WARNING: EXTREME DEPICTIONS OF GORE YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
"During the break, nothing happened, and while there was always a gap between Philip Crude's killings, we thought that after Copperhand thrashed Joshua Ambrose and his entire crew, they'd stop," Malvin began, his voice heavy with the weight of recollection. He let out a deep sigh, his eyes clouded. "Goddess, were we wrong. While Ambrose did stop his drug business, the killings… they didn't stop. They just got worse..."
---
Malvin and his fellow officers stood frozen, their breaths caught in their throats as they stared at the grotesque display in front of them. The bitter chill of the winter morning was nothing compared to the icy grip of horror that held them in place. They had barely settled back into work after the break, their spirits tentatively mended, when the distant sound of shouting erupted outside the station.
The commotion drew nearly all of the Ironguard into the snowy streets, their boots crunching against the fresh layer of frost. The sight that greeted them drained what little warmth remained in their veins.
On the sidewalk, two iron rebars had been driven deep into the ground, the metal warped slightly as if forced into place with inhuman strength. Atop the first rebar sat the severed head of Officer Lucas, his face frozen in a grotesque expression of pain and terror, his lifeless eyes staring blankly into the distance. His once-vibrant features were drained of color, his blood having long since congealed into dark streaks running down the metal rod.
On the second rebar, Laura's head had been mounted, her mouth slightly agape, her hair matted with dried blood. But that wasn't all. Below her head, two mangled arms—clearly Lucas's—had been twisted and jammed onto the pole in a mockery of a macabre embrace, their jagged ends still dripping faintly as the snow beneath them turned crimson.
The torso of Officer Laura had been skewered beneath Lucas's head on the first rebar, her uniform shredded and barely clinging to what remained of her body. Deep, jagged holes riddled her chest and abdomen, her flesh torn apart as though a wild beast had taken its time carving her into pieces. Blood had pooled at the base of the display, staining the snow in a grotesque halo of crimson and black.
It was deliberate. It was calculated. It was sickening.
An artwork of gore. That was the only way Malvin's mind could describe it. A cruel, vile masterpiece left behind by monsters who wanted to send a message. The stillness of the morning amplified the horror, the faint sound of the breeze the only thing accompanying their collective silence.
---
"That's… horrid," Loreen whispered, her voice muffled as she covered her face with both hands. Her shoulders trembled.
"A fitting name," Aeron remarked flatly, his deadpan voice somehow cutting sharper than the silence. "An artwork of gore."
"How… how did they even manage to do that?" Tores stammered, his expression pale, the revulsion in his voice unmistakable.
Malvin's eyes darkened as he leaned forward slightly, his tone measured but simmering with restrained anger. "Joshua Ambrose," he said, his gaze fixed on the floor. "He moves so fast he's nothing but a blur at times. He's probably the one who set up that display."
Jos, visibly uncomfortable, crossed his arms and nodded grimly. "He would've had the time. Not many people out and about during the snowy season, especially in the early morning. Bastard probably timed that."
Clare's face was pale as she took several deep, shaky breaths, forcing herself to maintain composure. She looked directly at Malvin, her voice trembling but steady enough. "What happened after that, Captain?"
Malvin rubbed his temples, the weight of the memory pressing down on him like a physical burden. "Philip Crude killed his final victim," he said, his voice hollow as the room fell silent, the oppressive atmosphere returning.
"While the response to the deaths of Officer Lucas and Officer Laura was to deploy the still-experimental Sentinels onto the streets to bolster defenses," Malvin began, his voice weighed down by the gravity of the events he was about to recount, "something else was happening with me and Silas. I'm sure it's no shock to any of you that Silas Deep and I didn't exactly get along back then. Hell, our constant arguments even hampered our patrols. Most of that was on me—I was an absolute piece of trash to him."
He paused, running a hand down his face as though trying to scrub away the memories. "Captain Howard noticed it too, and he wasn't about to let our dysfunction keep festering. So, it was decided that after the break, we'd be assigned new partners. Even with the horror of what happened—the so-called artwork of gore—that order still went through. Silas and I were separated."
He leaned back slightly, his fists clenching on the table. "I was partnered with Danial Dredge, while Silas was paired with Archie Willow."
Around the room, the tension grew thick. They all knew where this was heading, even if the full details were yet to be spoken.
"Philip Crude's final victim," Aeron spoke, cutting straight to the heart of it. "And the two of you were no longer partners. This is it, isn't it?"
Malvin met Aeron's gaze and nodded, his jaw tightening. "Yeah. This is it."
He exhaled slowly, his breath trembling ever so slightly. His fists remained clenched, the knuckles pale against the table. "It's time to tell you all about the death of Silas Deep."