Claude and Charles strode through the village, their every step drawing glances from the inhabitants. Yet, if their watchful gazes were meant to discomfort, they failed miserably, at least for Claude.
His attention instead riveted on the familiar charm of his surroundings.
The village sprawled in a disorganized yet picturesque array. Mud-brick cottages and their domed roofs painted in sun-baked hues of sand. Climbing vines spilt over walls, bursting with small, vivid flowers. It all reminded Claude of home—or at least a dream of home.
But even amid this seemingly idyllic setting, a hollow absence gnawed at him.
The silence.
It was all-consuming, swallowing even the faintest whispers of life. Earlier, he had caught the laughter of children, but now it was gone, leaving only quiet.
Claude then paused mid-step, his sharp gaze sweeping the streets. "Where are the children?" he murmured, half to himself, half to the stillness around him.
There were none. Not a single young face darting through alleys or peeking from doorways. Instead, only adults watched them, their stares vacant, their movements rigid. Yet, their eyes tracked every motion Claude and Charles made.
"Psst!" Charles leaned in, his voice hushed but urgent. "Claude, do you feel it? Like we're being watched?"
Claude glanced at him, unsure if this was another of Charles' attempts at humour.
"I don't mean them," Charles whispered, tilting his head toward the villagers. "Someone else—out there. Someone... lurking."
The suggestion made Claude perk up. His eyes scanned the corner of his vision, the edges of rooftops, the winding alleys. But try as he might, he found no sign of an unknown observer.
"Focus," Claude said, having found nothing. "We still have a mission."
By then, they had reached the largest structure in the village, a house slightly taller and wider than the others. Its entrance was adorned with faded blue tiles. Charles stepped forward, rapping briskly on the wooden door.
"Hello? Mr. Rashan," Charles called, adopting a genial tone. "We're with the Albor City Council. We were informed of a missing persons incident here."
The door creaked open, revealing a frail old man with deeply tanned skin and silver-grey hair. His weathered face was framed by a short, uneven beard.
"You're with the council?" the elder asked, his voice as unsteady as his gait.
"Yes," Charles replied, "we're here to assist."
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Rashan muttered, scratching the back of his head, his eyes darting to the side. "We've already found the missing child."
Charles blinked, momentarily taken aback. "That's… good news?" He scratched the back of his head. "I think?"
Nevertheless, someone present was not at all impressed with what was taking place. Claude stepped forward. "That's strange," he said, his eyes on the elder. "We were informed there were seven missing children. Are you telling us they've all been found?"
"W-Well, yes. All seven." Rashan's face darkened. "W-what... what more d-do you w-want?" His words stuttered.
"That's a miracle," Claude said as he pressed on. "But we'll need to confirm this. Show us the children."
The old man's expression twisted with frustration, but he grudgingly complied. He led them to a modest house a short walk away, where a weary-looking couple greeted them and brought them inside.
Claude stepped inside, his sharp gaze immediately taking in the surroundings. The couple's home was modest, its furnishings worn but well-kept.
"Your child has returned?" He asked after brief introductions.
"Yes," the father replied, forcing a smile that did not reach his eyes. "He's playing in his room with his favourite toy, he loves his little spinning top."
Claude's gaze flicked to a nearby table. "Favourite toy? Spinning top? Do you mean this one?" He asked casually, gesturing to where he was looking.
Soon the eyes of everyone in the room concentrated on the table, where a lone spinning top lay motionless on its surface. A think layer of dust staining the little toy.
The mother stiffened, her hands wringing the hem of her apron. "Yes, that's right," she said hurriedly. "He… loves that toy."
This time Charles stepped forward, his face scrunched. "That's odd. I thought you said he was playing with this. And," he said, picking up the spinning top and giving it a lazy spin. "It's awfully dusty for something he loves to play with."
The couple exchanged a panicked glance. The father coughed nervously. "Oh, I… I must have remembered wrong," he stammered. "He's playing outside with his friends. Yes, that's it."
Charles cocked his head. "Outside, is he? With his friends? Could we know where exactly?"
The mother shook her head quickly. "W-We don't know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You don't know?" A biting laugh escaped Claude, who had been watching the situation play out.
Yet, he soon wore a deathly serious expression. "Please cooperate with us, we need to confirm the current situation." Said Claude. "Tell us where your child is! Or are they still missing?" He glanced at Rashan as he spoke the latter half of his words.
The couple froze. "It… it wouldn't be proper," the father said, his tone faltering. "The children… they don't like to be disturbed."
"We insist," Claude said coldly, his voice cutting through their feeble protests. "Now."
The father hesitated, glancing toward the mother, silently pleading for some support. She shook her head imperceptibly, her eyes filled with an unspoken meaning.
"Please," the father said at last, his tone almost begging. "Just let them be. They're safe, I swear it."
Claude and Charles exchanged a glance, their suspicion mounting. The atmosphere in the room grew ever more oppressive. Finally, Claude stepped back, his expression blank.
"Very well. That is how it is going to be," he said before turning around and speaking to Rashan. "We'll go and check with the other families.."
Claude exchanged a glance with Charles, his sharp gaze flicking toward Rashan, who stood at a distance, his expression guarded.
They visited more homes, each with similar accounts: children returned, now playing with their friends outside. Yet none of the parents volunteered to bring the children to them.
Outside the village, the two men stood on a low hill, gazing back at the settlement. "Dammit!" Charles exclaimed, raking a hand through his hair. "We've been running for over a day, and this whole thing's a waste! A wild goose chase!"
He sighed heavily. "Guess it's back to Elysium, this mission's a bust. Let's hope our next isn't another false alarm."
Claude, however, remained silent, his brows furrowed in thought. Something gnawed at him.
"What is it?" Charles asked, noticing the intensity in his companion's expression.
"The lamp," Claude said slowly. "Why didn't we check the lamp inside the village?"
Charles frowned. "Probably slipped our minds. Can you blame us, though? With how this turned out…"
"No," Claude muttered, almost to himself. "We also failed to properly press those parents on their obviously contradicting words. And, after they refused to say anything we just accepted it and left?"
His hand reached into the satchel slung over Charles' shoulder, retrieving a wooden box. Opening it, he pulled out a sheet of parchment bearing the details of their target.
Void Spawn: The Maskworn
Attributes: The Maskworn is a highly adaptive parasitic entity capable of mimicking human appearance. It can dull cognitive and emotional responses in prey, subtly manipulating behaviours to avoid detection. While it excels at outwardly replicating a human form, its mimicry is limited to physical appearance; it cannot imitate memories, personality, or complex emotional nuances.
Habits:
The Maskworn predominantly prey on children, as their developing neural tissue is considered a delicacy by the creature. Despite this preference, the Maskworn is not bound by exclusivity; in a state of starvation, it will feed indiscriminately on any living creature within its vicinity. Its predatory behaviour is opportunistic, driven by survival.
Weaknesses:
The creature is notably inept in direct physical confrontations. Its survival instincts are governed by extreme cowardice, often choosing evasion and deception over aggression when faced with a threat. This vulnerability makes it highly dependent on subterfuge and stealth.
Detection Protocols:
Effective identification of the Maskworn relies on a detailed analysis of behaviour in comparison to the individual it is attempting to replicate. Discrepancies in personal history, emotional responses, or behavioural patterns are reliable indicators of its presence. Caution is advised, as the creature may attempt to manipulate or obscure such inconsistencies through psychological interference.