The door creaked, gaping a crack, through which half of Joe's face was revealed.
A glance at Clayton and Joe immediately pulled the door open, then nervously spun around, seemingly on alert for something.
Seeing an unscathed and energetic Joe, Clayton felt relieved.
That shot threatened to kill Joe, who, nevertheless, had always been lucky.
Careful not to leave a bloody trail, he reached down to his side and lifted the harpy inside, before shutting the door.
"Lieutenant, have you ever seen some hellish thing like this?"
With his back to Clayton, Joe asked as he vigilantly aimed his pistol at the writhing body part on the floor.
The distorted small hand at the wing tip was trying to crawl its way around.
Clayton held up the unconscious harpy, inspecting it. To his disappointment, he found the harpy herself no more exuberant than her limb.
"Yes, I guess."
Joe had yet to notice the bird in Clayton's hand, but he had caught a whiff of a growing stench.
"Damn it, why so stinky?"
"Perhaps because of this."
Clayton tossed the harpy on the ground, where the limb fragment came into contact with her, but did not recall the location of its home. Instead, the hand continued fiercely grabbing, plucking clumps of feathers from her.
Clayton winced at its ferocious nature.
This called to mind the cremation of a recently deceased, where the corpse would twitch in the midst of a blazing fire.
Joe hit the floor hard on his butt. Only now did he note that Clayton had brought in the monster.
For sure, Joe was a former soldier, but one who had never faced off against an enemy, let alone such a monster.
His intimidated look wore Clayton's patience thin.
Given Joe's cowardice, had he seen Clayton's werewolf form, he might have found it.... well, perhaps acceptable.
A monster with human-like features felt more disgusting than a fully non-human one.
It would give a sacrilegious sensation to just about anyone.
The aesthetic appeal of the girl's pretty countenance was reduced to nothing by her reeking, bird-like body and some remaining deformed human organs.
Had he become a wolf with a human head, Clayton could not have accepted it, either.
With this in mind, Clayton grew tolerant. "Joe, didn't you use to be a guard at a prisoner-of-war camp? Try your hand at interrogating something out of her."
"Her?" Flabbergasted, Joe pointed his revolver at the harpy, "Can I?"
"Anyway, it has a human head. Bring it along. We are leaving for another place."
Clayton was currently doubting the security here. Even though no one detected the gunshot, the fleeing coachman might bring a constable over here to check.
Joe let his glance wander from Clayton's rifle, the broken window, then to the bullet hole in the wall behind him.
This was his rented place.
"Alright."
They whisked the harpy off to a nearby abandoned building.
In the dark, dusty space, they could hear the billowing waves from outside, accentuating the profound quietude in here. Even their breath felt moist and heavy.
This was the port area near the edge of Sasha City.
Because of landslides from both banks, the waterway could no longer allow large ships to pass. As time dragged on, the neighbouring warehouses and factories were deserted, ending up as hideouts for tramps and criminals.
Clayton stood guard outside the door, leaving Joe Mani inside handling things.
A candlestick in one hand and the revolver in another, Joe, from his experience, started,
"Tell me your name."
His words fell on deaf ears; the falcon with a woman's head stared at him, speechless.
After some thought, Joe asked again, but in Tauntonese（the language of Taunton）,
"Tell me your name."
The eagle-bodied demoness's eyes popped wide, two streams of tears sliding down her cheeks.
Joe was stunned, his face frozen. The vivid emotions displayed on her face humanized her, making her seem less monstrous.
He turned around, shouting, "Lieutenant, perhaps something is amiss?"
Clayton, shouldering the weighty rifle, turned in through the door, "What do you mean?"
"She looks like a human."
Hugging the Conqueror, Clayton leaned against the wall by the door, his fingers caressing the barrel as though plucking a harp's strings. The sight of the eagle-bodied demoness's tearful, young visage, in stark contrast to its nauseating body, had agitated him.
He was a werewolf, but also a human. So what did this one count for?
She didn't even have a human body.
"Haven't you read the Poem of Liaexus? They are prone to lies."
"But she is weeping." Joe's voice betrayed his panic.
"Better she looks like a human. That means fear. Ask where her master is."
Joe Mani turned around, restating Clayton's question in Tauntonese.
The demoness opened her mouth but didn't utter any sound. She even forced a smile on her face, slick with tears.
Before Joe could say anything, Clayton raised the gun at her. He decided to settle the matter as soon as possible.
"Speak, or die."
During his military stint, he also learned Tauntonese, though his fluency bowed before Joe's.
Tears welled up in her eyes once more, dripping from her chin.
She parted her jaws wide. The female visage twisted as she struggled to lean her head forward.
"What the hell!" Clayton abruptly lowered the rifle's muzzle.
Earlier on, the distance in between had obscured her face; he wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. Yet, at the time, something within Clayton was lost. An unknown emotion deterred him from firing a shot.
It took him a few seconds to calm down. He squatted down before the eagle-bodied demoness, squeezing its cheeks with fingers, saying,
"Better say something, or else..."
Suddenly, he pulled back as though having been electrocuted.
In her mouth, a mere lump of flesh occupied the spot where a tongue was supposed to be. And she had a few missing teeth.
She couldn't speak anymore.
"You're a human?" Clayton parted the feathers under her neck, finding a black and blue welt there, pus seeping out along its periphery.
The eagle-bodied demoness nodded, then turned to gaze longingly at the pistol in Joe's hand.
Clayton rose to his feet, turning on his heel. The look in his eyes sent Joe taking a step backward.
"Kill her."
Joe thought he must have misheard. "What?"
In no mood to explain, Clayton wrested the revolver from Joe's hand and fired a shot backward, without a turn of his head.
The demoness's head thumped back into the rusty metallic frame behind it before the gunshot died out.
"Let's go. Our efforts have been in vain."
Tossing the revolver away, Clayton adjusted his collar, then picked the rifle off the floor and slung it over his back, walking out.
Joe cast a glance at him but didn't follow.
Outside the deserted warehouse, the night appeared serene, with moonlight sprinkling down.
Clayton's brownish eyes were gleaming.
He took the same route he had come. It was unknown how long down the streets, but pedestrians began emerging.
"Good night, Sir, do you need a helping hand?"
At the end of the street, a man stood in Clayton's way.
Leaning on a cane, he wore a black overcoat and a beret, holding in one hand the leash of a very excitable dog.
The badge on his chest gave proof of his status as a constable.
Clayton brought his left hand to his nose, sniffing hard.
Indeed, the scent was quite strong.
"No, thanks. I have just finished fishing, now on my way home."
To prevent the shiny barrel from giving away his location, Clayton had shrouded the Conqueror in thick black cloth. He was unworried that the constable would recognize it.
"Night fishing? What exquisite taste you have!"
The constable offered a nod. "But it's already late into the night. Even St. Melon Parish may not be a safe place. There seems to have been a shooting down the road not long ago. For the sake of your safety, let me accompany you for a walk."
Were he to turn down the man's offer once more, Clayton would look too suspicious.
"Alright, thank you for your service," Clayton said. He could smell a whiff of the coachman's scent from the constable. It seemed logical that the constable had tracked him down based on that smell.
As Clayton walked up, the man's dog edged up to his shoes, sniffing but not barking.
Dogs and wolves were almost the same species. Clayton commanded them, too.
The constable chortled.
"You're welcome. As Darkins, helping each other is just what we should do."
Clayton's gaze constricted.
He was now more irritable than usual, for he had done a distasteful thing.
"Darkins? Is this some novel term?"
"No, but a theological term."
The constable strolled leisurely with the dog on his leash, seemingly unworried about Clayton's possible sneak attack.
"So you don't know it?"
"No, not at all." Clayton was guessing about the constable's relationship with the Holy Grail Society.
Holding tight the strap of the gun, he was ready for a battle the next moment.
"Don't be nervous. My name is Gilead. I have been a constable in this city for four years. Not only do I enforce the kingdom's laws, but I also, at times, help Darkins like you stay undercover."
Gilead cast a two-second sidelong glance at Clayton, then turned away.
"Especially recently, a stream of newborns like you has cropped up, ignorant about everything and causing me many troubles."
Clayton felt as though his heart had been smashed by a heavy hammer.
It seemed that monsters had long since blended into the Constabulary, a doubtlessly authoritative institution.
If what this man had said held true, what kind of city on earth had he been living in?
He looked back and felt relieved that Joe hadn't followed him.
"Inconceivable. Could you confirm your identity?"
Upon hearing his question, Gilead didn't give a direct answer.
"We don't know each other well yet, so I would keep it a secret. But, if you are interested, come to the Chief Constabulary to find me tomorrow. I don't mind answering you a few questions."
Gilead's steps ceased abruptly, with 214 Mercy Street up ahead.
The window had disgorged glass shards on the pavement, evidently.
"Unleashing our power is our nature, but don't go over the top."
Gilead gave Clayton a serious look. "The city's Elders hope that the peace not be broken again. The ensuing chaos will put our business in a state of distress."
"It's no longer the Old Era."