Chapter 173 “The Fire Is Spreading”
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In the vast continuum of subspace, pollution did not merely dissipate on its own. Similarly, justice didn’t always find its way naturally. Vanna had experienced this harsh reality firsthand. For years, she had waged battle against the dark shadows that had found refuge in the world, so she understood the depth of these truths.
If this sacred church had suffered contamination from the toxic influences of subspace, and every nun responsible for its protection had succumbed to this corrosive presence, it stood to reason that whatever malevolent force had breached this sanctuary would not simply disappear into thin air. Taking into account the spine-chilling echo of a nun that reverberated within the main hall of the church, combined with the palpable tension blanketing the entire district of the Sixth District, it was clear: even the massive door guarding the underground haven failed to repel the intruder. But where had this malevolent force from subspace now taken refuge?
With determination, Vanna lifted her lantern high. Filled with whale oil that was blessed with divine energy, its flame burned steadily and brightly, casting light over every corner of the underground chamber. Evidence of combat was everywhere. The scars of blade strikes and bullet marks on the walls seemed as if they were cryptic scripts from alternate realities, whispering stories of the past to those who listened.
“…Scripts?” An idea swiftly crossed Vanna’s mind in a moment of realization.
Wouldn’t the nun have left a sign or something if she knew her end was impending? A message or a clue, as a last-ditch effort to warn those who might come later? Such a course of action would be in line with the teachings and discipline of a devout member of the church.
“Reexamine this entire area,” she commanded the guardians accompanying her, her voice filled with authority and purpose. “Examine every scratch, cut, bullet imprint, and drop of blood. There’s a possibility that this sister left clues before her last breath.”
“Affirmative!”
The accompanying guardians sprang into action, each armed with their own lantern. They meticulously started their search, examining an area they believed they had previously scoured thoroughly.
Meanwhile, Vanna was far from passive. Now convinced that the nun might have embedded a hidden message during her final moments, she was drawn back to the spot where the lifeless body lay near the entrance of the underground chamber. Her keen eyes scanned every inch of the surroundings.
She remembered the force with which she had previously shattered the sanctuary’s door but firmly believed that no clues would be found there. The church door was a complex lock bearing the revered insignia of their goddess. Any tampering would have compromised the protective magic of the sanctuary, and the nun would have known better than to risk that.
The lifeless figure of the nun, her hand still gripping her blade, was a silent testament to the battle that had occurred. As Vanna observed the spreading pool of blood around her, she meticulously began her inspection of the deceased. Piecing together the possible position and orientation of the nun at her time of death, Vanna approached, carefully prying open the tight grip around the sword to get a closer look.
However, mid-inspection, Vanna froze in place.
Vanna’s keen eyes settled on the floor next to where the nun’s body lay.
There, engraved into the stone, were a series of distinct sword marks. To an untrained observer, they might’ve looked like random scratches, perhaps made in the throes of a final struggle as the nun lost her grip and the blade skidded across the ground.
These marks had gone unnoticed by Vanna and her team during their initial investigation. However, Vanna now discerned a pattern with her acute intuition and sharp mind. These weren’t mere random gouges; they were deliberate markings, albeit distorted and possibly written in a hurried manner, perhaps due to the nun’s dwindling strength.
“Over here,” Vanna beckoned, raising her head to gather the guardians who were engrossed in their respective searches. Returning her attention to the floor, she began the challenging task of decoding the embedded message in the sword scratches.
After intense study, a sequence emerged from the chaos: “1885.”
Just four numbers. But what could they signify?
The guardians swiftly congregated around her, curiosity evident in their eyes. As they contemplated the marks, they too recognized the sequence. The head guardian, distinguished by a neatly trimmed beard, frowned in puzzlement. He queried, “Inquisitor, what do these numbers signify? Inquisitor?”
Vanna’s reaction was unexpected. Her usually stoic facade crumbled momentarily, revealing an expression of sheer disbelief. It was as though the weight of a long-forgotten secret had suddenly landed on her shoulders. Vanna, known for her unwavering composure, was visibly taken aback.
Shaken from her trance by the concerned voice of her subordinate, Vanna inhaled deeply, trying to calm her racing heart. Fragments of memories from her extensive research in the archives cascaded back. She recalled peculiar manuscripts about clandestine rituals and documented events from 1889. But what stood out most prominently was the conspicuous absence of records from the year 1885…
Everything seemed to converge at this point, all directed towards the seemingly disorganized sword marks that revealed the year: 1885.
“She’s trying to convey that her demise was in 1885,” Vanna whispered, seemingly lost in thought.
The guardians exchanged puzzled glances. One, with a thoughtful expression, asked, “But why highlight that specific year?”
She responded, almost reflexively, “To clarify she didn’t perish in 1889…” Her voice trailed off, a new epiphany blossoming, “But if she met her end in 1885, how could she possibly have known of the cataclysmic event that would befall the city-state in 1889?”
Vanna’s mind raced, trying to align the fragments of information she had. While some pieces seemed to fit perfectly, others created a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, hindering her from grasping the full picture.
If indeed the numbers inscribed by the nun denoted the year of her tragic end, then that particular year must possess a pivotal significance. Could the emphasis on 1885 serve as a shroud, masking a deeper, more pressing warning that the nun was desperate to share? What exactly was the mystery tethered to 1885 that merited such urgency?
Did the nun glimpse an impending event that demanded attention in her last moments? Was she aware of the inexplicable absence of the records from 1885 within the cathedral’s archives prior to her demise? Or perhaps she had knowledge about the circumstances surrounding their mysterious disappearance?
Unfortunately, the passage of time, much like the fading bloodstains on the sanctuary’s stone floor, could have buried the truth deep beneath layers of history. From the moment the sanctuary doors sealed shut, the nun’s closely guarded secrets seemed fated to be eternally concealed. The sole bridge connecting Vanna to the nun’s final revelations was this enigmatic sequence: 1885.
Looking up, Vanna found herself under the attentive gaze of the guardians. Behind their concerned expressions, she could discern a hint of measured skepticism.
“I once delved into the cathedral’s archives,” Vanna said, her voice steady, addressing her company, “During that investigation, there was a conspicuous void where the records of 1885 should have been. This year, it appears…”
Mid-sentence, she hesitated, seemingly lost in thought.
Flashes of her past visits to the archives began replaying in her mind’s eye, their clarity eerily pronounced. It felt as though some external influence was steering her recollections, compelling her to retrace her steps amidst the archives’ dusty stacks. But interwoven within these vivid memories were the distant, rhythmic sounds of waves crashing.
Vanna’s heart rate quickened, her realization palpable.
Although she remembered her solitary examination of the archives, a gnawing sensation hinted at a distortion in her memory of that experience. Her heightened spiritual awareness tingled, signaling a potential threat or revelation. A divine warning, perhaps.
“Prepare for an immediate return to the cathedral,” she ordered the guardians, her voice urgent, “We must comb through the archives at once!”
The guardians, momentarily taken aback by her sudden intensity, swiftly nodded in agreement.
But as they were about to mobilize, one guardian’s exclamation arrested their attention. “The markings are disappearing!”
Vanna’s gaze snapped back to the floor. The dim light of the sanctuary revealed an ethereal green shimmer in her eyes as she gasped at the scene.
The sword inscriptions, the final testament of the dying nun, were eerily fading, reminiscent of etchings being slowly erased from existence. Where the markings once existed, there danced a faint, otherworldly green luminescence. It was as though these enigmatic “sparks” emanated from a plane beyond mortal comprehension, briefly making their presence felt in the tangible world.
Vanna recognized the green flames, and their implications sent a chill down her spine. In fact, the very entity that wielded this ghostly flame had previously guided Vanna to this chapel’s door!
In a fleeting moment, Vanna’s mind was overwhelmed by a whirlwind of conjectures. Thoughts of the long-lost ship intertwined with tales of the ghostly ship captain, further complicating with theories about alternate dimensional spaces and the mysterious code “1885”. However, the pieces of this intricate puzzle refused to align perfectly in her mind.
Vanna struggled to fathom why he would employ his flames to eliminate those crucial inscriptions right in front of her. But amidst the chaos of her thoughts, one conclusion emerged unmistakably – their current location was fraught with danger. A pressing need to relocate to the primary section of the cathedral asserted itself.
Within mere moments, the sword inscriptions had completely disappeared, and the uncanny green luminescence slowly receded from their view.
“Stay clear of this area! The reach of those flames could extend beyond our visual limits,” Vanna cautioned her companions. “Everyone, evacuate this section of the chapel immediately. Second team, position yourselves outside, establishing a defensive boundary. Await my directives. The rest of you, accompany me to the cathedral’s main archives.”
The guardians echoed their acknowledgment in perfect harmony, “Yes, Inquisitor!”
Acknowledging their swift response, Vanna paused momentarily, contemplating her next steps, then decisively instructed, “Additionally, send word to the reinforcement teams in the adjacent sectors… Institute a full blockade of the Sixth District.”
As they briskly navigated through the chapel’s vast central hall, a guardian, following a hunch, cast a swift glance towards a magnificent statue depicting a revered goddess. His face paled with astonishment, and he urgently voiced his discovery, “The ‘nun’ who was previously seen in a prayerful stance near that statue… she is gone as well!”
Thank you for the chapter!
Oh shit, now things are starting to finally escalate
wait, whose are the flames??
seems like Duncan’s green flames are possibly erasing the fabricated/polluted history?
Earnest passerby just burned an entire year of history. As one does, of course.