The Wielder of Death Magic

Chapter 881: Unfortunate Paperboy

Blood-soaked sleeves, sweaty brow, a beaten knife. The horrible figure of the Cto murderer vanished into the damp night. The date reads the 30th of April, the peaceful neighborhood of Froen, cupped in a meadow of butterflies and birds is stricken by the hammer of injustice. A prominent family, the Deash, are cut down and murdered in cold blood. The paperboy, a young fellow by the name of Timmy – made his rounds, cycling from house to house. On reaching the white fence of the Deash property, he reached for a bundle, parked his bike, and peeped over the fence to a grippingly tranquil sight. The young boy felt his hairs shiver. Determined to complete his job, he shouts, nothing. He shouts again, the wind blows, the front door creeks – through the ajar opening, he narrowed, dark outlines caught the light – carved flesh, blood, torn inner organs, and the damp, dense darkened liquid flowing out the door. A jogger, acquaintance of the boy, stopped on seeing the hallowed expression, a tap on the boy’s shoulder returned a shriek. The fear-ridden pale face rose a finger, shaky and uncertain. He carried his sight and landed upon the same horrific scene. He immediately pulled the paperboy and ran across the street, there, he banged upon the front gate – alerting a prominent figure. Lord Aweol of the Anria family. The scared duo, stumbling over their words, explained what they saw – Aweol rushed inside, pulled a gun from his rack, and hurried outside. He screamed for the family to lock their doors – Timmy was tasked to warn the neighbors, and soon, armed with his hallowed mien, the boy pedaled. The local police are called and the neighborhood is locked down.

The coroner took one glance, pressed his glabella, and dismissed the grueling etched memories, “-tis a sight of complete atrocity,” he said, “-Froen’s never been subject to such malice and contempt. We will need to perform an autopsy; the relevant parties have been informed.”

A reporter asked, “-cause and time of death, the murderer is possibly still around?”

“Not that we can say,” added a stout, shorter bloke, broad shoulders and a glazed expression, square forehead, large nose, and a sharp, clean-shaven jawline. He thrust his mustache at the reporter’s morbid curiosity, “-time of death places the incident yesterday. There’s no sign of breaking in or struggle, well for the sake of the husband,” a pensive silent pause followed, the reporters watched, the film crew panned. Deliberation whether to give information ended on the tense crinkles easing, “-by how the body was found, he was butchered alive and allowed to escape, deliberately – blood smears accurately track his last moment from kitchen to the front door. The moment he grasped the handle, the wrist was taken cleanly, there, in agonizing pain, was flipped to stare at his assailant, a murderous cold-hearted fiend who knelt atop him and slashed. Fortunately, the door partly opened, inside’s a scene not for the fiend of hearts. In my whole career working as an inspector, I’ve never,” he bit his word, slowed pace, “-I’ve never seen such a gruesome sight.” Yellow tapes closed the area, bodies were hauled into ambulances. The cameraman skillfully caught glimpses of white clothes being carried, “-inspector, what of the family.”

“The wife and daughters were killed in their sleep. The cuts were precise and painless.”

“Any ideas on who the killer might be?”

“Until the investigation uncovers more proof, I can’t say for certain.” Later that same day, on the romantic forest trail, young Timmy, scarred by the events, walked his bike along the hardened path. He threw a glimpse through the forest, onto a cold running river. Cloud moved to swallow sunlight; shadows covered the area. He walked, trying to escape the thoughts, flash images of the house until a finger caught his eye. He pressed the breaks and stopped, he blinked and focused, perhaps it was a twig, the mind played tricks – matching thoughts to reality. To his horror, the finger was real, marred in the dirt – he followed the limb and saw butchered corpses, blood sprawled along with the popular camping spot, the knees weakened, he fell – the bike toppled. Evening, prime time for casual runs, the same jogger slowed his pace and joined the paperboy. He once again rose a shaky finger to the bodies. Police were called, the area restricted, and the same entities present for a statement, “-inspector.”

.....

“They were killed a few hours before the family was struck. The camping trail faces the house directly,” from those words, a narrative build, “-the Cto murderer is back,” he confessed, “-it’s not a copycat either, the motive, the lack of evidence and sheer cruelty.”

The camera panned to the reporter, “-the enigmatic Cto murderer strikes again. The peaceful town of Froen forever sullied; no place too tranquil, no place too safe. If there’s blood to be shed, blood will drip,” the show ended and immediately followed by an announcement, “-we advise families to lock their doors, avoid being alone and keep weapons at arm’s reach. Most importantly, it is wise for you to remain calm. Work with us as we work to uncover this fiend’s true identity.”

1st of March flashed across the counter. éclair sat lonesome before a glass of liquor. Television played in the background, stations reported on the return of the murderer, “-no one’s caught onto the fact that the murder was political,” he sipped, “-the Deash has been quelled,” the doorway clopped, Serene walked and inhaled.

“The sweet aroma of liquor,” she smirked, “-how are you, prime minister,” said she sarcastically gliding upon a stool, “-be a darling and poor little old me a drink.”

“Right,” he took a bottle and filled her glass to the brim, “-what brings you here, lady Serene.”

“A report to be given personally,” she said, “-our faction’s taken care of the remaining Deash – the extended families have been killed, kidnapped, and made to look akin to an accident. Young master Julius’s already paid for our services in the blood of few newer servants.”

“Don’t call them servants,” he sighed, “-the orphanage in Arda’s not a market for vampires to pick and choose.”

“Please, they know the deal, we provide them with a stable future and all they ought to do is grant us blood, not even a lot might I add, just enough to satisfy our thirst,” her sharp canines gleamed seductively on her taking her drink. “Tomorrow’s princess Lizzie’s piano recital at the famed Glanter theater,” she casually mentioned.

“Not going,” he replied, “-after what happened two years ago, there’s no fixing the relation. Laurence, Rile and Seiran effectively cut themselves from us – Lizzie made her intentions clear and followed them three. They live a modest life, Lizzie’s paying for their employment and residence... so much for the young model’s rise to success.”

“I would be angry too,” she justified, “-imagine the one you’ve vowed to serve had the power to bring someone back from the dead... then, instead of saving your family, he saves everyone else. I’d be furious, honestly.”

“We accepted Laura’s death. Malley died too.”

“Not from where they stand,” she returned, “-Seiran saw everything, she was conscious during the expansion.”

“If they’d die that day, Phantom would have disappeared. There was no climbing from said lose.”

She gulped the drink, “-make it there, don’t be an egomaniac. Two years’ long enough to weld broken hearts.”

“Sure,” he rose his glass, “-to peace.”

“Peace, sure,” she walked coyly to the door and broke into a mist of bats. Later said night, éclair drove to the arts-and-culture district, a short drive from the castle as it laid in between the academic and noble district. Drama, art, musicals, sculpture, painting, name it a there laid a recreational club for said domains. Resounding roars thundered through the street, the prime minister, dressed in formal attire, pulled towards a brightly light building of strange arrangement. No linear building starting from thick to thin – before laid one of smaller but larger proportion. The base held a center rectangle from which squares built outwards to look as if peculiarly stacked dominos. The extension was braced with arms that connected with the ground and the building itself. Lights were vibrant and nice, a poster read, “-from the talented Atelier d’ Exsque, auction and exhibition,” soon underwrote, “-and works of art from Mosia,” lastly ended by, “-sponsored by Raven.”

Helmet on his side, éclair climbed the carpeted stairs, a valet glanced, keys changed hands, an attendant politely welcomed him into a quiet open area. Stairs spiraled onto the upper floors, few paintings laid here and there – a sign, “-auction,” pointed deeper inside as for, “-exhibition,” pointed at the upper floors. He moved to the latter – lavishly dressed nobles exchanged words, smiles, and drinks on a terrace peering towards the east. Corridors split – the illumination dulled on entering the quiet inside where amber lights flashed upward at the frames. ‘-amazing,’ he walked and watched, many held the crest of Exsque followed by the painter’s signature. The exhibited works ranged from portraits, still-life, landscapes – attention to detail and eye-catching pieces. Mosia took the stage at the opposing end of the exhibition, there laid abstract, surrealism, and a very vibrant, loose style of expression.

A lady dressed in formal ware stood before a large painting of a woman in a pond of flowers, “-Saint Minerva,” he whispered.

“éclair,” she replied, “-if it’s not for the famed prime minister. How are you doing?”

“Good as I can,” he said, her stern regard tore into the tableau, “-what about you, the patron deity of Glenda?”

“Better,” she said, “-I love every day I spend here. The more I live with the mortal realm, the better I see why many gods opt trips to the lower world. My powers have returned if that’s what you’re asking,” her arms crossed, “-tis not what you’re asking,” a harsh side-glance smacked the silence.

“No, I’ve come to ask a favor,” he said, “-a friend of mine, Yui, has gone missing over Marinda. I was wondering if you could-”

“No,” she returned, “-I already sold my soul to the devil. No way in hell am I going to bite more than I can chew. My powers have returned yes, my symbol’s active, however, my belief and realm haven’t arrived. Before I engage in conflict, I must go to Athene and visit my people. So no, éclair, I apologize, I’m retired – but a humble painter.”

Alta arrived, “-lady Minerva, you’re requested at the banquet.”

“Excuse me,” she nodded and left – on joining the open hall, sisters of the church of Athena swarmed her side and smiled.

“Alta,” he said, “-quite a pleasant surprise.”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” she said, “-I know what happened to Yui, and how she fired her tongue before the empress. Do you know how hard it’s been to stop rumors? The Ardanian court’s ready to give up on Hidros, and speaking as stewardess of Glenda, I’m inclined to follow their lead. Get yourself together. Arda’s in talks with Plaustan and Totrya, if nothing changes – Hidros will split into factions, Kreston and Dorchester, Plaustan, Arda, and Totrya, leaving Oxshield desolate. The Duchess of Rotherham, queen of Arda, has authority over the brains to Hidros’s military and economic prowess.”

“Is that it?” he returned, “-when things get rough...”

“Oh, don’t play the victim card, dear prime minister. You’re doing great, I don’t mean to criticize. It’s just... I don’t know, we’re losing ground even though we’re winning. If nothing changes, the puppet you have running around as master will definitely come in useful during a war. Deash’s bow from spearheading the faction against the crown has bought valuable time. We need to stand strong and hold our own.”

“I know,” he sighed desperately, “-and I’m trying to keep the peace for master’s return. I’ll do what I do best, collect information and pinpoint who’s responsible. Our next target is Alphia, we need an ace to stand against them – the fear of something greater than weapons made from Maicite.”

“And is there such a thing?”

He smirked, “-there is.”

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