— This place is too normal for a New Order ruin. I mean, it's macabre, obviously, but it's just an old prison.
The coin hissed between Calvirs's fingers and shot off like a bullet, striking the chest of an armored Other, a former knight. Reddish blood and a mucous mass exploded, leaving nothing of the creature behind but a crimson puddle.
Madly removed her top hat and ran a hand over her pinned-up hair to wipe away a spatter of flesh. Her eyes were glaring at Calvirs.
— Besides these creatures! I didn't know there could be so many Others in this place. We should have thought they came here for some kind of powerful energy.
— The Others don't have a standard pattern of influence. To claim they came here for some energy is a fallacy. These creatures don't even have a standard race. That's why they're categorized as Others, even though I hate that name. The Church of the Eternal Hunt should work more on its nomenclatures. — Madly replied, serious, as she entered the prison. Calvirs followed her, already spinning another coin between his fingers.
— Wasn't it the Empire's Pursuers who created the term? Since the Demons use these creatures to increase their powers... advance in Rank and all that.
Another creature began to rise. Immediately, the coin spinning in his hand was thrown at its head, exploding the crimson brains, pieces of armor, and the Other's slimy blood.
— Keep wasting your energy on them... — Madly said sarcastically. — It will be great if something worse shows up.
— Madly, you know I've always been bad at managing soul energy. And these creatures could become a danger to us, imagine if many of them ganged up on us? Who knows how these Others work. Better to be safe.
— Fair. Then use your hands, not your sigils.
Calvirs gave a smile, lowering his bowler hat. He looked at his impeccable clothes, opened his mouth to argue, but Madly was already walking away, and the scowl she shot him ended the discussion.
— The Others can be used for various factors, — she continued, climbing the staircase. — The spores that come from their bodies are known as "spices," one of the rarest ingredients in the world. — She paused and looked at Calvirs, as if reading his mind. — Not these, but the real ones. Those with powerful souls and advanced Ranks. Demons use them to achieve great power, obviously with consequences, but mages of that type don't care.
— Their lack of faith leads them down these paths, — Calvirs said, disappointed. — If they prayed to the Two-Faced Goddess, they would have a bright path ahead of them. They could even become Bishops.
Calvirs seemed a little disappointed. Memories came to his mind of when he joined the Church; many others tried to follow different paths and many died for it, or didn't get even close to where he is today.
— They are greedy. They wish to become gods, they believe in apotheosis. Which is blasphemy, but for such people who would do anything for power... That's the least of it.
Madly knew a little of Calvirs's past. All White Scarves, investigative Acolytes of the Two-Faced Church, came from a similar background, dreaming of one day climbing the hierarchy and becoming a Silver Lens, the church's elite and its true power.
— But don't worry, we won't find Demons here, not this close to the Empire. That's why we were sent, and not the Pursuers. It must be something else.
Madly stopped, thoughtful. The connection of the facts was obvious.
— Shit, Madly. Is this place an Empire cultivation area? Are they breeding Others?
The question slipped out before he could stop himself.
— It's not exactly like that, Calvirs. It's more complicated than it seems. The Empire just lets the Others proliferate in an abandoned area, without control over the exiles who enter here. — Madly went up to the next floor. — I'm not defending the Empire, the Goddess knows I care little for them. But this territory was partially under our jurisdiction because of the Ruin. That's why we were sent. If it weren't for that, we wouldn't even touch this place.
— Why don't they post guards? Or raise them in captivity?
— How should I know, Calvirs? I'm not part of the Empire! They must have their reasons, otherwise they would have done it long ago. The Empire has many problems to combat, but this doesn't concern us.
Madly lied; this obviously had to do with the churches. All the churches were in on this process. There were important territories across the ocean that other churches were exploring. The Drowned were returning, and the Anchored would soon need reinforcements. Demons were seizing power in smaller kingdoms and forming their own war masses. And the churches' influences were beginning to clash. It was all connected; she just didn't know the facts.
Calvirs was slightly distressed, but not enough to lose his focus. After understanding the facts, he calmed his mind. He just needed to do his job. However, thinking about how the Empire functioned was complicated; as part of the church, he sometimes touched on some loose threads, but he knew for his own good he shouldn't meddle. The church wouldn't go to war over the disappearance of a curious White Scarf. Only Silver Lenses could touch these matters and had the power to back up such actions.
— We're getting close. I feel a large flow of soul. A skilled sigilist made this cell.
Madly approached the end of the corridor. She observed the darkness ahead and knelt to touch the crack where the gate had descended.
— The sigil was broken, but from the leaked flow, the energy is still in the environment. Whoever did this is not a sigilist. They wouldn't be so careless.
— Maybe the time the Others spent hitting the gate weakened the sigil. Who knows how many years they were banging on it?
— Very possible, but there should have been some kind of soul-breaking sigil.
— More likely mind-breaking. It was very common for sigilists of that era to use. — Calvirs replied with a serious look at the ground.
The beautiful woman looked at him with no surprise and gave a slight smile from the corner of her mouth as a contribution. One of the rare ones from her.
— It seems your sigil studies are paying off. Soon, you'll be a great sigilist.
— Of course, Madly, not everyone had your luck. Entering the church at 16 and managing to become a White Scarf by 25. With your aptitude, I wouldn't even think about sigils.
Madly remained quiet. Any response would seem arrogant. She knew she was good at manipulating soul flow. She also knew she could reach the 2nd Rank in a few years. It was only a matter of time before she became a Silver Glove. The dream of many was a fact for her. And as soon as she achieved it, she could try to seek a nuance of soul. After that process, reaching a Legitimate would be possible.
— Shall we go in? The sigils that bind this darkness won't last. Soon, everything inanimate inside will disappear. — Calvirs looked at the crack. — It's a shame. It must have been a beautiful sigil.
— You talk as if we had the capacity to see it. Our minds would be destroyed.
— Unfortunately.
The two entered the darkness in silence. In a few steps, they reached thousands of chains on the ground. Part of the darkness had already disappeared, leaving the cell's size much smaller than it should be.
The two White Scarves looked at each other warily. They both knew the price of this metal and what it was used for: to bind and seal extremely dangerous prisoners who were not meant to be killed. The reasons were lost along with the history of the time.
— Do you think... he got loose? — Calvirs asked, uncomfortable with the situation. If whatever was trapped here for years got loose, it would be a danger on a scale much larger than his caliber.
— Breaking these chains is almost impossible, no matter the nuance of your soul or the Rank of your power. It would be a feat for a Magnus, or higher.
The man spun the coin faster between his fingers. The fact that Madly hadn't answered the question directly was the worst of answers.
The chains intensified on the ground until they reached their source. A man's body was trapped among them. Wrapped all over his body, suspending him above the ground. Only his face and a small part of his chest were visible.
His face was hanging forward. Blood leaked from his mouth, mixing with his dark hair, staining the white streaks crimson. His handsome chin dripped fresh blood that came from his nose.
Calvirs froze as he took in the scene. To see a man imprisoned in this place for so many years meant something far beyond his paygrade. For so many chains from the New Order era to be used, he must have been a being of extreme power. Probably an Arche or even a Magnus. For Soulless ones, like the two of them, it was beyond their reach. The situation bordered on a level close to the Church's Cardinals, or even higher.
The scene became even more macabre upon noticing the fresh blood coming from the wound in his chest. An Arche had been killed just moments ago.
— The killer must still be nearby, — Calvirs said, motionless.
— It was a single blow. From a blade. — Madly, unbreakable, approached the body. — A common blade wouldn't kill an Arche, no matter how weakened.
She extended her hand, and her fingers sank into the flesh, like a butcher into a pig. To many, this would be an outrage, a 1st Rank Soulless one defiling the body of an Arche.
— A short blade. It pierced the heart, but I feel few traces of soul flow.
Calvirs approached, touching the dead man's face.
— A soul attack? Should we call the Ferryman's Devotees? Soul attacks are far outside our church's area of study.
— The Rogues are busy. They always are. The battle of the Gray Sea is taking up most of their focus. By the time they get here, the darkness will have taken everything.
Madly looked down at her feet again. Deep down, she feared the darkness. She knew it was normal for sigilists to use it in the past, but she had heard stories of acolytes who were taken by it while still alive.
— You're right. — Calvirs suggested. — Maybe a Soul Devourer? They're rare, but they can be seen wandering the Empire.
— It's a good hypothesis for someone who doesn't specialize in soul attacks, but it seems too simple. A Soul Devourer wouldn't leave so many soul fragments behind. It seems the attack took something specific. A large part was left behind and dissipated.
Madly's finger wriggled inside the corpse like a worm.
— It took a part of the soul? For a specific purpose? Maybe...
Calvirs had a distant idea. His hands trembled. He had remembered a case from a few years ago. In the north of the Empire, a Bishop of the Two-Faced Goddess, a Priest of the Church of Irsabel, was killed in the same way. At the time, they didn't find out what had done it.
— Do you... remember the case of the Bishop of Irsabel? In the city of Gastiar?
Madly froze. Her hand fell from the body, her gaze lost in thought. An expression of horror appeared on her face. Calvirs saw her hands tremble, her eyes glazed, and her lips dry.
The minds of both of them raced, not to a simple memory, but to the report that haunted all White Scarves.
The reports tell that a group of White Scarves was entering the city of Gastiar. The once-bustling city, full of followers of the Two-Faced Goddess, was a clear symbol of the church's growing influence in the more northern parts of the Empire. The cathedral that was under construction was the greatest achievement in the entire region, all thanks to the former bishop who, with his power, had managed to root the faith ever deeper. But, all of that was in the past.
The group of White Scarves knew that an attack had occurred and was only supposed to investigate, but upon arriving, they found the city completely silent. Dried bodies, drained like mummies, were all over the streets. Killed almost instantly in the middle of their daily tasks. The beautiful buildings were empty; castles, academies, shops, and mansions were intact, like an open-air museum. The group was fearful; there should have been mid-rank Imperial knights protecting the territory and members of the church who followed the Bishop of Irsabel everywhere.
The man himself was a fearsome figure, a follower who protected a reliquary of Irsabel herself, a saint of the Two Faces. However, there was no sign of their existence.
The White Scarves sent messages and images showing the whole situation in Gastiar to the headquarters at the central Cathedral. As they approached the old church of Irsabel, there was nothing there. The great monument that was becoming a cathedral was completely destroyed. Pieces of white glass, polished marble pillars, silver drawings were thrown in a pile of rubble. Nothing but trash.
The bodies of the acolytes, gloves, and deacons of the church were gathered amidst the destruction, showing only their limbs and barely recognizable vestments.
In the midst of all that destruction was only one being. A creature that had exterminated more than 300,000 people in a few hours. Defeated imperial knights and followers of the Two Faces as if it were just child's play.
He wore a black suit, with light gray tones. His figure was similar to that of a human, but from the presence of his power, everyone knew he was not. His physical appearance was also barely visible; after all, his face was covered by a rabbit mask, leaving only his short, reddish hair to vibrate in the wind.
The mask was slightly dirty with ash, the rabbit's large eyes staring at the White Scarves before him with mockery. He sat among the debris while playing with a coin of the Two-Faced Goddess in his hand, spinning it from one side to the other between his fingers. One could tell that the man was smiling.
The reconnaissance group trembled with fear. Dread was positioned on their faces. All but their leader fell to their knees, begging for a miracle from the goddess to save them, but the Goddess hadn't even saved her bishop, let alone little Gloves like them.
The leader positioned himself towards the masked rabbit. His hand trembled, but he needed to get the report out. At least this way his death would be useful in some way.
— Who are you?
The rabbit lifted his face a little. A larger smile appeared, even moving the mask, which settled perfectly on his face. Humming a tune in a jazz rhythm, he replied.
— "You're nobody 'til somebody loves you. So find yourself somebody to love."
Author's Note: Translation of the song "You're Nobody 'til Somebody Loves You" by Dean Martin.
The group leader froze as he watched the man sing without any hurry. The song continued.
— "The world is still the same, you'll never change it. As sure as the stars shine above."
The man listened to the song in a cheerful tone, contrasting with the funereal environment. The rabbit seemed to be enjoying the situation, singing with a nostalgic air.
— Why did you do this?
The rabbit stopped humming and looked at the group leader. Their eyes met. And a childish fear took hold of the old man. Memories of his old mother telling him horror stories to sleep seemed to be coming true.
— That is the correct question. — The rabbit put the coin in his pocket and pulled out another object. — I wanted to know what kind of dream a high-level follower of the Church would give me.
The false eyes of the mask showed small glimpses of a purple-blue light from the being's true eyes.
— And I needed to get the reliquary.
From his pocket emerged an eye with a silvery-white pupil, close to becoming a mirror, with various sigils surrounding the corneas.
The group leader fell to his knees. Fear rested on his face, and all his feelings and senses were sent to the cathedral. The last thought before the end of the report was:
— A Dream Catcher...