Jones parked his old blue sedan hastily in the middle of the street, not even bothering to try and find a parking spot; the road was already interrupted anyway, so he simply turned off the car, twisted the manual switch to turn off his headlights, and rushed out. Blue and red lights flashed in front of him, coming from the dozens of police cars also hastily parked ahead.

He didn’t carry an umbrella, so when he left the car, he resorted to using his hat, a gray trilby-styled hat with a pinched crown and a small brim, as a shield against the light rain that had been falling since the afternoon.

As he approached the delimited perimeter, the number of people increased, and eventually, he had to force himself through them; besides the random bystanders, the commotion had also attracted a lot of reporters. Some of them seemed to be already broadcasting live, and he tried his best to stay out of the way of the cameras.

When he finally managed to get to the police tape, he made sure to move his hat out of the way, fully revealing his face; the overseeing officer quickly recognized him and with a nod, motioned for him to come inside the delimited area.

After ducking under the tape, he looked around, trying to find Mr. Roberts, however, among so many people it proved too difficult. Jones ended up having to ask a passing police officer for help. The large man, with a double chin and a thin dark mustache, barely fit inside his uniform.

“Hello officer” – he scanned the man’s uniform, looking for a badge with his name, but couldn’t find any – “Do you have any idea where I can find Mister Roberts?”

The officer looked startled, having been caught by surprise, and as the man’s eyes fixated on Jone’s face, he could almost see the wheels on his head turning as the officer recognized him – “I-Inspector Jones, it’s a pleasure to meet you…” – he gagged, and extended his hand with a smile, looking for a handshake – “My son loves your work, he is a big admirer. Could I ask you to give me an autograph? I just have to find something to write on.”

Jones extended his hand and handshake the man; it was too difficult to get anything done these days, ever since his name and face had been reported by the news stations as the man who single-handedly solved the Tainted Earth crisis. Everywhere he went people tried to initiate small talk with him – “Yes, of course, but maybe some other time?” he attempted to dismiss him politely – “I need to find Mr. Roberts, please.”

The officer, who was still searching his pockets for a piece of paper, dropped his shoulders and showed a slightly dejected face. When Jones saw the man losing motivation, he looked around, considering if he should find another officer to help him; however, afraid of being rude, he decided against it, and after taking a small, blue notebook from his breast pocket, he ripped a sheet of paper from it.

“Don’t worry officer, I’ll give you the autograph. What is your son’s name?” – he asked, raising his green fountain pen in the air. It was crafted out of a whole slab of jade and inlaid with golden details, a luxury item offered by one of his clients; despite not caring about such eccentricities, he naturally had to accept the gift.

The officer's mood immediately improved upon hearing his words, and he replied with a smile, ”He is Bert, but we call him Bertie. My little lad is already eight years old, they do grow fast, and he is always causing a stir you see. However, the boy calms down when you appear on the televisi…”

The man went on and on rambling, talking so fast that spittle flew rapidly out of his mouth. Jones took a step back and focused on signing the paper – “To little Bertie, a hug from Inspector Jones, and don’t forget, Where honesty prevails, justice prevails!”

The tacky catchphrase was no more than a quote from one of his interviews. It had, of course, been taken out of context, but after being featured repeatedly on the news for almost four weeks, the whole thing had caught on, and it was particularly popular with the kids.

Jones blamed the six-episode anime they had launched; the whole thing was stupid, poorly animated, and the main character didn’t even look similar to him. When he agreed to it, he thought it would become an educational documentary, but the whole thing had been blown out of proportion.

“...and now he says he wants to be a private detective when he grows up, just like you sir.” The man hadn’t finished yet, and Jones almost had to force him to accept the autograph to shut him up, anyway, the paper would rip soon if it got any wetter.

“Can we go to Mister Roberts now please?” – Jones couldn’t hide his frustration anymore. The police officer seemed to catch on, as he uttered a small apology and led Jones through the site.

While Jones followed the officer, he noticed that among the police cars, there were also black, bulletproof SUVs, all of them with a special government-issued license plate. Additionally, there was also a luxurious sports car, a purple Buggati Chiron, that he quickly recognized. He concluded he was not the only private investigator to be summoned, and could already feel a headache coming.

At the center of the campsite, a tall white tent had been built, and near the entrance, two military guards stood by in camo uniform, each one holding a QP-15 rifle, a standard military-grade weapon, usually employed by special forces. Nearby, multiple people were diligently at work, using a yellow crane to keep large metal beams in place, while a welder fused them, creating a gate-like structure.

“They are setting up a teleportation gate?” – he couldn’t hide his admiration. Despite the urgency in Mr. Roberts's voice when he had called him, he wasn’t expecting the situation to be so dire, after all, no matter how well-intentioned the man was, he always made a big deal out of everything. He now regretted not taking the teleportation gate from Brinsor to St. Albans.

“Yes, Flanders’s orders. The man just started ordering everyone around as soon as he got here, not even caring to explain what was going on” – complained the police officer with a bit of annoyance.

“I don’t know any Flanders,” – stated Jones, causing a big smile to appear on the officer’s face.

“Neither did we,” he confessed, – “my captain said he is some big fish from the government; The Severing Brigade, he told us, but I’ve never heard about a Severing Brigade before though.”

*Severing Brigade, that's the division tasked with sweeping the immortal's mess under the rug* – Jones thought, and he felt his headache increasing. He had always despised the immortal brigades; their job was to enforce what he liked to call “legalized corruption”. He understood the danger that a rogue immortal could cause to the world, but letting immortals do whatever they wanted, regardless of the consequences, shouldn’t be an option.

Why had Mr. Roberts called him? The man knew he hated working with government officials; that had been one of the reasons that led him to leave the police force.

They kept walking, and suddenly, Jones realized he hadn’t asked the name of the police officer. It was not like him to be so impolite, so he quickly asked, “Mister Officer, I forgot to ask, what is your name?”

“Murtagh, I’m Officer Murtagh, but you can call me Charles” – the man replied, and Jones agreed with a nod.

Officer Murtagh guided him around the big white tent until Jones saw a futuristic RV parked in the middle of the street. Despite its small size, the black RV looked fully equipped with the latest technological advancements; Jones could recognize on its ceiling GPS tracking systems, Spiritual transmission antennas, and Divine Sense interceptor plates. Those last ones were particularly useful when trying to identify dispersing fragments of divine sense, and had been a key factor in the resolution of a murder case he had solved a few years back when he still worked on the force.

Charles stepped on the RV’s tight steps and knocked twice on the door; they heard some commotion inside, and a few moments later, the door opened and a young-looking man appeared. He should be in his twenties, had short dark hair with a modern cut, and wore a stylish three-piece suit with an unusual brown and purple pattern.

“Who are you?” – the man asked with some displeasure, upon seeing Charles, however, his eyes lit up as he saw Jones behind the officer.

“Inspector Jones, finally! It’s a pleasure to see you again.” – the young man dismissed Charles with a wave, before reeling Jones into the RV.

“Mister Roberts, Inspector Jones has arrived,” shouted the young man to the inside of the RV.

“Hello, Edwards,” greeted Jones – “and thank you, Charles, tell your son I wish him good luck.” – he politely thanked Officer Charles. He stamped on the ground twice to clean his boots and stepped inside the RV.

There, most of the tight space was filled with computers and esoteric equipment; the flashing bright lights coming out of the dozen monitors spread around the place didn’t help his headache. At the back of the RV, three men and a woman had been sitting around a table; they quickly rose from their chairs when they saw Jones entering, and the older one, a short man in his fifties, slightly bald and dressed in a style similar to Edwards, approached Jones and greeted him.

“Hello inspector, you’ve finally arrived!” the man extended his hand which Jones grabbed.

“I’m sorry for the delay Mister Roberts” – apologized Jones, “I was leaving on a little country trip, and had just reached Hamphershire. I had to drive for four hours straight, and only stopped for fuel.”

“You could’ve used the teleportation gate at Brinsor, I told you it was urgent. “ admonished Mr. Roberts, but he didn’t push the subject. The man knew Jones despised using the teleportation gates. Instead, he started presenting the rest of the people inside.

“This is Miss Amber, I’m sure you’ve worked together before.” Mr. Roberts introduced the red-haired woman, who was dressed in a tight red skirt with a matching formal jacket and a yellow blouse.

Her thick lips opened in a gentle smile, showing the pearly white teeth inside, “Inspector, it's a pleasure to see you again” – she greeted with a seductive voice. A bit embarrassed, Jones took his hat off and bowed slightly, “Miss Amber, it's a pleasure.”

Mr. Roberts continued the introductions, “This here is Mister York. You might remember him as the one responsible for dismantling the Red Coven sect, a bunch of lunatics fond of ritualistic sacrificial magic, about two years ago.”

The man, in his late thirties, about the same age as Jones, was dressed in a sports jacket and stylish jeans and sported a slick mustache. He greeted Jones with a nod and a small smile, which Jones returned.

Of course, he knew the man, he was the owner of the expensive luxury car outside, and a vain, self-centered prick. What a headache this was turning out to be.

“Last but not least, is Mister Pawar here, “ Mr. Roberts introduced the last man, whom Jones had never seen or heard about before.

Mr. Pawar had light brown skin and a thick dark beard, that despite covering most of his face, couldn’t hide the scar marks on his cheeks - big reddish nodes that looked like disgusting worms. Either the man had the most horrible case of acne, or he had fallen victim to some kind of curse – Jones was more inclined to the second option.

Mr. Pawar extended his hand in Jones's direction, who promptly shook it. “Mr. Jones, I’ve heard about your accomplishments; I couldn’t be more proud to meet you. It's just a shame that we’ve come to meet under these circumstances.” The man said in a polite voice. From the corner of his eyes, Jones saw a mocking smile appearing on York’s face.

“Thank you for the compliments Mister Pawar, unfortunately, I can’t say I’ve heard of you before.” Jones apologized, expecting the man to introduce himself. However, he remained silent, and instead, it was Mr. Roberts who finished his introduction.

“Mister Pawar has served the government of Baraht for over forty years, and since his retirement, he has worked closely with the Sterling family. He is here on their behalf, and was tasked with assisting us, leveraging his extensive knowledge of the family subjects and their lifestyle.”

*Great, another sweeper.* Jones thought to himself, but he made sure to keep a smile on his face. At least now he knew that whatever had happened, it was related to the Sterling family. Since no one had told him yet, he asked, “So, what is this all about?”

Mr. Roberts seemed to be waiting for this cue, as he theatrically raised his arms and announced with a deep voice, “Lord Astair Sterling, the Unparalleled Virtuoso, renowned Maestro, and leader of the Sterling family – the first and only ascended immortal of the twenty-second century – has died!”

“That’s impossible!” Was Jones's first thought, his eyes open wide in disbelief, and it took him a moment to realize he had said it out loud.

York, still with a mocking smile on his face, commented with a mocking smile, “See Roberts, we all seem to agree. The case is closed!” – he said, before letting himself fall sloppily on the chair. The man didn’t know how to sit straight.

“Do you mean his physical body was destroyed?” asked Jones, trying to make sense of the situation.

“No, I meant real, factual death. His soul seems to have been destroyed, not even a fragment of it remains, so there’s no way to bring him back,” answered Mr. Roberts with a serious look on his face.

“But the man must have had at least a couple of soul sacrifices as a contingency,” argued Jones, Mr. Roberts however, gave him an austere look.

“Of course not! You know very well that soul sacrificial arts are illegal!” Mr. Roberts stated firmly.

Soul sacrifices were an ancient forbidden practice, where a powerful practitioner bound a soul fragment to someone else's soul; in the case, the practitioner was killed, the bound fragment would activate and spread through the sacrificed soul, quickly devouring it and restoring the practitioner to life; naturally, the soul sacrifice died during the process.

“There’s no need to hide it, Mister Roberts, we are all grown up here,” Mr. Pawar turned to Jones and continued, “Yes, Lord Maestro had more than a dozen soul sacrifices; they were spread around all continents as a safety measure, and besides that, he recently obtained a divine soul preservation vase.” The man paused for a moment, before continuing – “Everything was destroyed, both soul sacrifices and the piece of his soul bound to the vase, and as far as we know, it happened at the same time as Lord Maestro died.”

Jones stood there, perplexed, as far as he knew, very few things could harm souls, even if wielded by other immortals – and to be able to strike down all soul fragments at the same time; the world would go crazy when the news got out.

“We should sit down again, this will take a while.” – recommended Amber and everyone agreed.

As the five people sat down around the small office table, Mr. Roberts asked Edwards, who was busy typing on a keyboard on the other side of the RV, “Any news from Flanders, Edwards?”

“No, nothing yet. I think the government will keep us in the dark for now, until they have at least a clue on what happened.” answered the young man.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“That would help our case,” confessed Mr. Roberts, while sitting down on his chair. Once all of them had settled down, Jones, as the newcomer, took the lead and addressed the others, “Have you made any progress yet?”

Mr. Roberts, who was acting as the mediator, as he usually did in these kinds of situations where he brought private investigators together to cooperate on solving a mystery, took it upon himself to explain.

“Not much, “ he confessed, “We didn’t have the chance to analyze the body yet, but Mister Pawar informed us that it was found at around six pm, by a maid who entered Lord Sterling’s chambers to give him important information.”

“Any evidence found on the body?”

“Nothing so far, but we’ll only be sure after we can take a look personally.” Answered Mr. Roberts and Jones agreed with a nod.

“Do we know what was the important information the maid was trying to deliver?”

This time, it was Mr. Pawar who answered, “Yes, we do. She wanted to inform Lord Maestro of the simultaneous destruction of his soul slaves.”

“Are we sure that all soul slaves were destroyed at the same time?” – Joel voiced his concern. The case just kept growing increasingly more complex; he was not even sure whether an Immortal possessed the ability to destroy soul sacrifices spread across the world, simultaneously. It probably required the cooperation of a couple of immensely powerful organizations.

“Seems like it,” confirmed Mr. Pawar – “We have confirmation from all the private enterprises that cared for His Lordship’s soul sacrifices; they’ve notified us that they were destroyed at exactly five forty-seven pm. Besides those, Lord Maestro also had four soul sacrifices off the grid and an undetermined amount of soul seeds; we are still waiting for the confirmation on those, it should arrive in the next few hours.

*Disgusting people.* Jones thought with disdain; soul seeds were similar to soul sacrifices, however, they were direct sons of an immortal, created during a ritual that bound their mother to death the moment they were born. The resulting children, usually spread around the world as orphans, so they were untrackable, would live their normal lives without knowing that they were lambs for slaughter.

Watching the look of disdain on Jone’s face, Mr. Roberts decided to continue his explanation, afraid that Mr. Pawar would take offense. The man, however, was unbothered by it, and reclined into the chair, to listen to Mr. Roberts.

“After finding the body of the Maestro lifeless on the floor, the maid alerted the Sterling family, who rapidly contacted the Tranquility Reserve Bank. They checked on the divine soul vase and discovered that the soul fragment inside it had been destroyed too. The Sterling family was planning to go and confront some of their enemies, but it was at that moment that Mr. Pawar, who was with them when the incident happened, decided to inform the authorities; fearing that spreading the panic and accusations could start an Immortal’s war.”

Jones looked at Mr. Pawar with renewed interest. What was the status of this man, to contact the government against the wishes of the Sterling family, and still be allowed not only to live but also to help with the investigation?

Mr. Pawar seemed to guess his thoughts as he explained, “I’ve been a close friend with the Sterling family for a long time, even before I joined the force.”

Jones nodded in acceptance, still not entirely convinced. He was trying to put the pieces together in his mind but had nothing in concrete yet.

Silenced reigned for a while, only the sound of Mr. Roberts rapping his fingers on the table, and Edwards working with the keyboard could be heard. Finally, Amber broke the silence, “Do we even know if it's possible to kill an Immortal?”

Her words made everyone around the table, except Mr. Pawar, extremely uncomfortable. It was a subject no one liked to discuss due to the potential consequences; all it took was for the wrong person to hear about it and their entire families would be wiped off the earth. It was, however, despite the discomfort it brought, a completely reasonable question; Jones had never heard before about an Immortal dying.

Mr. Pawar, who was completely unbothered by the question, took the lead to answer, “In theory, yes. After all, it is an established fact that absolute immortality does not exist. The cycle of life is an inherent part of the universe, and to go against it, would be to break its rules, which is impossible.”

The man’s words fell like a bombshell, and for a moment all those present, Edwards included, wanted not to have listened to them; to listen to those words was listening to blasphemy. It was as if an invisible wall had cracked, revealing a deadly secret behind it. Again, Jones considered dropping the case, and request a psychic expert to erase his memory of this meeting.

“But aren’t Immortals immune to diseases and old age?” – York asked with some skepticism.

“They mostly are, yes.” Mr. Pawar tried to calm them down – “Don't misunderstand me, in practice, killing an Immortal is an insurmountably difficult task, so hard, that it can be said to be impossible. It's not their physical resilience however, that makes an Immortal, well, immortal. Instead, it is the innumerable life-preservation rituals and other contingencies they have prepared.” – Mr. Pawar paused for a moment and looked around, making sure that everyone had calmed down, before concluding – “But let’s make things completely clear, take away their life preservation rituals, lingering soul fragments and their followers, and an Immortal is just another powerful person. All you need then, is someone strong enough to overpower them and deliver the fatal blow.”

Jones scoffed inwardly. It made sense why Immortals didn’t disclose such information to the public; it would destroy their image of invulnerability. After all, who would follow a god who could be killed?

However, with this new information, the investigators’ curiosity was renewed; if it was possible to kill an Immortal, then this case was not a dead end, at least, not yet.

Amber, who had been listening with attention to Mr. Pawar’s explanation, had an idea. “Are there no chances of him reviving due to the Potestas Populi?”

“What is that?” asked Mr. Roberts. Jones was not surprised; despite the man’s natural talent for investigation and deduction, he neglected his studies, preferring guidance from experts when necessary. Jones, on the other hand, absorbed himself in all areas of study; as such, he knew that Potestas Populi was a naturally occurring phenomenon that could happen after ascension, where the belief of the masses could bring an Immortal back from death.

“It’s the power of the people,” explained Mr. Pawar – “No, unfortunately not. While Lord Maestro has amassed millions of followers over the last hundreds of years, it takes a lingering soul fragment for the phenomenon to happen; so far, it seems like all soul fragments were destroyed.”

“Do we know how they managed to destroy all soul sacrifices simultaneously, at the same time Lord Sterling was killed? Maybe a variation of some divination art, to track and destroy all linked soul fragments.” Amber presented her hypothesis.

“I doubt it, most Immortals are immune to divination and scrying arts,” contested Jones – “they usually seal part of their divine sense away, to prevent such attempts.”

Mr. Pawar stared at him for a moment, and Jones could see the man was impressed with his knowledge. He confirmed his words with a nod and added, “Yes, the Lakshminarayana ritual, and I’ve already confirmed that Lord Maestro’s divine sense is still inside his Shankha.”

“Wait, if Lord Astair’s divine sense is still present, doesn’t that mean a part of his soul lives on?” asked York with hope. Jones couldn’t help but facepalm, York was just like Mr. Roberts. This was why he didn’t like working with other private investigators; no matter how good their investigation or deduction skills were, they always ignored the hard, tedious work. Unlike them, Jones had spent enough time studying the theological and scientific documents explaining the differences between soul and divine sense. Fortunately, he didn’t have to be the one to contradict York.

“No, it doesn’t.” replied Amber, “Soul sense is just an extension of one’s soul, like your sense of smell, touch, or taste. Now that the soul is dead, it will slowly dissipate.”

After her answer, the group returned to silence. Jones took his notebook out and attempted to organize his thoughts on the paper. However, after ten minutes, he still didn’t have anything concrete. The main issue was, that they had not gathered enough information yet.

Suddenly, York interrupted the silence, “Before the divine sense dissipates, couldn’t we release it from the Shankha, and quickly attempt to perform some divinations on it? It might be enough to get us a couple of clues.”

*Damn! That’s a good idea, I should have thought about that* Jones complained inwardly.

“Wouldn’t the soul sense dissipate as soon as we release it? We could try to perform the divination on the Shankha instead.” contradicted Amber.

Jones corrected her, “No, you can't divine on the Shankha, so what you suggest is impossible. About York’s idea, the soul sense will dissipate upon release, but we should have a brief interval where we can cast the divination, as long as we make enough preparations beforehand.”

Mr. Roberts rose from his seat and turned to Mr. Pawar, “Mister Pawar, do you think the Sterling family will allow us to release Lord Astair’s divine sense?”

Some uncertainty showed on Mr. Pawar’s face, “Hard to be sure, some of them might still have some hope, that by preserving the divine sense, they will be able to bring back Lord Maestro. But I’ll talk to them, as Miss Amber and Mister Jones said, preserving the divine sense inside the Shankha will be for naught. If they want some closure, that’s probably the quickest way.”

Knock, knock, knock.

Someone knocked on the door three times, interrupting them; they all looked at the door, waiting for Edwards to open it. The young man quickly got up and walked to the door.

“Mr. Flanders, it's a pleasure.” – they heard Edwards greeting the newcomers, before getting out of the way, motioning for them to enter.

Three men entered the RV, two of them were government agents, dressed in dark suits, army buzzcut, and wearing dark sunglasses; probably magical items equipped with some kind of spiritual analysis technology. Leading them was an older man, even older than Mr. Roberts. He wore a black top hat, that covered most of his bald head, and had a thick pearly white mustache that contrasted with his wrinkled, old skin. Unlike the other two men, he was wearing a fancy, brown, double-breasted overcoat, and carried a polished wooden cane, with a reflective silver sphere at the top.

“Hello gentleman, and m’lady,” he greeted with a pompous voice – “I can see a new face among you. Is that the renowned Inspector Jones?”

Jones nodded politely and rose from his seat, he didn’t want to be rude; The man approached him, and gave him a handshake.

“What a pleasure to finally meet you, Mister Jones, I’m very interested in your work methodology. To be honest, before you left the force, we were considering extending you an invitation to join the Severing Brigade.” The man complimented, it was obvious that he had a lot of experience flattering others, Jones couldn’t help but wonder if it was an ability he had developed after kissing Imortals’ asses for so long.

“Mister Flanders I presume?” greeted Jones – “That was a flattering offer, what a shame our paths diverted so early.”

“They did, but now they have converged again.” concluded the man with a subtle smile.

Jones took a step back, he didn’t want to monopolize the man’s attention. Flanders took that as a sign to explain his reasons for the visit.

“Despite the government not liking the interference of private investigators, such as yourselves, in our investigations, in this particular case, your help would be welcomed. I won’t hide it from you, we are about as lost as we could be, and unfortunately have not found any meaningful clues yet. This being the case, we would like to extend an official invitation, asking for your cooperation.”

That was probably a lie, they were there because the Sterling family wanted them there. It didn’t matter if the Severing Brigade wanted to work with them or not; the government wouldn’t dare to go against their wishes, especially in such a critical situation. Flander’s excuse for extending the invitation, however, Jones believed it to be true; the Severing Brigade was probably as lost as they were.

The small group of investigators, however, was delighted. Working together with government officials would not only help to make their job easier, but they might also build good relations with some agents, which would be helpful in the future. Mr. Roberts tried to hide his excitement, but the tone of his voice betrayed his eagerness.

“It will be a pleasure, Mister Flanders,” he turned his head to look at the rest of the investigators behind him – “I believe we all accept Mister Flanders's invitation?”

Jones nodded in agreement, and so did the others. Flanders clasped his hands together and made a slight bow, “Wonderfull news,” next, he turned around towards one of the men who had accompanied him – “Go ahead and warn the director of our agreement Agent Crow. Tell him I’ll join him as soon as I finish here.”

The man nodded in agreement and quickly left the RV, not even bothering to say his goodbyes to the people inside.

*So rude; these government officials have no manners.*

After the man left, Amber asked, “Do you have any idea of what happened?”

The corner of Flanders's mouth slightly curled up - the man didn’t want to be the first to ask about the other party’s progress. With a smug look, he adjusted his tie with his left hand before revealing, “We do actually, and that’s what's confusing us.” A commotion could be heard as all the investigators shifted awkwardly from one leg to the other.

“Have you solved the case, then?” asked York.

*Of course not, if they had cracked it, they wouldn’t have asked for our cooperation* – Jones commented silently.

“No, quite the opposite. Our discovery makes the mystery even deeper.” Flanders replied in a deep voice; apparently, he shared Mr. Roberts’s passion for theatrics. “The issue lays with the body of Lord Astair - It appears to be too weak.”

“Weak?”

“Yes, too soft and vulnerable. If we didn’t know otherwise, we would say it was a mortal body” – Flanders explained.

“How is that possible? Are you sure that that’s Lord Astair’s body, and not a decoy?” questioned York.

“Yes, we are. His appearance was confirmed by the family, though that’s not important, as you know, practitioners can easily disguise themselves, but both his soul signature and soul sense confirmed his identity. We used tools to analyze the dispersing remnants on the body and concluded it matched with both the samples provided by the family and the samples on our database.”

“Maybe some lingering curse? Or a curse on the weapon used?” tried Amber.

“We couldn't identify any lingering curse, about the weapon used, well…” the man furrowed his brow – “It's easier to understand if you see for yourselves. Grab your umbrellas and follow me, it's raining cats and dogs outside.”

Flanders motioned the other agent to exit the RV, and he followed behind him. The rest of the investigators also left, and only Edwards stayed behind fiddling with the keyboard.

It was raining heavily outside, and Jones, who hadn’t brought his umbrella, knew his small hat wouldn’t be enough to shield him from the rain anymore. Fortunately, Amber was kind enough to share a space under her yellow flowery umbrella with him. They followed behind the others, heading to the big white tent, still illuminated by the blue flashing lights of the police cars.

“What do you think about this?” Jones asked Amber, even though they weren’t that familiar with each other, he had worked with her a couple of times before when he was still a member of the force.

“Not sure yet, but I might drop out.” she sighed, and Jones nodded in agreement. The truth was, if there was something that could kill an Immortal, it would have to be another Immortal. None of them wanted to risk pissing off an Immortal. *But on the other hand, I also don’t want to disrespect the Sterling family* he complained inwardly; for now, he would follow the others, and think about his dilemma after.

Jones took a peak at the teleportation gate outside, the thing was almost finished, and he could see two busy engineers, trying to adjust the dimensional core inside. To his surprise, however, once they passed by the two guards at the entrance, and stepped inside the tent, another huge teleportation gate was waiting for them.

“What the hell?” York exclaimed, and Jones was as surprised as him. Why would they set up two different gates? Dimensional cores were extremely expensive to obtain and to maintain. Even transporting them was a pain, those things were very volatile and could not be teleported. Jones couldn’t imagine the effort it took to transport two cores here so fast.

“The crime wasn’t here?” Jones asked with surprise.

“No, we decided on this spot to confuse the reporters; they still have no idea of what’s going on. The actual crime occurred at Sterling’s family Winter Palace, near Aboth. The teleportation gate outside is a decoy, we’ll have some officials going back and forward every couple of hours.” answered Flanders.

“Near Aboth? Mister Roberts, if you would’ve told me, it would have taken me barely twenty minutes to arrive!” complained Jones bluntly, his headache was killing his manners.

“And if we did, then we wouldn’t be misdirecting the media would we Inspector Jones? Besides, I told you to take the teleportation gate.” adverted Mr. Roberts.

Flanders approached one of the operators and flashed him a badge he took from the inside of his coat. It was merely a formality, as the operator was already greeting him before he showed the badge.

“Open the connection to Sterling’s family Winter Palace please, we are going through.” requested Flanders before returning to the group. The operator went inside a small, transparent cabin and quickly got to work.

Jones could feel the gate starting to power up. Despite the lack of visual changes, the gate still looked the same as before, no more than an empty hole between the complicated mesh of materials. However, a static noise could be heard, its volume gradually increasing over time. That was why Jones hated using them, he was particularly sensitive to the noise, and one of their side effects was to cause headaches. For once, he questioned his decision to not take any medication, it would’ve been useful today.

Finally, a green light appeared on the side of the gate, and the operator inside the cabin gave them a thumbs up, indicating for them to go inside; the static noise was now so loud they could feel it vibrating in their bodies, and they could barely hear themselves.

The first to go in was the Severing Brigade agent; the next in line was Mr. Roberts, but he stopped when he saw Mr. Flanders standing near the gate, with no intention of going in.

“Mister Flanders, are you not coming?” asked Mr. Roberts.

“I’m afraid not, the Director is waiting for my initial report. Follow Agent Rogers, and I’ll join you as soon as possible.”

Mr. Roberts nodded in understanding, and he walked forward to the middle of the gate, where he suddenly disappeared. No matter how many times Jones saw it, it still impressed him; the people being teleported vanished suddenly, with no visual cue, no change in sound, nothing. They were just there and a moment after, they weren't.

York and Mr. Pawar quickly followed Mr. Roberts, vanishing in the same mysterious conditions. Finally, only Jones and Amber were left. He moved to the side and politely motioned for Amber to go first; the woman thanked him and stepped inside the gate too. Moments later, to no surprise, she was also gone.

With no other choice, Jones swallowed dry and he also stepped inside the gate. One step, two steps, three steps, and the world changed.