Chapter 150: The Thieving God's Theatre
Grinwall Country—Oakridge City—Western Grinwall Estate—Theatre Arts Building.
Tessa stood in front of the massive structure, its imposing façade lit by the harsh glow of neon lights. A massive word-board screamed, Theatre Arts Building. Her gaze darted between the towering edifice and the group surrounding her: Principal Hammond, Nyala, and the enigmatic Heziah Eric, who had just joined their ragtag mission team.
The absurdity of the situation weighed on her. She thought back to what had brought her here and couldn't help but shake her head. Hours of strategizing had led to nothing but uncertainty.
Their goal was simply to rescue Adrian. However despite their countless hours of strategizing, they discovered that for all their plans, they still don't know the position of their main obstacle: Rhemon Sanchez, a man capable of weaving elaborate traps that could turn their best-laid plans into dust.
They were fumbling in the dark, with hope hanging precariously by a thread, they could be working their way into a trap, thinking their plan was solid. So this brought them to their next question, how do we ensure we can get Adrian's exact position without walking our way into a well laid out trap?
And then Heziah Eric gave his idea. His voice, calm but charged with conviction, as he introduced a wild, almost mythical notion: the legend of the Thieving God.
"There's a man," Heziah began, "a Kaelrian, if the stories are to be believed. They say he can find anyone, anywhere, as long as he knows their name. His ability to locate is unparalleled. But he's not just a tracker. They call him the Thieving God because he's stolen things no one else could even dream of taking."
Tessa's skepticism had been immediate. "Stolen what exactly? Jewels? Fortunes?"
Heziah's eyes glinted. "Everything. He had once stolen Babies from their Mother's womb, He had stolen even the identities of presidents and other important people, he had taken even an entire city once, according to the legend."
The weight of his words hung in the air. The group had exchanged doubtful glances. A city? The absurdity of it felt overwhelming.
Tessa folded her arms. "You're telling me a Kaelrian thief, who's practically a ghost, is our best shot at finding Adrian?"
Principal Hammond, ever the pragmatist, had stepped in. "Sometimes, the most unbelievable stories carry a grain of truth. We don't have the luxury to ignore this, Tessa."
And so, here they were, standing at the doorstep of a film production company. It was rumored the Thieving God had integrated himself into the industry, using his abilities in the shadows of showbiz. A man discovered by Rhemon, but for some reason, Rhemon chose to distance himself from the thieving god, no one knows why that is.
Tessa sighed deeply, frustration still bubbling under her calm exterior. She couldn't shake the ridiculousness of searching for a man who, if real, was the epitome of mythical insanity. Stealing babies from wombs? An entire city? What next, the moon?
Her musings were interrupted as they approached the main door. Muffled shouts filtered through the heavy wood.
"Follow the script, you fucktards!"
The voice, sharp and irate, belonged to a film director mid-meltdown. The building vibrated with the chaotic energy of a production in disarray.
Tessa smirked despite herself. A god of thievery hiding among actors and directors? Fitting. She tightened her grip on the door handle. Somewhere inside, their elusive ally—or another dead end—awaited.
"Ready?" Hammond asked.
Tessa exhaled. "As I'll ever be."
She pushed the door open, stepping into the storm of lights, cameras, and shouted obscenities, hoping they weren't chasing shadows.
The cacophony of activity hit them like a tidal wave as they stepped into the Theatre Arts Building. The space was alive with motion and noise.
Dozens of people hustled around the central stage, their focus singular, their purpose clear. The director, a man with a booming voice and an endless reservoir of anger, stood beside the cameraman, barking orders with such ferocity that his voice cracked. When that happened, he simply swigged from a nearby water bottle and resumed yelling.
Tessa weaved through the crowd, her Kaelrian senses on high alert. She wasn't here for a spectacle; she was hunting for a man who might not even exist. She was hoping that her alien senses would pick out—like a GPS, something out of place.
It still felt absurd, 'The Thieving God', she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. The name alone was absurd, a title fit for a fantasy villain, not someone real. Yet, here she was, chasing ghosts.
As she ventured deeper, Tessa crossed an invisible boundary—one clearly respected by everyone else in the room. It was the director's personal no-go zone, marked only by the unwritten rule that no one dared to breach it.
Immediately when she crossed that line, her actions drew gasps from the noticing members of the crowd. Predictably, it didn't take long for her defiance to draw attention from the ever angry—film director.
"Who the fuck are you?" the director roared, his voice slicing through the room's chaotic din like a blade. His eyes zeroed in on her, veins bulging at his temples. "I told you bastards to stay out of my zone while I'm directing! Which agency sent you? Who the hell do you think you are?"
Tessa opened her mouth to respond, but the man was a hurricane of rage. He didn't stop long enough for anyone to get a word in.
"Henceforth, you're banned from my set! I don't care if you're from the goddamn union—guards!" he bellowed, summoning security with a theatrical flourish.
Two burly men in black uniforms began pushing through the crowd toward Tessa. She didn't flinch. Instead, she sighed, her patience thinning.
"Look," she said calmly, raising a hand, but her voice was lost in the director's continued tirade.
Nyala and Principal Hammond lingered at the entrance, exchanging wary glances—not out of concern for Tessa, but for anyone foolish enough to stand in her way. Heziah Eric, having pledged his unwavering loyalty to Tessa and remaining steadfast in her cause looked ready to intervene, his stance tense. But Nyala placed a calming hand on his arm and murmured, "Let her handle it."
The guards finally reached Tessa, one of them confidently reaching for her arm, his face set in a mask of authority. Big mistake.
Her Kaelrian instincts ignited, every nerve on high alert. In a seamless motion, she sidestepped his grasp, her hand snapping up to grip his wrist with a precision that spoke of power restrained. Her touch was light, almost casual, but the guard froze as if a vise had clamped down on him.
Even with the latent fatigue from the eggs siphoning her energy, Tessa barely needed to exert herself. These men were far from worthy opponents. She leaned in close, her voice low and deadly, audible only to the unfortunate guard.
"Touch me again," she said, her tone as sharp as broken glass, "and you'll wish you hadn't."
The guard's bravado faltered, his eyes widening as he glimpsed something unearthly in her gaze—a flicker of Kaelrian intensity that sent a chill down his spine.
The director, oblivious to this quiet standoff, continued ranting, gesticulating wildly. But in that moment, Tessa's senses tingled, detecting something subtle—a ripple in the air, a presence just on the edge of her perception. Her Kaelrian instincts, like an unerring internal GPS, locked onto a signal only their kind could sense when in the presence of another Kaelrian.
She straightened, her eyes narrowing as they scanned the room. Amidst the chaos, a figure stood at the far end of the stage, seemingly indifferent to the pandemonium.
He was dressed in casual clothing—jeans, a hoodie, nothing remarkable. But his eyes glowed faintly, a telltale Kaelrian blue that only she could see in the shifting light. Nonchalantly, he tossed plantain chips into his mouth, watching the chaos around him with the casual amusement of someone thoroughly entertained by the spectacle.
'Found you', she thought.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and began walking toward him, leaving the stunned guards and the furious director behind. The man on stage, sensing her approach, smirked as if he'd been waiting for her all along.
"Showtime," he murmured, his voice carrying effortlessly to her ears despite the distance.