The pink-haired woman moved through the darkness and reached the back of the chapel. Slowly, she removed her attire, revealing a man in grey clothes with an unattractive face and uneven and unsymmetrical eyes. Galloping into the fog, she disappeared, and when she emerged again, the city had changed. The fog had grown thicker, many houses stood empty with broken roofs, and more people bore severe disabilities and tumor-like growths.
She slowly made her way to the deck, as today was the Black Heart Gathering's auction day. Inside the warehouse, lights shimmered as always with colorful flames. She took an unoccupied seat, next to a man whose lower and upper jaws were uneven. Beside him sat a woman with a face so small in its features tiny eyes, nose, and mouth that it almost resembled a blank slate.
When everyone was seated, the auction began. This time, the announcer was a woman. Wrinkles lined her face, her nose was crooked, and her skin was pale as snow. A pair of spectacles rested atop her head, and her silvery hair was tied neatly back.
She walked onto the stage with a jolly step and took her place, officially commencing the auction.
"First item on the menu today," she announced brightly, "Decapitated Honor by Vicent Churchill."
"Stolen by a natural thief, it reached the Mist Village when the damned were forsaken by their gods and cast into the land of the forbidden."
She paused, letting the words settle.
"Starting bid: three hundred Sleepless pills."
A wealthy merchant purchased the item without any competition, and the auction moved on.
One by one, items were being auctioned off, and buyers were placing bids and competing with each other. Soon, a new bid emerged for an unusual item.
"Next item on the list," the woman announced, "a crouched infant submerged in a vat of dark blood."
"Some say the child still lives. It reeks of nightmares…"
"Starting bid: one thousand Sleepless Pills."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd until someone shouted, "What is special about that?"
The lady cleared her throat before continuing. "It may be used in certain ritualistic practices. That is all."
The man who had shouted scoffed, muttering to himself as he sat back down.
No one placed a bid.
In the end, the item was withdrawn, and the auction proceeded as new artifacts were brought forth.
Unfortunately, the item the pink haired woman sought was not present at the auction, and she rose from her seat to leave.
As she passed through the exit, she noticed a tall man with a pale blue face, wraithlike in appearance. He stood near the doorway, clad in a dark coat, silently observing the flow of people.
His gaze soon shifted toward her, lingering with an unsettling intensity. Yet the moment she stepped outside the premises, his attention drifted back to the others.
She released a quiet sigh of relief as she disappeared into the dense fog.
The tall man slipped back into the auction house, moving through a rear passage toward one of the storage rooms. He stopped before a door and waited for a brief moment, as if listening for some insight known only to him.
Then he forced the door open.
The room inside was empty. The item had been moved long ago.
He let out a low grunt and stepped back into the corridor. Growing increasingly restless, he began searching the other rooms one by one.
Back in the Northern Sector, Elizabeth had finished delivering all the necessary proof confirming the death of Warren Dunn. Relieved, she decided to take a brief rest before departing for the Southern Sector.
She had heard troubling rumors about the South. There were no guards, no army. It was a land without order. As for its ruler, the woman possessed only a single obsession, maintaining her youth through constant medication. Beyond that, she harbored no ambition at all.
If Elizabeth intended to remain there, she would need to stay alert at all times.
She closed her eyes, her thoughts drifting aimlessly from one subject to another.
Suddenly, she jolted upright and slapped herself.
"What the hell? I almost fell asleep."
She quickly retrieved a vial and swallowed one of the pills inside. Moments later, her composure shattered, and she began to sob.
When her breathing finally steadied, she approached the table. The parchment still lay spread across its surface. She looked at it one last time before turning away and leaving the apartment.
She vanished into the fog.
As she passed through the city, she caught glimpses of people with grotesquely morphed bodies slipping out of alleyways in secrecy. Guards marched through the streets, their armor bearing the mark of Ackerman.
Beyond them lay a far more remote district, the very center of the Mist City. It was a place where priests and fanatics roamed freely. Elizabeth moved carefully, keeping to the corners and watching every movement.
She witnessed rituals dedicated to the Mistress of Head. Some of the faithful offered sacrifices of their own flesh.
A man lay stretched across an altar, unmoving, while a circle of devotees surrounded him. Their bodies were twisted and deformed as they sang hymns to the Mistress of Head, slowly hacking the man apart.
They wore their own flayed skin, scorched black by fire. From a distance, they resembled a gathering of black sheep.
She did not let the sight stop her. She continued observing them from afar while navigating through the area without letting herself be seen.
Suddenly, one of the fanatics snapped his head around, his stitched skin creaking as he sniffed the air. Elizabeth retreated into the mist, her form dissolving into its folds just as the chanting resumed, louder and more frenzied than before.
Suddenly, somewhere deeper within the city, bells began to toll.
Upon hearing the bells, she quickened her pace, angling toward the outskirts of the city.
*Cling.*
The sound rang felt like it was right beside her ear.
Elizabeth activated her shield without slowing, the faint shimmer wrapping around her as she ran. Her boots struck moist stone as the streets narrowed, buildings pressing closer, their walls breathing mist. The fog of the Southern Sector thickened ahead, heavy and lightless.
*Cling. Cling.*
The sound followed, unhurried.
She dared a glance over her shoulder.
A tall figure emerged from the fog, moving with impossible calm. He carried a staff carved from dark bone, a small bell hanging from its crown, swaying gently with each step. His robes dragged along the ground, untouched by grime. Where his face should have been, there was only shadow and the hint of a smile. A dreadful smile.
*Cling.*
The bell rang again, and her shield rippled as if struck by something unseen. Pain flared behind her eyes. Her breath hitched, but she forced herself forward, weaving through broken alleys and half-collapsed arches.
The chanting of the city faded, replaced by the sound of her heartbeat and the bell.
*Cling.*
The fog swallowed everything.
Elizabeth burst into the outskirts, where the streets gave way to ruined paths and open mist. She did not slow until the bell's echo thinned, then vanished entirely.
Only then did she stop, trembling, her shield flickering out.
Somewhere behind her, deep in the fog, the bell tolled again. Then, as silence settled, she heaved a sigh for she had reached the southern sector.