Raging Phoenix: Part Three

*Ping!* In a modest apartment on Second Island, nestled within a private neighborhood tucked between two hills, the sharp chime of a notification abruptly shattered the peaceful sleep of a middle-aged man and his wife.

“It’s 3 a.m.! Remember what you promised me?” His sweet wife whispered, her tone carrying the grace of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. However, she froze as her tired eyes met the disturbed expression on her husband’s face. “What happened? Did Jericho stain his badge again?!”

“It’s not that…it’s an emergency…” he muttered, slapping himself but failing to wake up. “MC- PHYTON-37—a national security threat.” He vaguely remembered seeing a similar code once in his police academy manual, but not even in his wildest dreams had he imagined he’d live to see it appear on the encrypted communication channel in his [Status.Window].

“You mean a terrorist is here…in Miraval City?” The woman fearfully murmured, abruptly rising from the bed.

“No, dear—it’s far worse.” He gasped. “’First, MC’ stands for Miraval Commonwealth—that’s the starting location. Second, if there’s a serpent, it denotes an attack on one of the pillars of the state, but if it is poisonless, it either means kidnapping or blackmailing. And lastly, the number indicates how many Imperial Circles the crisis is going to affect.” He gulped.

“Wait a minute. Our Empire only has thirty-six 'ICs.'”

“Wrong, there’s a thirty-seventh.” He paused, sporting a stark expression. “Although it hasn’t been part of the Holy Rolandish Empire for centuries, it remains present in our legislation. It was the largest and the wealthiest Fiefdom of our Empire, and its conquest is still regarded as the greatest military achievement in human history.” He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before uttering the name like a curse—”Old Mandrakia.”

The weight of that name pressed hard on the woman's chest, her wide eyes twitching in panic. “I-I’m going to p-pray to the ’Romantic Dreamer’ that this is just one of B-bernie’s stupid pranks…” Seeing her tremble, the husband pulled his wife into a tight embrace, kissing her passionately until the fear faded from her body. “Do you remember the promise you swore after we first met? That you’d never leave me alone?” One last kiss, this time on his cheek. “Be watchful.”

“Always.” The man dressed with inhuman efficiency, making only a brief stop in the bathroom to wash what was necessary to maintain the respectable appearance his profession demanded. Still, he paused for a few seconds in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection and wondering who the man looking back at him truly was.

As an Essentia, he didn’t age like others. His youthful features remained mostly intact, aside from the slow retreat of his hairline. Yet it wasn’t his balding head his source of shame, but the thick scar stretching horizontally from ear to ear—a humiliating reminder of a past emergency. Not a national security threat, but one that still haunted his nightmares. It won’t happen again. I’ve sworn it.

After grabbing a set of keys, he exited his apartment and descended the spiral staircase into the building’s basement. There, he opened his private garage, revealing a privilege that had only recently slipped from the exclusive hands of nobility into the grasp of the emerging middle class—the Hydraulic Carriage, commonly known as a Hycar.

The vehicle was perfectly symmetrical—one could cut it from any angle and get two identical halves. Its body was brown, sleek, and oblong, topped with a glass dome that provided a full 360-degree view of the street, and beneath it, six white wheels supported the frame—one at the front, one at the back, and two on each side.

After caressing the Hycar’s polished frame and feeling the coolness of its metallic body, the man pressed his palm against the dome. A quick fingerprint scan verified his identity, and with a soft hiss, the glass slid open, granting him access. The man jumped inside and Made himself comfortable onto the 360-degree-cushioned seating that lined the vehicle’s interior, and from beneath a little table in the center, he pulled out a microphone.

”Adélaïde, are you here?!” He bellowed multiple times, until a high-pitched static heralded a response.

”Captain, thank God you’re awake, it’s hell on earth here in Central. Half the Empire’s intelligence is clogging our pipelines, and I don’t even know where to start or what to tell them.”

”Calm down, Agent Südliche. Ignore those leeches and just update me on the status report. This is my city, and if they want anything at all, I need to understand what’s happening first.”

“About that…well…Director Delüge has issued strict protocols for everyone involved in this emergency. His [Email] includes a consent form that must be completed first. Your verbal agreement will suffice, but be aware—this call is being recorded. First question—are you alone in a secure location?”

“I’m in my Hycar, equipped with the best magic-tech from the ’MIMT.’”

“Yes or no?”

”*Tsk!* Yes.”

“Next, Mr. Delüge's message requires me to inform you that what I’m about to disclose is a state secret of the highest importance. Revealing any part of it—whether intentionally or not—to anyone unauthorized will result in your immediate indictment and a death sentence without trial. Do you understand what I’ve just said?”

“Oh, come on. Is that creep joking, or does he really believe we’re going to be able to hide whatever this secret is from the media just by threatening us?”

“Yes or no?!”

“YES!” What followed were strange words, each more difficult to believe than the last, and in the end, the entire story sounded like sheer madness. An undisciplined band of mercenaries breaks through the most cutting-edge security systems the world has ever known without alerting anyone, not even the 'MIMT?' Then they somehow infiltrate Miraval Academy and kidnap a Scion from one of the most influential families in the Empire while leaving no witness? And after all that…they just left Miraval Island as if nothing had happened?! He couldn’t believe it, but when he compared Heide’s words to that bizarre code on his [Status.Window], it all started to make a twisted kind of sense. “So…who is this VIP?”

“Sorry, Captain. I’m not authorized to disclose any further information outside of a ’sterile’ environment. Bernie will brief you at the crime scene.”

“Thanks nonetheless, Adélaïde. I promise you—I’m going to end this awkward situation in record time.”

“Thanks, and one last thing, Captain—be watchful.”

“Always.” With a swift flick of his finger, he turned the microphone knob. “Miraval Academy—Emergency!”

“Emergency run requires identification,” a robotic voice replied.

“Captain of the Miraval City Police Department, A-Class ‘Red Hoax’ Frédéric Larsan—badge code 3737.”

A verification beep followed the successful match of his voice with the one stored in the city’s archive. Then, the Hycar began to move on its own, exiting the garage with deliberate precision and descending the narrow hill road that wound from the building at the top to the valley below. As soon as it reached the main street, it accelerated rapidly—surpassing 200 km/h—and although the road was packed with traffic, the Hycar weaved through it effortlessly, narrowly avoiding hundreds of potential collisions. In less than a minute, the vehicle reached the Miraval Bridge, where its speed doubled, and from within the glass dome, Captain Larsan soothed the pressure in his chest by admiring beneath him the many lights of a city completely surrounded by the darkness of a moonless night—from that height, it looked like something out of a postcard

Captain Larsan reached the Academy Island’s parking lot within minutes. There, he swapped his Hycar for a horse—prepared in advance by his subordinates—and galloped at full speed toward the Relax Area’s park, until he reached the glowing blue dome that shielded the crime scene from unwanted attention.

***
MCPD Verification Required
***
Please stand by, we are checking your credentials
[ ● ○ ● ○ ● ○ ● ] 
***

After confirming his credentials, the barrier allowed him through. The deeper he moved toward the center of the park, the more grim the policemen’s expressions became—some were even behind bushes, vomiting their guts out.

“Thanks to the ‘Original Seeker,’ you’re finally here, Frédéric.” A stocky man in a police uniform adorned with various rank insignias approached the Captain, looking at his superior like a sailor clinging to a mast looking at a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. ”We’ve got just three hours to fix this mess before the students wake up, or every newspaper in the 'HRE' is going to reprint their front pages.” B-Class ’Fitting Collocation’ Sergeant Bernard Acolyte pointed his index finger toward the dreadfulness atop the park’s fountain. “Filthy pirates…that’s their signature.”

“So, Adélaïde’s story wasn’t an exaggeration after all…” Captain Larsan prayed silently, though he still couldn’t understand how, if God truly existed, such cruelty could be allowed on a soul so young.

The majestic fountain at the center of the plaza featured a statue of a siren—a creature with the upper body of a gorgeous woman and the tail of a squamous fish. The siren’s right arm stretched skyward while countless unknown hands dragged her left downward into the depths. Yet her gaze was cast neither upward nor down, but straight ahead—cold, hollow, and expressionless—that enigmatic stare, impossible to read, had made the statue famous across the world, baffling even the most renowned poets for nearly five centuries. The fountain was crafted in Seafall, a gift from the ’Drowned Phoenix’ to commemorate the end of the Great Civil War, but now this monument to peace had been defiled, twisted into an altar far too barbaric to be merely called heretical.

An unknown artist had ‘decorated’ the sea’s beauty to make her appear more ’lifelike,’ but the result was crude and grotesque. Hyperrealistic ’ornaments’ were nailed haphazardly onto the statue, while the leftover—the headless, skinless, and organless corpse—was left to dangle from a nearby tree, gently swaying in the wind above the only bench untouched by lamplight.

“Truly a fascinating crime, isn’t it, Captain?” A nasal voice sliced through Larsan’s silent prayer. “As you might have guessed, the pirates are our culprits. However, I suspect there’s something far more complex lurking beneath the surface,” arrogantly declared the young forensic entomologist—D-Class ‘Pupa’ Gillet Gerout—his gaze fixed in awe on the grotesque sculpture.

“Fuck off, weirdo!” The brutish sergeant snapped. “Captain Larsan and I don’t have time for your perversion!” His hatred for Gillet was rooted in more than a few unpleasant past encounters with the young man.

“Calm down, Bernie. We all have a job to do. A young girl is dead, and it’s his responsibility to examine the scene.” Captain Larsan's agate eyes burned with unshakable resolve. “Now, Agent Gerout—tell us what you’ve found.”

“The body was discovered two hours ago by a food-stand owner who had come to take photographs for an insurance claim. However, according to an official document signed by the Vice-Principal, we know that the victim arrived at the crime scene at approximately 11 p.m. last night to meet her best friend—right here in this spot—and based on my preliminary analysis, the time of death occurred just minutes after that meeting. Cause of death—decapitation by sheer brute force. This indicates the perpetrator is either an Anima or an Essentia with at last [STR=300]. That being said, the modus operandi strongly points to the Pravrajana Exiles as our primary suspects.” Despite the wicked impression he often gave others, Gillet always performed his duties diligently—not once had he received a single complaint about his professionalism.

”Wait a minute…” Captain Larsan’s investigative instincts were now screaming at him. ”What do you mean there was a witness at the time of the crime? Where is she now?”

The ‘Pupa’ smirked and pulled a recorder from his [Inventory]. ”The killer has kidnapped her, and from what I’ve overheard from the Emperor’s men—and what I honestly suspect myself—that was the real motive behind all of this.” He powered on the device. ”A student left this behind to capture birdsong. Instead, it recorded something far more chilling.”

*Tweet!* Ysoline *Tweet!* your watch *Tweet!* M-Mariz Rug-g D-oor *Tweet!* MaD-EATT TOO A-LL REA-CC-TIONA *Tweet!*

The Captain and Sergeant exchanged grim looks. ”Gillet...who is she?”

”The Marquis of Oldmarch—Ælgifu III Rougedior.”

Bernie’s jaw broke in two, while Captain Larsan clenched his teeth and fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. ”Bernie, I want every resource mobilized—police, soldiers, volunteers, mercenaries, freelancers, anyone—no matter the cost, we’re going to search every island in the Pacific Archipelago.” He paused, inhaling deeply, his voice low and thunderous. ”Because if we fail to find her…”

”It’s war.”

WORLD'S END BLOG:
https://postimg.cc/Wt4WWGS5