eyes, his gaze drilling into the old man with quiet intensity.
"Don't look at him like that," Jin muttered, stepping beside him, hands casually tucked into his coat pockets. "He should be aware of you by now."
Jay blinked. "What—oh no," he whispered, straightening slightly. "He's not even an Awakened."
His voice suddenly stiffened, tension coiling in his shoulders. "But I'm sensing something... off. A strange kind of energy. It's not spiritual energy."
"That's Holy Energy," Jin replied flatly, watching the priest with unreadable eyes.
Jay exhaled sharply. "Ah… so that's what it is. But it feels stronger—heavier—than spiritual energy."
Jin nodded once. "At your level, it might be."
Jay's brow furrowed, his fingers twitching unconsciously as if grasping for understanding. "How does that even work? They're not Awakened. They shouldn't even have souls, right?"
"They don't," Jin said, his voice lowering like a blade drawn across stone. "They were granted a fraction of their god's grace. Unlike us—our strength comes from our within, tied to the soul. Theirs... exists through faith. Through devotion to their goddess."
Jay tilted his head, visibly unsettled. "What about skills?"
"They receive something else," Jin murmured, glancing toward the church altar. "They call them Blessings of the Divine."
"Is it like a skill?" Jay asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and unease.
"Similar," Jin said after a pause. "But... not the same."
He fell silent then, his eyes clouded for a flicker of a moment. Truth was, he didn't know much more himself. And rather than exposing his weakness, he chose the most time-honored strategy of the wise:
He said nothing.