Post by soldierboy81 on Jan 26, 2015 23:39:16 GMT -6
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~*~ C: Dolls in the Attic ~*~
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After some thorough research and investigation on the whereabouts of Gordon Neville, I discovered one place where the mug’s known as “a regular”: The Fólkvangr Lounge on Needham Lane. Apparently, after Jocasta’s death, “he turned to the stage and began performing;” word of mouth from a few locals … Yeah, I know---the same schmucks who had a hard time dishing about Hel are the ones coughing up about the Neville Family. Typical.
Speaking of which, I never said much about Freyja’s Dial last time we spoke, so I’ll fill you in: I’m keeping it at my place. Should an artifact of that caliber fall into the wrong hands, bad things would happen to a lot of good people. Know what I mean?
Anyway, I phoned Roman about my findings and told him to dress in his “Saturday evening’s best,” since the Fólkvangr Lounge is known for its fancy suits. It’s a big place---I mean a r-e-a-l-l-y big place---nothing but the fanciest schmanciest of the fancy schmancy go there. Beautiful sight, I tell ya. Phantoms and far-tear cries of historical art deco designing accompanied by a few state-of-the-art interior applications. Not too shabby for a coat dump.
“This place is … nice!” Roman’s obviously impressed by the joint, but me … I’ve seen better hotspots in magazines. It’s beautiful, but trust me---it’s not the best thing out there. “Hey, Elias …” Roman’s distant voice earns my attention. “You coming or not?”
“Oh, yeah. Right. Of course …” I follow my eager partner, who's currently behaving like a hyperactive rug-rat at a toy store. Look at the silly mug, skipping merrily and carefree, raising eyebrows with his youthful behavior.
Humph. Sometimes … I really don’t know what I’d do without this guy.
He has a seat at a table close to the stage, where we’re literally a nose-hair’s length from the Lounge’s jazz band. I take a seat next to him, as “you-won’t-guess-who” comes moseying on over. “Good evening once again, gentlemen!” Yeah. It’s Cassandra, flooring us with her presence. “Fancy meeting you two here at Amass Town’s number-one hotspot! So, how can I help you tonight?”
“… Sandy, how many jobs do you have?”
My query tickles the little mousey face. “O-h, only three. This is my ‘second job’. I work here in the late evenings.”
“Ah, I see … A ‘career girl,’ are we?”
“For the lack of a better term, yes. Now then …” Cassandra draws her notepad and pen, sporting that lovable smile of hers. “What’ll it be, gentlemen?”
Roman beams like a lighthouse at the mousey face. “Waitress’s suggestion, please!” If you could see the look on my face, you’d probably shit bricks in laughter. It’s that look that says, “… Seriously?,” without a single word. Despite my partner’s obvious over-excitement, it’s actually nice to see him with an expression besides his usual “I’m-worried-about-everything” stare. “So, Sandy, what do you recommend? Hmm, hmm, h-m-m?”
Due to Roman’s childlike behavior, I find it hard to maintain a concrete expression---I’m constantly shifting between annoyance and adoration. Not the healthiest mental shuffle for people like me. Cassandra places her pen against her chin, and ponders for a second. “Well, my suggestion would be …” Suddenly, she comes up with the perfect recommendation. “The Gainsborough Steak Dinner and a side of Lucero! It’s all the rave these days, so since you wanted ‘my personal suggestion,’ there you have it! So, are you interested, or would you prefer something else?”
“Sounds wonderful to me!” Roman’s elevated voice disorients the saxophonist, causing him to hit a key that sounds like bubble guts at a Sunday cookout. Roman notices his misdeed and apologizes to the saxophonist. “Oh, err … Sorry about that. Are you okay?” The musician irately huffs at Roman, and continues preparing for tonight’s performance.
Heh. Looks like the band’s the take-no-nonsense type … That’s a good thing. When you’re performing as a group, you have to be prepared at all times. Half-stepping isn’t going to cut it, especially if you’re doing this as a means of financial support. So that’s why I can understand the saxophonist’s reaction: He has a lot riding on this, and any unnecessary interferences will only make matters worse for the poor guy. “… I’ll have what Roman’s having, Sandy.” My seconding earns Cassandra’s smile. I then look at her with my casual laidback grin, realizing how delighted she is to hear our approval. “Good job, kid. Always.”
“Thanks, guys!” Cassandra makes a quick record on her notepad. “Alright. Two orders of the Lounge Special …” When she’s done, she gives us that doting beam---a physical depiction of the phantoms of her childhood shining bright. “I’ll be back soon. Hope you guys enjoy tonight’s performance. I hear Angel’s dedicating her solo to her late husband.”
That name stands out to me. “Angel …?”
“Yeah, Angel Love. She’s ‘the pride and glory of Fólkvangr,’ or so I’ve been told.”
“Speaking of which …” I remember the reason why my partner and I came here. “Sandy …” I catch her attention, proven by a folding of her arms. “Have you heard of someone named ‘Gordon Neville’?” She smiles and nods, giving us a little giggle. A confusing one. “What? Is he a comedian or something?”
“… ‘Only on Wednesdays’. Her words, not mine.” Cassandra departs, leaving Roman and I in a shadow of misperception … Okay, wait a second here … When I mentioned Gordon, she referred to the guy as “her” instead of “him”. I’m not entirely sure what that means, but … I can take a wild guess. If the mousey face is implying what I think she’s implying, well … It’s nothing new. Seen it all, heard it all.
A few minutes later, Roman and I are enjoying the Gainsborough Steak Dinner and a bottle of Lucero. Alcoholic beverages are ancient history. These days, you have juices made from Yggdrasil Trees. It’s a special tree that grows in the oddest places around Midgard. Most of the New World’s finest refreshments are made from them, and the berries are even used in some household appliances … Go figure. Even to this day, people are still fucking around with nature.
The lights dim and an emcee in a fancy suit takes the stage. “Good evening, everyone! We hope you’re enjoying your stay here at the Fólkvangr Longue.” Humph. Typical smooth-talking master of ceremonies … At least he dresses well for the part. “Tonight, we have a very special treat. The pride and glory of our little establishment, Ms. Angel Love, will be performing for the very first time since the unfortunate accident that nearly took her life. This woman is a walking miracle and a testimony of courage, strength and dedication.” Wow! This Angel dame must be one tough cookie to bounce back after something like that … N-i-c-e. This could prove interesting. “Now, without further delay. Coming to the stage, in dedication to her late husband: Angel Love performing her signature ‘Shadowland’!” The audience applauds, as the spotlight dims and the emcee leaves the stage.
Sultry sounds and easy rhythms paint an illusion in my mind: The feeling of loneliness, desolation and unending pain; a desire for something or someone who has long passed into the Afterworlds. From the very moment the spotlight faded-in on this entrancing beauty, I knew there was something special about her … Angel Love: A woman with one hell of a tragic past. She turns to the audience with the movements of the ocean, expressing the most deeply-rooted messages of her song, as she blesses everyone with her heavenly voice.
Roman and I listen carefully, to her heartfelt message:
~ I'm a shadow since you're gone
Just a shadow in the dawn
That breaks in the sand
A shadow lost in shadowland
My poor heart just flew away
When it realized one day
The dreams that we planned
Would only end in shadowland
I always wondered why you had to go
Whatever blunder I made I don't know
I guess that something turned out wrong
Didn't quite belong in this lover's song
I'm a shadow, but you know
I'm the one who loves you so
So please, take my hand
And lead me out of shadowland
And lead me out of shadowland ~
W-o-w … I was wondering what type of person would have the pseudonym “Angel Love”. Looks like I just got my answer … Her opening performance, though short in length, has a lot of passion. I can only imagine what happened to her … Whoa, let’s retrace our steps here!
Now, from what I remember, Cassandra referred to Gordon as “her” instead of “him,” the usual term you hear during verbal exchanges of the sort. And, since she didn’t give us much insight on the guy except for that, then … could it be possible that …? “Elias …” Roman earns my attention, and reintroduces me to his casual concerned-about-everything look. “I think we just found our main lead.”“You mean …?”
“… Yes, Elias.” Oh, man … That means Angel Love is really … “That’s Gordon. My sensors are picking up signs of hormonal and GRS modifications. Aside from this, that’s who we’re looking for.” You know what, folks … I haven’t even spoken to Angel yet, but I have a hunch about why she did this to herself. Still, to be sure, we need to speak with her in private. “Elias. Are you okay?”
“… Yes and no.”
“Why the mixed emotions, partner?”
“… Simple, Roman. Everyone has a story, but after all the sad cases we’ve tackled in our career---I don’t know, man. Something’s touching my spirit right now for Angel …” Is it strange to say I “pity” Angel for all she’s had to endure? I don’t know the dame through a hole in the wall, but just like the A.G. crock … For some odd reason, I’m drawn into an abyss of curiosity. “Let’s catch her after she’s done. Questioning her now will only disorient the poor dame. We’re detectives, not assholes.”
Roman nods and smiles. “As you wish, partner.”
Nearly an hour later, Roman and I consulted a buff near the dressing rooms---someone who claims to be Angel’s “personal bodyguard”. He turned us away, but that dame Angel … She arrived on the scene and invited us into her dressing room. You see, Angel knew we were coming. A.G. said it in “His” or “Her” letter, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.
At the moment, Roman and I are seated in spare chairs provided by the lady-of-the-hour herself, whose taste for Belladonna smokes comes with years and years of pain. “I’m glad you two stayed for the performance …” She sits at her vanity, sporting the troubles of being a performer to the tee. “I hope you don’t mind the mess, boys.” Heh. What mess? This dame’s a lot cleaner than most people in this dump-dome are, I’ll tell you that. For a simple dressing room, the place is decked down with so much showbiz paraphernalia and awards, the crooners of the ancient times would brick their jimmies. “A.G. informed me about your affairs with the Sonnenbergs, so I requested your services. I … need your help.”
The pain in her voice speaks a mile-a-minute, pointing in a most apparent direction. “… Jocasta, right?” The sound of that name turns Angel around in her chair, but she shouldn’t be too surprised. Not only did A.G. allude to Angel’s deceased love in “His” or “Her” letter, the long-passed dame contacted me herself. “She asked me to tell you to take care of her ‘babies’. My question is …” My inner gumshoe surfaces, and my body language comes into play. “What ‘babies’ was she talking about, Angel?” Angel turns away, taletelling on herself. “Talk, Angel. Please. For your wife.”
Angel puffs her Belladonna and blows a circle, recalling the painful memories of “Jocasta’s babies”. “… She … kept them in the attic of our old place. They were precious to her---very, very precious, and the only thing close to the children that we wanted. That … she could never have …” The truth comes out, and in one of the saddest ways possible. So … Jocasta couldn’t have children, and adopted these “babies” as her own. That’s nice, but … something isn’t setting right with me here. “You see … Her ‘babies’ aren’t necessarily ‘babies,’ but she valued them as such.”
“What were they, Angel?”
“… Porcelain dolls. Hundreds of them from every Hierarchical Colony in Midgard.”
The thought of such eccentric behavior amazes me. “Porcelain … dolls?” You know, now that I think about it---that’s a normal thing. It’s a form of “substitution,” brought about from an aggressive desire for something. Everyone experiences that, even the most “normal” schmuck on the street.
“Hmm …” Roman ponders admirably about the endeavor. “Kind of reminds me of how I used to collect bolts and cogwheels as a kid. But …” My partner becomes curious and queries the emotional Angel. “Ms. Love, your wife collected these dolls as her ‘babies,’ I understand that. But …”
“What’s up, gumshoe?”
“… Why am I sensing something *much* deeper than that?” Roman’s MS sensory isn’t the best, but he can definitely detect when someone’s skipping around the truth. “We’re here to help you, Angel. No use keeping secrets from us---we’re professionals; the real deal.”
“Well, since you put it that way …” Angel puffs her Belladonna once more, before putting it out in her ashtray. “Lee was a witch. She had … some kind of special power …”
Roman intrigues. “Witch, you say?”
“Yeah, the real deal. You know, the type people used to write about in those crummy fairytales; only she didn’t have warts, green skin, a funny getup, a broomstick and a pointy hat.” Angel stands from her vanity and approaches her closet, where she begins looking through her wardrobe. People have their nervous habits, and this is definitely one of hers. “She wasn’t any ordinary witch. Lee---that’s what I used to call her, since she was much stronger than I was.”
I pry deeper into the mystery behind Jocasta Neville. “What kind of ‘witch’ was she?”
“… A Soul Collector; a ‘mother’ to long lost souls, whose very existence was flooded with tragedy. As a Soul Collector, she sacrificed her right to motherhood to gain her power---long, long before we met and married … I didn’t mind. I still loved her.” Wait a second here … I remember stories about “the Soul Collectors,” an ancient race of sorcerers and sorceresses who conducted themselves as “keepers of the deceased”. The Soul Collectors were protectors of those who went down the wrong path in life, or those led astray by domestic and social distress. This was done to give the deceased a final chance to repent or atone for their sins before passing on to the Afterworlds. It’s like some sort of “spiritual safekeeping program” designed for transgressors or victims-gone-bad. Heh … Neville. That name … Now that I think about it, I’ve read up on a clan by that name, and from what I remember---they were the best out there. So, this means Angel was literally married to “the real deal,” and not some cheap imitation. “I … would love nothing more than to protect her ‘babies’ at all costs, but …” Angel picks a diamond-studded one-piece and approaches her vanity mirror. The nervous dame begins modeling to ease her pain, but it does little to alleviate anything. “I’m not sure what to do.”
“She wants to cross over, Angel …” My response earns the dame’s attention, striking tears she’s been trying to keep bottled inside for a long, long time. Poor, poor Angel … She’s heartbroken, guilty and half-eaten. “You can run away from it all you want, but in the end … Jocasta needs *your* help the most.”
“But … how can I …?”
“You said the ‘babies’ are at your old place, right?”
Angel turns around and takes a moment to regain her composure, after literally ruining her face. “… Yes, they are.”
“Question: Why did you leave them there in the first place?”
“It’s just as you said … I was ‘running away’ …” Angel captivates us with her heartfelt explanation, as she takes her seat at her vanity. “I know you have connections with Lt. Adina Lopez-Walden. Well, you see, boys---she’s the one who hooked us up … I served in the same division as she did, got to know her a little and we became friends. After the previous skirmish with Neo-Russia, Adina introduced me to Lee … It took us a few years to jump the broom. It was magical---an instant attraction that felt so right, so pure and innocent … Ten years later, after so many struggles, Lee died from ‘delving too deeply into the spiritual realm’.” Roman and I are stunned by Angel’s revelation! Now I see … It’s true. When you tamper with the spiritual realm too much, it can have adverse side-effects on your body. Damn … “She was trying to reclaim the portion of herself that she had to sacrifice---her right to motherhood. Lee wanted children and so did I, but that endeavor …” Her silence speaks for itself. Fuck me for assuming earlier … The truth is: I’m so captivated by this case that it’s filling me with “a child’s excitement”. It’s quiet, yes, but I’m so enthralled that it’s hard to contain myself. “After her death, the first thing I did was ‘run away’ a little more … You can see the end results of that, right?”
“So that’s why you did the whole sex-change bid?”
“… Yes and no, Detective.” Angel places her left hand to her heart, feeling a strong wave of sentimentality rush through her soul. “I … always felt ‘Angel’ inside my heart. She’s the person I always was from the very start, and … Angel is the daughter that Lee could never bear for me … ‘Angelina Marianne Neville’. Lee always said that name, rubbing her tummy at the thought of being a mother. So, when I made the change …”
“That’s the name you took, right?”
“Yes. Angel Love---in honor of our unborn daughter and our tragic romance.” I … understand now. Angel literally “ran away” from everything. To escape the pains and sufferings of the past, “Gordon” became “Angel” and took on a different path in life. It’s horrible … I don’t want to sound like a hopeless optimist, which I’m not---but, for obvious reasons, I have a strong urge to restore Angel’s happiness. This case … I’m no longer doing it only for Jocasta and the rent, I’m also doing this for Angel---one sad case all on her own. “I already know you two need to get inside the old place to investigate. So …” Angel reaches into the top drawer of her vanity, and pulls out a house key. “Voilà, boys!”
Roman excites. “Splendid, but, err …” His curiosity gets the better of him. “Why do you still have a key?”
“I’ve tried selling the place several times, but …”
“Nobody will buy it, right?”
“Yes … It’s because of the ‘babies’.”
“Huh? You mean …”
“Yes, Detective. The old place … is haunted!” Ah, and there goes the big shocker! So … The Old Neville Residence is haunted after all. Heh. I’ve heard stories about the place from a few locals in the past, but I always kept a closed ear to that mumbo-jumbo. Mouthing-off about people I don’t know isn’t a popular pastime in my book. “Despite that, boys, I want you to meet me at 19874 Melbourne Dr. at precisely 12 o’clock midnight tomorrow.”
Roman wonders. “Why so late?”
“It’s when the ‘babies’ come to life. You’ll need to speak with them personally, to know everything.”
“Understood.” Roman looks to me with that stare of his. “We should get going for now.”
I nod in agreement. “Yeah …” Roman and I stand from our seats, along with the lady-of-the-hour. “Ms. Love, we need to consult Lt. Lopez for a spell. We may need her help.” Angel nods, understanding my motives. Behind her eyes, however, I can see an overload of emotions. “It’ll be all right, Ms. Love …” My voice revives a smidgen of hope within the dame, who’s knee-deep in shame at the moment. I can tell … That’s not a look you see on any calm Joe Schmoe or Mary Jane. “You take it easy on yourself. And thanks for the interval. We’re going to need it.”
“No problem, Detective. Have a good evening.”
“The same to you, Ms. Love.”
We headed over to the Underground as soon as possible, and informed Adina of our affairs with Angel Love. We discussed everything with her in the comfort of her “personal little space”. It took us a moment to relay all the details, but she quickly comprehended the issue-at-hand; always on the ball that one. Unfortunately … “This is heavy, boys, really …” Yeah. Adina isn’t taking this the easy way. She’s a stubborn tootsie, and stubborn tootsies are harder than stubborn mugs these days. Comes with “the changing times”. Know what I mean? “You know I have a past with the Neville Family, and things like this are just, well …”
I nod, understanding her sentiments. “It’s rough, Deedee. We know.”
“… It’s not even that, boys.” She takes a moment for herself, approaching a display cabinet containing a few relics from the Old World. They’re … beautiful! I was always a sucker for antiques, so things like this are like a walk through an amusement park. “Just looking at these old boys reminds me of those days … Neville and I were army buddies. Gordon … I mean, ‘Angel’ told you that, right?”
“She did. Ms. Love also told us you set her up with Jocasta.”
“I did, yes.”
“… Why her of all people, Deedee?” My curiosity sparks a few bad memories. I can tell by looking at her distorted facial expression … That isn’t one of those “hello, nice to meet you” looks, I’ll tell you that much.
“H-a-h … How can I put this?” Adina turns and leans against the metal framing of her display cabinet, folds her arms and begins positively recollecting. “Jocasta was … a beautiful soul, in and out.”
Roman intrigues. “Was she, Adina?”
“The best, boys, no sugar-coating or exaggerating. She was *made* for Gordon, but …” For the first time, Adina begins shedding tears. Remembering everything’s really bringing back a lot of deeply-rooted emotions, sentiments she’s kept bottled inside for a long, long time. “I had no idea she couldn’t have children!” Roman approaches Adina and hands her a handkerchief, which she humbly accepts. Adina wipes her tears away, as she continues her confession. “Gordon … told me … Jocasta was a witch, and she … *sacrificed* her motherhood … just to save lost souls; to give them … a home after death …” The same story, and it affects Adina as much as it does Angel.
Whatever killed Jocasta … Man, this doesn’t look good.
“I don’t know much about sacrifice, but …” Roman begins relating to the Neville Family, using his AI to recall what it means to feel human emotion. “When you have to do something, you do it. That’s how people work---they make tough decisions, face facts and create their own realities … Jocasta sacrificed her motherhood. Once you surrender something like that, it’s really hard to get it back.”
“… You’re absolutely right, kid.” Adina lays her head on the display frame, looks up at the ceiling and heavily exhales. She then closes her eyes, envisioning sweet remembrances of yesteryears with Jocasta and Angel. A thump in her chest, the sound of her heartbeat, revives her innermost convictions. “… I’m going with you.” We’re moved by Adina’s platonic devotion. She reopens her eyes, stands upright and speaks to us with that hardnosed, military-savvy we know and love. “Alright, boys. Give me the time and the place.”
I take the initiative. “Midnight. The Old Neville Place on Melbourne Dr.”
Adina smiles and nods. “Got it, boys. But before you go, I have something for you …” She heads over to a large weapons cabinet, where she usually stores commonplace upgrades. “If you’re going head-to-head with spiritual energies of *this* caliber, you’re going to need some ‘m-a-j-o-r firepower’. You feel me?” When she arrives, she opens the cabinet and introduces us to a large collection of PCs; that’s short for “Power Cells”: Ovular attachment upgrades used to buff up Carnage-based weaponry. They come in all different shapes, colors and sizes, and each one has its own unique ability. The ones Adina’s selected for this special occasion … “Ah, here they are---Leo-01 and Mithras-02!” Adina picks the said PCs from the rack, turns and hands them to us---I receive Leo and Roman receives Mithras. We’re … mesmerized by these PCs … For some strange reason, these PCs stand out from the rest. It’s as if they’re calling to us, whispering our names from dimensions beyond our own. Adina bubbles with excitement. “Oh, boys, don’t dawdle---try them on! Please, I insist!” We’re amusedly taken aback by her energy, and comply without a fuss.
Roman attaches Mithras to his Gear Shifter, and I attach Leo to my Driver Glove; each PC fits into our upgrades’ Gem Groove with ease, and invokes the PCs’ contained “C: Force”. C: Force is the restricted spiritual energy found inside a PC, and the amount found in just one is literally a doozy. Since these PCs are part of the “Spyros Class,” take a wild guess as to what ability we’ve obtained … “Whoa! Elias, they’re …!” That’s right, folks---our upgrades are literally on fire over here! Roman observes his oscillating Gear Shifter, beyond himself with fascination. “I’ve only heard rumors about PCs, but … This is just *incredible*!”
Adina folds her arms and proudly explains the abilities we’ve been granted. “These are prototypes just like the Glove and the Shifter, but they’re compatible. Get this, boys: Leo possesses the ‘Brave Flame’ ability, which directly affects Carnage on an ‘extra-spiritual’ level. One blast and the enemy’s toasted … Mithras possesses the ‘Fire Spout’ ability, which is used for amassing and disbursing Carnage. Just watch out for Mithras; he overheats when he gets too carried away. Heh. Typical hothead.”
“Wait … You’re speaking about these PCs as if they’re …”
“You’re on the money, kid. They’re sentient.” She’s right---PCs are infused with Carnage, which is a sentient entity. These PCs look like ordinary attachments, but the contained C: Force … is alive! “Now, on to other business matters …” Adina earns our attention with her crafty tone. “You boys need a little practice?”
Don’t ask me why we said “yes” to her invitation …
… Adina had us suit up in our workout clothes, and venture off to another “secret” portion of the Underground; a hidden training arena found behind another door in her “special little place”. When we enter the joint, Roman and I are nearly floored by how much space this arena covers! “Whoa! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me here!!” Adina is cracked with laughter, never before hearing me react in such an excited manner. Even my partner is a little tickled … I blush and scratch my head, before returning my attention to the stadium-sized arena. “Err, uh … Nice place, Deedee.”
“Thanks, kid. I finished it a few years back …” Adina climbs a short staircase, and proceeds into the center circle. “Don’t fall behind, boys. Come on. Take in the air of your ‘home away from home’.”
Yikes! “Home away from home,” huh? N-i-c-e … Roman and I follow the Lieutenant. Along the way, my partner observes the area. “I can’t believe there’s so much space beneath the Underground …” Absorbed in his fascination, he nearly trips over the first step. “Whoa, oh-oh-oh-oh!” Adina is tickled once again, and a humored smirk is implanted on my face at the sight of his clumsiness. Roman catches his balance, composes himself and blushes. “Um … Whoops! Almost lost like a million cool points there, huh?”
“Watch your step, kid. You’ll *need* those ankles for what’s to come.” Adina turns around and patiently waits, as we make our way to the center circle. Upon arriving, she fully introduces us to our “home away from home”. “This is my ‘v-e-r-y special little place’. I call it ‘Idavoll’.” Idavoll: An extra-special personal training ground, originally renovated by Adina’s late husband. After her man’s death, she added a few “personal touches” to complete the joint. It was meant to compete with DOA Underground, but that dream … was never realized. “So what do you think, boys? This was Papi’s ‘baby,’ but you know what went down, so … yeah.”
After taking a good look at the joint, I only have one thing to say … “I love it.” Adina turns around, and silently confesses a personal war against her tears. For her, it’s exceptionally pleasing to know she’s done a good job fixing-up the joint, even if it hasn’t been used yet. “We should get started.” Her poise is revitalized, prompting her to give us an affirming nod. “Give us your best, Deedee. No cutting corners, capiche?”
Roman nods in agreement. “Yes. Nothing but the best, please.”
Adina’s tickled by our determination. “Sure thing, boys. One order of ‘nothing but the best,’ coming right up!” Unfortunately, when Adina promises “her best,” she literally delivers “the best”. And you know what that means … Yep. That’s right---three fucking hours of the toughest, most grueling training imaginable! However, unlike our former training sessions, this one comes equipped with the latest in modern technology. “Okay, boys, look alive out there! No victory for the lazy, you hear me!!” Military-classified machinery, battle-simulations and in-built cybernetic dummies made for heavy-duty usage. “Come on, boys, pick up those kickers, vamonos!!”
In all honesty, I don’t think I’ve ever … e-v-e-r … been so overworked in my entire life! Phew! Remind me to keep my yap closed when it comes to requesting “Adina’s best,” okay?
After the third hour, that’s it! I can’t take anymore … This woman is literally going to “train us” straight to the grave, I swear it! “Oh, boy … I think I’m overheating …” You see!! Even my partner’s puffing smoke from the extensive strain Adina’s put on our bodies! Talk about “literally giving us her best”! Roman kneels on his left knee, taking a moment to cool down his system … Normally, he’s the one with the better endurance, but the situation went from me doing all the heavy work, to him doing the heavy work, to both of us running on fumes. Now that’s some heavy-duty conditioning, and I bet thousands on this---not even the big guns would last an hour with this hard-nosed tootsie! “M-m-m-m!!! A-d-i-n-a … Why do you have to be so rough all the time? It’s so unbecoming, I tell you!” I nod in agreement, tickling the Lieutenant to knee-slapping laughter.
I fall on my back, about fucking dead. “… And she laughs? I mean … like … seriously?”
“It’s … not that, boys …” Adina regains her composure, and addresses us with a smile. “You asked for ‘my best,’ so I literally gave you ‘my best’. No cutting corners, no bullshit. This *is* the real deal, boys.” When she puts it that way, Adina has a point---we asked for “her best,” and that’s exactly what she did, as I said before … On the brighter side of things, Leo-01: Brave Flame and Mithras-02: Fire Spout are incredible! With these PCs, we’re sure to stomp a hole in the competition come midnight tomorrow. Adina approaches us and helps us to our feet with a strong hand. “There you are, boys …” Yep, it’s official---we’re tired … Ouch! Man … This place is awesome, but in no way would I want to make a bed out of this god-forsaken mat---talk about murder on you spinal cord, and that’s no joke. “So, how was your first experience in Idavoll?”
Roman and I look at each other for a second, then back to her in unison. “… It was … hell on earth …”
“As it *should* be, boys …” Adina turns around and speaks of her Idavoll grandiloquently. “This baby here is the *future* of the Underground! Not only will it be used as our personal training ground, but also as an arena for the Hierarchical Colonies’ greatest competitors! I can see this baby becoming *even bigger* than DOA …”
I’m awed by Adina’s confidence in Idavoll. “*Whoa* … Bigger than DOA?”
“… I bet money on it, kid.” She folds her arms, proud and greatly confident in her anticipations. “Alright, boys, hit the showers. You now possess all the knowledge needed to wield Leo-01 and Mithras-02. I’ll see you boys at midnight tomorrow. I … need some time to myself. Personal stuff, you know how it is.”
“No problem, Deedee. And as always, thanks a mil.”
“Anytime, boys. See ya later.”
“Keep looking up, Deedee.” I depart.
“Take care, Adina …” As always, my partner follows in my footsteps. “Congratulations on an arena well done, by the way. It was … ‘fun,’ for the lack of a better term.” Heh. Roman was always the “friendly type,” giving people credit where it’s due. Humph … I guess that’s what makes him the ideal partner for me: We’re total opposites, I tell ya. He’s honest and I’m modest; put two-and-two together and you’ve got us---Crane and Blade … Along the way to the shower room, Roman notices the grim expression on my face. “Hey, partner, are you okay?” I remain silent because … well … “Are you nervous?”
He’s right … I am nervous. For some strange reason, tomorrow’s operation feels as if it’s going to be a tough one. I haven’t been this nervous since … “Hey, Roman. You remember the Schroeder Incident, right?”
“Huh? Why, of course I do.”
“… Do you think …”
“Before you even finish that statement, Elias …” Roman stops me, already knowing where I’m going with this. “No, it won’t. We were amateurs back then, and the Schroeder Family is gone---G, O, N, E, gone. They no longer have any influence in this world whatsoever, so let’s *try* to put that as f-a-r behind us as possible. Okay?” Humph. How I wish that were possible … About seven years ago, we had a run-in with the Schroeder Family: A group of mystics who had ties to the Underworld. Cultists; the extreme kind. Dealing with them was like going toe-to-toe with the devil, literally. “What made you think of those monsters, all of a sudden?”
“… Simple, Roman. We’re dealing with the Afterworlds like always, but there’s something … ‘eerie’ about this one. I can’t quite put my finger on it, and it’s bothering me …” We arrive to the locker room entrance, where I stop to take a moment for myself. Roman pauses at my side, worried about me like always. “I … just don’t want to lose anyone else. You know?” My partner can see the pain and anxiety in my eyes. You see, folks … The Schroeder Family had a lot to do with why Morrigan had to die, and why her spirit is forbidden beyond the gateways of Inferno. Yeah, you heard right … Morrigan’s spirit is trapped in the deepest depths of Inferno and the Schroeder Family head, Carrie-Nadeline, is the cause of that. Just thinking about the possibilities of what this case may bring … “ Roman … Let’s shower, go home and rest. I’ve … had enough for one day.”
My partner smiles lightly, understanding my inner pain. “… Right, Elias. I hear you on that one.”
I receive a phone call around 8:30 PM from a 01-area code; that’s Amass Town, for those who don’t know. Melbourne Dr. is located on the outskirts of Amass Town, so … Hmm … Despite my obvious suspicions, I answer the phone, not knowing who or what’s waiting for me on the other end of the receiver. “Good evening! Alistair Detective Agency. Detective Crane speaking. How can I help you?”
“Well, well. Good evening to you as well, Detective …” It’s the A.G. crock … Humph. Figures.
“What’s up, A.G.?”
“Just monitoring your progress. That’s all.”
I’m thrown off by the crock’s words. “… Monitoring my progress?” I have a seat in my office chair. “What for? You know we get the job done, so why all the …” A.G. giggles at my display of quality alpha male behavior … I don’t know whether to hunt this crock down and smash “Him or Her,” or hold my piece. I hate being the butt of a joke. “What the … Why you … What the fuck is so funny, ya goddamned crock?”
“… You’re so confident. It’s … amusing.”
Why that no good little … “If your sense of humor is this warped, your pet peeves must be *really* fucked up.”
“No, seriously …” The crock calms down and takes a moment to catch “His or Her” breath.
“Humph. We’re taking this seriously now?”
“… Yes. We are … I just …”
“You just what?”
“… needed to breathe. That’s all.” Hearing the pain in A.G.’s voice reminds me of one simple fact: This mug or tootsie is human, and it’s kind of rude---treating “Him or Her” the way I do. “This isn’t all for nothing, you know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My continual phone calls. The offers. They’re not in vain.”
“So, you’re saying …”
“… I need your help with something. Something really, really big.”
Heh. I knew there was something fishy behind all this. Leave it up to Morrigan’s teachings; I can smell an ulterior motive a mile away. “I see. How ‘big’ are we talking here? Kind of big, normal big, really big, or colossal big?”
“… The Cloud Drive.” That’s all “He or She” needs to say---I nearly drop the fucking phone, for crying out loud! “I knew that would get your attention. So you realize the seriousness of things now? Why I keep contacting you?”
“What … are you getting at here?”
“… I’ll tell you later.” Well, considering how far “He or She” has already gone, you’d think the crock would spill all the info at this very moment. “What time can I meet you tomorrow before the ‘you-know-what’?”
I take a moment to mentally rearrange my schedule. “Hmm … 12:00 PM.”
“Good. Meet me at Jotunheim Temple.”
“The joint with all the statues …?”
“Just meet me there. My men will secure the outskirts of the Temple.”
“Okay. But before you go …”
The crock hangs up in my face, before I can finish my sentence. I place my receiver back on its base, seeing no other reason to remain on the line.
Man, seriously … This job should come with a warning sign.
Sleeping isn’t any easier on me … The stress of this case has taken a grave toll on my mind, causing me to have visions. Graphic ones. This always happens when I’m in this state … Upon falling asleep in my bed, I plummet into what feels like the depths of nothingness. I’ve always had that extra-sense, the one that lets me know when my dreams have deeply-rooted meanings behind them.
In my dream, I open my eyes to what looks like … a pentagram centered in an unknown cavern. “Huh …?” I’m confused … What the heck am I doing in a place like this? Suddenly, I get my answer in the form of ancient Nhacti music, and the advent of a dame so beautiful … I literally find it hard to keep from falling over, “Oh. My. God.” It’s not even her appearance. There’s something … mesmerizing about this dame. “… Who is she?”
Returning my attention to the pentagram, I notice candles set on each point, signifying some kind of … summoning ritual or perhaps one meant for collecting … H-a-h! Wait a second here! Is this dame … Jocasta? If so, then she’s about to …
~ From the starry sea, congregate now,
Wandering angels from yesterday;
Let this place be your refuge,
Where your souls can eternally play ~
~ E-l-y-s-i-u-m,
At the edge of the universe, my arms patiently await you;
E-l-y-s-i-u-m,
Paradisul, Purgatoriul si Iadul poate astepta ~
… I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen a Nhacti ritual before---that’s the real name of the Soul Collectors. “Nhacti,” the ancient race. Recalling the stories, the next thing that happens … is the amassing of spirits on the candle wicks. The wicks blaze a passionate flame that sways with every move Jocasta makes. Lighter than a feather, graceful like the wind, ardent and enchanting, hypnotic and spirited. This dame … is literally pouring her heart and soul into this …
~ Vino la mine copii mei,
Don’t fear the darkness anymore;
Sa ne juca pentru totdeauna,
Away from the pain of the after and before
E-l-y-s-i-u-m,
At the edge of the universe, my arms patiently await you;
E-l-y-s-i-u-m,
Paradisul, Purgatoriul si Iadul poate astepta ~
The spirits … I can see them dancing in the flame. It’s magical. Men, women, children and beasts, all have gathered in her flame. Jocasta … This is wrong. I know she’s doing this with love, from the bottom of her heart, but … So, this is why she died. Jocasta immersed her soul so deeply into the Spiritual Realm that there was literally no turning back.
It’s beautiful, but … Poor, poor dame.
~ Ingerii de ieri,
Aceasta este noua ta casa (noua ta casa …);
Sunt ta nou mama,
Si te voi iubi mereu (mereu …)
You don’t need to cry,
This is your sanctuary (sanctuary …);
A place where you’ll never die,
Where your heart will never be w-e-a-r-y …
E-l-y-s-i-u-m,
At the edge of the universe, my arms patiently await you;
E-l-y-s-i-u-m,
Paradisul, Purgatoriul si Iadul poate astepta
E-l-y-s-i-u-m,
My children, welcome to paradise, where you can always be;
E-l-y-s-i-u-m,
Mama va fi mereu aici pentru tine, draga mea
…
Mother will always be here for you, my dear … ~
Jocasta ends her dance with style by outstretching her arms, which compacts the flames into the candles … creating realistic wax dolls! As the music dies down, Jocasta falls to her knees with fatigue. “… There … It’s done …” She seems proud like a true mother. During these times, in her mind, Jocasta was doing the right thing. Unfortunately, she had absolutely no idea that … “U-g-h …” Yeah, that’s right---performing this ritual was killing her. Making deals with the Afterworlds never comes without a serious fee … As you can probably already tell, Jocasta’s knocked out cold, part of her life energy spent. Yes, folks … This was her “fee”.
Suddenly, one of the dolls turns and glares at me! I’m taken aback with fright! “What the …”
“M-O-M-M-Y!!!” The little shit releases a deafening scream that disorients me!
I hold my head, feeling as if it’s going to explode! “Gah, *shit* … The fuck … My head, it’s … G-a-h!!!” Then, I wake up in a cold sweat, feeling as if I been through hell and back! Ironically, I wake up a quarter till 11 AM. I grab my alarm clock and deactivate it … I wanted to awaken sometime around 12 PM, so I have no complaints. This extra hour will give me time to shower and get dressed, especially since I have a rendezvous to attend. “Alright, you lazy fucker, time to get up …” I get out of bed, fix my sheets and head off to pamper and nourish myself pre-outing. After having a nightmare like that, I’m craving pancakes, eggs, bacon and a nice cup of joe. Heh … Paradiso knows how hungry I get after scary visions; talk about “make room for the storm”. Heh, look---I made a funny!
As agreed, Roman and I are waiting at Jotunheim Temple, where we are to once again rendezvous with the AG crock. This place … I always get the eeriest feeling from the Jote---that’s what people call this place. I used to come here and play games with my friends, all of them since taken by the Cloud Drive Incident. We would play a game called “Wake the Statues,” which consisted of us monkey around the place, trying not to get caught by the temple monks that used to hang around these parts. Those old mugs were also claimed by the CD Incident, and some say---in the brink of night, you can feel their spirits haunting the place, keeping all trespassers off their land. Even now, anybody would get the chills hanging around the place for too long … Speaking of which, our rendezvous is late. “Elias.” Roman earns my attention with his casual worrisome tone. “It’s 20 minutes passed 12 PM. The crock isn’t showing up.”
I’m brought to a giggle by his impatience. “Well, you seem in a hurry today.”
“Can you blame me?”
“No, not really.” Suddenly, the sound of heels echoes from the shadowed west, where none other than AG approaches us in silence. Humph. Took this crock long enough. “You’re over half an hour late. What was the holdup about?”
A cooling air envelops the Jote, which is a commonplace occurrence around this time, especially around locations that have long-since been abandoned. “My apologies, gentlemen. Had a little ‘personal business’ to tend to beforehand.” The crock stands before us with cold yet all-knowing bearing. “Also, Mr. Crane, please excuse my former rudeness. I didn’t mean to disconnect our call so hurriedly, but it appears we’re being watched.”
“Watched? Someone else is in on this?”
“You should already know the answer to that question, Mr. Crane.” AG folds his or her arms, bearing what some might call “pride,” but I can tell---he or she is being serious. “Tell me. Has ‘she’ shown you the truth, yet?” I’m frozen where I stand! This crock … If he or she is talking about Jocasta, then yes---she showed me what happened last night. But I’m not about to let this crock know that. “You don’t have to say anything, Mr. Crane, nor you, Mr. Blade. My connections transcend dimensions, so I pretty much know everything. I just wanted to make sure you were up for telling the truth, but I guess I was wrong. Despite this act of miscommunication …” The crock presents a set of pendants manufactured using C-Technology, which sets my partner and I in a state of confusion. “I’m here to help. You’ll need these---Mods I had to fight tooth and limb to get for you, literally.”
Incredible! These are “C: Modifiers,” popularly known as “Mods”. They’re designed to provide an extra boost in the capabilities of both Wielders and Magia-Sapiens. Only the biggest cheese can get their hands on these bad boys, as they’re considered “top dollar”. Hmm … And that leads to some questions for our oh so generous crock of a client. “Thanks. But where did you get these?”
“Where else would a scumbag shop?”
“Let me guess … This is black market stuff?”
“Humph. You know it, and there’s a reason for that.”
Uh-huh. Now, things are getting interesting. “Reason, eh? Spill it.”
“The Neo-American military are a bunch of greedy schmucks.” A.G. brandishes a silver access key card with golden accents in his or her right hand, drawing our attention to the said item. “This here is a special little something. And it’s not what you think it is, gentlemen.” Not what we think, huh? I don’t know about Roman, but I’m starting to develop even more uncertain feelings about this crock. “This is a Cloud Card---a key to accessing a special weapons market in the subway. The dealer’s the best at what he does. People call him ‘the Gopher,’ but I know him as old ‘Quincey St. James’.”
Roman’s AI registers and performs an impromptu search on that name. In a few seconds, my partner reaches an accurate finding. “Quincey Wilmer St. James. Age: 56. Occupation: Retired; war veteran; served 30 years in the Neo-American Air Force.” Roman’s accuracy captivates us, as he continues his explanation. “My records indicate that the subject currently trades C-Technological weapons with foreign traders from a hidden market built around what many would consider ‘our old transportation system’. His operations are on the hush-hush, and everything’s working well for him.”
“Nice, Mr. Blade.” A.G. humorously credits Roman. “The Magia-Sapiens are quite the impressive breed. I expected nothing less from a man such as yourself.”
“Impressions are the least of my worries.” Roman observes the Mod gem he holds in his left hand, as his MS sensors begin detecting unusual activity from it. “These Mods … They’ve been tampered with.” I nearly have a panic attack hearing my partner’s report! A.G., however, remains cool and collected, almost as if he or she is unmoved by Roman’s statement. “A.G., you’ve been a big help to us in the past, but what on earth are you thinking?” For the first time, Roman exhibits a different side of himself: his stern, serious personality that manifests under such circumstances. “You summoned us to the Jote to give us illegal weaponry? What are you trying to do, *get us arrested*?”
I second the query. “Yeah, what he said.”
A.G. holds his or her hands up, behaving innocently. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, please, don’t take my offer the wrong way. That wasn’t my intention.” The crock folds his or her arms, displaying confidence in the face of men who’ve been endangered by his or her illegal endeavors. “The forces you’ll be dealing with are exceptionally powerful. Nhacti-based phenomena are known to be, dare we say … ‘persistent’. Jocasta’s former spiritual invocations did more harm than anything else.” A.G. steps forward and further explains his or herself. “What Mr. Blade’s AI detected a moment ago is ‘highly-concentrated C: Force Beta-Ecto waves,’ or ‘Bee waves’ as some would say. They’re made from the same stuff as the Cloudways, but have a negative influence to the said portals. Bee waves close and restrict Cloudways, which will be a nice addition to Lt. Lopez-Walden’s CDs. The Lieutenant was nice to give you those CDs, gentlemen, but their power alone won’t fell the Nhacti spirits.”
Roman gives me an uncertain grimace, which forces my sternness. “That’s pretty observant of you, A.G., but we can’t keep these things. APD will be all up our keesters in a heartbeat.”
“Humph, that won’t be a problem. Not with my men around to guard you.” A brush from a few local trees allows Roman and I to know … that we’re not alone. We can see them---a squad of heavily-armed, C-Tech-powered enforcers ready to blast the first bum in sight. “I call them the ‘Dogpound 7’. I’m pretty sure you know why, gentlemen---they’re ruthless attack dogs. Should the APD get involved with your impending affairs, we’re smoking them on sight.”
Roman and I are taken aback by A.G.’s statement. “What the …” I don’t know what business this crock has with the APD, but it sounds to me like it’s pretty serious. Yes, I know he or she is doing this for the greater good, but breaking and overriding the law? “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“So much more than serious, Mr. Crane. So much more than serious.” The crock turns and shows us his or her back. “Mr. Crane, Mr. Blade. Complete this case and I’ll double the payment.”
Roman’s eyes widen with shock. “D-Double the payment?”
“Yes, Mr. Blade---$$100,000 in cold, hard cash.” A.G. snaps his or her fingers, calling the Dogpound 7 off. “Until next time, gentlemen, I bid you a temporary adieu.”
Roman and I are at a loss of words … A.G. is really giving us a six-figure beatdown over here, and the only thing we can do is watch. Yes, an honest man would’ve turned the offer down, but when I think about Jocasta and Angel’s tragedy … No jokes, folks---I’m ready to put it all on the line. “Let’s get going, Roman. Angel and DeeDee are probably getting set right now. So, hanging around here won’t do us any good.” My partner nods, recognizing the realism of my statement. “But before we tackle this, I need a drink.” I smile at my partner. “What do you say to Asgard’s for lunch?”
Roman nods and smiles. “I could go for something to eat.”
“Me too, Roman.” We part from the Jote with anxious air. “Yeah … Me too.”
19874 Melbourne Dr.---the old Neville residence, which has long-since been deemed as an infamous “Carnage sanctum”. In others words, a haunted house … Just passing by the place, even at the height of daylight, sends a chill through the spines of all bypassers. Experienced C-Researchers and avid fanatics can sense Carnage phenomena from a mile away; capacity so colossal that the Cloudways’ freezing touch wards all those lacking protective nullifiers. Most of today’s youth tell stories under flashlight or campfire about the place, creating their own original mythoi and make-believes to add a little flair to the otherwise factual account.
However, today is a very special day---one that invokes the resting Nhacti spirits whom have imprisoned the house for years. “… Descendant … of … Alistair …” They beckon for this person, someone of great importance. Alistair was the patriarch that fostered the new world, a being revered as “the original savior”. His martyrdom saved the lives of millions, but not all---billions more were lost to the Cloud Drive’s Cloudways, and many of them became the Carnage everyone fights to ward and restrict at all costs. The Unrestricted Method, the martial art Roman and I employ amid our investigations, was created for that sole purpose. “… Descendant of Alistair … Where are you? … Save us … Save us, please …” The Nhacti spirits force their way beyond the residence’s walls, using any outlet in their dispense to access the outside world. Due to the incapabilities of some bypassers, a handful of innocents are frozen by their touch. The spirits implore Alistair’s descendant for help, but they’re making trouble along the way. They’re desperate … To be freed of their eternal bonds, they will wreak their suffering upon all who stand in their way. “… Descendant of Alistair …”
“What the *fuck* is your problem!?” Their travels are impeded by a beautiful lone stranger donning a white catsuit with lightning-themed modifications. White-trimmed shades, silver lips and raven hair with silver accents, a silky white shawl stylishly draping from her neck. The Nhacti spirits fiercely engage this beautiful stranger, forcing an aggressive physical confession of impeccable agility and dexterity! “You desire freedom, yet you’re causing trouble for others? Humph. My apologies for misunderstanding your logic!” The stranger snaps her fingers, and opens a Cloudway behind the spirits, which absorbs them into the beyond within seconds. Upon heeled white boots does the stranger safely land, awing all survivors in her midst. “Hey, stripplings, stop dawdling like a bunch of halfwits.” The sternness of her tone sets the bystanders aback, as the Cloudway closes, and she turns to face them. “These people have less than a day to live. Call an EMS, but don’t get too involved. You wouldn’t want to ruin your spotless permanent records.”
She disappears much faster than her advent, dissipating into a wandering Mist of Oblivion … This beautiful stranger, cold, composed and cool, bears obvious connections with the Afterworlds. To freely control the Cloudways, and manipulate the very fabric of life and death so easily … Whoever this dame is, she’s dangerous. Definitely, undeniably dangerous … My partner and I are destined to meet with her at some point, but that’s another story.
Eyewitnesses frantically phoned Accrue General Hospital and the APD, giving reports of “the white witch” that subdued several rogue Nhacti spirits. The victims of the spirits’ escape and immediate restriction were given medical attention. Experts claim they’ll be bedridden for several weeks, especially since we’re not dealing with a regular case of frostbite here. “The suspect known as ‘the White Witch’ fled the scene before authorities could arrive.” Humph. Figures those scumbags at Fimbulwinter 535 would cover the scenario. Fimbulwinter is the global news broadcaster of Midgard; each hierarchical colony has one or two in their region. 535 belongs to Neo-America, and appears on the television station of the aforesaid number. Currently speaking is new anchor Ivar Vidfamne, a young cat who’s pretty good at being a huge tooth. “Criminal invocation of Carnage, while acting as the liberator of several witnesses, has the APD on a colony-wide search for ‘the White Witch’. A description of ‘the White Witch’ is as follows …” A sketched picture of “the White Witch” appears cropped just above Vidfamne, which catches our attention. “She stands about 5’5, weighs between 120 to 130 pounds, has lightly discolored raven hair, and wears a white catsuit with personal accessories. Should any of you encounter this suspect, please dial 001-98-438. That’s 001-98-438.”
I lower my head, hold my sinuses and frustratedly sigh. “What a bumbling, smoldering sack of bologna!” Roman looks to me with his casual worried expression. Currently, we’re indulging in a little fine eating at Asgard’s---one of the best food joints in Accrue, for those who like old world cooking. My partner and I are seated at the bar, which serves the best Yggdrasil brewery in the new world. “I can’t believe they let snivelling bums like that report the news.” My annoyances are quite obvious; Fimbulwinter is notorious for allowing tooths like that onto the screen, and it seems like more and more come in by the year. Ironically, they don’t stay around for very long, and it’s because the CEO of Fimbulwinter is a sex-crazed hound with an affinity for young meat. “But you know, I can’t blame the kid---he’s a victim-waiting-to-happen if nothing else.”
Roman’s worried expression distorts with amusement. “Elias, I can tell you’re nervous.” Humph. Yeah, he’s right … My right forefinger hasn’t stopped tapping the bar’s countertop for the past thirty minutes. That’s my “habit;” when I’m nervous, my forefinger gets to tapping. The more nervous I am, the harder my finger taps. “Our situation *has* gotten a little … out-of-hand pre-conflict.” As much as I want to respond with something cool and composed, my lips are currently incapable of moving. Roman’s always been the more levelheaded one, so it’s best I just sit this one out. “But no need in worrying too much, Elias. We’ll have Adina and Angel there to help us, and A.G.’s party will be securing us at all times. The APD will be fools to get involved with our affairs, unless their intervention is necessary to completing this case.” Um, yikes! For a moment there, Roman sounded more like a villain than a protagonist, and that’s saying a lot. Still, it’s best that APD stays out of this … If dealing with Nhacti spirits calls for this much drama, regular guns and badges need to lay low on the Miranda rights. “Hey, you know what. I just noticed something about you.” Roman earns my undivided attention. “Your ears wiggle when you’re nervous. Almost like a canine’s.”
As much as I want to break his mush in, he’s actually right---my ears do wiggle when I’m nervous. Humph. I’ve been told that by many people, which is a disadvantage on my part. Then again, I don’t get nervous much, that is unless situations like this arise from out of nowhere. “Here’s that second round of Shieldmaiden, fellas.” Our bartender, a charming redhead named Sigmund, arrives with second helpings of our favorite Yggdrasil brew. Roman sensibly partakes of the drink, but I just chug the damn glass down, nearly flooring Sigmund. “Cripes, fella! You’re pretty wide-throated.”
I slam the glass down! Oh, don’t worry about breaking or cuts; these babies are made from the finest crystal in the new world---Aun, which never shatters or loses its luster. “We’re taking up a very serious case this time around, kid. The pending battle has me bugging big time.” Sigmund’s just as close to us as Cassandra, so dishing a little with him isn’t much of a bad thing. Regardless, the kid has a steel jaw, so he won’t be snitching none. “The Nhacti spirits you caught ear about on the tube---we’re dealing with a case involving them.” My report uneases Sigmund, which is a first for all of us. “Yeah, it’s *that* serious. And from the looks of things, our connections are giving us the old 1-2-3 with our latest ‘helping hand’. So, the situation’s pretty complicated.”
“So, what are you guys going to do?”
“What else? We’re going to tackle this case head-on, with a little help.”
Sigmund folds his arms with intrigue. “Our main client asked us to meet her at a specific location by 12 AM. This right here---it’s like a prepping session, for the lack of a better term.” Roman puts things in perspective for the kid, who obviously isn’t savvy when it comes to private investigation. Regardless, he’s very interested, which is always a fun thing for us. “Funny thing is … This is the first time I’ve seen Elias drink so much Yggdrasil brew. It’s rather … awkward.”
Roman has a mild explosion of laughter. “Yeah, yeah---yack it up, chrome dome.” My quick reaction bursts his bubble, making my partner’s head over-steam. Humph. Just hearing that childish whine is enough to put a giggle in anyone’s box. “Speaking of which, Siggy.” I earn the young bartender’s attention, as I begin interrogating him. “You’ve been getting close to Sandy. You putting the moves on her, kid? Do I have to arrange a game of break-the-giblets with my Magia-Gauge?” I love pulling this kid’s chain---his expressions tickle me senseless. Roman gives me a good whack on the head with his adjacent left hand. “Ouch! The fuck!?” My partner’s unchanging expression is deceptive, as he’s currently upset with me. I buck up to him in reaction to his violence. “Why did you hit me, you overgrown smoke factory!? You could’ve fractured my skull, goddamnit!”
Roman returns my aggression with equal nature. “Because you need to mind your business!”
“I’m a private eye, jackass, so my business is with the people!”
“Your business is in your pants, you chicken-legged nitwit!”
A heated, overlapping, and rather immature argument ensues … Poor Sigmund’s powerless expressions say a lot without saying it. Fortunately, help comes in the form of an intervening Adina, who was ironically enjoying a meal just several seats away from us---she grabs out ears, and silences us with the quickest and easiest of submissions. “Would you boys *please* stop acting like a set of two-year olds?” She releases our ears, and folds her arms, proving her disappointment. That look … When Adina gives someone that squinted glare, she’s pissed. “I could hear you two from the other side of the bar, but I didn’t know it was you until I lifted my head in annoyance. So, let’s get one thing straight here---we’re *all* equally nervous. This isn’t something that should be taken lightly.” Once again, Adina’s inner motherly nature comes forth. “This lunch is on me. You two need a cooldown session, stat. If not, some fresh air will do. Anything to get prepared for tonight.”
Roman and I are humbled by her womanly intervention. “Thanks, DeeDee. You’re a peach, all jokes aside.” Sigmund idles by, witnessing our awkward yet momentary submission to Adina’s dominant consolation. But despite the awkwardness, this is one of the times we’ll remember; a season before the dreadful one to come. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, good---that’s the fun part, being surprised. As I said before, some things I’m alluding toward are reserved for yet another story. For now, let’s compartmentalize here, and focus on this one. “I’ve been having these strange dreams lately …” My sudden statement captivates my company, which is good on my part because … what I’m about to say will set an unavoidable path for all of us. “They’re becoming increasingly violent by the night, and I’m starting to have trouble sleeping. Guess you could call those night terrors?”
“More or less, yep, they’re night terrors.” Adina’s strong yet subtle personality shines. “Don’t sweat it, kid. Everyone has those, even stubborn hard-asses like me.”
“Yeah, I know that, DeeDee. But …” I look into her eyes with serious air. “Did you wake up feeling as if you’re entire body was on fire? Did it hurt---tremendously---all over? … I know it did for me.” Adina’s face grimaces from her over-imaginative nature, as she’s one to put herself in the shoes of another to better understand their pain. She holds herself, realizing what that pain feels like, especially since she’s a war veteran. “Yeah, it’s like that for me. I don’t know what this means, but it’s had me thinking lately … Last night, I had a vision about Jocasta.”
Roman intrigues toward my statement. “You had a nightmare about Mrs. Neville?”
“Yes, Rome … She sacrificed herself to the Nhacti spirits over time, allowing the souls stored in her dolls to atone for their sins. However, I can tell---some of them didn’t belong there. Jocasta was entrapping them because she was sad, torn and desperate. To have a child she could call her own … The poor dame literally gave up everything, including life itself.” My statement brings everything into perspective once again, as I begin recounting the latest news report. “Fimbulwinter gave everyone the tooth on this ‘White Witch’ dame, alleging a confrontation with the Nhacti spirits. If what they said is true, then our pending conflict just got *that* much harder. Thus, we’ll have to double our efforts---spirits are just like us; they’ll become angry should their loved ones be harmed.”
Sigmund frustratedly shakes his head. “Damn it! I knew I had a bad feeling about that report.”
“Heads up, boys. Everything will work out, I’m sure of it.” Adina gives Roman and I a supportive hand on our adjacent shoulders. She’s attempting to encourage us, but words alone won’t alleviate the cold pain in my heart. “Get some rest before the conflict. I’m pretty sure Angel is doing the same.”
I nod, though my inner self is greatly conflicted. “Yeah … Right.”
In the depths of a secluded area located in the countryside neighboring Accrue City, there lies a graveyard for those long-lost---the Slidr Rivers cemetery, a gloomy little establishment neighboring the Church of Hvergelmir. Here is where Jocasta’s body is buried in a plot next to an Yggdrasil tree. The tree’s nectar sustains her timeless beauty, contained in a coffin crafted of the finest Aun in Neo-America. (… We’re going to make things right, Lee.) Angel stands above her late beloved’s grave site, a bouquet of finely selected lilies of the valley in her arms. (I promised on your deathbed to make you happy in any way that I could. However, I’ve done nothing but run away … But now …) The heartbroken dame kneels and places the lilies of the valley upon Jocasta’s coffin, a cool wind of death tickling at her tender heart. (I can’t find it in me to run away anymore. This … is where I repent … my love …)
A young priest of Hvergelmir approaches the grieving Angel, stands at her side, and observes the timeless beauty of Jocasta. Angel doesn’t mind his presence, as he seems very warm towards her. “My dear Sister Angel, I am very pleased to hear you’ve begun seeking closure. I can feel it---she’s smiling upon you right now.”
“… It took me long enough, Father Hildetand. I … needed help … but I couldn’t find it until just recently …”
“Ah, yes. The young brothers and sister you told me about, correct?”
Angel’s heart warms up with thoughts about Roman, Adina and myself. “Right. I … feel something about them …”
“God is on your side, Sister Angel. I really wish you would allow me to accompany your lot.”
“No, Father.” Angel stands from her grieving spot, her hands cupped in prayer formation. “The Nhacti spirits aren’t as strong as they were before, but their anger---it’s too much for a mere priest.” She wipes the tears from her eyes, smiles and blesses Father Hildetand with her radiance. “I must say … It feels good to know some people can maintain their faith, even after all of this. That shows how strong a heart you have, Father.”
The young priest blushes at the sound of such praise. “All glory to God, Sister Angel.”
“Won’t you come see me perform sometime?”
“I would, but … Folkvangr isn’t a place for those of my ilk.” Angel giggles, remembering how deeply-rooted Father Hildetand’s faith delves. “But you know, I wouldn’t mind hearing something from you. Something fresh on your mind.”
Angel is surprised. “Oh, something fresh, huh?”
“Yes, please.”
“Well …” The songstress closes her eyes, and remembers something about Jocasta. “Everytime I come here, Lee’s smile reminds me of her favorite song---it’s called ‘Hallelujah’. It’s more of a secular song, but it has deeply-rooted Christian meaning.” Father Hildetand is intrigued by Angel’s presentation. “I hope you enjoy it. It’s one of my favorite songs, too, so this should be a treat” She takes a deep breath. “… Well, here goes nothing …”
Once again, Angel blesses the earth with her heavenly voice:
~ I heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
You don't really care for music, do ya?
Well, it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift
The baffled King composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Well your faith was strong, but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya
Well she tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and cut your hair
And from your lips she drew Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Baby, I've been here before
I've seen this room, and I've walked the floor
Used to live alone before I knew ya
But I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Our love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya
It's not a crier that you hear at night
It's not someone who's seen the light
It's a cold and broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah … ~
Angel didn’t notice it, but as she sung, phenomena unfolded around her … Visions and depictions of a future yet unseen---images of which have baffled and shocked Father Hildetand. However, unlike many zealots of the old world, he has not cursed Angel nor has he shunned her for this display of latent power. “There … That’s our song.” She turns to the young priest, smiles, and immediately notices his awed expression. “Oh, was that a bit too much? If so, I apologize.”
“… God did not lead you wrong when you chose that name.”Angel blushes. “Father, please. Enough.”
“No, dear Sister, I’m serious.” Father Hildetand takes her hands, and conveys his experience. “Your voice … There’s something miraculous about your voice, Sister Angel. I believe that if you use your voice, you’ll be able to help Jocasta.”
“My …” Angel hopefully touches her throat. “My voice … can help her?”
Father Hildetand encourages her. “Tonight, let her hear your song. She’ll harken to it, of this I am very sure.” Angel succumbs to her insecurities, and hugs her dear friend. Father Hildetand returns her embrace. “It’s okay, dear Sister. God is on your side, and He will never leave you---and you will have me there in spirit.”
“Thanks, Father. Thank you so much.” They release each other with high hopes, especially the envigorated Angel. Father Hildetand’s smile and encouraging word have sustained her through the direst of straits, but what lies in the near future transcends the boundaries of faith. Still, a little faith never hurt in times like these. “Well, I need to get ready for tonight. Thanks again for keeping me company, Father. I know Lee appreciates your loyalty as much as I do.”
The young priest smiles upon her. “All glory to God, dear Sister. And be safe.”
“You as well, Father.” Angel parts with good expectations.
I’m not the most religious person, nor do I lean on old world ideologies; however, it’s not a bad thing to have a little faith in your life. Nice to know Angel’s one of those people, and has a good man around to keep her in line.
Remember that name very well---Father Harald Hildetand … In the future, he’ll be of great service during a most perilous time. This too is a part of another story, one that will once again revolutionize the world as we know it.
Time sure does pass by quickly when you’re preoccupied … Adina spent most of the day with us, discussing personal things, engaging in a little gossip, sharing the latest buzz, stuff like that. We even hit up Muspelheim Central Mall for a few, and ran across several people who mentioned the Nevilles. Apparently, Angel and Jocasta are pretty popular. Leave it up to me, being “the odd man out” when it comes to things like this. I’m not much of a gossiper, unless the situation calls for such things … Yeah, a private eye who hates gossip. Go figure.
The dame known as “the White Witch” is also part of the buzz … Humph. Looks like this tootsie made herself infamous in quite the short period of time. All hierarchical colonies are searching for her, and when you think about it … You can’t blame the government for going bat-shit crazy over the White Witch. Anyone who can freely access Cloudways is a threat to anybody, so she’s better off the street than on it. Even Roman engaged in a few theories about the dame, stating---and I quote---“She’ll be the death of us, if she’s let loose for too long”.
Anyway, enough contradictions---yeah, I caught myself there … By 11:56 PM, Roman, Adina and I are parked outside the old Neville residence---19874 Melbourne Dr. The rumors are true … You can feel Carnage protruding from the joint from miles away. Good thing Adina brought along a few nullifiers for the occasion. “It’s almost that time.” I remind everyone, observing my wristwatch. “Hmm … I wonder where Angel is. She should’ve been here by now.”
Adina snickers at me from the backseat. “Are we concerned?”
“I’m a detective, DeeDee. I’m concerned about everything and everyone.”
“Touché, lover boy.”
I shoot her a glare through the rear-view mirror. “Stop pulling my chain, will ya?”
Suddenly, a set of headlights turns the corner of Melbourne and Dillard Lane, and park on the opposite side of the street in front of the Neville residence. It’s a model G-976 Urðarbrunnr cruiser---the latest in model hover mobiles. I’m nobody to get jealous or envious, but whoever’s behind the wheel is rolling in dough. “I wonder who that could be?” Roman’s top-quality MS sensory picks up tracings of familiar life signals. “Oh, that’s …” Yep, you guessed it---Angel’s right on time, and not a minute late. “We better get going, guys. That’s Mrs. Love out there.”
“… Right. Let’s go.” We abort my model F-275 Gungnir cruiser, secure the old boy, and rendezvous with Angel. Adina exchanges a little hug with the dame, while Roman and I standby. The hug endures for a couple of seconds, which neither one of us mind---especially after all they’ve been through. Nobody should have to witness, experience or endure the pain these women had to … It affected them on more than one level. Yeah, yeah, I’m pretty sure some lamebrain tommy finger will have something to say about this, or a few perverted thoughts in their head, but for the sake of honor and respect---keep your sack under wraps, okay? “This is it, everyone.” My preparatory tone earns my company’s attention, for what could prove a most dangerous situation. “Jocasta’s counting on us. Are you ready?” I receive an affirming nod from everyone; Angel, however, seems nervous. “And no worries, folks. We’re in this together.”
I can tell she’s scared, but she said it herself earlier---no more running away. We’re doing this to release Jocasta’s spirit for good, and secure a better life for the souls trapped inside the porcelain dolls. Speaking of Jocasta’s “babies,” I did a little research on the Nhacti restoration ritual via the Aun-screen services on my cell … In my vision, the “babies” were constructed from Roman candles, becoming wax dolls in the process. What I didn’t understand was how they became porcelain dolls over time. I received an answer from the Aun-screen search engine: the Nhacti spirits immortalize the dolls using otherworldly C: Force, which causes an abnormal alchemic reaction---the wax turns into porcelain.
I know the ancient alchemists of the old world would kill to see something like that---an impossible conclusion between two incompatible materials … Anyway, after climbing the staircase and reaching the front door, Angel fetches the old house key from her purse, and inserts it into the keyhole. But then … “Descendant … of … Alistair …” It’s the Nhacti spirits---they’re imploring once again, and this time … they’re much louder than before. “Descendant of Alistair … Where are you? Why won’t you answer us?” Angel takes a step away from the door, shivering apprehensively. Adina is damn near frozen solid with anxiety, having never encountered such phenomena in the past. Even I can admit I’m getting the jitters just hearing this---the anger these guys are showing … I’ve never seen its equal. Roman’s the only one who isn’t fazed by the Nhacti spirits, then again, he’s a Magia-Sapiens---a man-machine. “Answer us … Answer us, right now!”
Roman takes the initiative, steps forward, and turns the house key. “We can’t stop here, not after coming this far.” As my fearless partner opens the front door, we’re introduced to your typical inner-city home---nice little place, but you can tell it’s haunted. The deeper we go, the colder it gets, and the harder it is to breathe. Then again, it’s only me … I hate tight spaces, and this house has a lot of them. “Try to compartmentalize, Elias.” Roman refocuses me with his sternness, after detecting my uneasiness via his MS sensory. “The worst part is yet to come. I can feel it … They spirits---they’re really, *really* angry … And here I thought Vespertilia was one ‘*mad* mama’. Huh, I stand corrected.”
Adina becomes inquisitive. “I wonder what they’d want with this ‘descendant’ person.”
As we enter a long hallway on the western side of the house, Angel shares a bit of explanatory information with everyone. “It’s post-apocalyptic stuff---things they don’t teach you in the military. Alistair was ‘the savior’ that saw the creation of Midgard after the CD Incident. Legend says his martyrdom saved us all---in other words, he gave his life to ensure we could keep ours. But it didn’t work all the way … As we all know, ⅓ of the world’s populace remains; the other ⅔, well, they’re either near death or already dead, all thanks to that goddamned cauldron.” I could never forget that name---Alistair … He’s the reason behind our agency’s name, especially since Morrigan had a fascination with the aforesaid legend. Just hearing Angel’s explanation reminds me of my dearly departed, which miraculously revitalizes me in total silence. “The staircase to the attic isn’t too far from here.” The Nhacti spirits implore the descendant once again, sending a chill down Angel’s spine that freezes her in place, and halts us in the process. “Ignore them. Let’s keep going.”
A minute later, the door to the staircase leading to the attic is opened by Angel, whose bravery has sustained her for most of our traverse. The same can be said for Adina, but she’s not the type to remain scared for long---she’ll eventually toughen up, which she already has. “Daddy? Is that you?” What the … What was that!? “Daddy, you’ve been gone a long time … Is Mommy there with you?” It can’t be … Are those Jocasta’s babies talking to us?
Roman queries Angel. “That’s them, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s our babies. And they still see me as ‘Daddy’ … Guess I can let that one pass.” Angel ascends the staircase, and we follow in her wake---Adina first, then Roman, and I follow last … Carnage is heavy in these parts. The higher we go, the higher the Carnage pulsation---you could cut the stuff with a knife, all jokes aside. “The Nhacti spirits created this Carnage because Jocasta isn’t around to perform a purification ritual.” Angel’s telling the truth---this additional ritual is needed for the aforementioned reason. The Nhacti spirits retaliated by disbursing Carnage en masse around the Neville residence, making the joint theirs in the process … When we reach the staircase summit, we’re introduced to a wonderland of porcelain dolls---hundreds of them, from every hierarchical colony in the new world. The dolls rejoice Daddy, Daddy, at the sight of Angel. Though they’re not moving, their elated smiles are enough to light a thousand dark valleys. “Sorry for being gone so long, everyone. How have you been?”
A doll in the likeness of a geisha responds. “These stupid spirits won’t leave us alone!”
“Yeah, they’ve been really mean!” A cowboy doll seconds. “Daddy, make them go away, please?”
Angel cups her hands against her chest, feeling their pain and suffering. We can only watch, as she addresses them with tender love and care. “I’m so sorry, everyone---I can’t disburse these spirits. But I brought friends who can.” The dolls rejoice at Angel’s good report, which lightens us with joy. These dolls … They’re full of so much life, but when you think about it---it’s actually really sad. They’ve waited on Jocasta for a very long time, but she’s … It wouldn’t be a good idea, telling these dolls about their mother’s death. “Everyone, these are our friends.” Angel introduces us one by one, taking great pride in doing so. “My old friend, Adina---she fought at my side in the war. And my new friends, Elias and Roman---they’re detectives who’ve inherited a great legacy from a legendary private eye.”
Overlapped salutations abound---these little crafted munchkins are definitely happy to meet us. “They’re a lot livelier than I remember.” Adina shares her reminiscent sentiments. “Yeah, much livelier. Guess this really is our first time meeting.” Suddenly, the wailings of the Nhacti spirits frightens the dolls, and alerts us. Adina unholsters a yo-yo from her belt, holds it in her right hand, and braces herself for any sudden developments. “Shit! These guys, again.”
I look to my partner with determined eyes. “Roman, it’s time!”
“Okay! Change, Brave Mode!” In a mild technological burst of light and steam, Roman shifts into his rod form, which I take into my right hand. The Mithras-02 upgrade is apparent, as it’s currently locked into his gem groove. An added component---A.G.’s special little technological favor---adds a nice sheen to Roman’s shaft. I insert Leo-01 into my Driver Glove’s gem groove with my free left hand, and the Mod around my neck amplifies its power. “All is good to go!” My partner’s right---it’s definitely go-time, hands down. Angel nervously observes her surroundings, as Roman’s MS sensory begins scanning the area for power readings. “Hmm …” His system reaches a precise analysis. “I’m detecting B-class Carnage signals. These so-called ‘Nhacti spirits’ are tough, but they’re not the toughest. We can take them.”
“Descendant … of … Alistair …” The spirits implore once again. “Save us … Save us, please, before it’s too late!”
“Th-They’re going to get us again!” A doll in the likeness of an emperor fears. “Don’t let them get us, please!”
Ironically, the sound of sirens howls from beyond the attic walls, meaning … Yeah, you guessed it---some bum phoned the APD under our nose, and secured the misfortunate fatalities of a few good badges. In no time flat, several C: Force-empowered rounds are fired from nearby locations, clipping off more men than the APD can afford to lose! All of them, shot down, just like that … Yeah, I know. People need to learn how to mind their fucking business, and stop starting something they’re not ready to finish … I sure hope the local precinct has enough funds to cover the funeral arrangements, or else they’re going to have a handful of angry families up their keesters.
The developments keep coming---the sound of cracking comes from several locations in the attic, followed by pained wails from the children! I observe my surroundings, and notice a most disturbing sight. “What the …” Jocasta’s babies are being chipped away at by the Nhacti spirits, and I can’t see the damn things! “Fuck, they’re getting smashed major! Roman!” My partner inaudibly responds by invoking Mithras-02, which cascades a funnel of C: Force flames that both exposes and amasses the Nhacti spirits---hideous creatures in the likeness of humanoid mountains! Adina seizes the chance by unleashing her yo-yo, which rides the air by a string infused with C: Force---one that coils and restrains the Nhacti spirits in a single go! “Thanks, DeeDee. Now, for the finishing touch!” Upon invoking Leo-01, my entire body is ignited with C: Force flames that give me an incredible boost in my overall strengths. “And … Bada bing!” With one quick bash, Roman’s Brave rod bisects the Nhacti spirits, but doesn’t completely disburse them … I recover, realizing these things are made of some pretty sturdy spiritual power. “Shit! No good … They’re resistant to our attacks.”
“Descendant of Alistair!” The spirits’ imploring takes an unexpected turn. “Come with us … before it’s too late …”
In the blink of an eye, a random Cloudway is opened above us that immediately transcends everyone---Angel, Adina, Roman, the babies, and myself---to whereabouts unknown! Nothing worked. Absolutely nothing worked, and we went in heavily-prepared for this … No … No, this can’t be it … I close my eyes, fearful of what the conclusion will be---what we’ll find at the end of the road! Morrigan … How do I get myself out of this one?
Legend says the Cloudways put people into a deep sleep. Well, I learned the truth firsthand---the hard way---by falling asleep like a babe snug in its cradle … Oddly enough, I’m comfortable here. This has to be the coziest little sensation I’ve ever had. Humph … Kind of makes me wonder how something so nice could nearly destroy an entire planet. Then again, things that are deemed “evil” aren’t always just that. There’s something beyond the terms “good” and “evil” that people fail to understand, are afraid to comprehend, or refuse to address … And that something is called “balance”. A memorable little lesson Morrigan taught me when I was a kid.
It goes like this: “Good and Evil---divisible polarities connected by order and outlined by variability, whose limits depend upon the invoker. The world itself is a cesspool for good and evil, but cannot contain their excess. The overindulgence of one ruins the order which holds the polarities together. Both must exist to maintain this connection. Without one, the other cannot exist … This is a fatal violation of the natural order, which can only result in the eventual destruction of the invoker---man, woman, child, beast, or the world itself. All are subject to eradication.”
Now that I think about it, this lesson applies to all things. All people. All animals. All walks of life … Most lamebrains never even take the time to contemplate, let alone discuss the topic of good and evil. They just take the road that best suits them, never anticipating the results of overindulgence. Now, pay close attention folks … The wonders of which we’re about to experience will put everything in perspective, in more ways than one.
The sound of flickering flames … The smell of Roman candles … The feeling of a hard surface pressed against my back … These are the first sensations I experience, in a world far beyond the reaches of Midgard.
My eyes open to a blurred spectrum from being rattled around by Carnage; something that should be expected, give or take. But eventually, my vision clears, and I’m able to perceive a ceiling of stalactites. Outlining these earthly protrusions is the warm flicker of candlelight that seems to surround me at every corner.
I sit up to notice … the ritual room from my nightmare!
In vivid color, more real than before, here I am---a place where Jocasta gave her all for the sake of her “babies”. It’s … pretty ironic that I would open my eyes here of all places. Nonetheless, I turn to notice a most alarming sight: my partner is laid unconscious at my side, Adina is recovering on the summit of a small staircase, and Angel is laid in the heart of Jocasta’s dancing mat! “Man! I’m … surprised we made it out of that in one piece.” Adina shows signs of competence after being exposed to an overwhelming amount of Carnage. Humph … That’s an accomplishment for anyone, but I expect nothing less from a retired soldier. “Hey, you guys okay?”
“Yeah, but …” I look down at Roman, and then over to Angel with concern. “Looks like these two are out cold.”
“Give them a moment. Carnage is sentient---it picks and chooses its victims.” Suddenly, Adina notices something that stands out from the entire ritual room. “Huh? These are …” Childish laughter … I observe my surroundings a little more, to notice we’re enclosed by an expansive circle of wax dolls. “Don’t tell me they’re …”
The dolls giggle at us, and begin singing Jocasta’s song with doting chorus, proving their intelligence. Their harmony gives birth to a spontaneous Cloudway, where an enchantress emerges donning dark linens and leathers, metal chain links, spikes, and a cape made of solidified Carnage. Her hair obscures most of her face, making it hard to profile her.
The enchantress halts before Angel’s fallen body, kneels and cradles her, as if the dame knows our friend. “I knew you would come here. All of you.” She observes Adina and me through the shadows of her hair, inciting a wave of uneasiness in the both of us. “He looks different. Do you two perhaps know why that is?” We’re speechless at the moment, incapable of answering the lady, let alone giving her a concrete description. Something like that would take a while. “Humph. Figures … Humans are rather pitiful creatures with closed and miniscule minds. Such silence is to be expected.”
“Are you … Jocasta?” My query earns the dame’s attention. “Jocasta Leanne Neville, the Nhacti priestess.”
Angel’s body is laid back down upon the mat by the enchantress, who rises from where she kneels to approach us with haunting stride. “… The body you see before you belongs to this ‘Jocasta’ you speak of.”
“Huh? What are you … saying?”
The enchantress snickers arrogantly. “Not listening, human? … Fine. I shall test another of your ‘mortal senses’.”
Carnage environs her, creating illusions in her likeness---dark, beautiful, and alluring. Adina is taken aback by these developments, which trigger a flood of random memories. “Th-This is …” Even I recognize the manner of C: Force this dame is invoking … Luminaria, the star of loathing. An otherworldly dark magic that invokes one’s innermost hostilities and discontentments, and turns them into immeasurable power. “I can’t believe it! Jocasta … what has …”
“Silly human woman. Your beloved Jocasta … is dead.” The enchantress’ reply stuns us, as my partner recovers from incapacitation. “I … am what was left behind. A mere vestige of the one called ‘Jocasta’.”
Angel recovers from unconsciousness, earning the enchantress’ attention. “Left behind? Vestige?” Roman’s curiosity captivates and humors her, before he activates his MS sensory. “I wonder …” Unfortunately, his auxiliary talent fails for the first time, placing my partner in a state of uncertainty. “Huh? What the … I can’t get a reading at all!”
“Humph. Were you expecting results, artificial one?” Roman is taken aback by the enchantress’ harshness. “I am Hati Hróðvitnisson. And this is my lair … Welcome to you all!” Such a foreboding sight---the enchantress Hati Hróðvitnisson is a sight to behold for any soul, frightened or the otherwise … And, as expected, here comes the climax: the Hati clones toss their cloaks into the air, detonating an explosion of Carnage that completely consumes the area! With the savageness of a wild beast, the Hati clones engage Adina and I, with Roman in my hand, demonstrating lethal grace, speed, power and beauty---athletic and acrobatic dance patterns that make for some pretty refined melee techniques. We’re forced into a tight evasive battle with the dame, whose agility far surpases our own. “What seems to be the problem, humans?” Hati Hróðvitnisson taunts us most cruelly, realizing she has us right where she wants us. “Can you not defend yourselves? My, how disappointing … I expected *so much more* for a war hero and the man who spirited Vesperitlia back to whence she came!”
D-Did this tootsie really just taunt us!?
No … We can’t attack her, especially not at full power … Jocasta … This being is Jocasta, and it would kill Angel to see her die a second time. (… Lee … What happened to you? Why … Why are you doing this!?) She’s smashing us … This dame is smashing us, big time, no cutting corners or name-taking whatsoever! Adina’s a vet, but she’s not a superwoman, and I’m not a caped wonder myself … Angel’s losing it … “Stop it … Stop it … STOP IT, LEE!”
Unfortunately, no matter how much Angel cries her pet name, Jocasta isn’t answering … Hati Hróðvitnisson reigns supreme in the poor dame---mind, body, soul and spirit. My partner’s patience wears thin, forcing him to take things into his own hands. “I can’t take this! Change, Sentinel Mode!” Roman shifts into his circular shield form, which allows me to defend myself, and that’s very much so needed right now. However, the Hati clones are ruthless---these things are attacking from everywhere like a swarm of angry hornets! “They’re too many of them! Guys, you *have* to fight back!”
Pride and chivalry clouds my vision. “No … No, we can’t!”
Adina stands her ground against the Hati clones using a combination of martial arts and combat yo-yo techniques refined over time. Yeah, I know what you guys are probably thinking: “What’s this woman fighting with a yo-yo for?” Well … That’s no ordinary toy she’s wielding. That, my friends, is a mid to long-range melee weapon constructed from the most complicated C-Technology known to the modern man. It’s a C: Weapon shaped like the lovable old world toy, equipped with enough expansion and nullification power to fell legions of Carnage. This nifty little bad boy is the model “C-5762: Gleipnir,” and it’s one of Adina’s specialties. “Open up, my Gleipnir!” Just like an old pro, Adina manages to restrain several of the Hati clones using Gleipnir’s expansive wiring, which takes a lot of concentration to execute. She recovers several inches away from the clones and snags her wiring, which bisects the clones and causes them to spontaneously combust into fleeting Carnage! In the heat of battle, the war vet makes time to mentor us. “Stay focused, boys! As much as we all love and care about Jocasta, we won’t get anywhere playing nice with her!”
Gleipnir retracts its wiring and balls back into its compacted state, as another spawn of Hati clones engages us most aggressively. Unfortunately, this spawn is twice as hard as the last---their every movement exhausts waves of Cloud energy, which render our normal attacks useless! Damn it … This is like getting a beatdown from a hell-sent Swan Princess … Huh, then again---no point in venting about how embarrassing this is, even in our current condition.
Hati Hróðvitnisson humorously mocks her victims, standing tall and authoritatively above us. “What do you hope to accomplish here---saving your friend whose soul no longer exists? Fools! You will only see death!” I want to fight---I need to fight, but … But! No … I can’t … find it in me to attack her … It’d shatter Angel’s heart to pieces! I know Adina’s putting up a good front, and won’t give up, but I just … can’t … do it! “You simple-minded human woman! You honestly believe you can defeat me with that silly little toy!?” Ironically, the war vet holds her own against the Hati clones, proving the strength of Gleipnir, whose unbreakable wiring cuts sharper than any sword in history! “Y-You drew my blood!? You … Y-O-U!!!”
The Hati clones fuse with their original body, as Carnage envelopes the enraged enchantress, and bursts from her frame as a concussion Cloud wave! “Oh crap, DeeDee!” I rise from the floor, leap into the assist, and use Roman’s impenetrable shield to fend against Hati Hróðvitnisson’s Carnage exhaustion! It’s enough to stop the wave, but with an added boost from the combined Leo-01, Mithras-02, and A.G.’s Mods … “Jocasta! Open your eyes, please!” A circular explosion of C: Force flames emerges from my partner, and repels the enchantress’ Carnage with ease! Adina recovers behind us, as the power of the bonds we’ve made shines true … Hati Hróðvitnisson is beyond confused, beyond pissed, so much that she’s at a loss of words. “Hey, tootsie … I know you’re still in there. I’m not buying you being dead---you can give me the highest offer you got, tootsie, and I ain’t buying a damn thing!”
Hati Hróðvitnisson snaps at me. “Why you … The fuck are you talking about!?”
“You’re still in there … If you were really dead, you wouldn’t have recognized Angel. Hell, you wouldn’t have recognized or known Angel is a *surgically transformed Gordon*.” Roman’s C: Force emission ceases, and reveals a river of tears pouring from my eyes. Hati Hróðvitnisson is confused by my sudden mood change … But she doesn’t have to be---because this is real. This is me … hurting … because I retaliated against someone I so desperately want to help, even if I die in the process. “Jocasta, you ain’t dead. You’re standing right in front of us … So stop playing games, alright!?”
Angel takes a step forward, reaches out, and calls to her beloved. “Lee … Please, look at me, please?” Hati Hróðvitnisson obeys Angel, rewarding her with the coldest black eyes imaginable. No life lies within them … It’s heartbreaking, seeing the loss of life in a creature who once had so much of it to give. “I met with Father Hildetand today. He said that if I sung our favorite song, you’d hear me---that you would be freed from spiritual bondage.”Without warning, the enchantress ruthlessly engages Angel, but her murderous meditations are thwarted by none other than yours truly, offering the assist for my new friends. Roman’s sturdy shield provides protection against the struggling Hati Hróðvitnisson, whose furious fists know not the meaning of peace. “My dreams showed me the truth---that I would gain the assistance of friends who would help me free your soul.” Angel’s heartfelt words fail to register with the enchantress, who is immediately restrained by Adina’s Gleipnir from a long-ranged distance! The weapon’s wiring constricts Hati Hróðvitnisson well enough to momentarily subdue the heated tootsie. “See? Even our dear friend Adina came to help, and we’ve known her for a very long time.” Angel approaches the enchantress, which takes her for a whirl of confusion. “ I … I know why you tried attacking me. It’s because I ran away when you needed me the most, right?”
Hati Hróðvitnisson snaps once again---this time, at all of us. “Curse you all to Inferno! Let me go! Free me of this wretched coiling at once!” The most daring thing happens: Angel embraces Hati Hróðvitnisson, which momentarily silences the tootsie. “… You vile creature … What are you doing? Why … are you holding me?”
“Why else, Lee? I miss you … Don’t you miss me, too?”
“I … do not know you …”
“I understand. It’s been a long time, so I can’t blame you. But …” Angel backs away, holding Hati Hróðvitnisson’s shoulders with loving arms. “If it’s not too much, would you like to hear me sing?” Gleipnir’s sentience takes its toll, as the C: Weapon uncoils itself from Hati Hróðvitnisson, freeing her of its temporary constraint. Even my partner shifts into his human form, no doubt feeling the same way as Adina’s weapon of choice. “Please, give me your hands.” Angel steps back and extends her hands to Hati Hróðvitnisson, who gazes upon them aversively. “We always held hands when we sung this song together. It was … ‘our thing’. Remember? That’s what we used to call it.”
Beyond the Carnage, the harmonization of Jocasta’s babies is heard, a melody so enchanting and befitting. “… Our … thing?” Hati Hróðvitnisson hesitantly takes Angel’s hands. “I … don’t understand … Is this something special?”
“That’s something I’ll leave up to you. Okay?”
Suddenly, as Angel begins singing their favorite signature, Adina and I are introduced to the wonders Father Hildetand experienced hours ago … Before our very eyes, images of an uncertain future amass, revealing to us a depiction of endless conflicts, tragedies, miracles, phenomena, losses, despairs, gains, and glories. Hallelujah … Like I said before, I’m no religious man, and neither is my partner or Adina, but this is amazing!
Even the enchantress is mesmerized by Angel’s spiritual forecast of the future, which soon transforms into images of the past … Beautiful memories of the times they shared, both good and bad, and the impact they had on their marriage. Yes, folks … Through it all, they were happy. Jocasta loved Gordon, and Gordon---now Angel---loved Jocasta. Despite their parental woes and the pain they brought, love was there … It’s not dead. Even now, it’s still alive.
These precious memories draw tears from Hati Hróðvitnisson’s obscure eyes. “… Gordon …”
“Lee, look at me. Please.” The enchantress gazes into Angel’s eyes, seeing an ocean of love pouring just for her. “I know I look so much different, but it’s me---Gordon Thomas Neville, your husband. I … made a change, as you can see.”
“… Why?”
“What else? I was running away … I was always good for that, huh?”
“… No, you never ran away from me.” We can see it---Angel’s love is taking its toll on the star of loathing … The Carnage that once had such a strong hold on Jocasta is now dissipating, bit by fleeting bit. “I was the one running away, living in a fantasyland of scented wax dreams and candlelit flames. I was such a fool back then, believing the Nhacti spirits would somehow give us a child, but no matter how much I consulted them, they didn’t answer me. So … I turned to the dance that made my people famous---the one I showed your friend in his dreams.” The now revived Jocasta looks to us with warm, caring eyes and a smile that melts its way into our hearts. “Thank you, everyone, for coming here. Without you, this wouldn’t have been possible.”
Adina emotionally steps forward. “Hey there, soldier … Remember me?”
“How could I ever forget a loving heart like yours, Lieutenant?” Adina rushes into Jocasta’s arms … She can’t help it, seeing one of her dearest friends’ spirit before her, harboring human emotions by the dozen. Willpower momentarily rewards them both with sisterly embrace. “Oh, there, there---dry your eyes, Lieutenant. It’s okay, I’m going where I belong.”
“… Why did they have to take you from us? Why!?”
“I did it for ‘them’. They needed me … just as much as I needed them.”
“But you had so many options …”
Jocasta reflects on Adina’s words. “Options? … Humph. How I wish that were true.” She’s absolutely right … Roman and I know the whole story. But I think it’s best to let the dame tell you herself. “The term ‘option’ wasn’t in the clouds for us. The city denied us in every way imaginable. Financially, socially, spiritually, you name it. And since the CD incident, orphanages and other places of the sort went out of business. These days, you buy children in the form of Magia-Sapiens, and the price ranges---Gordon and I just couldn’t afford them.” Jocasta aversively closes her eyes at the thought of her desperation. “So, I turned to the Nhacti spirits once again, and performed the ritual dance. In the course of several years, I had danced my way through hundreds of wandering souls---the ones you hear singing right now. Alas, it’s time that I set them free … And myself, as well.”
The atmosphere clears, and we’re reintroduced to Jocasta’s babies, all of whom engage in resounding chorus. Adina releases Jocasta at her silent behest, realizing what her gestures demand. “So, you’re finally moving forward?” My curiosity earns the surrendering dame’s attention, and introduces her to my exposed sentiments. “A ghost giving up the ghost … Humph. Never thought I’d see something like that. But it’s nice to know you’re getting closure, Jocasta.”
“Thank you, Detective. And I appreciate all your agency has done for us.” The Nhacti priestess cups her hands, looks to the sky, and invokes the symbol on her dance mat, which emits a golden glow. “Please, Lieutenant, detectives of the Alistair agency … In my absence, watch over my beloved.” The graceful dame dances, amassing the souls inhabiting the wax dolls into a cluster above us, which emits the same glow as the Nhacti symbol. The sound of children’s laughter echoes from the spiritual cluster, as Jocasta breaks and disburses them to where they truly belong---Paradiso. “Be free, my children. Be free!”
It’s beautiful … An ascending, quiet storm of souls, bound for great destinations. I can honestly say this is one of the most magical experiences I’ve ever had. I look forward to Jocasta, realizing she can’t stay here for much longer. This cave isn’t her final resting place; thus, she has to go. “Lee …” Angel steps forward and embraces her beloved, knowing this is her final chance to do so. Unfortunately, her touch is ethereal, as Jocasta finally surrenders everything. The fading dame places her hands on Angel’s arms, and lowers her head with a smile. “Looks like this is goodbye. For good this time.”
“… It’s not proper to say ‘goodbye’ when you’re destined to meet again. ‘See you later’ is more suitable.”
Jocasta’s body ascends along with her babies’ prismatic souls, and Angel’s hold is no more. The airborne sea of celestial light cascades everything, returning all to its original form---the upstairs attic in the old Neville residence. “See you later, Lee. You have my love and best wishes, always … always …” Angel falls to her knees in tears, covers her eyes, and takes a moment for herself, as the final touch is made to our surroundings. It’s over … just like that … Jocasta really put all of us to the test, in order to see both her babies and herself freed from spiritual bondage. Speaking of her babies, they’re gone as well---the hundreds of smiling faces are no more. “Thank you, everyone.” Adina approaches Angel and comforts her in these tender moments, both relieved of many emotional burdens. “Lee is at peace … finally, after so many years … and I … don’t know how to thank all of you enough … I really don’t …”
Without warning, we get a surprise in the emergence of the crock A.G., who observed our transcendance from the shadows like a total scumbag. “You could start by always being there for each other.” We look to the northeast, where the crock stands tall and foreboding, bearing a sense of arrogance beyond his or her kind words. “This is a lesson for all of you; for, in the days to come, things are going to get much, much harder.”
Adina curiously queries the crock. “You mean … what we saw during Angel’s song?”
“Precisely, Lieutenant. The images you saw are the key events of Ragnarok---the precursors, the duration, and the aftermath. These are fates of which none of you can escape, myself included.”
“Ragnarok?”
“The end of the world?” Roman fearfully intrigues. “You mean … Midgard will be destroyed!?”
A.G. folds his or her arms, and giggles amusedly. “I only know what I know. Predicting the future is way out of my league. But I *can* tell you that’s Ragnarok---the ‘White Witch’ made that awfully clear to me.”
“You mean that woman on the news reports?”
I step forward and extend my curiosities. “What did she say, exactly?”
A.G.extends his or her right hand, and holds up four fingers. “Four months. That’s all the time you have.” What … Four months until … Ragnarok, the end of the world, will come in fourth months!? That’s not enough time to prepare for something like that! “The descendant of Alistair is the only one who can save us all.” Huh? This person again? This … descendant of Alistair bid is starting to get old, all jokes aside. “We need to find him or her, acquire the power of Óðinn---the holy cauldron, and slay the great demon beast of legend---Fenrir. Once the demon beast who would consume the world is no more, the second apocalypse will be prevented.”
“Huh, all that in four months? Doesn’t sound doable to me.” Suddenly, police sirens sound once again, meaning we’re all in a tight spot. “Damn it! Those guys just don’t know when to quit, do they?”
“Don’t worry about the APD. They won’t be able to come here.” A.G. eases our worries with yet another miracle from up his or her sleeve. “While you were handling your business in the Afterworlds, my boys constructed a heavily-reinforced barrier of the finest C: Force money can buy. The baby covers the entire block, and only a fool wouldn’t think twice about coming here. Now, then …” The crock extends his or her hand to Roman and myself, and seriously addresses us. “For safety measures, I’ll need those Mods back. If you keep those on you, government intelligence will be knocking on your doors in the next twenty-four hours.”
My partner and I comply without a fuss, never wanting the things in the first place. Although they came in handy, we don’t particularly care for playing dirty. “Thanks, A.G., but no more illegal stuff. Capisce?”
“That won’t be a problem, Mr. Crane.” The crock stores the Mods in his or her coat, turns and makes a bold yet encouraging statement. “Next time, don’t be so arrogant. The enemies to come aren’t as nice as Jocasta. Remember that.” Without another word, the crock departs from the attic via the staircase leading to the bottom floor. As quickly as A.G. came into our lives, he or she leaves with that very same haste. And you know, I can honestly say that, this time around---I really don’t have much to say about the crock, other than I still don’t completely trust him or her.
Within the hour, we managed to escape the APD with the assistance of A.G. and the Dawgpound 7. No traces of activity were left behind, courtesy of Jocasta and the babies from the Afterworlds. For now, we all get to return to our normal lives, making big on our grind for the sake of a decent living. But despite that, we manage to keep in touch like always---and our new friend, Angel, has become a member of our inner circle.
Through Adina, we become much closer to Angel, who invites us to dinner the following night. Roman can’t really consume human food, unless he chemically breaks it down and changes it into processed energy for his system. So the course was modified to be convenient for everyone … I must say, Angel sure knows how to be a great hostess. Even her pad is laid out nicely, sporting some of the latest trends in modern technology and interior designing. Sure beats the office, as much as I love the place, and makes me consider a little redecorating tips she gives me on the hush-hush.
Unfortunately, after pleasure comes more grinding, and that’s where A.G. never fails … Upon arriving back to the office, I check my mail to see a wad of $$100, 000 bills, which will definitely be split with my partner come the following morning. And like always, there’s a note attached to the thing---another case involving the disappearance of some big cheese from Garner City named “Bödvar Bjarki” … I heard about the mug hours ago from the Fimbulwinter 535 reports. He’s been missing for weeks, along with several other people from the same city.
Following what A.G. says in his or her letter, the disappearances are due to the unlawful usage of an item called the “Mjölnir,” an artifact from the sacred “Temple of Þórr”---resting place of the mythically acclaimed “god of thunder”. New world mythoi allege that Þórr was one of the gods who assisted Alistair during the CD incident, by bestowing upon the said martyr that very same artifact---a hammer that can split the heavens apart. The power of that hammer, along with the wills of the other gods, saw the beginnings of Midgard. Although the Niflheim Administration takes full credit for what happened on that fateful day. This is the truth---what really happened when all hope was lost.
You know, the more I think about it, the harder it becomes to compartmentalize everything. You learn everything from the Aun-screen services, even stuff you never thought possible. Then again, most of what I just said was derived from a few stories fans of the mythoi created in their spare time---not important or consequential.
However, that’s only how I feel right now … Judging from what we saw during Angel’s song, these events are destined to happen sooner or later, and four months isn’t a long time. For all we know, the world could end at this very moment, and we’d all be running crazy trying to find safe ground---to preserve our temporary lives in the face of death. So when you think about it a little, we don’t have much of a choice … It’s either follow A.G.’s plan of assistance, or get stuck in a rut, and from what I clearly remember---all of this isn’t for nothing.
After taking a nice, long, warm bath and dressing in my jams, it’s time for yet another night of rest. Ironically, I know there are eyes out there watching us, waiting for the right time to make their move. However, it looks like we have many allies in the oddest of place---first the crock A.G., then the Dawgpound 7, and now it looks like that “White Witch” dame is in on saving Midgard as well … Through it all, I’m glad to have Roman, Adina, Angel, Cassandra, and Sigmund around to keep my simple-minded ass occupied. I’d go crazy without them, dealing with all this bullshit by myself. Furthermore, the services of Father Hildetand did good for Angel, so he’s on my list of allies as far as I’m concerned.
Aww, what am I going on for? I’m sure you’re all tired of hearing me yap on … Alright, I get the picture---it’s time to bring this case to a close. As always, thanks for following along, and keep your heads up, you hear?
This is Detective Elias Crane. Case Closed!