Cole sneakily went through the alley and shady paths to reach the set unnoticed.
Upon reaching there, he wore a face mask he took from the doctor's office during the attack. After wearing it, Cole took calculated steps through the shrubs dividing the road.
Cunningly, he darted his eyes at every angle of their station, which was near the set on the pedestrian side of the road. There were a minimum of 5 stations in the city, each a small office where Red Caps took shifts.
Because of the set's size, keeping only one station with the aim of preventing smuggling and other illegalities would have been foolish.
Strangely enough, Cole didn't find his old comrade. He was aware of the Red Caps' shift interval per officer, which ruled out the possibility of him clocking out. He could have also attempted asking anonymously, but it was possible he changed his name.
'Hopefully, I'll meet him some other time,' Cole calmed himself and left the set.
The sky outside was far darker and bleak than within.
'How long will people keep deluding themselves?' He asked himself. 'The soft life doesn't really exist.'
Cole flicked the Swiss knife back and forth; his mind was a little too clouded. Instead of returning to the bridge, he wandered off from the main road and laid on the patch of green plants.
It wasn't as good as lounging on a soft water bed, but Cole was long accustomed to the setting. Besides, gazing at the glimmering stars with a nice, cold yet calm breeze washing over him was more relaxing.
Cole held up the knife; its sharp edges reflected the moon's light on his weary face.
"When last was I this glad to be alive?" Cole whispered out loud.
Eventually, Cole dozed off where he was, forgetting about the chronicles he had borrowed from the library.
As they say, one man's garbage is another man's treasure...
"We just hit the jackpot," a thick, grumbling male voice spoke.
The man wore strange corporate clothes, his hair dreaded in locks with a captivating grin and red tempting eyes. Beside him was a more reserved, shorter woman with pigtails, deceptively gentle facial features, green eyes that shone like gems, and a burnt-out expression.
Both were merely strolling through the outskirts of the city until something peculiar caught their interest. They could sense a dreadful, blue aura that held a strong presence. Tracing it, they arrived at the bridge where Cole had stayed previously.
There they found the chronicles, along with the blood stains and smears.
The short woman sniffed the scene, "The person who was here... I have their scent. Should I track them?"
"Nah, this book is worth a lot. Let's just swipe it and go; we don't know the owner or how strong they are," he crouched and grabbed the book.
"You're right as usual," she spoke in an exhausted tone.
The man took a deep skim of the book and chuckled deviously.
'Who would have thought we of all people would find the first Eaden?'
"Murana! Let's go!" He swiftly ordered as he turned away.
"Right behind you, boss man," she followed swiftly.
The man flicked his wrist like a baseball player, and as he released his grip, a dark ooze flung forward, hung in the air, and expanded until it became a large, swirling portal.
Both of them smoothly passed through like it were a door of sorts. In the middle of a candlelit hall occupied by strange objects and weird things inside jars on shelves, a similar portal breached the air and expanded.
First, a leg came out, followed by the man's strong build and the woman's tired yet gentle figure. The portal swirled itself closed right after.
"See, Murana, I told you attending charity events weren't just wastes of money."
Murana responded sarcastically as she yawned, "This time, at least."
"By the way, how do you suggest we go about this? If we market this product the wrong way, unwanted guests will start barging in," he spoke with a strategizing voice.
The man sat comfortably in a red wooden chair in the middle of the room, resting both his feet on the wooden table of similar design.
"Don't fret about pests, Dean. It's the duty of any pet to kill rodents."
Dean rocked himself using his feet as support; he didn't respond immediately, rather he let her words sink in before stretching a humored smile.
He sighed, "If you say so."
Dean placed the book on the table; Murana then took the book and carried it across the rows of shelves with mystic and gross objects. The center of the room, where the chair and table were placed, had a depiction of a circle with an intertwined cross and X, with foreign writing at the edge that spanned across the circle.
As for the room, the atmosphere was gloomy yet serene; the candles installed on the walls gave the room a brownish-amber glow. The smell of fresh sages and scent leaves further suppressed any possible denseness.
Murana reached a part of the room poorly greeted by light; the majority of the area was dark, making it difficult to distinguish whether a wall or an extra room stood beyond the darkness. Murana stretched out her hand, the book held firmly on her palm.
"Fuuka..." She called, her voice a chilling whisper.
The darkness receded a few feet back; something red gazed back at her as she glared back at it. A worm-like creature stretched out, its skin brown and thickened with armor, showing a discernible amount of 72, 12-inch teeth.
Fuuka bit the book, swallowing it with one gulp before returning back to the darkness it originated from. The dreadful silence was like a usual occurrence in the place.
Dean crossed his fingers together, lowering his head to the table, and introspected for a bit.
'This is a big catch, something capable of shaking the world of indulgers in unfathomable ways. I'll have to narrow down potential customers without revealing my location.'
He chuckled madly, 'I'll be rich!'
TING TING TING
A high-pitched sound played in his head for a second.
"A group call? The faction Head must want to relay a message."
Dean drew a straight line in thin air, "Dean of the Eerie Gothel, indulging," he recited in an orderly, coordinated manner.
Everything froze as a result, at least from his point of view. The sound of a ticking clock was all he heard; the room distorted and contracted until eventually, he was left stranded in an empty, dark space. Along with him were 6 other people, and one more on a large pedestal several meters above the rest.
All the members' physiques were white, blurry static depictions, making it difficult, if not impossible, to identify each other. Though some of them were already well aware and well acquainted with each other.
"It's very unlike you to hold a meeting 2 times a month, Boss," the member at the back edge remarked.
"Would you happen to have a problem with it?" The mysterious figure above their field of range spoke with an echoing voice.
"Not at all, Boss, just stating my observation is all," he quickly explained, nervousness and fear prevalent in his tone.
"I arranged this meeting because of 2 things," they took a long, suspenseful pause.
"Firstly, I believe the news of what happened to the Deep Eader is well known. However, there are some discrepancies in the stories which makes it difficult to identify the truth. Thus, our faction will not be taking part in the purge hunt. Which brings me to my second thing..."
"I've decided we'll aid the current suspect as best as possible!"
"What?!"
6 out of the 7 lower members protested.
"But, Boss! This is our chance! If we engage in the purge hunt and their soul gets converted back to Deep Eader, then..." a member suggested.
"Then what?" Snider cut in. "What happens if the stories were wrong? If we kill him and his soul doesn't reverse to Deep Eader, then we'll just be wasting valuable manpower!"
"Just think about it, whatever deity is pulling his strings from behind would only keep everyone distracted longer. Only a human can evolve through Deep Eader, so if we kill the wrong one, we'll be fools," he concluded.
His words left everyone thinking.
"Indeed, he has a point," the Boss agreed. "As you all know, the reason for his execution is because a story with some possibly falsified evidence incriminating him was leaked to all the factions. The MASTER is too impatient, that's why he commanded the death of any possible suspect. Almost every faction either wants the reward offered or the Deep Eader themselves to appease their lord. A lot of them place their gambles on it being true."
Dean asked in a polite manner, "May I ask how you're sure this might be a conspiracy and not the truth, Head?"
"You could call it instinct."
Dean scowled madly, "As you say, Boss."
"Good to know you're all in alignment. This meeting is..."
"Adjourned."
Straight away, Dean returned to his normal consciousness. The room sped back up to normal, the amber light on a nub of his face.
'Things will only go downhill from here.'