Lord of the Mysteries

Vines grew all over the dilapidated garden outside the glass windows. The river flowed softly, reflecting the stars in the sky as warm glows suffused out of the nearby buildings.

Everything was silent, as if awaiting the arrival of night.

Trissy, who had ordinary features which combined to make her look surprisingly beautiful, retracted her gaze and walked quickly towards the clothes rack to retrieve a long black robe fitted with a hood.

She quickly put the robe on, fastened the buttons and belt before pulling the hood over her head, transforming herself into an Assassin.

Trissy raised her right hand and swiped her face, immediately turning her appearance under the hood blurry.

Right on the heels of that, she grabbed a handful of shimmering powder from the hidden pouch near her waist and scattered it over herself while reciting an incantation.

Trissy’s figure started to disappear bit by bit, her outline vanishing like how pencil marks were being erased by an eraser.

She silently left the bedroom after completing her concealment spell. She moved to the opposite room and then opened the non-grilled window.

With a light leap, Trissy stood on the window sill and looked over the grassy plains to the back of the building. She looked down at the steel fence that had seemingly fused with the night. There, she saw Corpse Collector Frye who was silently making his way over the fence.

She took in a deep breath and fluttered down like a feather, stepping onto the grassy field without a sound.

Frye, who was wearing a black windbreaker, cautiously surveyed the surroundings with his custom revolver in his hand, seeking out vengeful spirits or evil spirits that might appear.

He could see such entities directly!

Trissy approached Frye silently, made her way behind him. It was unknown when a dagger smeared with ‘black paint’ appeared in her hand.

Poof!

She struck quickly, plunging the dagger into Frye’s lower back.

But at this moment, the scene in front of her shattered, as if everything was an illusion.

Trissy realized that she was still standing on the window sill, still looking over the grassy field and the steel fence.

Except this time around, it wasn’t only Corpse Collector Frye who was standing outside the fence. There was also Leonard Mitchell who was aiming straight at the window sill, as well as Dunn Smith. The captain of the Nighthawks was hunched over as he pressed down on his glabella, his eyes closed as formless ripples spread outwards from him.

Trissy’s pupils constricted. She understood that everything that had happened was just a dream. She had fallen asleep unknowingly!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Leonard and Frye fired three shots, accurately hitting the invisible target who was still waking up from her reverie.

Crack!

completely shattering into fragments of a rough silver

turned around to escape. She

a person. Formless, transparent figures

her temperature drop every time she passed through the

table, with a figurine of

head, with only a mere indication

heels, each strand clear

at the tip

puppets strewn around the figurine. The craftsmanship of the puppets was crude. Names and relevant

the table, flickering with a yellowish-green flame despite the

bowed at the deity’s figurine and quickly recited her

away the puppets and extinguished the flames of

Whoosh!

fiercely as they

Creak! Shards of glass flew around

his way to the other side of the building, didn’t dare to barge into the sacrificial altar

as though

have turned completely numb by now. But as a Corpse Collector, Frye was no

It was as if he could see who the enemy

Bang!

the air, causing a shrill

formless figure dissipated and Frye regained his ability

avoiding a frontal assault on the altar, was similarly affected by the cold winds. His body froze as he stopped right outside a shattered

window lifted suddenly and engulfed Dunn, as

head, seeming to have been imbued with life. Dunn’s facial features

about to be suffocated, stomped down with both feet. He straightened his knees and twisted his waist, loosening the curtain’s grip with raw

the curtain around his head with his

Bang!

at the other half of the curtain behind

as a dark red liquid oozed

Whoosh!

winds infused with the

heels. A

whose body had become rigid, failed to fire in time. He could only

The black shadow smashed into his forearm, the thorns on its body piercing

was a pretty, bright-red flower, its origins