Chapter 3: Meet The Team
While darkness represents terror and the unknown to some, it also represents solace and tranquility to others. Whether in the misty alleyways of Cinderfire or on the devastated fields of battle, John Carter had never been afraid of the dark; it was an inseparable part of his existence. He knew that where there was nothing, there would be darkness. And in that darkness, people were drawn to things they could neither see nor fully understand.
Some believed that beings lived in the shadows, ancient forces who could grant power, influence, and knowledge—at a price. The desperate and the wicked would do anything to communicate with them. To please these beings, they would commit murder, adultery, thievery, and all kinds of debauchery, all in a twisted bid for more—more control, more strength, more meaning in a world that seemed otherwise indifferent. Some would even take it to greater heights, believing that they could touch a power beyond mortal understanding with enough sacrifice.
John couldn't shake the feeling that the Denavolt case was just that—an offering to the darkness. The strange symbols, the eerie stillness of the room despite the fire… it all pointed to something far more disturbing than a simple murder. Something that was hidden and waiting for anyone who was stupid or desperate enough to look for it.
Later that evening, after spending hours pacing his apartment's floors, John found himself half asleep while sitting on the toilet. Although his body was worn out, his thoughts would not go away and kept bringing him back to the scene of the crime.
The flickering images of Denavolt's twisted face flashed behind his eyelids, and before he knew it, he drifted into an uneasy sleep. His dream was vivid—too vivid, almost real.
He was back in the estate, standing in the cold, dark room. The air felt heavy and oppressive, and the walls appeared to be breathing, expanding and contracting like lungs. With his eyes wide with fear, Denavolt lay motionless in the middle of the room, frozen in his last moments. The strange symbols etched into the floor seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, pulsing with an unnatural energy.
Then he detected it—the tiniest murmur. It was far away, almost indistinct at first, but it became louder and more forceful. The symbols on the floor began to twist and change, forming something else, something alive. Shadows drifted by on their own, circling the body and dancing on the edge of his vision. The murmurs became words that John felt deep in his bones but was unable to comprehend fully, and it sent a shiver down his spine.
Denavolt's body gave way abruptly, and he opened his mouth wide, almost like he was about to scream. But no sound came out, only darkness—inky black smoke poured from his mouth, swirling into the air, growing larger, taking shape. And then, just as suddenly as it began, the vision stopped. John jerked awake, his breath ragged, heart pounding. The bathroom light flickered overhead. His face was drenched in cold sweat. He rubbed his eyes and sighed, wondering just how much deeper this case would take him into Cinderfire's shadows.
The Next Morning
John met Warren Hoover the next morning at an old café tucked away in one of Cinderfire's quieter streets. He was about to meet the team Hoover had cryptically mentioned the night before. As he walked in, three people sat at a table, their eyes drifting toward him as he approached.
"This the new guy?" A young woman with short, dark hair asked, her gaze sharp and unblinking. She didn't waste time with pleasantries. "Hi. I get possessed." Her tone was blunt, almost casual, as though she was discussing the weather. A grin followed at John's raised eyebrow. "Kara. Medium, psychic, all that fun stuff."
John blinked, unsure how to respond to that particular introduction. He glanced at the others, trying to gauge their reactions.
The man next to her leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes studying John. "William," he said, smirking. His gaze flicked briefly to John's side, then back up to his face. "You, uh... brought a friend with you?"
John tensed, instinctively turning his head to check. There was nothing there. When he turned back, William was chuckling quietly. "No, I'm messing with you. But I do see things other people can't."
John exhaled, a little irritated but couldn't help the slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Right. Thanks for that."
The third member was an older man with a thick, leather-bound book resting on the table. His presence was different—silent, stoic, with an intensity that filled the room. He hadn't spoken a word, nor had he looked up since John had entered the café.
"Joseph," Hoover interjected, noticing the quiet tension. "He's the quiet one, but he knows more about runes and curses than anyone you'll ever meet." Joseph didn't acknowledge the introduction, his fingers tracing the edges of his book absently.
John felt a strange sense of unease sitting at the table with these people, but he could already tell they were different. They had seen the same kind of darkness that had plagued his thoughts since Denavolt's death.
Hoover grinned at John's discomfort. "Like I said, Carter. The city has layers." He flicked a card from the deck he'd pulled out again. "And now you've met the team. They'll help you navigate what's underneath."
John couldn't help but notice the card Hoover flipped—an all too familiar Ace of Spades. His gaze settled on the others around the table. These people were specialists, yes, but what exactly did that mean for him?
Hoover shuffled his deck of cards, his eyes not leaving John as he spoke. "Alright, Carter. Why don't you start? Give them the details."
John leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. "Victim's name was Denavolt. Found dead in his estate two days ago. Even with the fire in the hearth, the room where we discovered him felt colder than the rest of the home. His expression was stuck in absolute fright as if he had seen a ghost. And the strangest part, there were symbols etched into the floor around the body. They seemed deliberate, ritualistic."
Joseph's eyebrow perched at that last remark. His cold, calculating gaze fixed on John.
"Describe the symbols," Joseph said in his usual low, gravelly voice.
"I'll do you one better. I can draw them," John replied eagerly, pulling out a piece of paper from his jacket. But just before his pencil touched the paper, Joseph's hand shot out, stopping him.
"Draw them on separate sheets of paper," Joseph instructed. "And don't arrange them on the table—just tell me where they were placed."
Caught off guard, John complied, taking out more sheets and sketching the symbols one by one. Joseph carefully collected them, his eyes narrowing as he studied the last sheet.
"Witch runes," Joseph muttered.
William leaned in, surprise clear in his voice. "Witches!?"
Joseph gave a curt nod. "Yes. But there are many kinds of witches—each practising different forms of magic. These symbols… they belong to a specific kind. A coven deeply entrenched in curses, rituals, and ancient rites. If these runes were used, they were calling on something… dark."
John sat back, trying to process the revelation. "So, you're saying Denavolt wasn't just killed. He was… targeted?"
Joseph's expression was unreadable. "If these runes were involved, it's more than just a murder. It's a ritual. And rituals leave consequences."
William crossed his arms. "So, we're dealing with witches… but what kind? And why Denavolt?"
Joseph's eyes remained on the symbols. "That's what we need to figure out. But witches don't perform rituals like this for nothing. It's power they seek—power they must feed."
Warren straightened up, taking control of the room. His sharp eyes scanned each of them, and he began to delegate.
"Kara, William, you two head back to the estate. Look for anything we might've missed—especially anything linked to those symbols. Kara, your psychic abilities might pick up lingering energy. William, trust your instincts."
Kara grinned playfully. "You got it, boss. I get possessed sometimes, so no worries if things get strange."
William gave a single nod, his face as unreadable as always.
Warren turned to John. "Carter, dig deeper into Denavolt's background. Find out why he was the target of a ritual like this. Talk to his associates, dig into his finances—there's something we're missing."
John nodded. "On it."
Finally, Warren addressed Joseph. "Joseph, study the runes. Figure out what they were trying to summon or control."
Joseph nodded, already lost in thought.
Warren then gestured to the table. "Before you all rush off, we need to do something important—eat."
John raised an eyebrow. "Eat?"
Warren chuckled. "We're a team now. Sharing a meal strengthens bonds. Trust each other—you'll need it to survive cases like this."
As everyone settled around the table, the tension eased just slightly. Kara wasted no time, grabbing a piece of bread. "
Warren, who had been silently observing the exchange with his usual calm demeanour, finally stepped forward. His expression was unreadable, yet there was a quiet intensity in his eyes.
"Wanna see a 'magic' trick?" Warren asked, his voice low but commanding.
The others turned toward him. Yeah, boss". Kara and William said while smirking.
Warren's lips curled into a slight smile as he pulled another card from his deck, this time the Queen of Hearts. He held it up for them to see, then set it on the table.
"Do you want to see why I always carry these cards?" Warren's voice was low, commanding attention.
John frowned, watching the simple card as if it might explode. "You've got a flair for theatrics?"
Warren chuckled softly, but there was something darker beneath the sound. "Watch the card."
He waved his hand over the card, and in an instant, the Queen of Hearts began to change. Its surface shimmered, shifting from the image of a queen to something much darker. The card morphed, showing an unsettling image of an eye, bloodshot and unblinking, staring directly at John.
"What the—"