In a secluded room, far removed from the bustling offices of other police divisions, sat a man with black hair and sharp, piercing brown eyes. His gaze was fixed on a photograph of himself alongside another figure, the latter obscured by the glare of a nearby light, resting on the bookshelf to his left.
The room, infused with the scent of aging wood, was lined with various literary works, their spines worn, neatly stacked on weathered wooden shelves. A broad table dominated the center, flanked by two well-worn sofas, while eclectic trinkets and curios, now gathering dust, adorned the space like forgotten memories. Another desk, slightly elevated, served as the man's personal workspace.
This was Veno de Sheriff.
In the silence that filled the room, Veno was the sole occupant, burdened with responsibilities that set him apart from ordinary sheriffs. Unlike the typical lawmen, his role was sanctified by divine blessing—a rare and sacred duty bestowed upon him as the chosen one. With this heavy responsibility, Veno held the legal right to eliminate those deemed a threat by their heretical beliefs, sparing only the innocent and those tangentially involved.
In his hand, Veno deftly twirled a card, its surface depicting a revolver. The card spun gracefully between his fingers, an action so practiced it had become second nature—almost a ritual in itself. He did this nearly every day, especially when no new tasks occupied his time.
His thoughts often drifted back to his mentor, the senior who had trained him. That figure, now absent, left a void that no amount of idle card playing could fill. The silence of the room seemed to amplify his longing for those days, a time when the world felt more alive, even in its darkest moments.
Being a Sheriff like Veno was often a lonely existence. The cults he was sworn to dismantle had largely retreated into the shadows, their numbers dwindled thanks to the relentless efforts of his predecessor. Missions were now infrequent, but Veno remained vigilant, knowing that darkness, though diminished, was never truly gone.
"This place is so damn boring... If only she were still here," Veno muttered to himself, leaning his head on his right hand while absentmindedly flipping the revolver card with his left. The card was his only solace in the silence—a simple trick he played with every day, a ritual to stave off the creeping loneliness.
Suddenly, the sound of a knock shattered the stillness. Veno sighed, straightening his posture as he ceased his card play. With a swift motion, he clasped the card in his hand, making it vanish from sight.
"Come in," he commanded, his voice steady and authoritative.
The door creaked open, revealing a man slightly older than Veno. He stepped into the room, bringing with him an air of seriousness that immediately filled the space.
"Extermination assignment," the man stated curtly.
Veno exhaled deeply, as if the weight of the world had just been confirmed. "Huuhh, I figured as much," he sighed, his breath heavy, the weariness of endless solitude echoing in his voice.
In that brief exchange, Veno knew that today, the silence would be replaced by something far more dangerous.