The cold night air drifted through the open curtains of the office, carrying with it the distant sounds of the sleeping city.
Inside, the only light ca from a single green-shaded desk lamp, casting a warm pool of illumination on the parchnt below.
A young man with unruly black hair and a sharp, cold glint in his eyes was writing furiously with a fountain pen, the scratch of its nib a steady rhythm in the quiet room.
Despite there being a chanical typewriter sitting unused beside him, he preferred the deliberate, personal connection of ink on paper.
His casual clothes were slightly rumpled, and his skin had a rough, weathered look that contrasted with his otherwise youthful appearance.
The office itself was sparse and neat, containing only a few essential pieces of furniture.
In the background, a small wooden radio played a soft, lodic tune, the station’s signal faint but clear.
’Oh the night may be dark so you could hardly see~’
’But let the warmth fill up your night, and see through it all~’
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the man’s lips as the relaxing, romantic lyrics filled the room.
It was a small mont of peace for him who was often plagued with problems.
A sudden loud knock on the door broke the peaceful atmosphere.
The man, Sybil, set his pen down without hurry.
"Enter."
The door opened to reveal a tall woman with long, neatly tied brown hair, dressed in sharp, professional office attire.
She entered with a purposeful stride, stopped before his desk, and gave a respectful, formal bow.
"Offering my respects, Sir Handler Sybil."
She said with a tone of deep respect.
She did not mind the unruly appearance of the person in front of her as she was quite used to it.
Sybil gave a slight nod.
"Is there sothing, lanie?"
lanie did not directly answer the question but instead provided an explanation imdiately.
"Marcus and his team have returned from their mission in Evado City," she stated.
"However, they cannot deliver their debrief imdiately. They were diverted to respond to a sudden crisis in the Linere District."
She paused, choosing her words.
"There was an incident. An explosion... err.. rather, two powerful explosions that occurred consecutively in the sa area."
lanie’s expression grew more serious.
"Marcus’s initial assessnt is that the blasts carried a significant concentration of sin power. The residual energy is... concerning. He has formally requested your assistance at the site."
Sybil leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.
"Linere is practically on the doorstep of the Coven of Abomination. It is their territory to patrol. Had we not officially inford them that our mbers are unavailable for auxiliary support this week due to the Evado situation?"
"That is the established protocol, sir," lanie confird.
"However another demon suddenly erged within the town area that had to be handled by the available witches from the Coven of Abomination.... Which leads Marcus to suspect this may not be an ordinary event. Perhaps it’s the work of stray witches this ti, operating outside any formal structure."
A deep frown etched itself onto Sybil’s face.
"Stray witches causing explosions this late at night during the Sunfall Festival... Lately, the mortality rate across Matamisan has been climbing higher and higher. It is no longer a trend we can afford to ignore."
He looked out the window into the dark city.
"It’s ti we pressed the higher-ups for a definitive decision regarding these unaffiliated practitioners. Our current reactive stance is becoming insufficient. We need a proactive policy, even if it ans stepping on the covens’ toes."
"I will draft a proposal for the council in the morning..." lanie replied, making a ntal note.
"This problem regarding stray witches is quite vexing..."
Sybil said, still staring out the window.
"Evado City keeps pushing that idea of ’total freedom’ for anyone with power. They call it an open sanctuary, but honestly... it’s just trouble with a nicer na."
He finally looked back at her.
"Lately there’s been a debate between Matamisan and Evado in regards to handling these things. Does one prioritize absolute, chaotic freedom, or security through controlled order?"
lanie considered this.
"I choose the side of that debate leads to fewer explosions in the night, sir."
She said before turning to leave quickly, leaving Sybil unable to stop her.
She did not really want to get pulled into another one of Handler Sybil’s philosophical debates...
She was once been caught up in this trip of his before, which lead to an endless long talk that wasted quite a lot of her ti...
Even the other mbers dared not to engage in such debates against Handler Sybil, in fear that they’ll offend the man if they ever won the debate.
A grim smile returned to Sybil’s lips.
As she prepared to leave, Sybil glanced at the radio, where the soft song continued:
’Let the warmth fill up your night...~’
He whispered to himself, almost amused.
"...Looks like tonight won’t be warm at all."
...
Inside the Tangen Warehouse, the air was filled with dust and the faint sll of blood.
Two figures made their way down the worn concrete steps, their footsteps echoing softly in the hollow underground space.
Reymond walked behind a woman dressed in a long white gown.
His slicked-back hair, cheap suit, and forced confidence made him look like a man trying too hard to appear calm.
But anyone who knew him well would see the tension in his shoulders and the stiffness of his steps.
In front of him, a woman moved with a steady and graceful pace.
She wore a pristine white dress that looked utterly untouched by the destruction around them, a stark and impossible contrast.
Her skin was flawless, her features sharp and beautifully seductive.
But Reymond felt no lust, only a deep, cold fear.
Reymond did not dare admire her the way ordinary n would.
"Priestess Putrescence..."
Reymond uttered, his voice sounded out with a mix of fear and forced respect.
He glanced at the carnage around them... the collapsed ceiling, the chunks of demon flesh plastered against the walls.
"...I deeply apologize for the damage caused tonight. Things spiraled out of control."
He found himself in a terrible predicant, and a part of his mind scread in confusion.
’How did I forget that most mbers of the Iron Jackals knew the na of the Progenitor of Self Harm? How could I have overlooked sothing so obvious?’
He had counted on the Iron Jackals team being disposable, but he had completely forgotten that seasoned gang mbers would know the na of the Progenitor of Self-Harm due to situations where they were forced to be silenced before interrogations of important matters occured.
His wit and cunning were his best qualities...
Yet lately, it felt like his thoughts were constantly shrouded in a thick fog, his judgnt clouded at the worst possible monts.
But Priestess Putrescence did not respond to his apology.
Instead, she spoke in her usual cold voice, not even turning to face him.
"Where will you go now? Steel Heir and the Coven of Solace will co after you and Fredero after this. Fredero still has a chance. He is far more cunning than you, and his ties with the Coven of Abomination run deep."
Reymond’s heart sank.
He understood perfectly what she was trying to say.
Fredero Tangen was a valuable asset, a witch with influence.
Reymond was just a second-circle witch, a useful pawn.
The Coven of Abomination would happily throw him to the wolves to cover their own involvent.
He forced a small, desperate smile.
"I understand, Your Excellency. I have already prepared an escape route. I will move to the upper side of the country, perhaps to Lainam in the Ezunlo Island group. The cities here in Ominda, like Evado... they are too close to Matamisan. The search will be concentrated here."
The Priestess offered no approval, no advice.
She simply began walking forward, her white dress gliding over the rubble.
Her silence was a clear ssage... Reymond’s fate was his own concern now.
Just then...
Within a pile of rubble, a figure stirred.
A hand, wrapped in dust and blood, pushed aside a chunk of rubble.
Slowly a body began to rise from the wreckage.
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