Whispers of a Cabal had drifted through alleys and taverns: old bloodlines, ancient keepers of forbidden knowledge, men and women who bent their knee to no Parliament nor Phantom. Few believed they existed; fewer dared seek them.
Yet Elric had no choice.
Guided by a coded letter left in a dead rebel's pocket, the trio descended into the catacombs beneath the city. The tunnels reeked of rust and forgotten time, walls etched with symbols older than Brasswick's founding.
At the heart of the labyrinth, firelight glowed. A circle of figures sat around a table of iron and bone. Their masks were grotesque—bird skulls, clock faces, veils of chains.
"Detective Veyne," one rasped. "The hound without teeth. You chase monsters with reason where others chase them with bullets."
Selene's hand hovered near her knife. "If you mean to waste our time with riddles—"
"Quiet," Elric murmured. His eyes were fixed on the central figure: a woman cloaked in white feathers, her voice echoing as if spoken through a phonograph.
"The Phantom Engineer is not new," she said. "He is an echo of something that was always waiting in the bones of this city. He wears a mask of gears, but beneath it lies an ancient hunger. To fight him is not to fight a man. It is to fight the will of Brasswick itself."
The Cabal leaned forward as one. "Do you wish to learn how to kill a city?"