In the open space outside the clinic, Luther was drenching himself with buckets of icy well water, each splash sending a shock through his system. The freezing water cascaded over him, drenching him from head to toe, the cold biting into his skin and causing his pores to contract. Each bucket brought a brief but welcome numbness, a sharp clarity that cut through the persistent irritation gnawing at him.
For a moment, his mind stilled, the agitation fading under the cold's relentless grip. He found a strange comfort in this ritual, this icy shock therapy, primitive but effective. In a world with so few ways to release his tension, pouring well water over his head had become a peculiar solace, despite knowing he'd probably pay for it later with migraines or worse.
Once finished, he shook off the remaining droplets, his body clean, his mind somewhat refreshed. Luther strode into the clinic in nothing but his boxer briefs, his skin prickling from the chill. Inside the examination room, he grabbed a rough linen cloth, drying himself thoroughly before slipping into a clean white robe. He took a moment to breathe, savoring the sense of renewal.
His next stop was the resettlement room, where the bald, middle-aged man he'd captured still lay unconscious. Luther approached him without hesitation, taking in the man's slack, unaware expression. There was no need for second thoughts; people like this were parasites, traitors to their own kind. With a swift, practiced motion, he twisted the man's neck. The body went limp in his hands.
"Good riddance," he muttered.
With the body dealt with, Luther turned to another figure lurking in the corner of the room, a zombie with a bloated belly and a wooden stick lodged in its mouth. This ghoul, a creature Luther had "tamed" some time ago, served a useful purpose: waste disposal. Its current job was to devour the remnants of Luther's enemies.
He tied the rope securing the ghoul to the bedpost, positioning it close enough to reach the fresh corpse of the traitor. With a grim sense of efficiency, he pulled the stick from the ghoul's mouth and placed it on the dead man's chest. The ghoul would know to bite down on the stick and return to its corner when it was done.
Leaving the ghoul to its work, Luther locked the door and headed upstairs, his mind already shifting to the tasks ahead. He paused at the doorway of his office, peering through the glass at Hailey, who lay sprawled on the bed, fast asleep. She looked peaceful, a far cry from the energetic mischief-maker she usually was.
"Guess lunch can wait," he muttered with a smirk. It was already past one; she'd sleep through the day if he let her.
With that thought, he turned and headed back downstairs, crossing the clinic until he reached the treatment room. There, he settled into a chair, pulling open the drawer and retrieving the ancient Grete document. It was time to focus, to dig into the mysteries that plagued this town.
Meanwhile, in the depths of a hidden dungeon, torches flickered with a strange, eerie blue flame, casting long shadows across the stone walls. At the center of the chamber, a symbol glowed to life, a twisted triangle crafted from red, black, and gray lines. From the heart of the symbol, a massive, pitch-black vertical eye blinked open, staring into the void.
Out of the darkness, three men cloaked in black robes emerged, each taking a corner of the triangle. They began chanting in a language thick with malice, the syllables a harsh, discordant echo that reverberated off the stone walls. The room seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy, a dread-filled anticipation.
Moments later, a grotesque cylinder of writhing tentacles rose from the center of the eye. Atop the cylinder, a black, pulsating heart beat with a steady, ominous rhythm.
The three figures spoke, their voices low and reverent.
"Both John and Greg have vanished… no news from either of them."
"Someone in this town hunts us. Tracks us down."
"Shall we stop? Cease operations?"
The questions hung in the air, directed not at each other, but at the pulsing heart before them. The heart throbbed, and from its shadow, a hazy figure emerged, a spectral presence hovering above it. The figure's voice was soft, lilting, almost hypnotic, each word dripping with an unsettling allure.
"They have returned to the Lord's embrace," it murmured, as though this loss meant nothing. "Order fades, and chaos shall rise. Before the Lord arrives, your duty is to spread His love. You are His avatars on earth, His messengers. Make the world understand His boundless generosity, His greatness, His tolerance."
The figure's voice grew softer, yet each word seemed to sink deeper, drawing the robed men further under its spell.
"Lead this world to paradise. That is your purpose. The ultimate teaching."
The three figures sank to their knees, arms raised, awaiting their master's gift, their faith a physical weight pressing them into the stone floor.
The shadow above the heart extended its influence, and three dark, fist-sized lumps of flesh floated from the phantom, drifting into the outstretched hands of each follower.
"Feed these to your bodies, let them take root within you," the spectral voice commanded. "They will channel the Lord's power through you. And when the next full moon rises, the Lord's incarnation shall descend upon Evernight Town, spreading His love."
The final words left a chilling silence in their wake.
"You have little time left. Go now and prepare."
With that, the spectral voice faded, leaving only the pulsating heart and the flicker of blue torchlight. The three men clutched their gifts to their chests, feeling the strange, wriggling lumps as they absorbed their master's blessing. With renewed purpose, they melted back into the shadows, their resolve sharpened, ready to enact their dark mission.
As the phantom faded, the eerie black heart began to wilt, shrinking in on itself until, with a sickening slurp, it was devoured by a human-like mouth that appeared on the grotesque cylinder. Slowly, the cylinder retreated back into the vertical pupil, vanishing into the floor as if it had never been there.
The three robed figures silently rose, tucking the strange, writhing lumps of flesh into their cloaks before melting back into the shadows. As they disappeared, the black pupil embedded in the floor blinked, once, twice, as though it were alive, then faded into the stone tiles, leaving only silence and darkness in its wake.
Meanwhile, Luther stood by his window, gazing at the full moon hanging over the town, lost in thought. His desk was littered with notes and torn pages as he tried to decipher the cryptic phrases he'd managed to translate from the ancient Grete language.
"Full moon… Lin… like… selfless… epidemic… vertical pupils?"
Each word hung disjointed in his mind, like pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit together. The fragments he'd translated lacked cohesion, missing key elements that might turn them into a coherent sentence or message.
He muttered to himself, trying to piece it together from a literal standpoint.
"Alright, a full moon… that's easy. Time of the full moon, when the moon's at its peak."
He scrawled that down, then moved on. "Love, care… maybe love, or a lover? Selflessness, that's dedication, complete devotion. An epidemic… some kind of sickness, a plague maybe?"
He glanced down at his notes, scratching his head. "And vertical pupils… eyes? Could mean someone who's… not human?"
With an exasperated sigh, he read over his jumbled sentence: "When the moon is full, a pair of selflessly devoted lovers… preventing an epidemic? And one of them has… vertical pupils?"
He tossed the pen onto the desk, rubbing his temples in frustration. "What the hell is this nonsense?" He crossed out the sentence angrily, staring at the words as if they'd somehow rearrange themselves.
Nothing. Every attempt to make sense of it only led to more confusion.
Feeling a headache brewing, he decided it was time for a different approach. Maybe Hailey would know something; she was a local, after all, and might be familiar with some old tales or legends that could shed light on these cryptic terms.
In his office, Luther sat at the edge of Hailey's bed, watching as she looked over his scribbled notes. She studied the words with a bemused expression, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Finally, she turned to him, eyes gleaming with mischief as she nudged his shoulder.
"Luther, how old are you?" she teased, feigning a serious look. "You're not too old for bedtime stories, are you?"
Luther raised an eyebrow, bracing himself for whatever mischief she was cooking up.
"I left those silly stories behind three years ago," she continued with a mock sigh. "Didn't know you were still so… childish." She grinned, looking as if she'd just won some private game.
Luther rolled his eyes, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement. This was Hailey, in all her mischievous glory. He should have known the feverish words she'd muttered this morning were just a fluke, underneath it all, she was still a playful troublemaker, ready to pounce on any opportunity to get under his skin.
But he kept his cool, deciding not to argue with her. "One of these days, kid, you're gonna get a taste of my iron fist," he thought with a smirk. Still, he silently hoped she might know something useful, some tale or scrap of knowledge that could help him unravel this mystery.
Seeing his exasperated look, Hailey leaned closer, her face softening as if she sensed his genuine need. "Alright, fine," she murmured, glancing at the notes. "I think I know something about vertical pupils."
Luther's ears perked up, his heart racing. Finally, a breakthrough! But before he could say anything, Hailey's lips twisted into another mischievous smile.
"But…" she drawled, patting her stomach dramatically, "I'm so hungry, Luther. So hungry I can barely think straight."
He narrowed his eyes, sensing where this was going.
"If only someone had made me lunch when he got back at noon," she continued with a sigh, clutching her stomach. "I'm just so faint from hunger. I can't remember anything… just too hungry…"
With that, she rolled over on the bed, folding her arms and turning her back to him in a huff, a satisfied little snort escaping her lips.
Luther groaned inwardly, running a hand down his face. She was playing him, and he knew it. But at this point, he had little choice. Taking a deep breath, he softened his tone, leaning over slightly.
"Alright, Hailey," he said, doing his best to keep his voice steady. "How about I get you something to eat? Then you tell me about this story?"
She peeked over her shoulder, smirking at him as if she'd just won the lottery. "Now we're talking," she said, triumphant.
With a resigned sigh, Luther headed to the kitchen, mentally preparing himself for what would likely be another round of Hailey's games.