The sounds of the slums vanished, as if erased. Colors faded. The world became flat, cold, and too silent. The corpse lunged at Loyd — and its fist passed through him like smoke. His body dissolved, scattered like morning mist.

A moment later, Loyd stood beside Isaac, whole and unharmed, unable to understand how he’d gotten there.

— Wh-what was that? — he gasped. — Did I… die?

“No. I sense an ability being used. It’s an illusion created by Isaac,” Sumrak replied quickly, his voice tense with the weight of unfamiliar power.

Loyd looked at his mentor.

Isaac’s eyes glowed with an unnatural, bright gray light. His pupils looked like molten silver. He clapped his hands sharply.

The corpse crumpled.

Not thrown. Not torn. It was crushed by an invisible monstrous force, reduced to a flattened mass of bone, flesh, and metal. Isaac exhaled slowly, and a cloud of frosty vapor escaped his lips, as if the air around him had briefly turned to winter.

The next moment, everything returned to normal.

The slums. The stench. The flies. The container.

— Let’s go, — Isaac ordered shortly, already turning away.

They quickly left the dead end and moved deeper into the quarter. As soon as they rounded the corner, shouts and heavy bootsteps echoed behind them.

— Police! Are you sure the shots came from here?

— Look… bodies!

Loyd ran after Isaac, who didn’t look back, walking with the quick, confident stride of a man used to leaving before questions were asked.

“That was… powerful,” Sumrak breathed. “A terrifying ability. To create such a realistic illusion in an instant…”

Loyd’s mind was a chaos of fear, gratitude, confusion, and a flood of questions for the man who had just saved his life with a power bordering on the impossible.

They rode back in silence.

The carriage swayed as heavily as before, but now Loyd barely noticed the jolts or the noise of the wheels. In Isaac’s hands lay the mechanical part extracted from the dead body. It was cold to the touch and continued to pulse with a dim, sickly light, as if it still didn’t understand its work was done.

When they returned to the agency, Isaac wasted no time and headed straight for Kyle’s office. On the way, he handed the device to Loyd.

— Take this to Sakrus. Tell him to examine it immediately.

Loyd mechanically took the mechanism. It was cold, unpleasantly heavy, and seemed to vibrate faintly in his palm, like a weak, sick pulse.

He didn’t ask questions. He already had too many.

He ran up to the third floor and pushed open the lab door.

The next second, the world was swallowed by a violet flash.

A deafening bang, and the shockwave threw Loyd back against the opposite wall. The air was knocked out of his lungs. Rainbow circles swam before his eyes.

“Loyd! Wake up!” Sumrak’s voice broke through the ringing in his ears.

Consciousness returned slowly. Through the white haze, Sakrus’s silhouette began to take shape. He stood over him, shielded by a smoking energy barrier, his voice muffled, as if through water:

— Loyd! Are you okay?

— I… think so… — Loyd managed, trying to push himself up on his elbow.

— Knock first! — Sakrus scolded sternly. — This is a lab, not a kitchen.

But his visible eye held more relief than anger.

He helped Loyd up, and they carefully stepped inside. The lab floor was slick with a sticky, slowly evaporating violet liquid.

— Don’t touch anything, — the alchemist warned. — Otherwise, it’ll dissolve your flesh and leave only bones. I was… uh… testing a core for new anti-ghoul bullets. Their skin shrugs off regular rounds way too well, but with this, — he gestured proudly at a smoking machine, — the problem disappears.

Recovering, Loyd handed him the mechanism.

— I brought this. Isaac asked me to give it to you. We encountered a strange corpse on the mission. It came alive and fought, despite decomposition and… a half-blown-off head.

Sakrus’s expression shifted — or rather, his eye did. Where annoyance had been after the explosion, professional interest now sparked. He took the device, turned it over, held it up to the light.

— Interesting… — he murmured.

Then, without looking away from the mechanism, he nodded toward the table.

— About that symbol you brought before. I haven’t fully deciphered it, but I found some records with similar descriptions. Might be useful.

On the table lay two worn books and an old leather journal.

Loyd approached, picked them up, and held them close.

— Thanks.

— Don’t mention it. If it’s connected to that thing you just gave me, better to start digging before it’s too late.

Loyd nodded, carefully avoiding the violet puddles, and left the lab. Books in hand, too many thoughts in his head, and the second floor and Kyle’s office waiting ahead.

Chapter 5. Whisper of Oblivion

Opening the door, Loyd found almost the full team already gathered in the office. Isaac, as usual, stood by the table with that careless grace that seemed innate but had actually been honed by years of dangerous living. Kyle’s office was sharply distinct from the chaotic energy of the rest of the agency. Everything here was measured, quiet, and in its place. The air smelled of expensive cognac, old leather, wood polish, and the dry pages of ancient books. Behind the massive ebony desk, Kyle was studying some old manuscript, but hearing Loyd enter, he closed it without haste and set it aside.

— In one piece? — he asked calmly. — So you’ve already experienced firsthand why the lab is not the safest place in the agency.

Isaac, without even looking at Loyd, added lazily:

— If you came back from there with arms, legs, and the ability to speak, that already speaks to incredible luck.

Loyd was about to respond, but Kyle had already shifted his gaze from him to Isaac. His red eyes were cold as two droplets of wine left forgotten in the snow.

— As I understand it, the loud “cleanup” in the Arkhanum slums was your handiwork?

— My hands, — Isaac replied impassively, dropping into a chair without invitation. — But not my work. The Death Physicians left us not only bodies but also a surprise. A mechanical trap and a reanimated corpse.

Loyd, still not fully recovered from what he’d seen, couldn’t help himself:

— But how is that even possible? Corpses don’t come back to life. It’s impossible. Spirits, ghouls, vampires, dhampirs, the Death Physicians… and now this? What’s next, zombies on leashes?

— That’s exactly what we didn’t need, — Mila said wearily, standing slightly aside with a folder under her arm.

Isaac shook his head.

— No. It wasn’t quite a zombie. Not resurrection in the usual sense. Rather, the mechanism caused forced activity. Probably controlled remotely. But the device itself is undoubtedly the work of the Immortals.

Kyle crossed his arms.

— The question isn’t how they did it, but how we fight it and prevent their experiments from escalating into something far more dangerous.

— We’ve been chasing these Immortals for ages, — Riya sighed, throwing up her hands. — And there’s never any evidence. They don’t even leave fingerprints.

Kyle nodded slowly and clasped his fingers on the table.

— I’ve already received a report from the patrol. They found a witness.

He turned his head slightly, as if rereading the account from memory, and his voice grew drier, more official:

— The investigator asked if he’d seen anything the night of the murder. The witness said: only shadows… and a strange light. When asked what kind of shadows, he answered — large, human-like, but moving unnaturally. The light, he said, was violet. Like from a lamp, but not an ordinary one.

Kyle paused briefly.

— When the patrol arrived, they found a mess. And not a single clue as to what had caused it. Standard work.

His gaze fell on Loyd.

— And what about you, newbie? What are your impressions from your first field outing?

Under that gaze, Loyd felt less like a person and more like a page being read aloud. Still, he forced himself to straighten up.

— I… failed. Almost got myself killed and nearly ruined the whole investigation.

— At least you’re honest, — Kyle noted, and the corners of his mouth twitched in something faintly resembling a smile. — Stupidity is fixable. Cowardice — sometimes. But lies…

He didn’t finish.

The office door swung open soundlessly.

Everyone in the room felt the newcomer before they turned their heads. The air grew thicker. Quieter. As if the space itself straightened its shoulders.

— They leave traces, — came a low, velvet voice. — But different ones each time.

Des Arron filled the doorway as if it had been built for him. He was nearly two meters tall, broad-shouldered, powerful, but without the slightest heaviness. His figure gave no impression of brute force — rather, of force long accustomed to self-control. His short dark hair fell in soft waves across his forehead, and his thick, neat beard emphasized a strong chin and a sharp jawline. He wore a burgundy shirt of heavy, expensive fabric, sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms crisscrossed with a fine network of old scars. On his right hand, a black leather glove fit so tightly it seemed like a second skin. Dark trousers, suspenders, and a jacket casually draped over his shoulders — everything about him spoke of taste, not showiness.

He had presence. Not Kyle’s aristocracy or Isaac’s predatory irony. A different kind. The presence of a man who had gone through too much to waste time on gestures. Someone people follow not because they have to, but because they have no doubt.

— Don’t forget who we’re dealing with, — he said, walking into the room. — They long ago exhausted their original appearance. They’re no longer people in the usual sense. They’re puzzles assembled from other people’s body parts.

Everyone present rose almost simultaneously. Even Isaac, who had been lounging in his chair, stood and gave a slight nod.

— Good evening, Commander.

Only then did it fully dawn on Loyd who stood before him. Des Arron. The head of the agency.

Des stopped in the center of the office, his gaze slowly sweeping over all those gathered. He lingered on Loyd a moment longer.

— The newbie’s already acquainted with our hospitality, — he said. — Alive. That’s a good start.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of his mouth. Then he turned to Isaac.

— I’ve read your report. Bring me the device as soon as Sakrus finishes with it. And… don’t look like the world just ended. They just found a new way to cover their tracks. So we’ll find a new way to follow them.

He tucked his fountain pen into his inner pocket and added:

— Kyle, order dinner for everyone. Discussing strategy on an empty stomach is a bad habit. And the newbie deserves a double portion after a day like this.

After dinner, the atmosphere in the office shifted. The food didn’t soften the conversation, but it lent it the focused quality that comes when people stop being distracted by their bodies and start thinking with their heads. A map of the city was laid out on the table, plates pushed aside. The gaslight fell on Arkhanum’s streets as if it weren’t a city plan but an anatomical drawing of a sick organism.

Isaac broke the silence first. He pointed a finger at the slums.

— The epicenter is here. But they won’t return to the same spot. They’re not predators circling one lair — they’re rabbits changing burrows. Still, they have a pattern.

His finger slid toward the port district.

— All previous victims linked to the Physicians were found within two hundred kilometers of the docks. Which means they either use the port for equipment or for storing… raw material.

— Makes sense, — Kyle said calmly. — Warehouse districts are ideal hideouts. But searching them all would take weeks — and we’d lose the element of surprise.

— Maybe we should set a trap? — Riya suggested.

Everyone looked at her.

— If they’re hunting for fresh organs, — she continued, — we could give them the perfect target. A staged homeless person with a tracking device.

Isaac shook his head immediately.

— Too crude. The Physicians aren’t fools. They’ve eluded us for decades. Their selection process is far more refined. They don’t just take the weak — they take those who won’t be missed.

His gaze flickered to Loyd, making him uncomfortable.

— It’s a filter. They weed out anyone with family, connections, anyone whose disappearance would cause noise.

“He’s right,” Sumrak said quietly. “They look for the lonely. The invisible. The ones easier to erase from the world than to notice are gone.”

— Then we need to think like them, — Mila said. — Where would they find their next victim? Not a shelter. Not a flophouse. Something less obvious.

— Employment offices, — Isaac replied immediately. — Soup kitchens. Places where desperate people look for a last chance. We need lists of recently registered homeless and unemployed. Single, family-less, physically healthy.

— That’s possible, — Kyle nodded. — The police will release archives on request. We’ll need the Commander’s signature.

All eyes turned to Des.

He had been silent until then, watching, and now he slowly pulled out his fountain pen and opened a leather notebook.

— There will be bait, — he said. — But not a person.

Silence met his words.

— Sakrus, — Des continued, not looking up from the pages. — His latest developments. He’s synthesized muscle tissue infused with alchemical reagents. To the Physicians, it will look like the Holy Grail. An organ with incredible regenerative properties. They won’t be able to resist.

He began writing quickly, clearly.

— We’ll plant a body with this organ in a morgue they likely control. Riya and Kyle will handle surveillance. When they try to extract it, we’ll take them.

— Too passive, — Isaac objected. — They might send intermediaries. We’ll only catch small fish.

Des looked up.

— That’s exactly why it’s not just bait. The organ will carry a surprise. Sakrus will implant a nanite beacon that activates not on movement, but on attempted dissection. It will lead us straight to their lair.

His gaze rested on Isaac for a moment.

— You’ll lead the assault team.

The pen moved across the page again.

— And I’ll add one restriction, — he said quietly. — Just in case.

He wrote a few words in quick calligraphic script.

— Cannot use teleportation or spatial distortion.

The notebook closed with a soft click.

The plan was ready. Cold, clean, precise.

— Questions? — Des asked.

Loyd, who had been silent, finally raised his eyes.

— And me?.. What do I do?

Isaac turned to him. For the first time all evening, something resembling approval flickered across his face.

— You, newbie, will watch and learn. And if you’re lucky… — he grinned darkly, — save those bags. They might still come in handy.

— Questions? — Des repeated, and this time his gaze slowly swept over everyone present.

A brief silence followed, broken only by the crackling fire in the hearth.

— Technically, it’s feasible, — Kyle finally said, steepling his fingers. — But we’ll need our own pathologist for the body staging. Official morgues won’t work.

— We have Dr. Embry on reserve, — Des replied calmly. — He still owes us for that incident with the wendigos in his private clinic. He’ll do it clean.

— What if the Physicians sense the trap? — Riya asked, fidgeting with the edge of her notebook. — What if they scan the tissue for magical or technological traces?

— Sakrus’s alchemical composition masks any energy signature, — Isaac answered. — It mimics pure life force. To them, it’ll be like the smell of fresh bread to the hungry. They won’t be able to resist. Their own obsession will become their noose.

“Clever,” Sumrak noted with respect. “Very clever. Using the enemy’s greed against them. Your commander thinks like a true hunter.”

— Then we’re wasting time on discussion, — Des concluded, rising.

His shadow, falling across the map, briefly covered an entire district.

— Kyle, contact Embry. Riya, prepare surveillance equipment. Isaac, assemble your team. In twelve hours, the assault group must be in position.

Then he turned to Loyd, who still felt like an extra cog in a large, precise machine.

— As for you… — Des’s voice softened slightly. — Your first hunt for this kind of prey isn’t for green rookies. But everyone starts somewhere. You’ll be on remote comms. Monitor the feed, track the beacon signals. If anything goes wrong, report to Kyle immediately. Understood?

— Yes, sir! — Loyd straightened so sharply it seemed his life depended on it.

— Good, — Des nodded. — Then get to work.

The meeting ended, and the office came alive almost instantly. Kyle was already dialing Dr. Embry, Riya had left, muttering about frequencies and ranges. The plan was in motion. Now all that remained was to wait for the trap to close on those who had eluded them for too long.

Isaac shrugged on his coat as he moved.

— You’re with me, — he said to Loyd. — I’ll show you where the command post will be. And I’ll explain what to do if everything goes to hell. Which, — he smirked darkly, — it will.

Loyd nodded and followed, feeling fear and anticipation churn into a single heavy knot in his throat.

They stepped into the twilight of the hallway. Isaac suddenly turned and tossed a journal to Loyd with a casual motion.

— Take a look.

Loyd barely caught it.

— Uh… yeah. Of course.

His fingers trembled. He opened the journal about halfway. The pages were covered in small, hurried handwriting and strange symbols. Then he froze.

His gaze stuck to the paper.

He tried to look away — and couldn’t at first. A strange feeling stirred inside him. Not understanding. Recognition. As if these symbols had already been inside him, somewhere deep, buried under layers of forgotten memory.

He turned the page.

A drawing. A black outline, like a human or animal figure in an unnatural pose. But the lines weren’t right. They seemed to tremble, bend, creating the illusion of motion. The drawing shifted before his eyes, pulsing with a faint light, until it took on clear, disturbing contours.

— Looking for this? — Isaac asked quietly.

A chill ran down Loyd’s spine. Isaac knew. Or at least suspected far more than he let on.

Sensing his tension, Isaac dropped the mocking mentor act. He stopped and turned to Loyd, this time without irony. Seriously.

— I used to be like you, — he said quietly. — Afraid of my own power. Trusting no one. Including myself. It almost cost me everything.

He leaned against the cool stone wall, and the shadow fell across his face, sharpening his features.

— I was a detective. The best in my field. Reason, logic, evidence — that’s what I had. Until I came across a Case with a Spirit of Curses. An entity that poisoned minds, sent nightmares, and drove people insane.

Isaac paused, looking past Loyd as if seeing the scene again.

— My mind scrambled for excuses. Optical illusion. Hallucinations. Lack of sleep. Anything. But bullets couldn’t touch it. Back then, I didn’t know bullets don’t work on spirits.

He exhaled slowly.

— It cursed my consciousness. And I started seeing enemies everywhere. In neighbors. In strangers. In every face. On the brink of madness, my ability activated on its own. I didn’t control it — it controlled me. And I nearly became a monster, killing dozens of innocents.

Loyd listened in silence. The cold, sardonic Isaac in this story seemed almost impossible. But that’s precisely what made it terrifying.

— Then they appeared, — Isaac continued. — Des and Kyle. They dealt with the spirit. But I couldn’t be stopped. My power surged out of control and devoured everything in its path. Then Des… — he shook his head with bitter respect. — He simply stopped me. Explained what was happening. Didn’t turn me over to the authorities. Didn’t order me eliminated as a threat. He reached out. Took me into the agency. Taught me not to stifle my power, but to channel it. To set boundaries for chaos. Control it with logic.

Isaac straightened and stepped closer to Loyd.

— I don’t know what you’re hiding. And that’s your right. But I want you to understand one thing: we in this agency… all of us here… we’re a little crazy, sometimes dangerous, but still a family. And you can trust us. I’m saying this not as a mentor, but as someone who’s already been through this.

His gaze dropped to Loyd’s belt, where the outline of the Namekon was visible.

— I saw you give Sakrus that drawing. I saw you searching for answers.

Isaac pulled a folded, yellowed sheet of paper from his inner pocket and handed it to Loyd.

— I dug through the old archives. The professor’s journal I gave you… should help.

Loyd was about to say something, but Isaac suddenly clapped him firmly on the shoulder. And for the first time, his face held not a sardonic smirk, but something like a paternal smile.

— Don’t rush yourself. But don’t get stuck in the past either. — He said quietly, “It has a habit of catching up.”

With that, he turned and vanished into the deepening twilight of the hallway, leaving Loyd alone with heavy thoughts, a buzzingly admiring Sumrak, and an ancient secret now warm in his hands.

Chapter 6. Oneiron: Origins

Isaac entered his office, shrugged off his coat onto the rack, and sank heavily into his chair. The leather creaked softly, accepting his weight like an old accomplice long accustomed to evenings like this. He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, where a web of cracks spread across the plaster like a map of long-forgotten battles — no one remembered the victors, but everyone still lived with the consequences.

He took a deep breath.

“Family, huh…” — he repeated his own words inwardly, and his lips twisted into a bitter smirk.

The irony was thicker than the slum smog.

He, a man who had spent his entire adult life relying solely on cold reason, control, and distance, was now telling someone about trust, about family, about not having to carry everything alone. The moment that thought fully formed, the past raised its head, as if it had been waiting for just that.

Seven years ago.

Nineteen-year-old Isaac, shaking raindrops off his eight-panel cap, adjusted his tie and barely suppressed a smile as he looked at the sign: “Verdict Private Detective Agency.” His gray vest, wide trousers, and boots polished to a modest shine were cheap but immaculately clean. Back then, he still believed that order could be restored if you were just smarter than chaos.

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