"Bow, tjou soul is sworn to mine"
Reginald not only inherited the knowledge to understand Hell Speech, but he could also speak it. Hell speech is a language largely lost to history, with only a few phrases used in rituals occasionally.
Reginald repeated the ritual for the three other vampire hearts. He now had four Velroth under his command.
Which leaves him with three choices. He could bind the Velroth to an object which he could carry around with him, a Velroth per object. He could bind the Velroth into his body and become a Scorched himself, and have Miasma slowly upgrade his state of being. Or he could leave them in the Book of Blood and bring them out when he needs them.
Becoming a Scorched was out of the question, because that would close the door to all his achievements and connections with the police. A valuable point of information.
He could not leave them in the book either, as summoning them could expose the existence of the book.
Reginald is left with the option of sealing them into an object. He decided on his not-so-new hat.
He got busy readying another array for the sealing. He placed the hat and commanded the biggest of the Velroth, the third to be converted, to stand at a node in the formation.
A cyclone formed, but not as prominent as the last, and the Velroth smoke form slowly diffused into the hat while howling in hell speech.
His unassuming black hat now had a red tinge to it. One of the upsides of sealing the Velroth is that it largely becomes imperceptible to other Scorched, even those of the larger class.
Reginald picked up the hat, dusted off the moist soil that stuck to it, and put it on. He felt a huge sense of weight fall off his chest as he donned the hat.
Reginald originally planned to use all the hearts to summon Velroths, but changed his mind due to the corpses. With those bodies he can summon a new type of protector but he needs more materials.
'It's time to leave,' and he brought a Velroth with him.
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In the inner room of the abandoned church deep in Eggot Harbor, a book floated.
The Book was a grotesque masterpiece, bound in the rough, sinewed hide of some long-forgotten beast.
Its cover, blacker than darkness and coarse to the touch, seemed to pulse faintly, as though alive. The pages within were not paper, but thinly stretched skin—dark, pliable, and etched with ink that shimmered like wet blood.
The writings danced with a hypnotic allure, whispering meaning even before the eyes could settle. A faint red halo clung to the tome, like the red glow of the sun of the Hell of Blood had scorched the blood-soaked book.
A flash of sanguine light and the book disappeared. In its place, a man wearing a slightly oversized coat, marine blue trousers, while sporting a black hat.
Beside the man was a floating figure. The figure is covered by churning smoke that moves across his body and looking closely enough you can see that its body is covered by black robe. In its eyes were sanguine rubies glowing with a red hue.
It was Reginald and a Velroth. It was still dark, maybe midnight.
'I should have brought a mat at least to sleep on,' Reginald regretted while sitting on a stone chair. He completed the ritual much earlier than he anticipated. He intended to pass the night and laid back down on the floor.
He was so glad that he kept the corpse brothers in the Book of Blood. The thought of sleeping so close to corpse sends shivers down his spine.
Dawn cast a sickly grey light over Eggot Harbor, failing to lift the filth or chase away the stench of rot and stagnant despair. The fog clung low, curling between the crooked alleys and sagging rooftops like it was very much alive.
The broken windows of the ruined church behind Reginald glinted faintly as he stepped out, silent and composed.
He looked different now. The baggy coat still hung from his shoulders, but it no longer made him look lost in it—it now seemed to drape around something sharper, something awakened.
His eyes, once tired and searching, were steady, watching the world, prepared for what it could bring. His steps were slower, but deliberate, no longer cautious like when he came here, at least he has an agency to protect himself. Even the strays that once growled or fled gave him a wide berth.
Reginald instructed the Velroth he came out with to guard the church, not to attack intruders or anything but to observe. There was nothing in the church worth fighting for now.
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The shower stood at the corner—iron pipe overhead, fed by a groaning hand-pump tank. With each crank from Reginald, the water pumped, bringing about a stuttering splash of cold water from above, slapping against Reginald's skin in sharp bursts. Slowly washing the grime and blood and Miasma from his skin.
He stood there in the cold planning his day.
He still has to show up at the station today, he was quite curious about the mission the Superintendent mentioned the day before.
Beyond the door, Velroth crouched in silence, claws brushing stone. Reginald had ordered it to stand guard, not leaving anything to chance anymore.
He got out of the shower, donned his uniform, but this time he was wearing an old black hat. He slowly walk out into the street ready to face whatever the day brings.