“Y-you?” the man stammered, starting to back away clumsily from his seated position. “There’s no need for violence, big guy.”

[Be wary, Grugg. There is something odd going on here.]

The Detective crouched, ready to pounce on the squirming bandit but paused at the behest of Bart. Light from a handful of small candles danced from the disturbed air, causing flickering shadows amongst the debris and old furniture. There was something else, though, an unnatural swirl of darkness that shifted between the patches of light. Grugg gritted his teeth and seethed at Frank.

[I just thought I would point out that the Light rune has one use left, as it is about to become very relevant.]

A flash of darkness, and Grugg dodged to the side, colliding with a sturdy crate. Hot pain flared across his upper arm as the bladed appendage of the Shadow found its mark, leaving a gash and slicing through his comfortable shirt.

“Stop. Ruining. Grugg. Clothes.” All civility flew out of the window in this underground bunker. The cyclops was proud of his lack of a temper, but now he was fuming. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want the work of his friend to be trashed again, but he had been trying hard to fit in. And this Shadow was making it more difficult than anyone else. Roaring with frustration, he grasped the crate that had caught his fall and launched it towards the Nightshade boss. Another sharp pain radiated up his left thigh as he had been caught at a disadvantage in his anger.

Frank was a man of hard-earned battle experience. His scarred body and position in the Nightshade organization were a testament to this fact. So even in his panicked state, when the cyclops had grabbed the crate and made good his attempt to use it as a projectile, he knew that a nimble enough dodge would get him out of the way. The skill and reflexes he had honed over the years would surely be enough to avoid such a lumbering airborne object. And whilst he made safe his retreat, the Shadow could shred up the careless brute.

The blinding white light that scoured the bunker of its shadows, catching him unawares as he attempted to keep eye contact with the crate, was definitely unexpected. If he did not have a crucial and immediate decision to make, he would probably have a few choice curse words to describe his briefly sightless situation. He would just have to move in the right direction to avoid the crate, and then the fight in this enclosed space would be his for the winning.

Legs bent, adrenaline surging through him as his leg muscles fired off like steam pistons, launching him full force in his decided direction.

He chose poorly.

Crunch.

Grugg stood, dumbfounded, as his throw had been way off target - not only inexpertly thrown, but with so much force that it had spun off clear of his target.

And then the man had thrown himself, with blind enthusiasm, straight into the wooden box. Face first, even. The resounding impact had managed to crack both the face of the Nightshade boss and the otherwise sturdy storage container. Frank flopped to the floor like a dead weight, a low groan escaping his lungs as he lost consciousness. Grugg braced for the next attack of the Shadow, but none came. Instead, silence fell over the stone-walled room, save for the heavy breathing of both occupants.

“Nice one, Bart. Good Light.” The cyclops looked down at the red seeping through the gash in his comfortable trousers with a deep sigh - the anger fading out of him in resignation instead.

[Thank you, it was a bit of a risk to use it at that point, but it would only be a temporary advantage no matter how I utilized it.]

The Detective went over to inspect the prone man, shuffling slightly on his cut leg. Frank was still alive, although the broken nose and heavy bruising already starting to swell on his face did nothing for his looks.

“Must have really liked that box, huh?”

[My question is, is the Shadow part of him, or has it gone to hide somewhere else? The same thing happened with Reggie.]

Grugg grunted. He couldn’t punch the Shadow, so he hoped it was gone. If the fight had continued, and he had caught up to the man whilst still in the rage he had felt… Well, he would have probably pulled the bandit’s arms off. Mountainfolk were often blighted by short tempers and violent outbursts, but that would be a quick trip to getting his badge stripped away. His lighter temperament had been one of the things that caused friction between the cyclops and his parents.

The sound of shuffling from above caught their attention as the duo looked up to see the face of an older male Guard looking down the newly created hole in the floor.

“Erm, everything okay, Detective?”

“Magic manacles, please, Jonath.” He flexed his hand outstretched, grasping at the air and waiting for the requested object to be passed down.

[We should also have a look around for the things that the Orb highlighted.]

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“I’ll send for some backup to retrieve the suspect,” Jonath called down as he dropped the special-purpose restraints and moved out of view once more.

Grugg caught them clumsily due to his poor depth perception. “Wonder where Gregor got some of these”, he thought aloud. Although he couldn’t quite remember if the ones provided to restrain the ogres had been the magic-nullifying ones or not, it was still an odd thing for a tavern worker to have on hand. Maybe it was one of those questions better left unanswered.

[Interesting to note, there doesn’t seem to be any exit to this room.]

A glance around confirmed the wizard’s observation—four solid-looking walls. Kneeling down, he clasped Frank’s wrists in the shackles, rolling the unconscious figure over so that his hands would be behind his back. “Look, Bart. Teeth on the floor, here. Do you think these were special objects?”

[No. I am pretty sure Frank must have dropped them on collision with the crate.]

“Careless,” the Detective shook his head. Then, with the subject restrained, he turned his attention to the shattered table that had helped break his landing. In addition to the dust and broken wooden furniture shards, there was some more interesting debris. Sweeping the mess to the side, the cyclops first grasped at a piece of paper. “Uh, Bart?” Holding the paper above his face, he allowed the wizard to read.

[Interesting, it appears to be written in some kind of code. Unfortunately, I would need some time to decipher it, as I lack any sufficient spell that could assist at the moment.]

Grugg nodded and placed it inside his sack. There were also a few gold coins amongst the remnants of the table, as well as a Message stone. Money he didn’t particularly care for, but in recognizing the communication device, he immediately picked it up. “Hello?”

[Grugg!]

A few moments of silence followed as they both stared at the inert magical object.

[It must need a specific activation word, probably for the best as we don’t want to show our hand just yet.]

“Is just for words, won’t see hands." He held it closer to his mouth, as if Bart wouldn't notice him trying keywords. "Frank. Shadow. Uhh… goats?”

[Grugg, stop. Put it away for now; we might find out the password soon enough, anyway.]

The Detective waited a couple of seconds, just in case, and then put the Message stone away. He really wanted to know if it was for Don Kean or one of the other unknown Nightshade bosses. There were five of them, he remembered; that was half as much mana as Bart had, so they should be able to arrest them with no problem.

“Detective?” a voice called out from above.

It was Jonath who returned with a couple of other guards. Grugg lifted the Shadow of Helpart to his feet and dragged him over to the opening. Then, with a grunt, he flung the slack figure of Frank up to the waiting, if slightly unprepared, arresting party. Only one of them almost fell in, encumbered by the sudden weight of the detainee.

“Will you need help out, Detective?” There was a slightly worried tone to Jonath’s voice, understandably too, if the cyclops intended to leave in the same manner.

[Let’s just have a last look around down here; you’ll be able to climb out yourself, right?]

Observing the distance up to the ground floor, it would probably be a precarious climb, what with how easily everything crumbled down under his weight already. However, with the assistance of some of the sturdier furniture down here, it shouldn’t be an issue, Grugg decided. “Looking for more clues. Tell Captain will see him soon”.

Jonath nodded his acknowledgement as the various heads bobbing over the opening slunk away, their plated boots echoing along the length of the warehouse till the exit. The scent of damp earth, aged cattle droppings, and the slight tinge of extinguished candles now settled into the cyclops' nostrils. As the adrenaline of the brief scuffle wore off, the aches from the two wounds he sustained set in.

“Place is actually very smelly, and Grugg leg hurt.”

[Let’s have a quick look then- oh. That is bleeding quite a bit still; it must have caught you pretty deep. So you have a look around best you can; I will focus some healing on you as best I can.]

The Detective nodded and began shuffling about the room. A warming glow filled his insides, which for the most part just made him feel sleepy, but did also keep his mind off the injury. Of the three intact crates, one was empty, one had some soiled garments in it, and the third was filled with old building materials. All seemed to have been down here a long time, perhaps left here when the warehouse was constructed, for some reason. There would be no other way for the bulky objects to have been placed here recently.

It was all very curious, and Grugg couldn’t help but feel some part of the puzzle was missing. If Frank could use his Shadow to teleport, then he imagined doing so through cracks in the floorboards would be possible. So once detained, he simply transported himself down here - probably after setting the rest of the thugs free. Then how was Reggie using the Shadow the day before? Was Frank able to switch it to someone else to use, or was it a separate entity entirely? Was it waiting in the dark recesses of this very room, awaiting a chance to pounce on the unaware cyclops?

Grugg looked around to be sure. Nothing out of the ordinary in the gloom of the chamber where the dwindling candles couldn’t reach. It still wasn’t as reassuring as he had wanted, but either it would attack him or it wouldn’t. Sighing, the cyclops was at the point where he’d had enough of this stinky pit. All the other piles of debris or smaller containers were just caked with aged mildew and long-forgotten decay. It seemed the Shadow had just been using it as a temporary safe-house to lie low at an opportune time.

With frustration, the Detective kicked out with his heavy boot, striking the empty shelves whose small drawers had offered nothing but an empty promise. The weak wood easily gave way to his metal-plated stompers, a satisfying crunch of splintered planks as part of the piece of furniture collapsed under the assault.

Slightly more contented, Grugg shook the damp splinters off from his boot, his leg already feeling marginally better. A sharp rattling noise drew his attention as he looked back at the victim of his pent-up ire. A hidden drawer had slipped loose from its seating, spilling the contents forth among the ruined corpse of the shelves.

A small potion bottle of some kind lay empty beside a slightly crumpled envelope.

Grugg strained his single eye to make out the name written atop the paper.

Barthélemy Béraud