“It is embarrassing to admit, but my skills are rather limited whilst away from my garden. Here, I reign above all else, but take one step outside and I am as vulnerable to death as any other. I become a being of flesh and blood once more.

“Of course, I am no stranger with the dagger. If need be I can emerge victorious against a Polus knight, nay, a member of the Seraph—though it would be quite the harrowing battle. If all else fails, then I can simply run away. My garden is everywhere, and thus I am everywhere: from the most guarded castle to the deepest dungeon. All I need is a door: a vessel of passage. Any common door will do, though I have never thought much of what defines a ‘door’. It is, how do you say, natural to me—what I can and cannot emerge from. Though, I am unable to travel a long distance from where I have entered.

“Hm? Can my creations be brought outside the garden? But of course! Where do you think the flowers in my boutique originate from? Once I plant a fresh corpse into the dirt, I draw out the color of their soul, and so a lovely child is brought forth from their remains. Even I know not exactly what shall be birthed, but isn’t that what makes the whole process so rewarding? The anticipation, the wait: a tantalizing sense of excitement as you watch them blossom before your very eyes.

“… My, that is quite the odd question. I suppose I can manifest a copy of myself, but whatever do you need such a thing for?”

- Satanael of the Bloom

———

Dariel

Dariel is in quite the predicament. He knows Lorelai would not be too happy with him for disregarding her orders, but something about that strange masked man has left him feeling ill at ease. When exactly did he get so close to us? I don’t remember anyone sitting at that seat when the play first began. I didn’t even hear so much as a footstep. Strange, how very strange. It’s almost as if he appeared from thin air—like a phantom. His memories teeter back to the court session, of the mentions about a deranged killer at large, and though he is not one to engage in idle speculations… his instincts tell him that this is a matter that shouldn’t be ignored.

And so here he is: running through the darkened streets in a nervous trot towards the nearest knight outpost he can find. Dariel knows Lorelai is strong. Dariel knows she isn’t one to be felled by a common madman. But even so, he cannot subdue these anxious shivers creeping up into his throat. Her voice was more forceful than usual. Was she trying to keep me away? To warn me not to interfere? I know I would just be a burden in a scuffle, I know that, but Stars… she’s just recovered. I can’t allow her to deal with this on her own, and even if my worries are unfounded, then I’d rather live with the embarrassment than regret not helping at the crucial moment.

Eventually, his steps slow, and he arrives right in front of a large pink-marbled building. An insignia of a bow wreathed in a single wing is inscribed upon the base: the insignia of the Cherubims. How fortunate that his family’s branch be so close; it will make convincing them all the more simple.

Dariel crashes through the door to the surprised yelps of the people inside and quickly rushes to the front reception before they can stop him.

“Y-Young lord?” the clerk stutters with a flustered bow. “What brings you here at this hour—”

“Apologies, but there isn’t much time to explain.” He reaches into his suit’s pocket and pulls out the same plaque shown to the concierge at the theatre hall. “I, Dariel Cherubim, hereby invoke my authority as a noble descendant of the main family line: Gather what knights are available and search the streets near the entertainment district for a man donning a rose-covered mask. Arrest him at first sight. You are granted permission to use force if he resists, but be warned: He is much more dangerous than he appears.”

“Oh, um, at once,” they reply, frantically scribbling onto a document and running around in a mad dash. Soon, they begin to recite a spell, and their voice is raised to a deafening level for everyone in the building to hear. “ATTENTION, ALL KNIGHTS OF THE CHERUBIMS: REPORT TO THE FRONT ENTRANCE AT ONCE. I REPEAT, ALL KNIGHTS OF THE CHERUBIMS MUST REPORT TO THE FRONT ENTRANCE.”

In a matter of seconds, the once quiet hall is swiftly overcome with the footsteps of over a hundred strong. The poor clerk looks to be rather dazed from the sudden excitement, but nonetheless they dutifully relay Dariel’s command and organizes the knights into various companies. One group is responsible for this section, this one another, and so on until they all disappear into the night just as quickly as they’ve been summoned. The clerk breathes a sigh of relief, but their rest is short lived as they harden their expression and begin to write down a - no doubt - very lengthy report.

“As per the order’s bylaws, I must request for you to remain here while I contact a superior official for further review. Do you comply?”

“Of course.”

“Very well. Is there a specific member you had in mind?” they ask.

“Please notify Templar Dismas of the Order of the Skulking Dominion. I have a possible lead on the case he has been investigating of late. Oh, and I would prefer if we could talk in a more private space, if you would.”

“It shall be done.” The clerk fiddles under the desk for a moment before pulling out a small metal key. “Follow me, please.”

After making sure everything is in order, the two leave the reception area and ascend the staircase to the second floor. As always, the decorum of these Cherubim outposts are much more lavish than he is comfortable with. Plated gold covers every speck of the walls, and the sheer volume of jewels embedded throughout are dazzling enough to stun a blind man. With how bright it is here, one can scarcely believe it’s currently the dead of night. Such glittering excess… he has never been able to become accustomed to it.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Eventually, they arrive at a small door near the back of the building. “I shall send a messenger to the Dominions shortly,” they say. “In the meantime, please stay here until we receive a response. Would you like any refreshments while you wait? Tea, perhaps?”

“No, thank you. I am not planning on staying for long,” he replies with a clumsy smile. I would like nothing more than to be out there searching along the other knights, but I’d only get in the way. Heh, I’m starting to regret not taking my bow lessons more seriously. Then again, I’ve never been much for physical activity. But if staying this way must mean to endure this gnawing feeling of uselessness… then perhaps I should pick it up again.

The clerk leaves, and Dariel opens the door to find himself in a surprisingly normal room: wooden tables, regular folding seats, and a small candle to serve as a light rather than an abundance of jewels. They must have noticed Dariel’s discomfort with the interior—how nice.

He gently closes the door, and then he begins pacing around the room in an anxious circle. There is nothing else left to do; only the Stars know what shall come next. Still, it is inevitable for one to grow anxious when left alone with their thoughts. Ugh, maybe I should’ve told them to search for Lorelai as well. I know we’re supposed to keep her return a secret, but what if they mistake her for that dreadful man? She was wearing a cloak, and it is rather dark out, so it’s not impossible—

“Yer lookin’ real troubled, kid. Sit down. Don’t want the nerves to overtake ya.”

Dariel jumps up in fright upon hearing the raspy voice, and as he turns around, a figure rises up from the room’s shadow. One by one, the stranger’s limbs are thrust out of the darkness, and for a moment Dariel begins to panic—for that silhouette looks frighteningly similar to that of the masked man at the theatre. He cannot see them well in the dim light, but he can scarcely make out the shape of a mask. H-How did he find me? Damnit, to think this would happen after sending all the knights away. No, perhaps… was he waiting for this moment? When I’d be completely alone? Agh, there’s no time: I need to get out of here!

He bolts for the exits and fumbles with the doorknob in a desperate attempt to escape his sudden pursuer, but a hoarse sigh from behind makes him start to think otherwise. “Alright, what’s all this then? Aren’t you Gadreel’s boy? After callin’ for me this late, now yer tryin’ to run away? I don’t ‘preciate my time being wasted, kid. Calm yourself; I don’t bite.”

On a closer look, the man’s mask does look a bit different. It’s missing that strange looking rose; rather, there aren’t any features of note at all. Its surface is just a smooth, unremarkable black. And his voice is also rather rough in comparison to the elegant, bewitching tone.

“O-Oh, it’s you, Sir Dismas,” Dariel says with a big sigh of relief. “Forgive me for the rude reaction. You see, the man I just saw looked very similar to you, so I had assumed the worst.”

“Right, I remember hearin’ about that. They said you have some information for me?”

“Yes.” Dariel takes a deep breath in and slowly soothes his still-beating heart. “I believe I’ve found the phantom you’ve been looking for.”

“Really now? After all my slavin’ away to get even a crumb of a lead, you just happened to come across that sick bastard? And escape without so much as a scratch at that?”

“Well, he was a bit preoccupied with someone else.” He looks around the room as if to reaffirm their privacy and leans in close. “I assume you already know about Lorelai?”

“Know? I was there when she stormed the courtroom. Just because you couldn’t see me doesn’t mean I wasn’t there.”

“I see. But yes, I was her guide this evening, showing her the Arthurian Theatre, when a strange man in a floral mask approached us. Slim. Posture grand and deliberate. He was… odd. I’m not sure how to explain it, but there was something in that gaze of his that felt unsettling—like a beast eyeing its prey. I tried to intervene, but then Lorelai suddenly commanded me to leave. She looked different from usual. Firm, as if at any moment she’d draw her blades. I know she can handle herself, but I still felt worried which is why I called the Cherubim knights for assistance.”

“That so? Hm…” Dismas lowers his head and stays silent. Very silent. He must be sorting through his thoughts, but the Templar shows not a single sign of life—not a twitch nor even a grumble. He just stands still for some time, and thus Dariel also stands still in a rather awkward period of silence. Thankfully, he speaks at last, only this time his tone is a bit more polite. “I get it now; so he set his sights on a more allurin’ target this time. Wasn’t satisfied with just spiritin’ away the common folk. But how did he figure out her identity? Either we’ve got a rat hiding somewhere, or he was drawn to her presence. Either way, this is good. Real good. Now that I’ve got a description, it’ll be much easier huntin’ him down.”

“Good? But what about Lorelai?”

“Trust me, kid: Even if she’s lost her memories, I doubt anyone in this kingdom ‘sides Ascalon can do her in. She’ll be fine. That damn ghost has probably run away by now after seeing her strength. What matters is makin’ sure he can’t leave the capital.”

Having another confirm Lorelai’s proficiency does wonders to ease Dariel’s troubles. If even those of the upper echelon say so, then it must be true.

“I’ll check the alleyways for them,” Dismas continues. “With the knights roaming around, there aren’t any other places for him to run—”

A loud yell from outside startles the two. The source is close, right next to the building, and the sound is quickly followed by an accompaniment of similar cries. Something is happening.

“Hm, that doesn’t sound good. Come on, kid. Let’s see if this is our rodent.” Dismas quickly scoops Dariel up into his arms and then dives into the shadows before his startled partner can even react. The two are completely consumed by the dusk, and Dariel finds himself in the midst of a strange, suffocating realm. There is no light here, no sound—it’s as if he’s floating in empty space. And all the while he suffers from a constant pressure pushing down on his body. Constricting. It is fortunate the moment passes swiftly, and they soon emerge out into the open street.

A few knights of the Cherubims have already pulled out their weapons here. Their bodies are positioned, hands plagued with a slight tremble, and the cause of their tension can be seen plainly in the distance—a shrouded outline. One unnatural in shape, almost monstrous, and it is approaching them with a steady stride. Dariel is no warrior, but even he can sense the pure aura of danger exuding from whatever this being is.

But it is the sound that shakes his heart with fear. With every step they take, something falls onto the pavement. Dripping, dripping, a wet liquid. Splattering. A periodic rhythm of the unknown, and it is that mystery that invokes a fearsome image—creatures, grotesque and hideous, birthed from the imagination of his mind. But he will not need to imagine any longer, for the figure is now but a mere jaunt away.

There, stepping out into the moon’s spotlight, is the bloodied visage of Lorelai. And she is with a familiar face. Or rather, mask, for gripped tightly in her hands is the severed remains of the man Templar Dismas has been searching for: the phantom.

And he is very much dead.