In the stillness of the night, Marcellus and Ingrid lay deep in the embrace of dreams, utterly unaware of the shadowy figures drawing near.
These mysterious presences brought with them an air of impending doom, thick with anticipation and unspoken threats.
The first figure moved with an unnatural grace. In his palm, a fireball danced and flickered, its restless flames casting a crimson light that played eerily across his masked features.
Accompanying him stood a figure exuding an aura of serene mystery. Their calm demeanour remained unaltered even as they neared the precipice of potential confrontation.
As they approached the alcove, the Flame Wielder's heightened senses sprang into action.
He inhaled deeply, his supernatural olfactory sense picking up the faint scents of rum and sweat that lingered in the air—a reminder of the day's toils and night's indulgences. His eyes, sharp and perceptive, reflected the slightest movements within the shadows, including the scampering of a rat.
However, it was his companions who first sensed something. Closing his eyes momentarily, after a brief pause, he signalled to the Flame Wielder with a subtle nod, a silent signal to proceed.
Reacting to the cue, the Flame Wielder doused the fireball in his palm and reached into his cloak. He produced a small, intricately conceived hook, intended for silently unlocking doors.
As he moved to unlock the door, it unexpectedly swung open.
The door was unlocked—an oversight on Ingrid's part, a common practice among girls who worked for Mr. Doan, never locking their doors for safety when accompanied by a customer.
The Flame Wielder paused, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected turn of events, before his companion uttered a soft curse and stepped into the alcove.
Unseen by the slumbering Marcellus and Ingrid, a confrontation was about to unfold—a clash.
...
Meanwhile, Edwin who was suspected to be a Sequence 9 Jinx, had been quietly observing the unfolding events from a concealed vantage point.
Throughout the entirety of the evening, he had not been watching Marcellus.
Only now had he just come. His premonition had warned him of impending danger, and his danger sense had pinpointed the exact location of the threat.
Nearby, in the room adjacent to Ingrid's, a tall, shadowy figure stood still, her hand gripping the hilt of an unsheathed long sword. Her presence was silent but formidable, an unspoken threat looming in the darkness.
If Marcellus saw her he would recognize her as Edwin's subordinate.
At the same time, a figure in a blue vestment, typical of the Church of Storms' clergy, approached stealthily from behind the intruders.
This was no ordinary priest but the very one Marcellus had seen earlier, now poised to intervene at Ingrid's doorway.
The Flame Wielder, realizing that their presence had been detected, decided to make their move.
Flames began to gather in their hands, the fire taking on an eerie crimson hue in the moonlight.
The fireball coalesces they prepare to unleash their spell.
They were about to unleash his fiery might when suddenly...
The priest, with lightning-like reflexes, drew a flintlock gun. His one eye, gleaming with an uncanny awareness as though he could see clearly in the dim light, fixed on the Flame Wielder.
He aimed the Flintlock gun and fired off a shot at the flame wilder before he finished coalescing his fireball.
With a swift pull of the trigger, a shot rang out.
Bang!
The agile Flame Wielder, quick on his feet, contorted his body, there was a whizzing of the bullet, as it narrowly missed his centre mass.
Narrowly avoiding a direct hit. The bullet grazed his arm, a close call too rapid for a full reaction.
It all happened too fast.
The gunshot echoed, serving as a clarion call.
Inside, the Flame Wielder's companion cursed quietly, quickening his pace towards the unsuspecting Marcellus.
Almost simultaneously, the gunshot galvanized Edwin's ally in the next room into action. She sprang forward breaking through the wooden wall, her long sword ready, aiming to intercept the Flame Wielder's accomplice.
Caught off balance, the Flame Wielder, in a desperate bid to retaliate, hurled the fireball prematurely.
The flames roared towards the priest, who moved with almost supernatural agility to dodge.
He nearly succeeded, but the proximity and the unexpected timing of the attack left him with little room to manoeuvre.
The fireball grazed him, singeing his vestments but failing to inflict serious harm.
Unfazed by the flames licking at his clothes, the priest tore off his smouldering robe.
In that split second, the Flame Wielder lunged, dagger in hand, aiming for a lethal strike. But the priest, anticipating the move, caught the Flame Wielder's wrist.
With a swift, powerful motion, he delivered a crushing blow to his Solar plexus.
Krrrrunch!!
A slow, crunching sound echoed in the night—the unmistakable sound of bones breaking.
There was a gasp of surprise and pain, from the Flame Wielder as the priest's blow connected.
A flicker of surprise crossed the Flame Wielder's eyes, a brief realization before the finality of his fate engulfed him.
The Flame wielder drowned in his blood; the blow broke his ribs and spinal cord which punctured his lungs and blood filled his lungs.
At that moment, the balance of power shifted, and the night's events took a turn towards an unforeseen conclusion.
As the chilling sound of breaking bones echoed through the night, the Flame Wielder collapsed on the spot.
The priest, his robes cast aside, stood over him, his chest heaving with exertion and adrenaline, for a brief tiny moment he almost got burnt alive.
Inside the alcove, the Flame Wielder's accomplice halted abruptly, his attention snapped towards the sound of the confrontation.
His accomplice was dead just like that? He had not even moved more than five steps was he slow or were they fast?
This momentary distraction was all that Edwin's ally needed. She lunged forward, her long sword slicing through the air with a sharp
Sssshwing!
Her blade aimed unerringly at the intruder, a silver streak in the dim light.