“Something is strange about this informant”, Joven said, leaning on the back of the metal cage elevator that descended into “The Depths''.
Brekan took a step back from the people on the front, who couldn’t wait to get off. “What do you mean?” he asked. “We are getting new informants on the regular.”
"This one is different," Joven said. "Most of the new ones tell us about some rumor or a suspicious activity they've witnessed. But this one claims to possess significant information about the cultist network and how they operate."
The orange crystal softly swung back and forth over their head. The elevator stopped and the metal grid door opened with a screech.
Both of them could already feel the cool wind, the air carrying a touch of moisture. Echoes of bustling activity echoed reverberated. An energetic rhythm in the surroundings mixing itself with the clamor of machinery and clutter of voices.
Emerging from the lift, Brekan and Joven found themselves on a plateau on the edge of “The Depths”.
The city’s ‘underworld’, Brekan thought, gazing over the quarters and houses of the working class, that stretched between the massive pillars that supported the Iskandian world above. On the far end of this enclave the light of the day broke into this artificial cave, leading right into the Avalian Fields.
Brekan, took a moment to absorb the sights and sounds. He has been here often, dealing with cultists. This place with its well traveled roads and flow of commerce and transportation to the far reaches of the kingdom was the perfect place for the scum to hang out.
The Inquisitors made their way down the steps into the main part of the city.
"If the informant is right," Brekan said, his voice low and serious, "we might actually be able to bust up a huge chunk of the cultist's network."
Joven nodded, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Yeah... if."
The bar stood nestled within labyrinthine alleyways. It was not some worn down den of suspicious characters, but rather an old and forgotten inn which was mostly abandoned for better places.
As soon as Brekan entered through the heavy door, his eyes scanned the room for their contact. He didn’t have to guess twice that the scrawny man, cloaked in a hooded mantle, was his guy. But unlike Brekans previous informants, he had encountered, there was an aura of confidence around the guy. A palpable assurance that set him apart.
When the Inquisitors settled into their seats in front of him a shroud of anticipation draped over them. The informant's eyes met theirs, steady and unflinching.
“I have seen cultists entering and leaving the house of Secretary Trepan, him overseeing them,” he revealed. “They carried weapons into the residence at night, and I have also heard strange animal noises coming from within.”
Brekan was reminded of the bird creature. Memories of the fight and terror resurfacing, sending a shiver down his spine. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.
Joven’s brows furrowed in recognition. “Trepan is the secretary of Natora. One of the wealthiest men in Iskanda.”
Brekan’s mind connected some dots. “Natora’s business empire spans all the crucial supply chains of Iskanda. If they were to be disrupted or tampered with, it could bring down the whole city.”
Joven said, his voice urgent, "Now with another Witch Storm brewing, they of course would try everything to sow chaos and panic, by interrupting the flow of food. It makes sense that they are targeting the man and his empire who controls it all."
The informant cleared his throat and asked: “So, about the payment?”
Joven reached into the pocket of his pants and put a small wooden coin with an ‘I’ on the table. “You know how that works?”
The informant swiftly pocketed the coin and smiled. “Good luck,” he said and left.
Joven sighed heavily. "It's disheartening to see even those who are well off and secure, like Trepan and Natora, succumb to the influence of the witches and their cultists," he said, his voice bitter. He stared off into the distance, beyond the walls of the bar. "Greed, fear, or perhaps some twisted agreement... their reasons might seem legit, but in the end they all pose a threat to us."
“What would drive someone like Trepan,” Brekan asked, “who is in such a position of privilege to align themself with those traitors?”
Joven leaned back and said: “Maybe power, more wealth, fear of becoming a target or even desire for forbidden knowledge, promised by a witch.”
“Regardless,” Brekan said and rose, “we are going to eradicate them, no matter the social status.”
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They arrived at the residence of Secretary Trepan shortly after. The mansion was snuggled into the northern wall of “The Depths”. It stood amidst a gated community, full of the abodes of the richest people of this underworld.
As Inquisitors, gaining entry had been no challenge. The gatekeeper had recognized their authority and ushered them through the iron gates. A stone wall, tall and sturdy, shielded the inhabitants of this rich circle from onlookers.
Brekan and Joven approached the gate of Trepan’s mansion that guarded the front yard, only to find it open. Its iron bars parted like teeth baring their malice.
Joven’s voice, filled with suspicion, cut through their quietness: “It’s a trap.”
Walking up the serpentine pathway to the main door, gravel crunched beneath their boots.
Joven suggested: “Maybe we should call for backup.”
But Brekan, driven by determination, said: “We can’t allow the secretary or any of the cultists to slip away or destroy information that could help us in the upcoming storm.”
But in Brekan’s mind unease grew, the memory of the bird monster still haunting.
The entrance hall of the residence greeted them with an impenetrable darkness, dulling their sight. The door behind them sealed shut with an ominous finality.
With a flicker of orange light, both of them ignited their light crystal. It was then that a strange, unsettling odor assailed their senses. A miasma of threat that hinted at a presence of malevolence.
Before their eyes a monstrous figure rested, chained and restrained upon a wheeled platform. It’s ebony skin glistening like polished obsidian, its hulking frame imposing and grotesque.
Human-like in stature the creature knelt with lowered head, its horns jutting forth with a menacing intent, aimed directly at Joven and Brekan.
To their astonishment the informant they had met earlier stood alongside other hooded cultists, their smiles twisted with wicked delight. His voice laced with venomous command said: “Kill them!”
With a mechanized release, the chains binding the creature on either side clattered to the floor, freeing the abomination. It raised its hands to look at them, its glowing red eyes carving fiery trails through the twilight.
Brekan and Joven drew their swords, ready to face the creature that knelt before them.
In a violent explosion of power, the monster swiped its hand into the cultists, crashing them against the walls with bone-grinding force. Then it turned its attention to Brekan and Joven, lunging towards them like a malevolent force propelled by unseen murderesses.
Brekan, a fighter of skill and agility, narrowly evaded the creature’s lightning-fast strikes. It moved with deadly brutality yet shrouded in eerie silence, devoid of grunts or roars.
While seeking to defend himself, Brekan blocked a powerful punch with his sword, but the sheer force behind it sent him hurtling backward. He landed hard, his chest heaving. He desperately searched for Joven, but there was no trace of his companion.
The looming beast advanced toward him. Brekan rose to his feet, his eyes locked onto the approaching menace. Despair came caressing the edges of his mind.
Yet, just when he thought all was lost, a shadow descended from above, landing upon the creature's back.
With unyielding coldbloodedness Joven plunged his sword deep into the back of the creature’s skull.
A glimmer of hope enlightened Brekan's mind, but it was quickly replaced by dread as he saw the creature convulsing but not succumbing to a mortal wound. It jerked its arm and grabbed Joven.
Brekan knew he had to act quickly. He raced past the creature, ascended the stairs, and tore his light crystal from its chain. He leaped onto the creature's back.
But before he could fully act out his plan, the monster's other massive paw snatched him out of the air, its grip tightening like a vice. Brekan activated a small button on the frame of the light crystal, opened his palm and let it drop toward the ground.
Just as the creature turned its attention to him, Brekan kicked the crystal, propelling it forward straight into its face. With a thunderous bang, the crystal detonated upon impact, sending a cascade of light and brilliance that filled the entrance hall.
The beast convulsed, its monstrous form collapsing to the ground, vanquished by the culmination of Brekan’s cunning. Him and Joven peeled themself out of the monster's paws with painful, exhausted groans.
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Joven cast a faint glow with his own light crystal, revealing the creature's face, obliterated in gruesome fashion.
"Do you know what kind of monster this is?" Brekan asked.
Joven nodded solemnly. “It’s a Kioni. It doesn’t belong here.”
“What do you mean,” Brekan asked, wondering about his friend's phrasing.
“Nevermind, let's get out of here before another bad surprise might catch us off-guard.”
“Why was it in Trepan’s house?” Brekan asked after picking up his sword from the ground. His gaze wandered to the dead cultists, scattered on the ground in the back.
Joven said: “I don’t know, but it looks like we need to pay Natora a visit, to talk about his secretary. And to confront him about his involvement.”
When they approached the door they unleashed their combined strength and rammed it until it yielded.
The cool embrace of fresh air greeted them.
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“I still think we should get reinforcements,” Joven said, his voice imbued with concern. “We almost died to the Kioni.”
Brekan swallowed the rest of his nutrition bar and opened the locker of the wall of the small storage building. The locker was filled with crystal grenades, which Brekan handed over to Joven. Keeping three for himself.
“Was the Kioni a Witch Beast or was it created with witch magic?” Brekan asked while putting the grenades on his belt.
Joven hesitated. “Technically not,” he admitted.
“Then we don’t need to get the Agency involved.
Brekan closed the locker and moved his attention to the weapons and armor laying on long shelves on the walls. He equipped a leather armor and fresh Inquisitor garb over it. “You still don’t want to tell me what exactly that creature was?”
Joven grabbed two daggers and put them on his belt. He shook his head. "No," he said, his expression grim.
They finished gathering their gear and then left the storage room, stepping back out into “The Depths”.
Brekan closed the thick door and sealed the vault lock by turning two wheels whose exact alignment and combination was the only way to open it.
As they walked down the street, Brekan petted the grenades on his belt. If they were confronted with a Kioni again, they would be ready.
Coincidentally the Natora estate was not very far from the vault of this district. It stood in front of a giant fortress of iron mills, smelters, refineries and foundries. The air was filled with industrial smells like the sharp, pungent odor of sulfur that brought tears of irritation into Brekan’s eyes, or the fumes of metals. Some sweet, some acrid.
A formidable metal fence enclosed the estate. The windows of the building were shrouded by wine-red curtains, giving Brekan the impression of a watchful presence within.
The little guardhouse, intended to refuse unwanted visitors, stood empty. The gate remained closed, denying entry.
Brekan scanned the scene, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. The absence of any guards or private security was strange, given the status and wealth of the estate's owner.
Well, that’s not dubious at all,” Joven said.
“I bet we are expected again,” Brekan added. As Inquisitors they possesed the authority to enter any building at any time. He walked up to the gate and pressed against the cold metal. It slowly creaked open, as if it recognized their authority.
Undeterred by the unresponsive silence that greeted their trespassing, they approached the grand entrance.
Brekan did not hesitate to pull the chain of the ornate bell. The ringing went unanswered.
Without hesitation Brekan decided to take matters into his own hands. He shattered the silence of the estate by breaking through a nearby window.
As Brekan and Joven pushed away some remaining shards and climbed through the window, Brekan couldn't help but notice the similarities between this house and that of Secretary Trepan. The same opulent furnishings, the same air of mystery. But this time, the atmosphere was different. It was devoid of the suffocating darkness that had cloaked their previous encounter.
Brekan looked around and noticed the mansion's cleanliness, which stood in stark contrast to the eerie emptiness that pervaded the space. Before he could make more sense of his surroundings, a sudden surge of movement disrupted the stillness. Cultists emerged from siderooms and descended from the upper floor, rushing down the stairs.
Quickly the Inquisitors drew their swords and found themselves surrounded. Despite the option to flee out of the window they just entered from, Brekan stayed steadfast. And he knew Joven also wouldn’t retreat.
For a short moment, the Inquisitors and Cultists stood in silence, staring each other in the eyes. Then, the onslaught of the traitors began.
Brekan met them as skilled warrior and seasoned Inquisitor. Each stroke of his blade led by precision and experience. The clash of steel rang through the grand halls, the racket of battle breaking the silence of the once-quite corridors.
Brekan fought with calculated precision, his movements a dance of deliberate slashes and evasion.
As citizens of the Sun Kingdom the cultists were trained in basic warfare and battle, but they couldn’t hold water against the specialized and elite training of Inquisitors.
Brekan remained fixed on the greater objective. Beyond the cultists laid the truth about Trepan and Natora. Somewhere in those shadowed corridors and halls and each slain cultist would bring him closer to protecting the people from the witches that threatened the lives of the innocent.
When most of the remaining cultists quickly stepped back from the battle, realizing that they were just gonna get slaughtered anyway, a figure emerged from the balcony in the middle of the first floor.
Brekan took a breather and said: “I guess you are Trepan.”
The secretary laughed. "You cannot stop the impending storm that looms on the horizon. Kill them!"
The remaining cultists hesitated looking onto the corpses of their comrades and each other.
With annoyance in his voice, Trepan said, "The Witch Queen demands it."
Although still reluctant, the cultists attacked again, their strikes met with deadly retaliation. Brekan and Joven emerged victorious from the intense battle, their bodies heated and their hearts pounding.
Brekan surveyed the room for any signs of Secretary Trepan but the balcony was empty.
"Up," Joven said.
They sprinted up the stairs and found a half-open door on their right. Inside was a hallway with a grand double door at the end, a huge plaque with the words "Natora's Office" written above it.
Brekan and Joven slowed their pace, approaching the doors cautiously. When they reached the door, they decided to take precautionary measures instead of opening it outright. They both pulled a grenade and pressed the button, looking at each other and nodding. Then they pulled the safety pins and quickly laid the grenades in front of the door. They jogged back to the other end of the hallway, taking cover behind the doors.
After the grenades detonated with a thunderous boom, Brekan and his friend ran back to the office. The double doors were blown open, revealing a chilling scene. Shredded body parts of Secretary Trepan lay strewn about the room, the air thick with the smell of burnt flesh. The big panorama windows overlooking the industrial park were shattered.
Amidst the remains of a splintered table and paper scraps, Brekan spotted Natora, one arm missing and his body twisted. His voice, weakened and dripping with desperation, filled the room. "I did it for my daughter," he gasped, his eyes filled with anguish and sorrow. "They took her and threatened to kill her if I didn't comply."
Brekan's heart ached with the gravity of this revelation. The father had been desperate, driven by love towards his daughter that knew no bounds. Compassion softened Brekan's mind. He knelt down beside Natora and asked gently, yet probingly, "Where is she?"
Natora wavered, his final breaths slipping away as he answered: “Witch … Realm.” With those words, his light departed, leaving only behind his devotion to his daughter.
Brekan turned to Joven, who immediately said: “Jurisdiction of the Agency. Nothing we can do.”
Brekan looked back down to the desperate father, his fists clenched. Joven is right, he thought. He had no choice but to follow the Codex.
Joven said: “Let’s see if we can find any other useful information and then inform the district management to send someone to take over Natora’s operations.”
While embarking on a meticulous search of the estate Brekan couldn’t get Natora’s words out of his mind. The man had been willing to work with the enemy, threatening the lives of thousands or even millions if they had been successful. Just for the life of his daughter, Brekan thought.
His search of the estate yielded no immediate answers. Any potential knowledge died with Trepan and Natora. But the Codex was clear. Death to all cutists and traitors. No negotiations.
Brekan shook his head. He thought: How many could have been saved if we interrogated them before killing them.
The estate held its secret close, the walls standing like silent sentinels, guarding every enigma that could have been discovered.