Lord of the Mysteries: Catalyst of Shadows

After hearing Victor's response, Stone remained silent for a moment, mulling over the words in his mind. Slowly, he stood up from his desk and approached the opposite couch. With an air of authority and contemplation, he lowered himself onto the cushions, watching the man in front of him intently.

"Very well," Stone finally said, his voice measured and calm. "You've proven your worth for now. I'm intrigued. What is it that you want?"

Victor's lips curled into a faint smile as he replied, his tone unwavering. "We can talk about rewards after I finish my end of the bargain. But rest assured, I'll be taking all the spoils of war. I trust that having the Black Moths removed from your play will be compensation enough for you."

Stone chuckled darkly, shaking his head at the man's words. "Such a hard bargain, but I'm not in a position to haggle... All things considered," he remarked, his voice carrying a note of resigned cynicism. "But what will you do to solve this issue, then? What's your plan?"

Victor's chuckle echoed softly through the room, his gaze never leaving Stone's. "Me? Nothing yet," he replied casually, though his words had an edge of quiet assurance. "You only asked for them to be weakened, and I've done that. If you want me to continue, you know how it works."

Stone's eyes narrowed slightly as his mind raced. I'd still need to ascertain the extent of their weakness and make further plans... But I'm not willing to commit resources until I know they've been fully eradicated from this town. He kept his thoughts to himself and leaned forward slightly. "Tsk. You don't make things easy, do you?" he muttered under his breath. Then, he sighed, finally relenting. "Fine. I want the Black Moths rooted out. Do that, and you can have whatever spoils you want from them."

Victor's smile returned, more predatory this time. He snapped his fingers with a flourish, and his response was almost too smooth. "Nice words, Stone. Now, tell me everything you know about them."

…

Amidst the wreckage and smoldering ruins, and thick musty air, two figures stood above the mutilated corpse of a larger man.

"That was too easy," one of the figures remarked, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "Nothing a precise explosion and a surprise attack can't deal with. Not that it was really necessary, though."

The other figure, a marionette, scanned the surroundings with a sharp eye, ever cautious. The air was tense with the possibility of more enemies lurking nearby.

The first marionette raised a hand, as it prepared to communicate with the deceased's soul. His fingers hovered above the man's body as his spirit began to lift from the bloodied remains.

"Who are you?" the marionette asked, his voice carrying an unsettling calm.

The man's face contorted slightly as he fought to speak, a twist of pain flashing across his features before he managed to respond, his voice strained.

"My name is Cassian Ruelle."

Jack, standing nearby with a calm, almost detached expression, was already prepared for the next question. He regarded the spirit with a chilling focus. "How many members does your organization possess?"

Cassian's spirit drifted with uncertainty, his eyes unfocused as he struggled to recall the details. "Aside from low-level members like us, there are three Mid Sequence captains and our leader, who is a Demigod."

Jack's eyes gleamed for a moment, his mind calculating the implications of the answer. He pressed further, his tone even. "What's the name of your leader? And what pathway does he follow?"

Cassian's previously confused expression immediately turned solemn, as if a sudden clarity had taken hold. "His true name is unknown to us," the spirit replied with a hint of fear in his voice. "But he goes by 'Vesper.' As for his pathway... I can't be sure. But he's cold, ruthless. Always more violent than others."

Jack's lips curled into a thin smile, though there was no warmth in it. Hints of the Criminal pathway, then. Not surprising, given the gang's violent methods. The fact that he still collects taxes shows he's a patient, calculating individual. That makes him dangerous.

He pressed on. "Where are the rest of your bases?"

Cassian's spirit lapsed into an unfocused state once again, as though his mind was slowly slipping away. "There are two other bases," he murmured, his voice distant. "They house weaponry, currency, and other resources. There's also an underground bunker in an inconspicuous location."

Interesting. I can use Stone's intel to pinpoint them, then make a direct move. Jack's mind worked swiftly, processing the information. He turned his gaze to the marionette preparing to end the session.

The marionette's hand moved with practiced precision, and Cassian Ruelle's blurry soul was released from his body, floating upwards and dissipating into the spirit world.

With the interrogation complete, the marionette produced a small piece of paper from his pocket and flicked it into the air. It burned up in a quick flash, leaving no trace behind. Then, the two marionettes turned and left the area, cautiously scanning their surroundings as they vanished into the shadows.

After leaving the club, Victor Hale, one of the marionettes, made his way toward the locations Stone had provided. Jack, now in a different guise, followed at a distance, his thoughts calculating as he moved through the streets.

He entered a nearby carriage, urging the driver to move towards the Silver Thistle. The carriage jerked forward, carrying Jack back toward his apartment, the night air cool and still as they passed through the darkened streets.

The answers from the corpse confirm Stone's information. I'll need to assess the situation at the bases, gauge how the members react to the blunder, Jack mused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he pondered the next move.

As the carriage rolled through the city, Jack's mind remained focused on the task ahead. The noise of the world outside was a distant murmur, and inside the carriage, all was quiet. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the cobblestones was the only sound breaking the silence.

Minutes passed, and soon enough, the carriage arrived at Jack's apartment. He paid the driver accordingly along with a small, silent gesture and stepped out onto the familiar streets.

After a few minutes, the marionette Victor arrived at his destination. The unassuming warehouse loomed ahead, quiet and unremarkable from the outside, but he knew better. He entered a nearby café on the same block, facing the warehouse, his steps casual as he made his way to an empty table. Ordering a cup of coffee, he settled in, eyes drifting back toward the warehouse.

Through the window, he noticed a small group gathered around the building. His gaze sharpened as he activated his Spirit Vision, immediately picking up on varying colors of aura emanating from the group. Some were faint, but others, particularly one near the center, had a stronger, deeper aura.

The captain must be here, Jack mused, watching the scene unfold with amusement. So, after one of their bases went up in smoke, the captains are dispersing to safeguard each warehouse. How predictable.

Sipping his coffee, Jack observed as two more figures approached the warehouse. The men were clearly battered and bruised, their clothes torn. One of them spoke up immediately as they neared the warehouse entrance.

"What the hell happened there? Answer me!" barked the captain, Silas Dain.

The two men, flustered and on edge, struggled to explain. "After we collected the weekly pay from Stone, Cassian suddenly triggered an explosion. We didn't know what was going on, tried to confront him, but he turned on us and attacked."

"Yeah, we had no choice but to kill him. We don't know who or what made him act like that," the other man added, shaking his head.

Silas cursed under his breath, clearly furious. "Useless buffoons. At least you made it out alive. Get inside and patch yourselves up."

The two nodded quickly and stumbled into the warehouse for medical treatment, leaving Silas and his men outside. Jack's sharp eyes followed their movements, noting every detail. A moment later, Silas and his remaining men entered the building, leaving two guards stationed outside.

Silas spoke again. "Evander, Rowan—stay low for now. Vesper will arrange a meeting to confirm the situation in a few hours."

"Understood, sir!" the men replied in unison, their faces set with determination.

As he turned to return to his office on the upper floor, both men exchanged a knowing smile. For a brief moment, the remaining men felt their movements slow—an almost imperceptible hesitation—before everything returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.

It seems like they're handling the situation, for now, Jack thought as he finished his coffee. He rose from his seat and casually paid for the drink before stepping out into the cool evening air. A carriage awaited him, and without missing a beat, Jack's marionette climbed in and returned to his apartment.

At the Silver Thistle, Jack entered his apartment, the familiar comfort of his space greeting him. He sat down on the couch, thoughts swirling as he considered his next move.

That should be enough for today, he mused. I'll reassess once the official Beyonders conduct their sweep of the town for any suspicious activities. They'll probably clean up any loose ends.

Lying back on the couch, Jack let the silence of his apartment settle around him. His mind, though always alert, was calm as he allowed himself to relax. Soon enough, his marionette returned, phasing through the door and bowing slightly to him before morphing into a chair beside the table.

Without a word, Jack rose and made his way to the bathroom for a long, soothing shower. The water washed away the grime of the day, and when he emerged, he felt rejuvenated. As the night stretched on, he retreated to his bed, sleep taking him swiftly as the world outside continued its chaotic dance.

The next morning, the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon, signaling the start of a new day. Jack stirred, his body already accustomed to the rhythm of action. Stretching, he rose from his bed, quickly getting dressed in his usual black suit—the one he'd worn when he first arrived in Huttel.

After a brief pause, Jack reached out, manipulating his marionette from the chair back into Victor Hale, the curly-haired figure taking form once more. As he reconnected with the spirit of his marionette, Jack took an extra moment, dividing a few more of his Worms of Spirit than usual to strengthen his connection.

Let's see what today brings. Jack thought, his mind focused as he prepared for the next step in his plan.

Jack, now fully immersed in the day's unfolding events, moved with purpose. He left his apartment first, his marionette—Victor Hale—following a short distance behind. Jack's mind, always sharp, remained focused as he stepped out into the bustling street.

As he hailed a carriage, his marionette continued on foot, blending seamlessly into the crowd. The pace of the city moved around them, but Jack's attention was fixed on the next steps of his plan. The carriage ride was short, and soon he arrived at the restaurant he'd chosen for the morning.

The establishment, well-regarded for its fine delicacies, caught Jack's eye immediately as he entered. The interior was adorned with rich décor, the atmosphere filled with the promise of an indulgent meal. He made his way to a table by the window, his seat offering a perfect view of the street outside.

A waiter swiftly approached him.

"Good morning, sir. What may I serve you today?"

Jack smiled slightly as he scanned the menu in his mind, before responding with his usual preference.

"I'll have a bowl of porridge, sweetened with a touch of treacle. A plate of kippers, grilled, with a wedge of lemon. Two eggs, poached, with a side of thick-cut bacon. Toast, buttered, and a bit of that strawberry jam if you have it. If the kitchen has mutton chops this morning, I'll take one as well. A pot of strong black tea to go with it, and perhaps a few fresh pears to finish."

The waiter nodded enthusiastically, impressed by the choice. "Great choice, sir. It will arrive shortly."

As the waiter left, Jack relaxed into his chair, his mind shifting momentarily to the events that had unfolded earlier. The marionette, Victor Hale, was now a few steps ahead in the day's activities.

As the marionette arrived at the Cathedral of the Eternal Blazing Sun, he beheld its resplendent golden facade, gleaming under the daylight as if poised to purge the world of darkness. The grand structure radiated an imposing aura, a beacon of faith and judgment.

Approaching the entrance, he masked his actions with illusions, subtly morphing his form into that of a shorter, unremarkable figure. With seamless precision, he dispelled the illusion just as he neared the cathedral's threshold, blending into the morning foot traffic.

From beneath his coat, he produced a projection of a pen and a piece of parchment. With swift, practiced strokes, he scribbled a message, his expression impassive as he pinned it to the Bulletin Board beside the main doors. The ink barely had time to dry before he turned away, setting the next phase into motion.

Spotting a nearby clergyman, he rushed forward with feigned urgency, his voice edged with concern.

"Mister, mister! Someone just left a suspicious note on the board!"

The clergyman, startled by the frantic tone, cast a wary glance toward the entrance. His curiosity piqued, he stepped forward, scanning the board until his eyes landed on the newly posted message. As he read its contents, his expression stiffened, eyes widening in alarm.

He spun around to confront the man who had alerted him—only to find no one there.

A chill crept down his spine as he searched the immediate area. The informant had vanished without a trace.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, the clergyman turned sharply on his heel and hurried inside, his steps echoing through the sacred halls as he made his way toward the Deacon's office.

Within the grand study of Saint Zephar Cathedral, Sebastian Halloway, the Deacon, sat behind an ornate mahogany desk, reviewing reports from the previous night's raid. His sharp features were taut with contemplation as he sifted through the aftermath.

We finally secured a breakthrough into the Black Moth's operations after months of dead ends... but still, not a single survivor.

A knock at the door shattered his thoughts.

"Enter," he called, setting aside the documents.

A clergyman rushed inside, his breath uneven, an urgent gleam in his eyes.

"Good morning, Deacon Halloway! I bring troubling news—a note was just pinned to the bulletin outside. It contains detailed locations of the remaining Black Moth bases… and a dire warning about their leader."

Sebastian accepted the letter, his gaze narrowing as he skimmed the hastily written lines. His fingers tightened around the parchment, his brow furrowing deeper with each passing word.

A Demigod… an Abyss Pathway Beyonder?!

His pulse quickened as realization set in. No wonder they had always been one step behind.

Setting the letter aside, he addressed the clergyman with a sharp, commanding tone.

"Inform the higher-ups in Trier immediately. Send a detailed report with everything we now know. We need reinforcements."

The clergyman gave a firm nod. "Understood, Deacon!"

"In the meantime," Sebastian continued, "deploy our Beyonder teams to confirm the locations listed here. Have them raid the bases and report back the moment they encounter resistance."

The clergyman bowed slightly before exiting the office in hurried strides.

Sebastian exhaled deeply and clenched his fists. He had spent too long waiting on orders, too long playing cautious. This time, he would see the operation through himself.

He fastened the golden sun emblem onto his chest. No more hesitation. No more missed opportunities.

As he turned to leave, his gaze instinctively flickered to his hand—the letter.

It was gone.

Sebastian Halloway remained still, his eyes scanning the empty space where the letter had once been. The parchment that had contained crucial information about the Black Moth and its connections had vanished into thin air, leaving only a faint, unsettling sense of something missing.

Furrowing his brows in confusion, he immediately activated his Unshadowed Domain, his ability to cleanse and purify any lingering effects or corruptions in his surroundings.

A ripple of energy surged through the air, and the very atmosphere around him seemed to shift, as if something unseen had been wiped away. His domain reached into every corner of the office, erasing any trace of tampering, any hidden distortion or lingering corruption that may have been left by the mysterious note or its creator.

But, as the energy settled, nothing seemed amiss. The office was as pristine and orderly as ever—no traces of dark influence, no unseen traces of manipulation.

"Nothing," Sebastian muttered to himself, his gaze narrowing. "No lingering effects, no disturbances. It's clean."

But that left him with one unsettling conclusion: the letter had never truly been there at all. It was as though it had never existed.

He stood up from his chair, pacing slowly as his mind churned. The disappearance of the letter, so deliberate and precise, pointed to one thing: the Mystery Pryers.

Could they be involved? Their unique abilities to manipulate reality, using Mystical Reenactment… It seemed too much of a coincidence. But it could also be the handiwork of the Secret Order—their vast network of operatives and shadowy figures made it just as likely they were behind this subtle manipulation.

Could this be a setup? Or worse, a distraction? Sebastian sharpened his eyes, frustration mounting as the uncertainty gnawed at him. 

The letter had contained vital information, but now it was gone. 

Sebastian took a deep breath, pulling himself together. 

He clenched his fists once more as he strode forward. Whatever it was, he would find out soon enough.

…

After savoring the last bite of his meal, Jack set down his utensils with a quiet sense of satisfaction. The rich flavors still lingered on his tongue—a fitting indulgence after the night's success. He took a final sip of his tea, letting its warmth settle in his chest before dabbing his lips with a napkin and rising from his seat. Adjusting his suit, he moved towards the exit, paying for the meal, before he stepped out of the restaurant, greeted by the crisp morning air.

Jack stepped into the four-person carriage he had called for, his gaze landing on a curly-haired man in a trench coat already seated inside. A knowing smile passed between them before the carriage set off through the city's winding streets. Yet, Jack's mind remained elsewhere—focused on the warehouse, where his other two marionettes were in motion.

…

Inside the warehouse, preparations were nearing completion. The operation was shifting to the Gilded Lily Club, where they would await further orders from Vesper.

Silas, overseeing the final steps, turned to his gathered men.

"Rise up. We're moving to the club for further orders—especially you two," he directed at Evander and Rowan, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

As they reached the warehouse doors, Silas suddenly caught a glimpse of a tall man with curly brown hair, clad in a black trench coat, his gaze piercing and filled with malicious intent—a predator locking onto its prey.

Instinct roared to life.

In a flash, Silas leapt backward, summoning a swarm of firebirds that screeched through the air before launching toward the intruder in a flurry of flames.

"Everyone! Focus your attacks on the target!" he barked, his hands ablaze as he hurled another volley of fire.

But something was wrong.

His subordinates did not follow his command. Instead, they turned toward him, their eyes vacant, their movements eerily synchronized.

Before he could react, a barrage of air bullets erupted toward him from all sides.

Silas' eyes widened in horror. Betrayal? No—manipulation.

In a desperate act, he summoned a flaming armor, its heat searing the air around him. The barrier absorbed part of the onslaught, but he couldn't evade everything. Bullets tore through, ripping into his torso and legs, sending him staggering onto the warehouse floor.

Blood pooled beneath him.

His breath came ragged, his vision swimming. There was no escape.

But there was still power.

With the last of his strength, Silas opened his mouth, a fervent incantation forming on his lips—

"The Umbral Sovereign, Keeper of the Thous—"

—Bang.—

A single shot.

A gaping hole exploded through Silas' forehead, his skull splitting apart in a gruesome spray of blood and bone.

The marionette, now morphed as Victor Hale lowered his hand, his expression unreadable.

"Can't have you bringing trouble so soon."

His gaze flickered over the remaining marionettes within the warehouse. Time to finish the job.

With seamless efficiency, he maneuvered them in the building, preparing to bring the entire structure down.

…

By the time the priestly task force arrived, flames had already begun to consume the warehouse, tongues of fire licking hungrily at the wooden beams.

Then—an explosion.

The inferno roared, sending shockwaves through the night as embers rained down like falling stars.

The captain of the team, reeling from the blast, forced his gaze through the swirling smoke and fire—only to see a figure standing amidst the wreckage.

A curly-haired man in a black trench coat.

Their eyes met.

The man gave a curt bow, arms outstretched, a fleeting moment of theatrical mockery—

Then, he vanished.

Swallowed by the flames.