[※ This chapter contains unsettling themes and disturbing scenes. Reader discretion is advised!]
༺[Noel's POV]༻
The call came through the comm crystal, Cassel's voice shaking slightly. Distress.
I didn't waste a second.
Phoebe was already on her feet.
Father Gideon, startled from whatever quiet prayers he'd been murmuring, stood pale as I barked at him to lead us to the South Wing.
We ran.
The quiet chapel halls blurred past us, candle flames flickering in our wake.
The South Wing.
That's where the rooms of the already missing children were.
The unease in my chest grew heavier with every step.
We turned the final corridor—and stopped.
Cassel and Tallen were already there, faces tense, covering their noses with sleeves and cloths.
"What the hell…"
Phoebe muttered beside me, eyes narrowing.
The stench hit me a second later.
It was something rotten.
Beyond rotten.
Like decay soaked in incense and left to fester for weeks.
I instinctively brought my arm up to cover my nose and mouth.
Phoebe used a pressed white handkerchief.
Father Gideon stumbled and choked into his robes.
The doors to each of the rooms were open.
And in front of each, resting quietly on the threshold, was a wooden doll.
Hand-carved.
Small, no bigger than a child's head.
Dressed in bits of fabric, scrap materials that mimicked clothes.
Shoes. Tattered hats. Necklaces made of beads and buttons.
Each one different.
Each one standing exactly at the center of the doorway.
Staring straight ahead.
No eyes.
Just two holes where eyes would've been.
I took a step forward and my chest locked. Tight.
My breath refused to come.
Something was off.
Something was wrong.
Panic twisted deep in my gut.
Cold sweat ran down my spine.
I grabbed Tallen's shoulder.
"Check the children!"
I said shouting.
"Use your blessing."
Tallen nodded and knelt, his fingers glowing faintly with gold light as he muttered something under his breath.
His magic spread out like waves in a still pond—then sharpened, like threads pulling tight.
"One… two… six…"
He counted softly.
"Eight in total, all in rooms… wait—"
His voice dropped.
"What is it?"
I asked sharply.
He looked up, eyes wide.
"The girl.
The one who collapsed earlier.
She's not in her room.
The door's wide open."
My heart skipped a beat.
Then the mouse he was using—the small brown one scuttling through the chapel's hidden walls, acting as his eyes stiffened.
We watched in real time as it stopped at the threshold of that room. Then its eyes turned a deep, painful red.
Blood ran like tears from the sockets top to bottom as it spasmed once and went still.
Dead.
Tallen collapsed back in shock.
"No… no no no..."
I muttered, scrambling to activate my comm crystal.
I held it up, speaking into it sharply.
"Danzel! Rhoen!
Anyone, respond!"
Silence.
"Division IV, check in!
This is Praetor Noel!
I repeat—check in immediately!"
Silence.
"Damn it."
I growled, slamming the crystal against the wall.
"Where the hell is everyone?!"
A buzz of static. Then nothing.
Frustration coiled inside me like a tightening noose.
Without thinking, I pulled my revolver from my coat.
White silver metal, warm in my hand.
I took aim at the first doll in the hallway.
The one closest to me.
Bang.
The bullet struck squarely in the chest of the doll, if dolls had chests, and it shattered.
A blast of vibrant, violent purple light burst out. It was like someone had torn a hole in the air, for just a moment.
Ashes drifted where the doll had stood. Gone.
One by one, I aimed and shot.
Each bullet struck its mark, and each doll exploded with the same energy.
The smell—rot, incense, and dread began to fade with each shot.
When I lowered my revolver at last, the hallway was quiet.
The air clearer.
We all stood in silence, breathing fast, chests heaving like we'd been drowning and only now reached the surface.
Cassel finally broke it.
"At least we can… take a breather."
He said, wiping his brow.
But Tallen's voice followed. Quiet and uneasy.
"But what now?"
I didn't hesitate.
"We find the girl."
I said.
"If what Father Gideon here told us is true… then she's most likely the next target."
Father Gideon—who had up to now been mumbling a prayer under his breath—froze.
He looked at me with sunken eyes, pale as snow.
"You're right," he whispered.
"Before… when the disappearances began… most of the children fell sick before they vanished."
---
We moved down the corridor.
The shadows here felt thicker.
And the air was rather warmer than it had been.
The deeper we went, the less the chapel felt like a place of worship.
The wooden floor creaked under our feet with every step, like it too was in pain, asking us to turn around.
Then we saw them.
Two small figures stood at the far end of the hallway.
Children.
No, twins.
They were practically identical.
Black bobbed hair trimmed just beneath their chins, pale skin that looked like wax under the moonlight pouring in from the tall windows.
Both wore cream-colored dresses, stained with blotches of dust.
Each of them carried a stuffed animal.
White plush bunnies.
Their small arms clutched them like lifelines.
For a long moment, no one said a word.
The air was like ice against the skin.
Father Gideon was the first to break.
He stopped walking.
His lips trembled.
Then, in a voice I barely recognized...thin, broken, like a reed splitting beneath pressure, he called out.
"Leora… Lysette…?"
His voice wavered so violently, it cracked halfway.
I turned to him.
"Father Gideon?"
His eyes were wide. Not with awe. But terror.
"They're… they're the twins.
They were missing.
These… these are the girls.
The first to go missing."
I turned back toward the children.
Then it happened.
Their heads turned.
Not in the way normal heads turned.
Their necks didn't move.
Just their heads.
Rotating slowly.
Bone shouldn't bend that way. But theirs did.
A full 180 degrees until they were looking straight at us… with their bodies still facing forward.
I took a step back.
Their eyes were empty.
Void.
Completely black.
No light. No reflection. No soul.
I stopped breathing.
I think we all did.
The silence was unbearable.
Even my own heartbeat sounded too loud.
Breathing felt like a sin.
The moonlight from the tall stained-glass window bathed the corridor in an eerie bluish glow.
It lit up the faces of the girls and in that moment, they looked less like children and more like dolls someone forgot to finish carving.
Then glass shattered.
It exploded inwards.
A thousand shards rained down.
And with it—came a swarm.
Crows. Ravens. Black birds. Dozens of them.
They came screeching through the broken window like a tidal wave of shrieking metal.
Their claws extended, wings flapping wildly, they didn't aim for anyone else.
Just Tallen.
He screamed.
I saw it all.
They dove for his face.
Ripped it apart.
Claws tore at his eyelids. Beaks dug into the corners of his lips. Flesh was pulled away like wet cloth. Skin dangled off the sides of his cheeks.
His eyes—
His eyes were gone.
He dropped to his knees, screaming.
Then from beneath—
Mice.
A dozen of them poured in from the cracks in the chapel walls.
Their tiny claws tapped across the floor like rainfall.
They came in waves, swarming his legs, his arms.
Then they bit.
Sharp little teeth sunk in.
Blood spurted from every direction as he convulsed, his mouth frozen in a silent scream now, voice torn out.
Why wasn't anyone reacting?
I turned.
Phoebe.
Cassel.
Even Father Gideon.
They were all standing there frozen, staring at the twin girls and not Tallen.
Their eyes were locked on the girls.
Their bodies tense. Breathless.
Then Cassel moved.
He unsheathed his sword.
Without a word.
He didn't hesitate.
He turned the blade on himself.
In a clean motion, he thrust it upward, straight through his chin.
I watched the tip exit through the top of his head.
Blood pooled from his nose, his ears.
His body shook, then dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
I couldn't speak.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
Father Gideon began to wail, a horrible, broken cry like an animal left to die.
He clawed at his face, his nails digging trenches beneath his eyes
He rolled back his eyes until the pupils rolled fully back and only white could be seen as blood poured from the sockets.
His screams became prayers.
Desperate.
Unintelligible.
He tore the cross from around his neck, gripped it with both hands and slammed it into his own throat.
Once.
Twice.
The blunt metal didn't cut, it crushed.
He forced it deeper with every blow.
I turned to Phoebe.
Her eyes were fixed ahead and unshaken.
She looked at me.
For a moment I felt a small hint of relief to see she could move like I was able to.
But then...
Her blue eyes filled with something I had never seen from her before.
Fear.
Then tears.
One rolled down her cheek.
Her hand rose.
On its own.
She closed her eyes.
A magic wind blade formed.
Her neck split.
Her head slid off her shoulders, hair catching in the breeze.
Her body dropped before the blood even hit the ground.
I was sprayed in it.
Warm.
Sticky.
It clung to my skin like guilt.
I stood there, alone now.
I didn't need to look to know who was still here.
The twins.
I looked down.
They were right below me now.
Looking up.
Their faces stretched—smiling.
From ear to ear.
Black mouths. Teeth too small. Too perfect.
Their bunny plushies now had eyes.
purple ones.
The air was vibrating.
A sound beneath the sound.
Like breathing through water.
My hand lifted.
The revolver in it trembled.
But it wasn't fear causing the tremble.
I wasn't moving it.
It rose higher.
The barrel touched my temple.
I looked at the window...or what was left of it.
Shattered shards reflected a piece of me.
I caught sight of my own eye.
Tired. Empty. Wet.
A single tear fell.
Then—
Bang!