Chapter 28: Thomas Holmes
RA-02 Police Station, Willow Lane, North Borough, Giaris City
The RA-02 Police Station wasn't usually chaotic, but today it was a storm. Inspector Bennett's sudden orders had mobilized every available officer toward Steel Mill Road.
By 4 P.M., eighty green-uniformed policemen swarmed the compound, carrying truncheons, cutlasses, and in some cases, rifles and revolvers. Their clatter drew curious onlookers, who pressed against the gates.
"Are they having some sort of drill?" an old man muttered, smoke curling from his cigar.
"Looks like they're preparing for a battle, gramps," a young voice replied.
The older man turned, ready to scold, but froze mid-sentence. The boy's face… wasn't a boy at all. It was a 35-year-old man, sharp-featured, wearing a black vest over a white shirt, a bowler hat perched neatly atop his head, and a single-breasted jacket.
"What the… I thought you were young!" the man stammered.
The blonde man peeked through the fence, chuckled, gave a polite bow, and walked to the Hansom cab parked across the street. After whispering something to the coachman, he stepped in, and the carriage rolled silently into the depths of North Borough.
…
Back at the station, a young man in his thirties with striking red hair stepped forward, surveying the officers. Anxiety rippled across their faces.
The truth was simple: North Borough's peace relied on quiet agreements between gangs and officials. With 400,000 residents and only 700 policemen, complete law enforcement was impossible. Petty crime thrived, but as long as no one broke the unspoken agreements, chaos remained contained.
Bennett's voice cut through the murmurs. "I know you're anxious, but we aren't waging war on the gangs. Our mission is to rescue someone."
Blonde Officer Hannah stepped forward and saluted. "Sir… may we know who we're rescuing?"
Bennett shook his head. "Not yet. You'll know soon enough."
He lifted a top hat from nowhere, adjusted it, and nodded. "To Steel Mill Road. Dismiss."
Within minutes, officers mounted horses and loaded wagons. Three large wagons rolled out, flanked by dozens of armed men, their boots clattering over the cobblestone streets.
…
Old Rice Mill Factory, Steel Mill Road
By 4:30 P.M., a black Hansom cab stopped outside the towering Rice Mill. A sharp-featured blonde man leapt from the carriage, tossing two silver coins to the coachman, and approached the two-meter-tall iron gate.
The gate creaked open, revealing a red-bricked structure as tall as a three-story mansion. Shattered windows and graffiti marred the facade. Cobblestones were overrun with weeds; rusted machinery lay scattered. Smoke and chatter drifted from within, carrying the scent of stale tobacco and musty wood.
Two young men, barely older than teenagers, stood at the entrance. They bowed instead of stopping him. Raven observed them closely — likely apprentice Walkers — and noticed a dozen ragged youths lingering in the yard, low-ranking gang members.
Without hesitation, Raven opened the wooden door and stepped inside.
The interior contrasted sharply with the outer decay. Magical lamps cast warm light across high ceilings. Old machinery and scattered equipment filled the space, but Raven's eyes were drawn to a small room at the far end. A woman in her late twenties leaned against the wall, smoking.
'Remy,' he realized. A fourth Circle Official Walker of the Gold Thieves, present when he had infiltrated the Holmes Mansion.
Raven coughed to clear his throat, stepping toward a staircase leading downward. Remy barely glanced at him.
'His cough… sounds like a child,' she thought, shrugging and taking another drag of her cigarette.
The basement was not a dungeon but a grim residential hall. The pungent stench of alcohol, opium, and damp wood hit him immediately. Empty bottles littered the floor, scorched spoons and pipes scattered evidence of addiction. A haze of smoke clung to the clothes of the slouched gang members, their vacant eyes fixed on nothing.
Nearby, others played cards, laughing and coughing in equal measure. Moans echoed faintly from the rooms ahead. Raven wrinkled his nose, forcing himself to focus.
Yellow light from wall-mounted lamps illuminated the cracked doors and worn floorboards. A few men and women stood ten meters away, speaking quietly. Among them, two familiar faces: Tomy and Zyad.
He hesitated. 'I snuck in… now what?'
[There are twelve rooms up front and ten at the back. Notice the difference — the front is well-lit with magical lamps; the back barely has two in the farthest corners. That's where Thomas is.] Zera's voice echoed in his head.
Raven nodded, walking calmly past the group, face thoughtful, avoiding eye contact. He reached the third door on the left, the only one locked from the outside, and entered.
The room was small but functional. Two tables, several chairs, and a brand-new whiskey bottle caught his attention. He pocketed it for later.
[What now?]
"I wait for the police. Once they subdue the gang, I'll rescue Thomas."
[Or use Face Morph to switch with him.]
"I'll decide after I secure him," Raven muttered.
Suddenly, a male voice rang from the corridor. "POLICE ARE COMING! ALERT THE BOSS!"
Chaos erupted. Remy's voice quavered, panicked. "What? But… the boss…"
Alvin's voice answered from the crowd. "I saw tens of horses and three wagons moving here. If Jeff hadn't warned me earlier, we wouldn't have noticed at all."
Mia, the Vice Leader, immediately took control. "Grab whatever you can. Hold the entrance. I'll take the hostage and escape through the back. As long as the boss and I survive, we can sort the rest later."
Gang members scrambled, weapons in hand. Mia moved swiftly, slipping through the corridor with practiced precision.
The room stank of blood and mold.
A boy, barely seventeen, was bound to a rusted metal post. His wrists were tied so tightly that the ropes had bitten into his skin. A white cloth gag muffled his cries. His black hair clung to his sweaty forehead, and his pale face was streaked with tears and dried blood.
He looked half-dead—his chest covered in bruises, his lips cracked, and his body trembling from exhaustion.
The small chamber was lit by a single flickering lamp, its dying glow throwing jagged shadows across the dirt-stained walls. A wooden table beside him held syringes, knives, bloody rags, and other crude tools of torture. Every surface reeked of violence.
Footsteps echoed from beyond the door.
They were slow, confident, and deliberate.
The door creaked open.
A woman stepped in—tall, elegant, and terrifyingly calm. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, her amber eyes glinting in the dim light. Dressed in a black overcoat and fitted suit, she looked more like a noble than a criminal. A dagger hung at her waist, polished and ready.
The boy's azure eyes widened in terror as she approached.
"Mmmph—mmph!" he tried to scream through the gag.
"Aww, don't be mad," she cooed, gripping his hair and forcing his head up. "I'm just doing my job."
The dagger flashed.
Pain exploded across his chest as she cut deep. Blood spilled down his body, pooling at his feet. His muffled screams filled the room, raw and pitiful.
Mia smiled faintly. "You've been strong for a while… but Count's done with you."
Disappointment flashed across her face before she slashed his throat in one clean motion.
The boy's body convulsed. Blood sprayed across the walls. His eyes went wide—then empty.
Within seconds, the room fell silent again.
Mia wiped her dagger on a cloth, sighed, and whispered, "Time to disappear before the police arrive."
She left without a second glance. Her footsteps faded down the hall.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then a whisper of air—followed by the faint shimmer of magic.
A man emerged from the shadows near the wall.
It was Raven, still disguised as Aron.
"F*ck…" he muttered, his voice trembling. "She killed him like it was nothing…"
His pulse raced. His hands shook. He had seen blood before—but never like this. Not up close.
[Didn't you also see Casper kill Scott and his guards?] Zera asked, her tone calm.
'That was different,' Raven thought. 'I was watching from afar… like a recording. But this…'
He swallowed hard. The metallic scent of blood filled his nose. His body screamed to run.
[If you leave now, you'll only get caught—or worse, blamed for the murder.]
Raven froze mid-step.
"But… isn't it wrong to steal his identity?" he whispered.
[If you don't, the Count will strip the Holmes family of everything. The plan was to save Thomas—but this is the only way left now.]
He hesitated, then knelt beside the boy's corpse. Slowly, he released the Bloodline Spell, letting Aron's face fade away to his own. His features hardened. His deep-blue eyes dimmed.
Then he cast Face Mimic.
His bones shifted, skin rippling as his face reshaped into that of the young boy. His eyes turned azure, his jaw softened, and even his height shortened slightly. When he looked into the cracked mirror on the wall, Thomas Holmes stared back.
"What about his body?" Raven asked quietly.
He untied the ropes and stored the corpse in his inventory. A moment later, gunshots echoed from above—followed by screams.
"The police must be here already."
He stripped off his vest and shirt, tossed them aside, and picked up a small knife from the table.
"I… need to look tortured."
He raised the blade but froze, his hand trembling.
[Do not hesitate.] Zera's tone sharpened. [If you can't even endure pain, forget saving your aunt and sister.]
"I will save them!" Raven roared—and slashed.
The knife tore across his abdomen.
"F*ck—it hurts!"
[Not enough. No one will believe a few scratches.]
"Damn it…" His breathing grew ragged. "Wait—paralysis potion!"
He fumbled a vial from his pocket, popped the cork, and drank. His limbs went numb almost instantly.
'I have to hurry.'
He started cutting himself again—shallow slashes across his chest, arms, and sides. The pain dulled as his body numbed. His breathing slowed, his grip loosened, and the knife fell from his hand.
[Store it.]
He obeyed, slipping it back into his inventory with the last of his strength.
Blood dripped down his legs, soaking into the floor. His vision blurred. The room spun.
[No major blood vessels were cut. You'll live. Just collapse and wait.]
'I can't move…'
Raven let himself fall forward, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
…
Minutes passed.
Bootsteps thundered down the stairway.
The door burst open.
"There's an injured person here!" a man shouted.
A blonde police officer rushed inside, eyes widening. "He's alive—barely!"
A woman behind him gasped. "Oh my god… that's Thomas Holmes!"
The officers hurried forward, checking his pulse and lifting him onto a stretcher. "He's lost too much blood! We need to move, now!"
Outside, chaos reigned. Police wagons blocked the street. Horses stamped and whinnied as officers shouted orders. Captured gang members were dragged out of the mill, some still struggling, others sobbing.
Raven—Thomas—was carried out under the gray evening sky, rain misting down as they rushed him toward the wagons.
They drove fast through the narrow streets to Adden's Hospital, a private facility in North Borough.
Inside, white-coated doctors and nurses swarmed the stretcher, barking orders.
"Severe blood loss! Multiple lacerations—get the saline ready!"
"Stabilize him first!"
Raven kept his eyes closed, pretending to be unconscious while listening closely. He felt the sting of disinfectant and the pull of stitches.
'Didn't you say I'll be fine?' he thought weakly.
[You are fine. But this is a private hospital, lad. They'll milk you dry now that you're a noble.]
'Ugh… hope the bill doesn't kill me first.'
The doctors worked quickly, cleaning and bandaging every wound. Hours passed in a blur of pain and exhaustion.
Finally, a nurse spoke softly.
"He's stabilized. Keep him under observation. The police will want to question him once he wakes."
Raven stayed silent, his body motionless, his mind racing.
[When you wake, pretend you've lost your memory,] Zera reminded him. [If you don't, they'll start asking questions you can't answer.]
'Got it…'
The world around him faded to darkness as the narcotics took hold.
And thus, Thomas Holmes was rescued—
while the real one was long gone.