Bernadette stepped through into the Spirit World and was gone in an instant, moving fast through that vivid, strange dimension.
"Where are we going?"
"To check on Mr. Z."
The moment she said it, Vincent realised — since they'd left Mr. Z on that uninhabited island, they'd simply forgotten about him. He had no idea how the recovery was going.
Though they had told him: once he was better, have the Invisible Servant send a message and we'll come collect you. The absence of any such message probably meant Mr. Z wasn't recovering well.
Several minutes later, Bernadette stepped out of the Spirit World onto the island.
Almost immediately, something felt different. Wrong.
"Every living thing on this island is gone."
As she said it, she scattered a handful of powder, generating a sharp concussive noise across the area.
The ground shuddered slightly — something enormous was approaching. With it came a thick, gagging stench of rot.
Bernadette's brow furrowed. She held her breath and fixed her gaze on the direction of the sound.
A creature ten metres tall drew near — at a glance it looked like a ball of flesh, but it was made up of the remnants of countless animals: limbs, torsos, scraps of hide and bone, all fused together into a lurching, organic mass. In the very centre, a human face — twisted and distorted, but recognisable as Mr. Z.
"What the hell happened to him?"
Vincent felt his sanity points in freefall. He'd been in the LOTM world long enough now. This was the first time he'd actually encountered something like this — a genuine, biological horror.
He would have gouged his own eyes out if he had eyes.
As the creature drew closer, the hair along Bernadette's arms rose involuntarily. Her skin's surface veins rose, as if something unknown was pressing in on her from outside. True Creator contamination.
She immediately layered herself in Emperor's New Clothes and looked up. "Mr. Z."
"..."
The creature that had once been Mr. Z stopped about four or five metres away. Two blood-red eyes roved rapidly in their sockets, then fixed on Bernadette. A low, deep voice: "Mr. A…"
"What happened to you?"
The eyes spun again, then blazed with fervour. "It is the Master — the Master has blessed me with power. The Master has transformed my very existence."
"I have never felt so close to the Master."
Bernadette was silent for a moment, then said evenly: "Congratulations."
And inwardly: "He must have been contaminated when he encountered Lanevus. And instead of fading, the contamination has intensified over all this time."
Mr. Z didn't seem aware of this at all. "Has Lanevus been found? Has the Master descended?"
"No."
His emotional state shifted immediately to something volatile. "Why not?!"
"Have you forgotten? The royal family's MI9 took Lanevus. They've confined him somewhere I have no access to." She let a measured pause land. "According to my intelligence, MI9 apparently intends to use Lanevus themselves — to bring the Master down."
"???"
Confusion moved through the twisted face. "Loen… also intends to abandon its false faith and believe in our Master?"
Abandon its false faith. As if renouncing the Evernight Goddess and converting to the True Creator was somehow the righteous path. The phrasing couldn't be more accidentally accurate.
Vincent thought for a moment, then asked: "What do you think Mr. Z's current capability looks like?"
"At his core, he's still only a Sequence 5. But most Sequence 4 Beyonders would think twice before engaging him directly — because every inch of him radiates True Creator contamination constantly."
She added: "If you weren't one of the True Creator's followers, I myself would be reluctant to face him."
Right. Mr. Z was now essentially a mop caked in something foul. Whether you could beat him was one question — but getting anywhere near him had consequences that went beyond unpleasant.
"Wait, when did I become a True Creator follower?"
"Aren't you?"
"I wish He actually treated me as one," Vincent muttered. "That way we wouldn't be just an A with nothing to our name."
He let that pass and continued: "Since Mr. Z is this 'capable' now — shouldn't we be making better use of that?"
Bernadette caught his meaning at once. She turned back to Z. "They have no intention of converting to the Master's faith. They want to exploit the moment of descent to launch an attack and permanently destroy any possibility of the Master descending."
"!!!"
Mr. Z erupted. "They deserve death! Every one of them!"
"Die! Die! Die!"
He repeated it, over and over, the massed limbs and carcasses that made up his body shuddering with each utterance. "I'll kill them. I'll kill them all."
"You'll have that opportunity. But for now — I'd ask you to remain here a little longer, and return to Backlund when the right moment comes."
"Wait."
Mr. Z called out before Bernadette could leave. Both eyes moved again in rapid, unsteady orbits. "Help me — help me find a Black Knight Beyonder characteristic. I… need it."
Bernadette's brow creased. "That isn't something I can source quickly."
"Pray — pray to the Master's Angel. They will help. They will certainly help."
"Which Angel?"
"The Lingering Heroic Soul. The True Creator's follower. The Eye that watches Fate. The Angel who is most trusted and most devoted — the Angel of Destiny."
...
Klein's hotel room, North Borough, Backlund.
After fleeing the crime scene last night, Klein had gone straight to the cathedral, confirmed he wasn't being followed, and only then returned to the hotel — reverting to "Kleya." By then it was nearly 2 AM. He didn't actually fall asleep until the sky was starting to lighten.
So when someone knocked on his door just a few hours later, he was emphatically not ready.
"Who is it?"
If it was Stephen, Klein swore he would fire him on the spot.
"Good morning, miss. This is the hotel manager. The tenant below you mentioned water coming through his ceiling — would it be alright if we checked the pipes?"
"???"
Klein blinked, rubbed his eyes, sat up. He glanced at the quiet bathroom — immediately alert — but said aloud: "Of course. Please give me a moment."
He dressed quickly, produced his topaz pendant, and ran a divination: "Opening the door right now is harmful to me."
Seven repetitions. The topaz hung free, then slowly rotated — counter-clockwise. Negative.
"Hm."
He ran another: "Leaving immediately is harmful to me."
This time the topaz swung clockwise. Rapidly.
"So — obviously suspicious pipe inspection, first thing in the morning, yet opening the door is safe and running away is harmful? What's going on?"
Another knock. "Miss? Ready?"
Klein frowned at the door. No time to go above the Grey Fog to check further. Follow the divination results and trust them, then — if things go wrong, isn't that what bodyguards are for?
"Coming."
He walked to the door, hand on the knob, and in that instant his mind automatically mapped the figures outside: the hotel manager was genuinely there — but flanking him were two men in police uniforms.
The younger one had his right hand tucked inside his coat, expression tense. The older one looked exhausted, hair erupting from under his cap in every direction, but his eyes were sharp and attentive.
In one glance, Klein had already concluded the dishevelled one was an official Beyonder — because he could see, overlaid on the man's bearing, the ghost of Captain Dunn Smith operating undercover in Tingen.
Under normal circumstances, as a fellow official Beyonder, Klein would have no fear of these two. But right now he was undercover as a Witch.
Has my "Witch" cover been blown?
To be continued…
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