Reinhead's gaze didn't linger on the street. He simply straightened from the wall and motioned with two fingers.
"Come with me."
Cliffdon didn't ask where. He'd learned that if Reinhead wanted him somewhere, it wasn't the kind of request you refused.
They walked in silence through the damp streets, the sound of their steps mixing with the soft hiss of water dripping from rooftops. The afternoon had dimmed into a gray that blurred the edges of the buildings. At the corner, a black horse cart waited, the driver hunched forward under his cloak, rainwater running from the brim of his hat.
Reinhead opened the door and stepped aside. "Inside."
The interior was dim, the leather seats smelling faintly of wet wool. Cliffdon slid in, the cushion sinking under his weight. A moment later, Reinhead joined him, shutting the door with a dull thud.
The driver flicked the reins, and the cart lurched forward, wheels splashing through shallow puddles.
The horse cart rattled along the wet cobblestones, moving deeper into the city. Mist hung low over the streets, curling around the wheels.
Reinhead sat across from Cliffdon, his gloved hands resting on his knees. "When we get to Vinner Colony, I want you to use your power, Mr. Williams. We need to know what's hiding there."
Cliffdon looked away toward the window. "That… might not work. The city's too big. I've only used it once before—and even then, it was just in one room."
Reinhead's voice stayed calm. "It will be fine. You can do it."
Cliffdon shook his head slightly. "You don't understand. Last time, it almost felt like it would take something out of me. Like I'd lose myself if I kept going."
"That's why I'm here," Reinhead said. "To pull you back if it tries to take too much."
The cart wheels splashed through a puddle, the sound sharp in the quiet.
Reinhead leaned forward. "Mr. Williams, people in Vinner Colony are vanishing. Entire families. No one sees, no one hears. If there's even a chance you can sense what's behind it, we have to try."
Cliffdon let out a slow breath, his eyes still fixed on the window. In the mist, the shapes of the old colony houses were starting to appear—tall, narrow buildings with dark windows, all standing too close together.
The cart slowed. Reinhead glanced outside, then back at him. "We're here. Just focus. Let the rest come to you."
Cliffdon stepped down from the cart. His boots made a dull sound on the wet stones. The air here was colder than in the streets they had just passed. A thin mist curled around his legs, moving like it was alive.
He looked down the narrow street ahead. The houses stood close together, their walls damp and dark. The windows were tall but empty, like black eyes staring back at him. No one was walking, no doors opened, no voices spoke. Even the usual city noise—the clatter of carts, the shouting of vendors, the echo of footsteps—was gone. It felt like the whole place had been forgotten.
Reinhead came to stand beside him. Two other secret police officers waited near the cart, looking around carefully. No one said a word.
"Mr. Williams," Reinhead said in a low voice, "you can try now."
Cliffdon's stomach tightened. He thought back to the time at Ramstein's house, when he had used his power before. He remembered the cold that spread through him, the strange pulling feeling, and the way it almost felt like something was trying to take more than he wanted to give.
He closed his eyes.
The cold came back at once, rising slowly inside him. It spread from his chest to his arms, up into his head. The sounds of the street faded away until there was nothing.
At first, there was only silence. Then, far in the distance, he heard it—slow and steady. A heartbeat. Not his own.
He pushed his senses further, letting the strange feeling flow out from him. It was like invisible threads were running under the streets, through the walls, even under the mist. He followed them, searching.
For a long moment, he felt nothing. The colony seemed completely empty.
Then, suddenly, something moved.
It was far ahead, past rows of houses. It didn't move like a person—it was slower, heavier, like a shadow shifting without light. It pulsed faintly, like a weak glow deep in the fog. Each beat of it felt wrong, heavy, and cold.
Cliffdon focused on it, but as soon as he did, he felt something strange. Whatever it was, it was not just sitting there—it knew he was there.
The heartbeat began to quicken. The pull grew sharper, almost like claws scratching against the inside of his mind. His chest tightened. The air around him felt heavier.
Cliffdon opened his eyes and took in a deep breath, as if he had been holding it for too long.
Reinhead's eyes were on him. "You found something," he said.
"Yes," Cliffdon said quietly. "But it's not running away from us… it's waiting for us."
From the clues they found in the Vinner Colony, their search led them deeper into the narrow, twisted streets at the edge of the city. The air there felt heavier, colder. Old brick walls leaned toward each other, making the alleys dark even in daylight. Pieces of paper and dry leaves blew across the ground, and somewhere far off, a dog barked once and then went silent.
Reinhead and Cliffdon followed a faint trail — drops of dried blood, small scratches on walls, and a strange symbol painted in black near a closed doorway. Each sign pulled them further away from the busy streets and deeper into a forgotten part of the colony.
Finally, they reached an old, abandoned factory. Its tall brick walls were cracked and stained. Most of the windows were broken, and the roof sagged in places. A large pair of wooden doors stood half open, swinging slightly in the wind.
Reinhead pushed them open fully. The sound echoed in the empty space. Inside, the air smelled of rust, dust, and something faint but metallic — the smell of blood. Broken machines stood in rows like dead giants, their gears and wheels frozen in time. In one corner, long tables were covered with tools, jars, and strange, dark stains.
Cliffdon's eyes scanned the shadows. At first, it seemed no one was there. Then he heard it — slow footsteps, dragging slightly against the floor.
A figure stepped out from behind one of the machines. He was dressed in a long black coat that reached his boots. A wide-brimmed hat hid part of his head, but his face was covered by a strange mask — a long beak-like nose and round glass eyeholes. It was the kind of mask plague doctors had worn centuries ago during deadly diseases.
The man stopped a few steps away, tilting his head as if studying them. His voice was deep and calm, yet there was something strange about it — almost like he was smiling behind the mask.
"Welcome," the man said softly. "I am Dr. Alastor, from the Guild of Death."
Cliffdon's stomach tightened. The name alone made him uneasy.
Reinhead's face grew dark. His voice was low and serious, the kind of tone that made the air feel heavier.
"Dr. Alastor… They call him the Doctor of Madness. A man who cuts people open while they're still alive. He says it's for research… but it's just cruelty."
For a moment, even Reinhead's eyes showed a flicker of fear. Cliffdon noticed it, and it made his chest tighten.
Alastor tilted his head further, taking a slow step forward.
"You know my work well, it seems."
Reinhead didn't answer at once. He took a slow breath… then a small smile spread across his face — not a warm smile, but the kind a hunter gives when he has his prey in sight.
"Yes," he said quietly. "And that's why today will be your last experiment."
Without another word, Reinhead's hand went to his sword. The blade came free with a sharp sound that echoed in the empty factory. The moment the steel glinted in the dusty light, Reinhead stepped forward fast, his boots striking the ground hard.
Alastor didn't move away. Instead, he gave a slow, unnerving chuckle behind the mask and raised one gloved hand, holding a thin scalpel that gleamed like silver in the dim light.
The air between them was tight, filled with the sound of their breathing, the faint creak of the factory walls, and somewhere outside… the distant sound of a horse cart passing by, completely unaware of the fight about to begin.
The moment Reinhead stepped forward, Alastor's other hand moved. The shadows around his feet stretched unnaturally, crawling like living things. They rose behind Cliffdon, silent and fast.
Before Cliffdon could turn, something huge erupted from the darkness — a towering figure made entirely of black mist and shifting shapes. It stood almost to the factory roof, its form barely human, like a giant made of smoke with burning white eyes deep inside its head. Its massive hands ended in claws, each one as long as a sword.
The shadow titan moved faster than its size should allow. Its clawed arm swept toward Cliffdon, the wind of its strike throwing dust and broken metal across the floor. Cliffdon jumped back, but the second claw came from behind, catching him in the side and sending him sliding across the ground.
Pain shot through his ribs. He coughed, tasting blood.
Reinhead tried to close in on Alastor, but the doctor only stepped back, letting the titan block his way. "Mr. Williams," Alastor said calmly, his voice echoing through the mask, "I've been wanting to see that little trick of yours."
Cliffdon pushed himself up slowly. His vision blurred, and every breath burned. But he knew what Alastor meant.
He forced himself to focus. That same cold feeling he had used before began to spread through him, but this time he didn't just sense — he let it out. The shadows in the room began to shift toward him, gathering like threads being pulled by unseen hands. His eyes darkened, the pupils stretching into narrow slits.
From the ground around him, thin black shapes grew, twisting into jagged spikes. They shot upward toward the titan, stabbing into its form. The giant let out a deep, hollow roar, its body rippling as if in pain.
But the titan didn't fall. Instead, its massive claw came down again, smashing through the shadow spikes and slamming into the ground where Cliffdon had been standing a moment before. The shockwave sent him crashing into a rusted machine.
He could feel his strength fading — each moment he kept his power active, it felt like something inside him was being drained, pulled away into the darkness. His knees trembled. His heartbeat was slowing.
The titan raised both arms for a final strike. Cliffdon couldn't move fast enough this time.
Then — a voice cut through the heavy air.
"Move aside."
It was calm, deep, and carried a weight that seemed to still the shadows themselves.
A figure stepped from the broken doorway of the factory. He was tall, wearing a dark coat with silver clasps, and his boots made no sound on the floor. His hair was black, falling just above his sharp, cold eyes. A faint scar crossed his cheek.
Alastor's head turned slightly. "Judas…" His voice was still calm, but this time there was something else in it — caution.
Mr. Judas didn't answer. He simply raised his hand. The air in the room seemed to twist, and the shadow titan froze mid-strike, its claws trembling in place.
With a slow motion, Judas clenched his fist.
The titan screamed — a deep, inhuman sound that rattled the walls. Its body began to collapse inward, pulled by an invisible force. The black mist swirled violently, breaking apart until nothing was left but dust and a faint, fading echo.
Judas lowered his hand. "Pathetic," he said quietly, as if the fight hadn't even been worth his time.
Cliffdon tried to stand, but his legs almost gave out. Judas walked past him as he gave a clam smile, his eyes suddenly fixed on Alastor.
Alastor's chuckle was softer now. "It seems our meeting will have to end here."
And before anyone could move, the doctor's shadow stretched under his feet and swallowed him whole. He was gone.
Only the cold smell of blood and rust remained in the factory.
Reinhead stepped over a broken gear on the floor, his coat brushing against the dusty crates.
"So," he said quietly, "Dr. Alastor… Guild of Death."
Cliffdon's grip tightened slightly. "He didn't even try to hide it. Just told us straight before the fight."
"That's their way," Reinhead replied. "They want you to know who's ending your life. It's part of their… twisted sense of pride."
Judas leaned casually against a bent steel beam, as if the fight hadn't even happened. "And here I was thinking he just liked dramatic introductions."
Reinhead gave him a flat look. "You can joke all you want, Judas, but that man was dangerous. But I can't figure out why he left."
Judas's smirk softened into something more thoughtful. "True. But he's gone now… and if the Guild of Death is showing up here, it means someone's moving pieces we can't see yet."
Cliffdon glanced between them. "Why target us?"
Reinhead's voice was steady but cold. "They don't target 'us.' They target whoever their employer points to. That's what makes them so hard to predict."
Judas gave a small shrug. "Well, I suppose that means life just got more interesting. I'll keep my eyes open… and my door locked."
He straightened, tipping his purple hat with a lazy grin. "Try not to get killed before I come back. I'd hate to miss the fun."
With that, he turned and strolled out, the sound of his boots fading into the city's distant noise.
Cliffdon watched him go, but his thoughts weren't on Judas leaving. They were back in the middle of the fight, in that split-second when Dr. Alastor's voice had cut through the chaos.
Judas...
The name had come from the doctor's lips with certainty, like he'd known him for years.
Cliffdon's brow furrowed. How did he know Judas's name?
The question stayed with him as he stepped outside into the cool evening air.