Overwatch to Kamilla, what is your status?

Kamilla to Overwatch, status is unchanged, no contact, location is still east of the forest bulge.

Overwatch to Kamilla, we’ve just lost contact with Seer Three. Right before losing contact, one of them pulsed the signature of a witch they located, matches one of our targets.

Kamilla to Overwatch. We’ve found them then. What’s the location of the identified one?

Overwatch to Kamilla, location unknown, but Seer Three was about three kilometers south of your location when we lost contact. We’re moving now to regroup with you Kamilla, sit tight and

The telepathic message ends.

Kamilla to Overwatch, status.

Silence.

Torrent: ”We’ve lost contact with Overwatch.”

Plague: ”Looks like it’s up to us.”

Mission: Hunt down and kill a pair of witches that have been razing towns and cities in the area. The witches are supposedly stronger than normal, reducing everything to ashes and rubble, only leaving a handful of survivors to spread the tale.

Contact with Seer One, Two, and Four were all lost within the past ten minutes, and now Seer Three and Overwatch.

The last remaining party, the kill-team, armed with the legendary Disaster weapons and led by Kamilla herself, should be more than enough to deal with two rampant witches.

Torrent: ”I want a large circular formation, about fifty meters of space between you and the people to your sides. If these witches took out the other parties fast enough that they couldn’t let out a distress pulse, best not to make ourselves an easy target.”

The seven Disaster weapons get into formation - Whirlwind, Quake, Blizzard, Plague, Wildfire, Thunderstorm, and Torrent, the last wielded by Kamilla, the Second of Caelum’s weapon master.

Wildfire: ”You think it’s really just two witches? Those things aren’t supposed to get any stronger than a top-of-the-line chirop fire mage, and I’m pretty sure two of ‘em aren’t capable of wiping out Overwatch that fast. There’s gotta be more of ‘em.”

Torrent: ”However many there are, whatever they are, we’ll be ready. Broad daylight, open field in every direction for a few kilometers, we’ll see ‘em coming long before they’re in casting range.”

The seven weapon users wait, scanning the horizon, alert for any sign of movement. Minutes pass without any sign of life.

Blizzard: ”Think they just took out our eyes and communication and then ran?”

Torrent: ”No telling. Stay alert.”

Several more minutes pass, some of the warriors shifting from foot to foot, twirling their weapon, waiting for something to show up.

An ear-piercing shriek and an energetic explosion, Kamilla whirls around only to be blinded by two white-hot explosions.

Torrent: ”CONTACT!”

Wildfire, Plague, and Torrent leap away from the destruction, taking a quick second to take it in.

Where Whirlwind and Thunderstorm once stood are craters filled with molten rock, the weapons floating on top unharmed, the users nowhere to be seen.

Two dark figures stand on the plains, one where Blizzard was, the other over Quake. The telltale pointed, brimmed hat with the top sagging slightly back, the black, flowing dress. They're witches, but not the normal ones that stood no taller than a human. Both were easily four meters high, with stout, powerful beaks of shining black metal sprouting from their faces, a dozen glowing red eyes visible under the shade of their hat.

Each of their fingers end in a white-hot claw-like blade, one claw in each hand longer than the rest, surpassing that of a greatsword. The charred, shredded remains of a weapon user falling out of each of their grasps.

Plague: ”No...”

The witches surge forward, moving faster than their size should permit. Wildfire unleashes a stream of flames, only for one of the witches to charge directly into it and, reaching the source in the blink of an eye, slicing apart the weapon user’s armor and body into pieces with a few swipes.

Plague ducks and backpedals, avoiding two lethal swings only to be struck with a glowing orange orb, exploding into a burst of heat and gore.

Twin water lances shoot towards the witches, both nimbly dodging before rushing towards Torrent, the last weapon user moving like a blur to avoid the storm of burning, razor-edged claws and searing flames. One of the witches grabs on to the Torrential Glaive, pulling it away. The weapon, not wishing to be taken, forces its master to keep hold, tearing off her right hand as the polearm is flung across the field.

Kamilla’s armor disintegrates, and just as a glowing scythe comes down upon her, she flicks her left hand up, forming an arch of artificial matter that slows the strike long enough for her to leap out of the way, the witch’s claw cleaving clean through and striking the space where Kamilla once stood. As the last member of the kill-team lands on the ground, she stumbles and falls over, her right leg missing below the knee.

The twin witches stand over Kamilla, scrutinizing her form.

”I like this one.”

A crackling whisper, sounding of an old hag with charred lungs.

”She will get stronger. Will be more fun.”

The witches turn to leave, Kamilla pushing herself up into a sitting position.

Kamilla: ”Is that it!? Aren’t you going to devour me, feed me to your bastard witchlings!?”

"Already ate."

Kamilla looks at them, angry, confused.

"This is our sport."

The air shimmers around the witches as they bend space around them, gradually fading from view.

Kamilla: ”I’ll kill the both of you! I’ll gut you like pigs and turn your cores into weapons to slaughter all of your kind!”

One of the witches turns around, its appearance distorted by the barrier forming. The many eyes narrow and its beak bends into a monstrous replication of a smile.

"Call us, the Chaos Weapons."

An ancient Caelum tale of a woman that would appear during a battle, turning the tide and leading one side to victory. The woman was called the Hero of the March, and later the Saint of the March, eventually being shortened to Saint March over time.

In Caelum tradition, the title Hero of the March is an honor bestowed upon the rare woman in conflict who takes the front lines, leading their allies into the fray and claiming victory, with the belief that she is empowered by the original Saint March.

Marcus-Hale

As you know, Genevine-Kroelle is your eastern neighbor, despite your attempts of ignoring her for the past five or so years. There is land to your east, by the way.

The savages of the region have been tamed by Genevine over the years, through her extensive efforts at introducing culture and sanitation and wiping out the beasts for them, and she has been a valuable export of the locale’s material, be it skins or spices. However, she has missed her latest shipment date, two weeks ago, which is unusual of her. More unusual, there has been no traffic in and out of her territory, no merchants or messengers to communicate any incident.

I have tasked you with investigating Genevine’s silence and reporting back, or coaxing her out of whatever isolation she has suddenly placed herself in.

Suzanna



Marcus folds the letter closed, stuffing it back into his coat pocket.

Sitting in front of him is his political advisor, Falon Balade, a formally-dressed woman in her late thirties, staring out the window of the carriage.

Falon: ”Is this really a job you have to go do yourself?”

Marcus: ”Genevine-Kroelle is an arrogant, detestable woman, and I would like to avoid contact with her if at all possible.”

Falon: ”So-”

Marcus: ”But a Daeli does not just abandon their duties, not without a good reason. For her and her territory to have just gone silent - I do not trust anyone besides another Daeli to investigate.”

Falon: ”I see.”

Marcus: ”That being said, if she is alive and well, you will handle speaking with her.”

The advisor smirks.

Falon: ”I see.”

The deer-carriage continues along the road, its driver maintaining a steady but urgent pace through the forest until the city comes into view - a collection of multi-leveled artistic works of masonry, wide paved streets, and canals flowing with water.

Marcus pulls a cord on the ceiling and the carriage comes to a halt. He opens the door himself and steps out - a tall, powerfully built man, black hair slicked back, and deep green eyes.

Marcus: ”Wait here.”

Driver: ”Yes sir.”

Marcus: ”Falon, come with me.”

His advisor steps out of the carriage, giving a small bow in acknowledgement.

Falon: ”Yes, my Lord.”


The two walk down the streets, eyeing the windows and doorways of buildings - all empty. Not a single soul in sight



Marcus: ”Do you smell that?”

Falon: ”... Yes. The odor of excrement. Have the sanitation systems failed?”

Marcus: ”I don’t believe so, all the water systems appear to be running.”

Trash occasionally blows across the streets, and Marcus reaches out with his kinetics to bring one of them, a newspaper, to his hand.

Casually glancing at it, his face suddenly contorts into anger, fear, the paper crinkling as his hands tighten into a fist.

Falon: ”... My Lord?”

Marcus: ”What… idiocy...!”

The advisor steps closer to him, peering at the paper’s headline.


Genevine Declares Extermination Campaign on Cult of Motram

An artist’s drawing of a centipede-like monster fills the center of the page.



The two continue down the streets, towards the odor of feces that gradually becomes stronger, a foul beacon to a potential clue as to the disappearance of the townsfolk. The smell soon becomes almost overpowering, the advisor coughing and gagging as they push on.


Eventually, they round the corner of a building and see the town square.


A massive tan blob sits in its center, roughly three stories tall, sitting in a massive pile of fly-infested feces. The surface of the blob has hundreds of small openings - half resembling mouths that open and close, and the other half obscene holes, periodically opening and releasing more feces.



Marcus: ”... Caelus protect us...”

The Investigators’ car slowly cruises down the road of a neighborhood filled with small, quaint houses. It soon reaches the scene - two police cars parked by the sidewalk with four officers standing by, occasionally glancing at two men sitting on the curb.


The Investigator’s car slows down and then stops, and two men quickly step out and walk towards the scene.

Jason Amber - A man of average height, sturdy build, and an ill-kept beard and short hair matted from the summer heat.

Quickly following behind is his partner, Niel Elgin, who in contrast is tall and lanky with a tidy, well-kept appearance.


One of the men sitting on the curb is old, roughly in his seventies, while the other is probably in his early thirties. Both are hunched over, faces twisted and tears flowing as they try to suppress their pain.

An officer approaches the Investigators, speaking in a low voice -

Officer: ”Family was havin’ dinner - the husband and wife, three children, and the wife’s parents. Somethin’ struck the wife, children, and grandparents in the head, all at the same time. Died instantly. Husband and grandfather were untouched.”

Jason: ”Has anyone suspicious been seen in the area?”

Officer: ”Not by us, no. We haven’t questioned any neighbors yet.”

Jason: ”Alright. Let the husband and grandfather calm down, see if they have any relatives they can stay with. Niel, check around the outside of the house, I’ll start looking inside.”

Niel: ”Got it.”



~



Back in the office, the Investigators take a seat, folders of evidence strewn about on the desk.

Niel picks up a folder and begins skimming through while Jason takes a sip from a coffee mug.





Niel: ”Family of seven, five dead. Autopsy reports say severe traumatic impact to the head, enough to crack through the skull, no presence of foreign matter, no murder weapon found on or near the site.”

Jason: ”Husband and grandpa claim the impacts occurred simultaneously, with seemingly no source. Everyone except grandma was at the dinner table at the time of the impacts, grandma was in the spare room sleeping early due to illness. She has the same impact to the head.”

Niel: ”No one in the family with a history of magic usage.

So.”


Jason: ”So?”

Niel: ”What happened?”

Jason: ”No idea.”

Niel: ”Husband was upset by something, wanted to take out himself and ‘save’ his family, grandpa stopped him? Got rid of the weapon, called the police, played innocent?”

Jason: ”Unlikely.”

Niel: ”Why’s that?”

Jason: ”Look at this.”

He slides him over a photograph - the grandmother lying in bed positioned in a corner. To the right side and head of the bed are walls, with clear space at the foot and left. The grandmother is lying on her back, blood soaking the right side of her somewhat-flat pillow.



Jason: ”See what’s off?”



Niel takes a moment, carefully looking the photograph over.



Niel: ”The wound is on the grandma’s right side. The only open space is to her left, or from the foot of the bed. Unless if she was sleeping on her left side, and the attacker struck her from above, and she rolled over on to her back, but the blankets don’t look like she moved.”


Jason: ”And these.”


More photographs, this time of the victims around the dinner table, some slumped over, others leaned back.


Niel: ”Two of them have impacts to the front of their heads, a melee attacker would’ve had to be across the table when he struck them, which doesn’t sound right. So, it’s definitely magic. A kinetic bolt, or something similar.”


Niel takes a sip from his own mug, scratching his head while Jason begins looking over the photographs once more.


Jason: ”Hold on.”

Niel: ”Hm?”

Jason: ”Look. The two kids that were sitting on this side of the table both have impacts on the front of their heads.

The mother, sitting across from them, has the impact to the back of her head. The kid at the end of the table has the impact on his left.”


Niel: ”... They’re all facing the same direction-! Towards the, right side of the house.”

Jason: ”The grandma too, if we assume her death position is the same as when she was struck, it’s towards the right side of the house as well. Get me a map.”

Niel rushes out of the room and quickly returns with a map of the town, laying it on the table.

Jason pulls out a pen and hovers over the map, circling a house.

Jason: ”Here’s their house. And, all of the impacts are roughly pointing in this direction -”

He draws a line from the house out towards South-West, which crosses over a large chunk of houses before reaching the town’s hospital grounds.


Niel: ”The-! The mother, Miranda, she has a brother, hold on.”

He sifts through the folders and grabs one, and begins flipping through.

Niel: ”Nathan Clark, he’s a guard that works in the Mental Asylum on the hospital grounds. No history of magic usage, though.”

Jason: ”Let’s pay him a visit. We’ll have to ask him questions anyways, for one reason or another.”



~



The Investigators arrive at the house, and Jason knocks on the door.

Several seconds pass with no noise inside, prompting him to knock again.

Niel walks towards one of the windows and peers inside.


Niel: ”I see ‘em. He’s slumped over a table. There’s blood.”

Jason: ”This is the police, we’re coming in!”

The Investigator kicks in the door and draws his handgun, carefully stepping inside with his partner right behind him.


At the dinner table is a man, seated and slumped over. A coagulated pool of blood has formed on the table and floor, and a crater of a wound is in his head.


Niel: ”Damn.”



Jason: ”Quick question.”

Niel: ”Yeah?”

Jason: ”What direction’s the Asylum?”

Niel: ”About, thataway?”

Jason: ”Wound points the same way.”

Niel: ”The hell’s goin’ on.”



~



The Investigators walk up to the Mental Asylum - a large brick building with barred windows and reinforced doors. Heading through the front doors, they approach the receptionist’s where a woman is seated. A clear protective wall separates her from the rest of the room.

Jason: ”Morning. I’m Jason Amber, police investigator, this is my partner Niel Elgin. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

Receptionist: ”No, not at all.”

Jason: ”Is it correct that Nathan Clerk works here as a security guard?”

Receptionist: ”Yes, though he hasn’t shown up today for his shift.”

Jason: ”I see. Does he interact with patients much, beyond his official duties?”

Receptionist: ”Yes, he talks to a few of them when he’s bored.”

Jason: ”Which ones?”

Receptionist: ”Can, I see your badges?”

The investigators pull out their badges and show her.

Receptionist: ”Sorry, just had to make sure.

I’ve seen him mostly talk with Huey. Can’t remember the others.”


Jason: ”Can we speak with Huey?”

Receptionist: ”Let me get the nurse.”



~



The Investigators follow the nurse down the hall of the High Security wing, each cell contained inside of an AM shell with advanced anti-magic systems. Each cell has and airlock-style chamber right before its entrance, with chairs and a microphone to talk to the patients inside.

Most of the patients seem docile, simply sleeping, pacing back and forth, or just staring out at the nurse and Investigators walking by.


Nurse: ”Huey was found on a farmer’s cow field. He killed all the cows with magic and was in the process of eating one raw before the police apprehended him. Some days he seems normal, others he’s completely unintelligible.”

The three approach a cell with a man pressing himself against the clear barrier, smiling.

The nurse opens the door to the “airlock” for the Investigators and gently closes it behind them, waiting nearby.



Huey presses the intercom button on his side, speaking in a calm but happy voice.

Huey: ”I told him not to break the deal.”

Jason press the intercom on his side -

Jason: ”Told who?”

Huey: ”Nate.”

Jason: ”What deal did you make with him?”

Huey: ”I tell him my secret, and he gets me out.”

Jason: ”I would ask what your secret is, but I know I can’t make that deal with you.”

Huey: ”Hahahahaha!

I have seen it.”


Jason: ”Seen what?”

Huey: ”The light. They showed it to me. It burned, etched itself into my mind. The truth. The power.”

Jason: ”Who showed you the light?”

Huey: ”It’s a secret.”

Jason: ”The truth, the truth about what?”

Huey: ”Everything.”

His smile widens, and he begins shaking with excitement.


Huey: ”Do you want to know?”