Muffled screams faded beneath the storm's reign, the thunder devouring the growls of monsters. Teeth gnashing bone, tearing flesh from the innocent. Homes were being invaded under the veil of the storm, something unleashed to pick away at those having taken cover. The lower-block where the poor clustered together is suddenly invaded. People were being pulled from their beds, cast to the maws of horrendous beasts.

Some were dragged away into the night, and those that fled into the streets were hunted as game. It centralized around only a small block of apartments, just enough to satisfy the intent, feeding until they were bloated on fresh bodies. The few city Guards that still patrolled only noticed something is wrong when a child ran out to them, wailing, too young to express themselves. The heavy rain dampening the smells of gore from being picked up. The thunder's roar thickly coated over the signs of desperation.

That small unit of guards drew weapons and advanced, hastily entering the child's home to find a massive beast devouring what was left of the child's guardians. They fell upon the beast, striking with swords, the monster turned to them with its wounds, discharging blood that smells disgusting. No pain, it felt nothing as it reached out with multiple emaciated limbs to grab a guard and bite into them, while another monster broke down through the ceiling from the bedroom above to pluck away at the remaining guards.

The child out on the streets can only see just a hint of the outcome, staring, frozen in fear as even the adults could not stop this. The little boy looked up towards the skies, to the rooftop where a massive being stood, staring down at the child. Only visible when the green lightning sliced through the clouds. No one would be left, something had come and carved out the life in this block, and what remained is horrors untold.

The following morning, neighbors witnessed the broken doors and blood smeared windows. And a lost child who could not take his eyes off from the rooftops, unable to speak, entirely forgo in the memories with no signs of waking from his nightmare. Only a spell ago had the Priest been killed. And now the deaths of several dozens had returned the city to mourning. Were they cursed? Had the death of Father Thiago enraged their Gods to smite them?

Detective Safaryan woke up to the sound of the telegraph. The brassy clicks stirred him, rousing to find a strip of paper indicating for him to arrive at certain coordinates per the precinct. Such restricted information is to protect themselves from strangers reading their codes and gathering information that is meant to be privy. It’s his day off, annoyance crept up slowly, and soon is overtaken by his stomach sinking abruptly, he felt like vomiting from what this might entail. “Looks like you got to go.” The warm body in his bed shifts with a groan, “Already?” The woman’s voice is wooly from sleep, he cannot even tease her right now as he nods and gets up to change, “I have to go to work.”

The woman left without much more than a few flirtatious words. He bathed with a rag and soap, real quick wash. Then dressed and left, taking a rickshaw, the man who pulled him down the street seemed to be part bull with his massive horns and cloven feet. Strength in such a body, he moved quickly per Safaryan’s request, sparing him the small talk. Arriving on the scene, Safaryan pays the rickshaw and then heads over to Louis waiting for him outside one of the apartments. “How bad is it?”

“Well, ya remember St. Roche’s place? Kinda like that, but less ink.” Louis snarks, looking to the apartments, “Eighteen families, dead, some missing. A kid was found outside by himself, but he’s in shock. Can’t question a scared little fella like that and get sensible answers.” Louis had a big heart for kids.

“Anything similar to Roche's case?” Safaryan hoped not but, this couldn’t be a coincidence.

“I would say yeah, but. There are similarities, like the people bein’ eaten deal. We ain't sure of any magic yet, no one here has picked it up. Hence why we sent for ya.” Louis smirked at him.

“Got it.” The detective tries to quiet the anxiety that came with seeing the dead in pieces. He looks along the apartments, “Just this sector?” Now he felt confused, “Because Roche was a rich bloke, this is the lower class.”

“Yup, thought the same thing.” Louis motions to one apartment complex, “The other detectives said the freshest blood to this hour is in that buildin’.”

All the buildings are identical, and had been made that way for people to know where the poor lived. Discriminatory, yes, he did not like it. Whoever made the decisions of architecture could deal with those complaints. Walking through the rain that still drenched everyone, the storm's chaos had passed, this is just a lingering shower. Enough to soak everyone.

Ducking into the broken front door, Safaryan takes a moment to look around from the start of a scene. Violent, but it did not give the feeling of anger like Roche’s place had. He begins to walk slowly down the hall of the apartment complex, passing broken doors, doors torn from hinges, grimacing at the remains that spattered the walls, hung from ceilings, tossed around like a dog playing with toys. Gruesome, careless, casual? Whatever had done all this had done it in a way that felt like play.

Moving into the first apartment with a string of red on the door handle, indicating its the last and freshest area for death. He cannot help but pause in the living room, a lot of blood left on the floor. Approaching it he kneels down and takes his glove off to hover it. He felt for anything, but there is no magic in the blood. Taking his other glove off, stuffing them in his pockets, he began to roam the complex then and tried to sense or feel anything.

His head turns towards the front when he hears a indiscernible whisper, looking around, “Louis?” No response would come, he had entered the complex alone and thought as much. Louis sometimes hung back, at least at the other crime scenes he had until Safaryan told him to hurry his ass up. The whisper came again, this time in his other ear, promptly shoving a finger into it to wriggle around. It might be just flies, he is running on only a few hours of sleep also. No coffee either.

Pressing on, he heads to the stairwell, leading up higher through the small, cramped spaces. This place had been built only to take single families from the looks of it, the paint on the walls is chipped and peeling. Up the flights of stairs, heading for the top, he hears a heavy metallic sound and looks down the stairwell to the center where one can see the bottom floor. There is an outline of someone looking up at him, almost like the other night.

“Hello? Are you alright?” A survivor? He hastily starts back down the stairs, “I will be right there,” Looking down he can still see something. The darkened complex made it hard to make out fine details. It's someone though, they moved and it looked like they were going to climb the stairs towards him.

Run.

The overwhelming sensation clenched at his heart.

Run!

But why? He did not understand this sudden panic. It’s ascending the stairs though, coming towards him. Grounding himself he waits, no he wouldn’t run. Neither could he suddenly move his legs. A grown man, him, having seen so much in the past few weeks.

The footsteps of the person are dull, wet, and heavy. They took their time, raising the bar of Safaryan’s instinct to run. They eventually begin to make that final turn up the steps, and Safaryan can see them, very clearly, he just could not process what he saw. Their body is bloated and gnarled, hundreds of eyes blinking moist along it’s bruised and weeping body. Male, genitals exposed with its head turned up with large lidless eyes all over its face filled with a terrible sorrow. Pleading, begging him with its mouth stitched painfully shut.

Safaryan cannot understand the rest of it, how it even lived, did it breathe? Maybe this is an outcome of last night, “Are-are you-in need-” Of assistance would be the words he is now looking for. From its chest cavity, flesh and bone tore open and formed a giant mouth filled with teeth. The sound that came from it is nothing he had heard before. Pulling out his gun he aims it at the creature's head, hesitant, “Are you able to speak?” Shakily he tries to be rational, “Can you understand me? Stop, do not come closer. Are you a victim from last night?”

It emitted the sound once more, and ripping from its back is a dozen sleek, oozing tendrils that lash out towards him. The gun fires, knocking it back into the stairwell wall, and it lets out a scream like a baby's wail. Safaryan next remembers running up the stairs, and he can hear it chasing him. Slamming into a broken home door he runs for the window, it's still closed but he grips at its pane and wrenches to open it. It's nailed shut. Not one to give up so quickly, he smashes the window out with something close to grab, shattering outward the glass.

The shards came away from the window, taking with it the pieces of the world. The broken opening of the window showed outside of it a red sky and an endless black sea. The pieces of glass still attached to the window frame showed his world, had he just broken through a gateway? What the fuck is happening? He can hear it behind him, the thing gripping and shoving its mass through the doorway. It let out a sob, and Safaryan could feel its sadness. The sorrow is an agonizing sensation that cuts through all his extremities to his heart.

Stop. Don’t leave me: Is what he felt it was trying to say.

Back out the window he feels a tremendous tightening in his chest, in here he had the monster, out in that red world he felt would be the end of him, with certainty. He moved from the window, shot at the thing several more times. It’s body lurched with each bullet, nearly emptying the cylinder, the bloated pieces exploding in a shower of blood and meaty bits. It still comes for him, screaming in that terrible infant voice.

A fire iron is near the wood burning hearth, picking it up he readies himself as he also tries to get back around to the door. It tries to grab for him and he manages to strike away its limbs, the tendril spattering a thick substance across him. Gritting his jaws he makes it around back to the front and sees something in the broken window. A faceless being, with wings like an angel. It has no eyes, no mouth, no nose, entirely smooth flesh colored face. It beckons him, a slender hand, drawing fingers inward to coax him.

Come with me.

Safaryan wants to go. The jarring shift in this chaos, the being seemed inviting. He’s frozen at the door, it’s right there, if he takes just a step back he would be-

“Ya alright there buddy?” Louis’ voice is right behind him. A blink, and Safaryan is standing in the ruins of a home still, but the window is wide open to his world outside. The rain is pattering on the open sill. No one is in the home with him, the sense of pressure, sadness, desire is just gone.

“Louis..” Safaryan looks down at his gun, seeing he had discharged several rounds, but not all of them.

“Yeah?” Louis leans against the frame of the door, “We heard gunshots,” A gun out in Louis’ free hand, held pointing down at his hip.

“I…” Shaken, Safaryan can barely comprehend what just happened. Louis makes a face and grabs his arm, giving Safaryan a shake.

“I thought I saw something. I’ve also been hearing things, seeing things.” The Detectives look at each other, and Louis can see the color in Safaryan’s face entirely gone.

Louis grunts and takes a deep breath, “Seems like you’re losin’ it.” Actually making a joke about this, “You sleep at all last night?”

“Maybe.. Three hours.”

“..Hm. Go home, get some sleep. Contact me when you can come back here. We need you, not fucked up like this. And stop drinkin’ for a bit, maybe your lady friends are given ya a dob of ‘fun’ in your drinks.” Narcotics, he means.

Holstering his gun, Safaryan shakes his head, “This is a distraction. Let me do this. Just give me a moment.” Taking a seat on what remained of the couch, Safaryan holds his face. Maybe it was drugs, Louis had a point. The late night drinking and parties, he did it to wind down, except it is not worth it if he kept spiraling like this. Composing himself, even with the images of those things in his mind. Louis moves aside for Safaryan to return to his investigating, but Louis now follows him, watching his young partner with an air of caution. He would have to notify the Chief of Safaryan firing his gun, and being fucking weird like this. The Chief might brush it off for now, but if it kept happening Safaryan might be pushed into psychological counseling and a leave of absence.

As for the magic here? Safaryan picked up on bits and pieces once he had gone to almost all the homes, it’s so miniscule though. Back outside he took a drink of water from a cantine Louis had with him, sitting on the steps of a random complex outside. The rain felt warm, strangely enough. “Well?” Louis gradually approaches Safaryan after he gives the kid some time to settle down.

“I barely feel something. There was blood, where the guards had died. It was not human. It felt undead, Necromancy.”

Louis spits and looks aside in disgust. “Just keeps gettin’ better and better, don’t it?”

Safaryan runs a hand over his soaked hair, his beard, squeezing it out a bit. Tired, exhausted really. He waited while Louis used his more experienced detective instincts to make a decision on their next move. Except he is very quiet. “Something wrong?” Safaryan lifts his face to him. Louis standing before him with his hands shoving into his cloak.

“Necromancers are hard to come by. The King outlawed them a few decades ago. Said it would bring plagues and lower standards of our Kingdom. I am going to have to inform the Chief, see if he knows anyone. It also means the Church might have to get involved, again.” Louis watches Safaryan, seeing the guy nod in acknowledgement.

“I’ll tell the Chief, ya go home and get some rest. You look like shit.” Louis excuses himself by sending Safaryan away, to keep anyone from being shot.

“I look good in any condition.” Safaryan retorts with a grin, Louis belts out a laugh and motions for Safaryan to leave.

Not one to argue with his mentor, Safaryan gets himself up and begins to make the walk back home. A crowd had gathered outside the barriers the guards had set up, the community expressing their sadness and fears. One individual who knew Safaryan from the bars called out to him for answers. He had none to give, nothing that would comfort the people here.

Among the flock of mourners he did notice someone out of place, or at least visibly different than the rest. Had the other individual not called he might have missed this person entirely. The cloak they wore is far too nice for this area, the hood drawn up is lined in golden against a black clean fabric, it had to be worth several handfuls of coins. Safaryan felt the urge to pry a bit, because why would a noble be mixing themselves into the ‘lesser’ people.

“Excuse me?” He calls out and the crowd looks to him, noticing where he focused and a few looked to the person among them. They watched them, the person ignored him evidently to a point it made him feel encouraged, “Hey, yeah, excuse me!” Safaryan begins to approach them. It seemed he would not relent, the person turned finally to look at him, bringing himself to a sudden lurching halt. From under the hood is a face his mind interpreted as alien, there is something wrong with it, but at the same time? She’s beautiful. Her expression is entirely apathetic to him, she does however begin to leave the crowd, a force of nature in her very movement that draws people out of her path.

The rain beads off her cloak with presumably an enchantment to dispel the moisture, she must be warm underneath. Warm, inviting, the thoughts had Safaryan trying to shake himself off, “Yes, hello. Are you from around here?” Posturing himself with confidence, he looks down to her vividly blue eyes.

“No.” A single word, nothing else to follow it.

“I assumed as much, is there a reason why you are here?” Louis had excused him, but Safaryan felt he should at least get a name or some kind of information about a noble lurking in the crowd.

“No.” Yet another single word answer, did they understand the language? Maybe he should apply some pressure.

“May I see a form of identification?”

Persistent, he can see her cloak shift and eventually an elegant hand extends with polished sharp nails and a seal is presented, an imprint of Nobility with a name etched into the steel.

“Deodra?” He repeats and looks at her, to which she offers a slight nod. “This seal is from which House?”

“House of the Serpent.” House of the Serpent? Safaryan shakes his head as he looks back to the seal, an intricate detail of strange etchings that he finally could make out of a snake from it. It made his head ache a little after looking at it too hard. “I see, Lord Phy’drin’s House. You really are out of the Houses’ general location. Why are you here?” Safaryan decides to push. Deodra, in all her audacity, just gives him a simple shrug. Safaryan makes a stern face at the woman, he did not say anything more and instead waited out whatever kind of stubbornness this is.

She did not feel like answering his questions, it occurred to her then who this man is, “Detective Safaryan from the 2nd Precinct.” Her accented tongue is a dialect he is not familiar with, some kind of Abyssal layer she must have come from. The fact she came from the Serpent House actually did not bother him, figuring her to be a Demon then, which explained why she did not look natural. What is natural to a demon?

“I am,” Obliging her with a confirmation of his identity, “Again, Lady Deodra, why are you here?” Push, put pressure on her. “Or do I need to bring you down to the precinct for questioning?”

The pupils of her eyes swelled large causing almost the entire blue of her irises to black out into those void depths at their centers. He recognized the behavior from animals, did that mean his threat excited her? “When you hear a massacre has happened, it tends to draw attention, Detective. In the years living here, never has there been such news. Neither is the news of a Priest dying very common.” Pointing out what she felt to be obvious, “Those like herself would be curious to see this bold behavior.” Explaining herself in a way to try and appease him, it only partially worked.

“I am going to ask that you move along then and let us take care of this.” Making his demands, and then seeing her haughty lips spread into an arrogant smile.

“And where were you headed just now?” Inquiring of him now in her own way of prying.

Safaryan seems to hesitate at this, “I was heading back to the Precinct myself.” Lie.

“Would you like some company?”

For once in his adult life he is at a loss for words when being spoken to by an attractive individual. It is usually he who is asking that question. Is she flirting with him? He did not want to jump to conclusions, but the urges of his own selfish desires had him beyond curious. There had to be a motive, Nobles are very particular about who they are seen in public with. This is just, far too beguiling to deny. “If you wish, Lady Deodra.” Providing her with a satisfactory entitlement, which seems to be enough to appease as she moves closer to begin walking side by side.

People in this area did seem to recognize her, individuals giving her a wide breadth in their walk. The looks, glances that were either fearful or fascinated, he just could not distinguish between one or the other. He finds himself also very stiff, shoulders and neck as rigid as stone and he could not help himself but to glance towards her too.

She walks with grace, her heels making such an effective warning to the stone beneath them. Like teeth biting down into rocks, cracking, unsettling, “Curious pair of heels, my Lady. Are those made of iron?”

The young woman looks at him, and smiles with a deceptive glimmer in her eyes that he could swear is a hint of sadism, “Cold Iron, yes.”

“Cold Iron? Would that not make them appalling to the fey?” He meant it as a joke.

“Yes.”

Safaryan is taken aback by this, “I gather you have a grudge against them?”

“No.”

A woman of little words, unless she had something to say it would seem. Safaryan looks then to her robes, the fine velvety material with its golden seams. “Would I be wrong to make a guess that your robes are enchanted too?”

“Do you wish to find out?”

The blatant flirtation causes him to warm, but also all of his instincts seem to tell him to not encourage her. “No.” Exchanging the singular worded response. She chortles bemused by this, noticing right away the reflection of her behavior directed back at her. Often people did this when they were nervous or feeling as though they could stir her ire. Him? He just gave himself a little longer to stand in her graces.

The rain slows and he can see from his peripheral view Deodra look at the storm clouds, then reach to pull the cowl back. Her hair is elegantly twisted and pinned in an array of drawn back curls, tied by a golden brooch and its gems are presumably emeralds. It's the color of her hair that makes him a little more curious, the color of flowers, if a little pale. Usually Demon’s tended towards reds, whites, vibrant blondes, or a pure black.

Her ears are elongated like a feys but with ridges that are dainty and sharp. Piercings of gold dangle to the length of just above her shoulders. And she smells.. Absolutely amazing, a sweetness he cannot put his finger on. It pulls further at the strings of his immoral interests, a woman of confidence and yet, she seemed so gentle in her every movement. He resists the urge to compliment her, staring ahead at the walkway now as the pedestrians continued to avoid the pair. “Any reason you wanted to walk with me?” He blurts out with laxed guard, inwardly cringing at himself.

She does not seem phased however, “Because you have been working on these cases and it's intriguing you continue on them without fear. There are many questions to ask.”

“And why would any of these cases impact you?” Any case he took came with the possibility of someone trying to stop the investigations, to avoid getting caught. Bribery, as far as he knew, did not work at his Precinct. The ones that did attempt bribery were immediately taken into custody under the suspicion of activity with said case.

“As a Lady of the Serpent, it makes all Demons suspect, does it not? A Priest killed by Abyssal craft, and now…”

“Now?” Did she know something? It seemed obvious at this point.

“Undead? She heard you talking to your companion.” Her tone spills over in mirth. She had overheard Louis and him from that far away? Safaryan did not want to divulge information to a Lady of the Court, it is none of her business. Then again, if she had information, she might be worth the risk? The magic did come from Demons, as well as other things. There were other beings that had the potential similar abilities, Witches, for example.

“Are you saying you know something?” He left his usual warning of booking her if she knew something and is hiding it. Instead, he waited to see where this would go.

“No. Other than what your companion said, that Necromancers have been disposed of for decades. You can think of this one as an information broker, she does keep an eye on the Kingdom and informs the Court if one of our kind is acting out of sorts.” This one? She? The third person speech had him wary of her. Common is never a Demon’s primary tongue, they did speak fluently in common after a certain span of life. Her accent is clear, maybe the common tongue just did not set well with her own natural language. Whatever that is.

“What are you wanting to ask me?” That had to be the reason then, maybe she is missing pieces like himself and had her own findings to glue into this.

“Do you have any leads?”

The question bent him into a silent displeasure, the Lady watching him for several seconds before placing her focus ahead of them to their path. A purposeful look away to not let him feel pressured, but to give him mental space to think. Leads, from the Roche case or even today's disparity? “I have none.” Admitting begrudgingly, “We have been bringing in all of Roche’s family, colleagues, and friends for questioning. No one seems to know a single thing, even when put under the tests of the Precincts empaths and mind detection. Not a single liar. I also have a horrible feeling that it will be the same for this mass murder, like something outside of the Kingdom has been sneaking in and then sneaking back out.”

While Roche’s endings were obvious to her, it is the Undead and mass murder that garners her full attention. A retaliation to what she had done? Or just an individual of power gathering more resources. She could not take credit for what happened last night, it went against the purpose of keeping this Kingdom flowing properly to her needs. “Then there are these hallucinations.”

“Come again?” Her brows raise at this revelation.

“I keep seeing really sick things. Hearing whispers, seeing people outside my place. Or just back there I was chased by this bloated humanoid while flirted with through a window that had shattered out into another world.” He sounded insane. Absolutely out of his mind. Looking to her to see an obvious reaction, to either laugh at him or tell him he needs to be off this case. He is surprised to find her expression thoughtful, her stare elsewhere entirely. Did she just ignore him?

Quite the opposite. These things happening to him were quite unique. If of course he is not powdering his nose with lines of crystal-dust before each shift, “Whispers, hallucinations, it sounds as though you are hexed, Detective.”

“What? No. I-” Cutting himself off, he re-evaluated this. When had it started? Right after the Roche case happened. Deodra can practically see him going back in time through his memories, giving him a moment before speaking once again, “A suggestion, if you will. Begin looking around your home for strange items or markings, look through all of your belongings, check your clothing, then your furniture. Do not skimp on any item you have. You would be surprised where hexes can appear. If you find nothing, then she suggests you find a Cleric to sort out your troubles.”

The Church would have their way with him, put him through an exorcism and then want something in return. Safaryan hated the thought that someone had gone into his home or office and marked it with weird voodoo. That did happen, he guessed, to people like himself upholding the law. “Thank you.” It is not hard for him to show appreciation. She does this head bow to him, surprising him with a formality rather than brushing it off.

“This one has only told you the basics. Being as new as you are, she also suggests asking your fellow officers how they treat their nights and days to protect themselves from curses, and the like. Have you protected your home? Wards?”

Well, fuck. He had not. “Yes. Everything is secured.” He could lie through his teeth, but did he do it convincingly? He thought so.

“Good.” Smiling at him. She would find out if he is.

“What we came to conclude here is neither of us knows anything.” Safaryan veered back to topic quickly.

“Correct. It is quite distasteful really, she does so enjoy being ahead of everyone else.” Arrogant, and now she is pouting.

“You cannot be all knowing all the time, I imagine.”

“You would be surprised, Davit.” Using his first name, now she is trying to be cheeky.

“That is Detective Safaryan, Lady Deodra.” Correcting her with a serious firm tone, this is not a budding relationship of friends. She chortles at him, and he almost caves in at her lovely smile, the sound of her laugh. He really needed a drink.

“Is there anything else then?” He tries to end the conversation, he said enough as it is and now he felt compelled to upend his entire apartment. She had a point about being hexed, and he needed to find out how, why, where it even is? Paranoia is a bitch.

“No. She had hoped you would ask her to have a drink with you. Perhaps another time.” Another jolt of lovely hormones and he had to squash it as quickly as possible, by severing her off any further. “Perhaps. Thank you for your time, Lady Deodra.” He does offer her a bow, as good as he could do one.

She stops to offer him another head-bow, “Of course, Detective. She will be in touch.” A side step and she walks past him, diverting her own path down a different street. He felt tempted to follow her but he had a feeling she would know immediately. He did see her off though, and once she disappeared behind other civilians he made a quick shift and began a solid jog back to his place.