The city of Dorthy lay cloaked in the velvet black of night, its streets bathed in the dim, flickering glow of scattered lanterns. Yet beneath the calm façade, a sinister event was unfolding—an event destined to mark the dawn of an era of chaos.
Encircling a stately noble house stood a squad of Silver Knights, their polished armor glinting faintly under the moonlight. The air was thick with unease, the only sound was the occasional scrape of boots against the cobblestone. They had been summoned by the neighboring household, alarmed by strange noises and the haunting cries of pain echoing from within.
From the shadows behind them, Captain Rein dismounted his horse, his cloak fluttering briefly in the cold night air before falling still. He approached the knight closest to the front entrance, his voice low and steady.
"What's the situation?"
The knight stiffened before responding, his tone laced with unease. "We received a signal. Strange noises coming from inside. The neighbors reported cries of pain... screams."
Rein's sharp gaze swept over the mansion, its grand façade eerily still as if it were holding its breath. Something gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. Two squads were supposed to be on this mission. Yet only one remained outside. His brow furrowed, and he turned back to the knight.
"And the other squad? Where are they?"
"Ah, yes, sir. They went inside to investigate. We stayed behind to await your arrival."
The knight's words barely left his mouth when a piercing scream shattered the stillness, followed by a cacophony of desperate cries and the unmistakable sound of tearing flesh. It emanated from deep within the mansion, chilling the blood of everyone present.
Rein's jaw tightened. Drawing his blade, he barked, "Stay close. We're going in."
The front doors groaned ominously as they pushed them open, revealing a suffocating darkness within. An eerie silence greeted them, oppressive and unnatural, pressing down on their senses like a vice. The air smelled faintly of copper, sharp and sickly.
Rein reached to his side and retrieved a black, weathered lantern. At its heart, a blue crystal flickered to life, casting a ghostly glow that barely pushed back the shadows. The flickering light revealed a grand hallway, its ornate decorations warped by the creeping dread seeping from every corner.
As they advanced, the source of the earlier noise became sickeningly clear. At the base of the grand staircase, blood pooled in dark rivulets, its metallic scent heavy in the air. Scattered across the floor were the broken remnants of armor and limbs, flesh grotesquely twisted beyond recognition. These were their missing comrades—or what was left of them.
A young knight gagged and stumbled back, his face pale. He barely had time to turn before vomiting onto the polished floor.
"Steady yourself," Rein snapped, his voice cutting through the thick silence. "Draw your blade. If you want to live."
The group ascended the stairs slowly, every creak of wood beneath their boots magnified in the oppressive quiet. The blood trail thickened as they climbed, splattered across the walls, and soaked into the ornate carpeting.
Unseen by them, something stirred in the shadows. A black, viscous substance slipped from corner to corner, darting like a predatory beast stalking its prey. Its form was amorphous, blending seamlessly with the darkness, its intent unmistakably malevolent.
It moved closer, waiting patiently as the knights ascended, oblivious to the horror trailing just behind them. The air grew colder, the silence more suffocating, as if the house itself was watching, waiting for the slaughter to begin.
Inside the cramped and dimly lit main office of the detective department, Leth stood motionless, his face an unreadable mask. The air was heavy with tension as his boss raged, his voice reverberating through the cluttered space like a storm.
"LETH!" the man bellowed, his fist slamming down on the desk so hard it sent a half-empty mug wobbling precariously toward the edge.
"Can you explain why I just got a report—your report—about you brawling with a colleague? And worse, destroying crucial evidence in the process? Evidence!" The final word was spat out like a curse.
Most would shrink under the ferocity of that glare, trembling beneath the weight of their superior's anger. But Leth merely stood there, unmoved, his empty gaze fixed somewhere on the chipped wood of the desk.
His inability to react, to feel, was nothing new. Since childhood, he had lived without the spectrum of human emotion, an affliction that made him an outcast among his peers. It wasn't just the schoolyard bullies; even now, as an adult, his colleagues regarded him with contempt, branding him cold and broken. It didn't matter that he excelled at his work—his detachment unnerved them.
It had unnerved his mother too, back when she was awake to worry about him. Now, her motionless form lay confined to a hospital bed, her condition the product of overwork and stress—stress caused, in part, by her only son's inability to connect with the world around him.
No relatives, no family left alive, no one to share the burden. Just him. It was why he clung to this job, however much he despised it. The role of knight detective paid well enough to sustain his mother's care, and no other employer would dare take on someone like him.
The tirade finally subsided, replaced by a weary sigh. His boss sat back in his chair, running a hand down his face as the anger melted into exasperation.
"Leth," he said, his voice quieter now, though still tinged with frustration. "I don't know what's going on with you. Frankly, I don't care. But I can't have you sabotaging cases, let alone turning this department into your personal battleground. I'll give you one last chance. Take the week off. Come back ready to handle the next case, or don't come back at all. You're dismissed."
Leth gave a curt nod, the gesture mechanical, devoid of acknowledgment or gratitude. Turning on his heel, he walked toward the door, the sound of muted chuckles following him.
The laughter belonged to the friends of the colleague he had fought—a bitter chorus of petty mockery that echoed in his ears as he stepped out of the building and into the cold night air.
He didn't flinch. He never did. But as he walked away, the weight of his silent reality pressed a little heavier on his shoulders.