They didn't make their move on the street. Instead, they tailed the bird—or the 'bird-like thing'—shrouded in their concealment spell. The creature continued its strained shuffling—slowly, so slowly, like a silent stage play, or a performance of some annoying avant-garde playwright's script, with the two of them as unwilling actors.
The houses on either side looked empty, but what was actually inside them? Who knew if some bizarre monstrosity was hiding behind a dark window, observing the street below? Where else would all the garbage and mutilated human corpses have come from?
This world was so unpleasant; the houses themselves were like a kind of monster. Looking out through the spell's filter, the scenery was nauseating beyond imagination. On either side of the crooked, child-like scrawl of a street were bizarre boxes—houses—that looked as if they were kneaded from a cream cake that had been dropped in the mud. Through the gray filter that submerged this world, you could feel it—your ears felt stuffed with cotton plugs, your eyes felt like they were soaking in warm fog, your brain felt like it was pickling in a bucket of glue. It was enough to drive you mad.
"It went inside," Sassel frowned. Why do I feel like a fish being baited? he thought.
The deep purple house before them was freakishly large. It was particularly tall and somewhat flat, but its overall shape was warped. At first glance, it looked like a deck of playing cards that had been torn up and sloppily glued back together. At second glance, it looked like a teetering pile of human tumors.
"I've never seen a house shaped like this," Jeanne said. "But living in that thing would definitely make you want to kill people, or go mad."
"You've surely done both," Sassel mocked her. "I know you're very experienced in that regard."
"I could go mad right now and send your soul plummeting into the labyrinth for all eternity. Want to try me?"
"Why don't you step outside my concealment spell before you go mad," Sassel shot back.
Jeanne glared at him, her expression utterly foul.
"I just love that look you get, the one that says you can't stand me but can't do a damned thing about it. It does wonders for my nerves."
"Pah," she spat, venting her helpless rage. But she hadn't eaten in a long time and was parched; she couldn't even work up any saliva.
Sassel just shook his head.
"Now, I have a question. Are you sure we should follow that thing inside?"
"I need to eat and rest, and I have no desire to sleep in a garbage heap. If there's something sinister in this house, we'll slaughter it. Who knows what the hell crawls out at night in this place? Besides—" Jeanne let out a cold laugh. "Don't tell me you can't feel something in there, spying on the street?"
"I don't feel anything. My spell isn't giving me any feedback. Is this part of the training you people go through?"
"Just personal talent," Jeanne shrugged.
"So you know full well that something is using that freakish bird as bait, and you still want to charge in there with me and get us killed?" Sassel asked her bluntly.
"And you've survived this long by clinging to those rat-like habits of yours?" Jeanne's mockery was even more blunt.
"What do you want me to do, then? Am I supposed to charge into the Empress's chambers and assassinate her?"
"I've led my knight protectors and priests into countless heretic orgies to make them pay for their sins. This is no different. Either get used to it, or die."
"Tsk... I hate your methods."
Sassel grimaced in displeasure but said nothing more. He turned, reached out to extinguish the torch in Jeanne's hand, and then pointed his index finger at her eyes.
"Don't move. In a confined space like this, I need to modify how the spell operates."
It seemed his ability to accept reality was also quite fast. Or perhaps he was just easy to talk into things.
Jeanne, for her part, didn't seem uncooperative. She just stared resentfully at his finger—his finger, which glowed with an evil light. The grinding of her teeth showed just how foul her mood was. The inquisitor hadn't seen as many dark god spells in her entire life as she had today—and all of them had been used on her.
The light flashed and was gone. Jeanne blinked. Her golden pupils began to shimmer faintly, looking quite alluring. But they were also dangerous eyes.
"What's the effect...?" she asked.
"The primary function is to let you see certain spectrums of light invisible to the human eye. The secondary function... is night vision."
"What does 'spectrum' mean?" Jeanne recovered her composure quickly.
"It's a word we made up. I can't explain it to you in under an hour," Sassel said, walking toward the house and gesturing for her to follow. In truth, he only half-understood it himself.
"Forget it, then. I hate lectures."
Jeanne drew the jet-black longsword and stepped into the dark entrance.
Inside the entrance was a winding, dark corridor. It was surprisingly neat, like the villa of a great noble. But looking around with magically enhanced eyes revealed a different story. The place was dark and filthy, the walls and floor covered in what looked like fading bloodstains and fingerprints. It was dirty, and extremely ominous. Sassel placed his hand on a clearly defined, bloody handprint and touched it. He could feel the residual thoughts of despair and fear, and the shattered fragments of a soul.
"They must be channeling civilians from the outside world here through some means," Jeanne said. "The disappearances near the Holy City have never been explained... maybe this has something to do with it."
"It's no big deal. The number of people who died in last year's war could fill this entire bizarre city," Sassel said dismissively. "And in the end..."
Just then, a small black cat leaped out from somewhere and landed at Jeanne's feet. It wore a rather human-like smile and made soft "meow, meow" sounds as it tried to rub against her ankle.
"What do you think that means?" Sassel asked casually.
"I've heard black cats have some connection to Candle Witches, but I don't really know," Jeanne said. "Those harmless little country witches who use necromancy to cast spells never have anything to do with the Church."
"That's discrimination," Sassel said. "I'm also a harmless little country sorcerer who uses necromancy."
"You call tearing souls apart for spell components necromancy!? Candle Witches pathetically beg a few weak spirits to do chores. You people completely destroy them, or even sacrifice them to dark gods!" she glared at him with murder in her eyes.
Hearing this, the black cat immediately dropped its smile. It took a quiet step back, only to bump into a transparent wall.
Thump.
A very faint sound—the sound of the cat's back hitting the cage of a spell.
Sassel glanced over, a smile that wasn't a smile on his face. Under his gaze, the creature's body froze. Its fur stood on end, its eyes glowed with vigilance, and it stared intently at Sassel's hand. His hand, wreathed in black mist...
"Well, look at our cute little friend. Did you think we were harmless civilians?"
"Is this thing a shapeshifter?" A cold smile also appeared on Jeanne's face as she looked down at it.
"You're overthinking it. This thing is just a small animal that's gained simple intelligence."
"What a shame," Jeanne sheathed her sword, bent down, and picked up the terrified little animal.
"Do you think this cat is edible?" she asked again.
It stared at Jeanne, and then at Sassel, with a look of very human terror. "...I can provide you with food, respected emissaries of the gods."
"Oh, you're so considerate," Sassel clapped his hands. Of course, he couldn't bring himself to eat a cat with human intelligence; this was just an intimidation tactic. "How about you also tell me what your master is, and what you were planning to do? Watch the civilians who fall in here struggle until they die?"