Damon hissed, his voice a sharp whisper laden with disbelief. The sheer audacity of pilfering a body part under the watch of a Priest of Destined Death sent a cold jolt down his spine. His eyes remained locked on the grisly trophy. A masculine finger, thick and calloused around the palm, likely from years of pressing against an instrument. The nail was neatly trimmed, but the pale skin was waxy, slowly sagging as it was exposed to the summer heat.
"Right under Kruger's nose.. You're insane."Henry muttered, stunned in a blend of shock and nausea.
Vincent tucked the finger back into his coat pocket, "Kruger isn't a fool. He probably knew the moment I did it," he said, his tone shifting to one of cold analysis. "But a Priest of his caliber understands pragmatism. He just didn't want to deal with Louralie having a moral crisis over it in the middle of a mortuary."
"The homes are a dead end. The Church will have the same list and will be knocking on those doors within the hour. We need a shortcut, and this finger is it."
Intrigued, Damon's brow rose, "If the church works that fast, why can't the higher-ups handle simple matters like this?"
"It's not a matter of ability," he replied. "It's protocol. Specters above Grade I aren't permitted to meddle or intervene unless the threat matches their rank. In all honesty, strength among Specters tends to go against the measured grades. It bends and twists depending on the user's technique, their skills, and their spells. Their wills can turn even the dumbest powers into a catastrophe."
"I fought this grade III called Buggy once; his technique was rather simple. It involved transmitting the qualities of rubber and gum to other things, yet he managed to kill thirty people and collapse three buildings while escaping the authorities."
He paused as his gaze dulled, recalling something he tried to leave behind, "In the end, I killed him, but I made a lot of mistakes on that case by underestimating him."
With a somber mood settling between them, they wove back towards the bustling energy of the entertainment district. The sound of a cheering crowd and an off-key trumpet guided them to the same square they'd passed earlier, where a troupe of performers was taking a break.
Vincent's eyes scanned the crowd before landing on a lone middle-aged man sitting on a large wooden crate. He sported a puffy white clown costume with red and blue accents, a stubble of dark red hair grown on his chin, and his hair of the same color roughly slicked back.
"Hiyah, Georgie."Cheekily smiling with vibrancy once more, Vincent walked closer.
As his voice sounded, the clown, who was wiping white and yellow paint off his face, looked up with a tired expression.
"Look, kid, I told you already. It's George to you," he grumbled. His face hardened into a mild scowl as his eyes flicked over Damon and Henry. "What are you doing here anyway? Who're the other two runts?"
Damon's eyes narrowed at his dismissive attitude. But Vincent just laughed, stepping forward, he placed himself between them and the clown. Subtly blocking his gaze.
"Relax, George. I'm not here to cause trouble," Vincent said, "I'm looking for your brother, Marco. He still owes me a favor. I'm looking to cash in."
"Kick rocks, kid. No matter what my brother owes you, he's not in a good condition to help you".
Seeing his reaction, Vincent awkwardly smiled, considering his next approach, while Damon quickly stepped in. "Why not let us see him then? We might be able to help his condition."
The man lazily turned his head and stared at Damon skeptically, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, really? You got some healing skill, kid?"
Damon's mouth curved into a sly smile."Take us to your brother and you'll find out."
George studied him for a long moment before he turned his gaze back to Vincent. "Hey, Viny. This kid's not pulling my leg, right?"
"He's serious, despite how young he is. Damon here happens to be the second-best 'healer' in the family. Just three days ago, I was on the verge of death from a beast attack, but with his help, I was able to make a full recovery within hours, "Vincent said, both solemn and excited.
Unsure of the truth behind his statement, George observed the boy's emerald eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. He had met many people in his life, and he knew that someone like Vincent was rarely up to any good. As he hoped for a clearer answer, he turned his gaze towards Henry and asked with a toothy grin, "You're an honest lad, right? Are these two telling the truth?"
"Yes," Henry immediately nodded in response, resisting the urge to steal a glance at Damon and Vincent. 'Maybe these two were con artists in their past lives,' he thought. Surely that must have been the case.
"Alright," George sighed, defeated. "I'll take you to him. But you'd better help him first."
They remained silent for a time as he led them away from the square, down a narrow alley. The deeper they went, the more the ground stank of rotting garbage and stale urine.
As they followed him, Vincent asked the question that had been burning in his mind. "What happened to Marco? What kind of 'condition' is it?"
"I'm not a Specter, kid. I don't know the details," George grumbled, keeping his voice low. "But Marco told me he was exposed to something dangerous during one of his recent readings. Said it felt like a 'sinister gospel melody. Been sick ever since."
Damon glanced at the clown in surprise before quickly averting his gaze. 'Another coincidence… Or is it he quiet hand of fate guiding us ?'He wondered. The thought that one of Vincent's associates could be entwined in the case should've been absurd, yet something about it felt deliberate, as if the unseen had already chosen its players.
Walking at a brisk pace, they soon came upon a reinforced metal door. Knocking lightly, George followed a rhythmic pattern until a series of locks sounded. The door swung inward to reveal a dim, opulent hallway that was a stark contrast to the squalor outside. The air was thick with the smell of incense and cheap perfume, masking the musty scent of sweat.
As they stepped inside, Damon heard the rhythmic echo of footsteps, muffled laughs, and the creaking boards above them.
"A party this early?"
"Not for kids like you."
****
Elswhere…..
"Are you ready ?" A calm voice sounded outside the washroom
Diana stumbled for a moment before muttering, "Look, I'm not used to this makeup stuff.f" As she stared into the mirror on the wall, she scrutinized every detail of her new appearance.
Her red hair, now dyed brown, grown to shoulder length, her eyes now the same color, and her features more masculine. Dressed in a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, revealing arms riddled with burn scars and tan pants, her irritated expression gave her the air of a rowdy young man.
'When was the last time I even bothered with makeup?…..'As her fingers brushed over the scars, her expression flickered for a fleeting instant, she could still remember the cruel flames that made them.
'How ironic,' she thought, her lips curling faintly. "Everything I loved once perished in flames….and now I wield them against the ones I despise.'
With a sharp exhale, she jolted back to her senses and patted her face, coaxing a charming smile. "That's more like it."
Wrapping her hands in gauze, she then stepped out of the washroom and was greeted by Rosa. Taking in her new appearance, Diana was left speechless.
Her long black her had also changed to a chestnut brown. She wore a white blouse with long leaves that revealed her shoulders and a black Huaren-style high waist long skirt with a split in the side, accentuating her slender legs. The red rabbit embroidery on the skirt matched her now red eyes and lip gloss, creating a subtle allure.
Sensing her presence, Rosa slowly turned with a slight smile, "That looks suits you."
"I have already worked out our identities.. I'm the proprietress of a small but ambitious pharmaceutical business," she stated, her voice now more melodic, for her new persona.
"And you are my recently hired personal security and logistics manager. We're new to the district, looking to establish connections and secure a reliable supplier for specialized ingredients for our product."
Adjusting her shirt, Diana gave a stiff nod. "We don't have a product, though? Should we just walk in and ask them about theirs?'
"While you slept, I prepared a set of a dozen pain-enhancers," Rosa said. "Appearances matter. If we are to pass as a functioning concern, we require an object to present. Should the shopkeeper learn of our supposed product, we shall display interest in their public stock as if seeking raw materials. We will make an honest-seeming purchase, and then insinuate that our needs exceed what their storefront supplies can satisfy."
'If they do recognize the pain enhancer, then at least one person there has to be associated with specters. ' Diana let out a short, sharp breath, the air hissing through her teeth. "Understood. Let's just get this over with."
As they stepped out onto the street, the dynamic between them shifted visibly. Rosa led the way with a confident, unhurried stride, the picture of a savvy businesswoman. Diana fell a step behind and to the side, her eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, her posture coiled even in its feigned nonchalance.
AN: Hey, guys, I hope you're enjoying the story so far. I have the end of this entire arc planned out, but I'm curious what you think of each character so far. Who do you think won't make it past this arc? Will it be Vincent? Maybe it's Diana or even Rosa. Let me know in the comments, and don't forget to leave a review, please.