Night's shadow crept ever closer, the last vestiges of daylight fading into dusk. Before Charles and Joseph stood that unassuming two-story house, the cogwheels in their pocket watches whirring at a frantic pace. The resounding tick within their minds echoed forebodingly. They gazed at the building in varying degrees of unease.
"What do you think?" Charles asked, voice taut. "Should we just storm in?"
"Hold on," Joseph whispered back, every word dripping caution. "We should alert the unit first. Going in just the two of us is too risky. We don't know the strength of the Ascendant inside—he could be someone very powerful."
Charles nodded in agreement. He peered at the house warily. Through one window on the upper floor, a curtain seemed to shift—though it might have been just a branch's shadow cast by the wind.
Joseph pulled out a small slip of paper and a quill from his coat, hands shaking slightly as he scrawled a short message—yet used no visible ink. The letters appeared sharp and clear despite being written in darkness. Then he recited a soft incantation: "Nur Kalla," a dissonant echo overlapping his voice, as though multiple voices spoke at once.
A flicker of orange flame sparked to life at the tip of Joseph's finger. Its glow danced in both their eyes, then licked along the paper, consuming it to ash that drifted away on the wind, leaving only a faint whiff of smoke.
Moving quietly, the pair took cover behind a large tree by the roadside, vigilance etched into every twitch of their muscles. Each minute crawled by with excruciating slowness. At last, the faint rattle of a carriage approached from afar.
The carriage reined in nearby with barely a sound, drawn by two sleek, black horses that snorted a little in the stillness. Edward and Andrew stepped down, their expressions grim.
Charles and Joseph slipped out from behind the tree to join them, exchanging no words—just brief, urgent nods.
All four simultaneously produced what appeared to be simple handkerchiefs, but once shaken out, the innocuous cloths transformed into gleaming swords. The hush of nighttime pressed in as they armed themselves.
Joseph produced a silver revolver—the metal flashing under the pale moonlight—and carefully loaded its chambers. The crisp click of the cylinder carried in the darkness. He then handed the gun to Andrew, their most skilled weapons handler.
"Andrew," Joseph said softly, offering him the firearm. "This is yours. You're better with it than I am."
Andrew nodded, taking the revolver with quiet confidence. "Thanks. I'll make it count."
Charles gave them both a slightly envious glance. "So why don't I get one?" he muttered.
"That particular gun's a personal item. The unit doesn't supply them," Joseph explained.
Charles merely shrugged, a bit disappointed. He eyed the revolver in Andrew's grasp. Modern firearms like this came out of Sarnia, famed for its cutting-edge innovations. Even the wind-up pocket watches the special unit used came from there. Among ordinary people, all such devices were prohibitively expensive, and getting hold of a revolver took more than just money—it required connections and influence in the right circles to obtain one.
Edward then spoke. "All right, everyone, get ready. From here on, we use mental communication."
Andrew and Joseph both nodded at the familiar directive, while Charles stood blinking in confusion.
Edward turned to the newcomer. "Before we go in, I'm going to link your mind to ours so we can all communicate telepathically. It's safer and quicker."
Charles hesitated. "Uh… well…"
This won't cause me any permanent harm, right? Won't I risk leaking my own thoughts? His mind swirled with doubts.
Perceptive to Charles's worry even without overt mind-reading, Edward said, "I understand. This simply links our thoughts for quick, silent communication, avoiding unwanted noise. And it helps us stay coordinated, even at a distance."
Despite lingering qualms, Charles gave a slow nod. He steadied himself, heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and intrigue. Edward lightly touched Charles's temple, an icy chill spiking through his skin, then withdrew his hand.
"…" A wordless pause ensued.
That's it? Charles wondered. He glanced between Joseph, Andrew, and Edward, waiting to see if more would happen. Maybe there's a delay…
Suddenly, Charles felt a surge of mental connection weaving him to the others. A wave of strange awareness flooded in, and he heard them all as though they were speaking inside his head—Joseph, Andrew, Edward—like echoing voices in his mind.
What in the world?! Charles's thoughts shouted instinctively to everyone. This is incredible!
Calm yourself, Charles, came Edward's admonition. We've got the link now, so keep a cool head.
Flushing slightly at his outburst, Charles tried to compose himself. Sorry. Got carried away.
"In order to prevent you from leaking random thoughts," Edward said aloud, "I'll add a condition so you'll have to focus before you share anything."
Charles nodded, but Edward didn't outwardly perform any second action. Maybe he's already done something? Anyway. Charles decided not to dwell on it.
The sky had grown ominously dark, thick gray clouds rolling overhead. Wind gusts stirred fallen leaves, and the tang of impending rain drifted in. Indeed, droplets started falling soon enough, spattering roofs and roads.
They nodded at one another, switching to silent telepathy for final battle arrangements. In unison, the four crept toward the old house, footsteps muffled on rain-wetted ground. They made no sound, each muscle tensed for a sudden confrontation.
Once inside, the door banged shut behind them with a loud crash—"Bang!" Andrew, bringing up the rear, felt a force slam the door. He strained to pry it open, but it refused to budge, as though wedged under a massive weight.
Charles noticed Andrew giving up so quickly, so he sent a private thought, Andrew, why not keep trying? Even if we're not leaving right now, it could be a handy escape route later.
Andrew replied in Charles's mind, We don't want to alarm whatever's in here more than it already is.
Charles stifled a nervous sigh. Probably too late—the door slamming was loud enough. But he kept this thought to himself, not sharing it with the others.
They ventured along a corridor wide enough for two people side by side. Inside was unnervingly still, as though sealed off from the stormy world outside.
Suddenly, a faint humming drifted through the halls. It sounded like a woman's voice singing a lullaby or a children's rhyme, but the mournful, eerie pitch sent chills down their spines. The echoes seemed to come from every direction at once, defying the narrow walkway's geometry.
What is that noise? Joseph's thought touched all their minds. It's like it's coming from everywhere, but also from nowhere.
Edward's mental command was firm: Don't let it rattle you. Stay focused.
As they pressed on, they discovered the hallway was longer and wider than it should be, out of proportion with the house's outward size. Paintings on the walls changed whenever they looked away; sometimes the figures in them seemed to pivot and stare, their painted eyes tracking every movement.
All the while, that haunting melody went on and on—lyrics about childish games, about a creature punishing naughty children and rewarding the good, yet voiced so hauntingly it conveyed only fear.
Finally, they arrived at a door that appeared identical to the front entrance. Edward, at the lead, grasped the handle and opened it.
What they saw beyond made Charles recoil in horror: It was a sitting room with a fireplace, a staircase leading to the upper floor, and—two corpses.
Two bodies hung suspended in midair. Charles felt the bottom of his stomach drop. What is this nightmare? Both corpses were gruesomely contorted, their bones protruding through their flesh in jagged angles, eyes rolled back, blackish blood oozing from every pore.
Worse yet, they were moving, as though manipulated by invisible puppet strings. Each corpse clawed at the other, ripping out internal organs in a repetitive loop of abject horror.
Charles's stomach lurched, a wave of nausea swirling. He'd never seen anything so grotesque.
Edward's voice rang through their telepathic link: Ignore the corpses. We need to figure out what's causing this. Search every room for the source.
They split into pairs: Charles and Joseph together, Edward and Andrew in another section. Charles stayed close to Joseph's side. Ordinarily, being confronted with death wouldn't faze him much—he was a detective, after all—but this was different, an otherworldly menace that left him shuddering. He clung to Joseph, who had braved such horrors before.
In one room, Charles stumbled across a tome. When he flipped it open, the letters danced, morphing on the pages. Realizing it might be a ritual book, Charles telepathically messaged the others: I've found something. Could be what's causing all this.
The group reassembled at Charles's location. After scanning the contents, they concluded someone here had summoned a malicious entity. Their best shot now was to find whoever performed this ritual and put a stop to it. Each pair split off again to resume the search, hearts pounding with dread, uncertain what twisted illusions—and truths—might lurk behind the next door.