The taxi screeched to a halt outside the Ashwick Police
Station at 9:58 p.m. Seed threw cash at the driver and sprinted up the steps, his trench coat flapping behind him. The station's lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the lobby. The receptionist looked up,
her face familiar, officer kane.
"Wallace?" She frowned. "You're not supposed
to be here. You know that, right?"
"Delgado called me," Seed said, not slowing down.
"Where is he?"
Kane sighed, waving him through. "Holding cells,
basement level. He's been down there for an hour, obsessing over those markings. Man won't quit." She shook her head. "You two and your mysteries."
Seed didn't respond, already pushing through the security
door. The stairwell echoed with his footsteps as he descended, the air growing colder with each step. His skull tattoo warmed, his system stirring. He checked his phone: 10:03 p.m. One hour, forty-four minutes until the
prediction.
The basement holding area smelled like disinfectant and old concrete. Four cells lined the left wall, all empty except one—a drunk sleeping off a bender. Delgado stood in the far cell, his back to the door, flashlight pointing on the wall. His gray hair caught the light, his rumpled suit jacket
hanging off his broad shoulders.
"Delgado," Seed called, relief flooding him. The
old man turned, his weathered face breaking into a tired smile.
"Wallace. That was fast." He gestured to the wall.
"Take a look at this mess. Showed up three nights ago. Inmates freaked out, said the walls just... grew the marks. Like they bled from the concrete."
Seed stepped closer, his Perception kicking in. The symbols were carved deep, precise—spirals with jagged edges, intersecting lines that hurt to look at. They pulsed faintly with an energy he couldn't identify. Not death energy. Not divine power like Mira's. His skin crawled just looking at them.
"You recognize these?" Delgado asked.
Seed shook his head slowly. "Never seen anything like
it. But..." He traced the air near one symbol, careful not to touch."They feel wrong. Really wrong."
"Figured you'd say that." Delgado scratched his
stubble. "You've been chasing weird stories lately. Missing persons during this Hollow Season, supernatural sightings. Thought maybe you'd come across something similar."
Seed's mind raced. The hooded figure outside his building.
These symbols. Delgado about to be stabbed. He felt They were connected somehow, but he didn't know how. "Delgado, I need you to leave. Right now."
The detective's brow furrowed. "What? Kid, what's going
on?"
"I can't explain, but you're in danger." Seed grabbed Delgado's arm, pulling him toward the exit. His voice sounding urgent. "These marks—I don't know what they mean, but something bad is coming. You need to get out of the station, go home, lock your doors."
Delgado yanked his arm free, his expression hardening.
"Wallace, you're talking crazy. What the hell has gotten into you? First you show up looking like you wrestled a hurricane, now you're spouting conspiracy nonsense—"
Shinick!
A sound cut him off. A low, scraping noise, like metal on
stone. Both men froze. It came from the far end of the basement, past the cells, where the old evidence lockers sat in darkness. Seed's Ghost Hair rose slightly under his coat collar, his instinct screaming danger.
"Stay behind me," Seed whispered, moving forward.
"Like hell," Delgado muttered, drawing his service pistol. "This is my station, kid."
The scraping grew louder, rhythmic, deliberate. Then a
figure emerged from the shadows, hooded, draped in dark robes. Face completely hidden. The same cold, dead energy Seed had felt outside his apartment building radiated from it like a frozen wind.
The figure raised a hand, and in it gleamed a curved blade,
silver and inscribed with those same jagged symbols that covered the cell walls. The blade deflecting the light coming from the overhead bulbs.
"Detective Marcus Delgado," the figure said, voice
hollow and echoing like it came from the bottom of a well. Multiple voices layered over each other, making Seed's teeth ache. "You ask too many questions. You dig where you should not dig. Your death has been written."
Delgado aimed his gun, his hand steady despite the fear in
his eyes. "Freeze! Hands up, now! I don't know what halloween stunt you're pulling, but—"
KYAHAHAHAHAA!
The figure laughed, a wet, rattling sound that made Seed's
stomach turn. Then It lunged, impossibly fast, faster than any human, faster than the ghosts he'd fought.
"Delgado, move!" Seed shoved the old detective
aside just as the blade sliced through the air. It missed Delgado's chest by inches, instead carving a deep gash across Seed's forearm. Pain exploded, hot and sharp. Blood dripped onto the concrete, and Seed noticed it hissing where it hit the symbols on the floor, like acid on metal.
[Death Absorption detecting nearby death energy...]
The voice in Seed's head cut through the pain. This thing
wasn't human, didn't even seem like a normal supernatural creature.
Seed gritted his teeth, his Ghost Hair erupting from his
scalp. The strands whipped out like living tentacles, black and crackling with death energy. They snagged the attacker's wrist, wrapping tight and yanking the blade away. It fell across the floor, its symbols glowing brighter as it skidded.
"What the—?" Delgado stared, his gun forgotten,
his jaw hanging open. "Wallace, your hair, it's moving! How is your hair—?"
Swish! Swish!
"Not now!" Seed yelled, wrestling with the figure.
It hissed, not like a person, but like steam escaping a pressure valve. Its hands clawed at the hair binding it, and Seed felt the wrongness of its touch even through his power. Cold. Empty. Like touching a corpse that had been dead for days.
The figure twisted with an inhuman flexibility, nearly breaking free. Seed then activated Death Field on instinct.
The basement plunged into silence. The drunk's snoring cut off mid-breath. The buzz of flickering lights vanished. The drip of a leaky pipe ceased. Time didn't stop, but everything slowed, isolated in Seed's personal pocket of
reality.
The hooded figure stumbled, disoriented by the sudden shift. Its movements became sluggish, like moving through water. Seed pressed the advantage, his Ghost Hair coiling tighter, lifting the figure off the ground. More strands wrapped around its throat, its limbs, pinning it against the wall.
"Who are you?" Seed demanded, his voice echoing
strangely in the Death Field. "What do you want with Delgado? What are these symbols?"
The figure's hood fell back slightly, and Seed glimpsed what
was underneath—or rather, what wasn't. No face. Just smooth, gray skin where features should be. No eyes, no nose, no mouth. Yet it spoke anyway, the voice emanating from nowhere and everywhere.
"You cannot stop what is coming, Death-Touched,"
it said, and Seed's blood ran cold at the title. Could it know about the book of death? "The markings are already placed. The convergence approaches. The vessel will be
claimed. All will serve the—"
Its body convulsed violently. Black smoke poured from where its mouth should be, acrid and choking. Seed realized with horror what was happening, it was killing itself. A failsafe. Just like the suicide pills spies carried in movies.
"No, wait—!" Seed tried to tighten his grip, to
stop whatever was happening, but it was too late.
The figure's body didn't just die, it dissolved. The robes
collapsed, empty, and beneath them was nothing but ash and that terrible smoke. The smoke rushed toward Seed, and he couldn't avoid it. It flowed into his nose, his mouth, burning like ice in his lungs.
Death energy surged into him, The absorption happened automatically, his body drinking in the power even as his
mind screamed to reject it.
[Death Absorption in progress...]
[Death energy increasing >>> 10,234 >>>
11,800]
[Corruption increasing >>> 7% >>> 10%]
[Death energy threshold passed]
[Level increased >>> Lvl 6]
[Available SP: 5]
[New Privilege unlocked!]
[7. Death's Whisper - Communicate with the recently dead
(within 24 hours of death). Learn their secrets, final moments, and hidden knowledge.]
Seed gasped as the corrupted energy flooded him.this time It felt like swallowing poison and medicine at once, power mixed with something vile. His Death Field collapsed from the shock, sound and light crashing back into the basement like a physical blow.
The drunk in the cell jerked awake, mumbling. The lights
buzzed back to life. The leaky pipe resumed its steady drip.
Delgado rushed over, grabbing Seed's shoulders, his face
pale and eyes wide with shock. "Wallace! Kid, talk to me! What in God's name was that thing? And your hair, it moved! It actually moved!" His voice pitched higher with each word. "You made it move! How? What are you?"
Seed slumped against the wall, chest beating hard, his bleeding arm throbbing. The pile of ash was all that remained of the attacker, along with the blade and empty robes. The symbols on the walls had stopped glowing,
but they were still there, carved deep and permanent.
He met Delgado's eyes, seeing the fear and confusion warring there. The old detective who'd taught him everything about police work, who'd believed in him when no one else did. No more lies. Not to this man.
"Delgado..." Seed's voice came out hoarse. "There's a lot I need to tell you. But first, we need to get out of here. That thing said something about markings being placed. This might not be over."
Delgado stared at the pile of ash, then back at Seed, his
weathered face showing every one of his fifty-eight years. His jaw worked, decades of detective instincts warring with disbelief. Finally, he holstered his gun with shaking hands.
"My car. Now," he said, his voice steady despite everything. "You're explaining everything, Wallace. The hair, the disappearing act, that... thing. And I mean everything. No more secrets."
Seed nodded, holding his bleeding arm. He bent down,
carefully using a pen from his pocket to flip over the empty robe. Underneath, stitched in silver thread, was a symbol—different from the wall markings but clearly related. A circle with seven points, each point marked with a different glyph.
"Take a picture of that," Seed told Delgado. "We'll need it."
As they climbed the stairs, Seed's phone buzzed. He pulled
it out with his good hand. A text from Rebecca, time-stamped three minutes ago.
Rebecca: Seed, I need help. Something's wrong with my
drawings. They won't stop moving. Can you come over? Please? I'm scared.
Seed's stomach dropped. The hooded figure outside his
building. The attack on Delgado. Now Rebecca. Whatever was happening in ashwick, it was moving fast. And it knew about all of them.
He glanced at Delgado, torn. "Change of plans. We're
going to my apartment building first."
"Why?" Delgado asked, his hand on his holster,
ready for anything now.
"Because I think whatever that thing was, it's not
working alone. And my neighbor, she's got powers too. If they're targeting people like us..." Seed didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
Delgado's face hardened, shifting into cop mode. "Then
we're walking into an ambush."
"Probably," Seed admitted.
"Good." Delgado checked his gun, ejected the
magazine, checked the rounds, slammed it back in. "Been a while since I've had a real fight. Let's go save your friend."