"Oh, you startled me, Yarrow. You’re still here?”

  “Yes, Father. I’m sorry, I’m about to leave as well. I believe you’re about to switch?”

  “Indeed, it’s time for me to go up... finally.”

  The slanted eyes Deacon slowly approached Landon and followed his line of sight before letting out a deep breath. Then, he patted the shoulders of Landon and gently said,

  “Well, I’ll be off then. Take your time but I wouldn’t linger here any longer than necessary if I were you. The things these halls do to your mind...”

  “I understand, thank you, Father.”

  Faint echoes of abrupt conversation spread and filled the corners of cold and eerie halls of the infamous Catacombs.

  Countless azure lanterns flickered across the forsaken halls. Though Landon found comfort in the protection of Light, it was nonetheless suffocating, creepy, and... maddening.

  At least, that’s what Landon felt the first time he set foot here. However now, what he felt were still unpleasant feelings, yet more dreadful and solemn.

  He still couldn’t take his eyes off the man in front of him... no, the zombie in front of him, dangling around the iron chains.

  If it weren’t for its strong resemblance with its former self and Landon’s own fond memories towards Mr. Kenneth, he was sure he wouldn’t recognize this snarling, faceless creature.

  Because who would?

  A Soulless is one thing but being faceless? Who or what in their right mind could have committed such cruel, inhumane acts – vicious enough to rip a person’s humanity off as whole. To rip of a person’s life off them.

  After all, no fate is worse than losing one’s sense of identity.

  Granted, it’s harmless now that it’s imprisoned in the most impregnable and indestructible confinement that bore witness to the rise of their very empire.

  Even the deacons, also known as research experts, were yet to find the cause behind the creation of such tragic yet dangerous creatures however, Landon had faint suspicions of them hiding the truth.

  After all these years he’d been in this line of work, seeing how he never knew why the deacons had to switch while keeping watch of a certain something in here made him distinctly know, the secrets their empire was harboring were a lot deeper than he ever imagined.

  Only dozens of people saw the whole incident and yet, the measures the higherups imposed on the civilians were a lot more extreme and unnecessary than Landon expected.

  The Light’s Envoys themselves came and went a certain length to hide everything concerning it – rewriting the memories of the witnesses.

  It’s a standard procedure concerning public outbreak as such happened, but what’s suspicious was that they were trying to hide it from Landon, a Head Captain of Overseers, albeit a fresh one.

  He knew of the experts specialized in memories in the higherups, but it was too discreet – they had never shown their face personally.

  Furthermore, he believed they’re letting him visit the... zombie out of respect for the grieved or that, there would be too much of a suspicion.

  Or maybe his memories had already been tempered with.

  For no reason, his fingers traced along the steel bars, feeling the cold rust.

  Then with a firm determination, he revoked his fingers as well as his thoughts and promptly left, taking long and calm strides without glancing back.

  As he slowly ascended, countless cages that resembled the zombie’s cage, appeared one by one in his peripheral vision, and soon, it extended out as far as his eyes could see through the dim lights.

  Since the halls were deafeningly silent, echoes of eerie wailings, horrifying growls and desperate begging for help uninvitedly assaulted his senses, then his mind.

  His footsteps kept resounding in the halls and attracted attention from beings inside the cages.

  Imprisoned in them were weird, pulsating blueish blobs, terrifying abominations that resembled humans – that could deceive people’s eyes if they weren’t cautious enough.

  They were innumerable, they were countless, they were terrifyingly endless.

  Since the beginning, such was the home to every Soulless and why it was called the Catacombs.

  Soon enough, all that’s left in these godforsaken halls were distinct echoes of footsteps, pained snarls, wailings, ceaseless dangling of steel chains and perhaps, the hideous truth of their empire.

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  He felt like he’d made a mistake, but Merik kept his composure. He didn’t need to look at her face to see the eerily beautiful woman beside him was angry – more like raging.

  She seemed triggered by being a target of the game. Sure, he wouldn’t like it if he were the one to be guessed at like some kind of game.

  People’s lives weren’t meant to be treated as games, truer when it came to judging them.

  Merik wanted to apologize, nonetheless held it in. The two strangers were already odd enough – he couldn’t let them take advantage of his politeness. Even if it came off as something rude, so be it.

  The man named Deckard’s eyes squinted subtly and glanced at Revella. Soran did the same, but his reaction was a lot stronger. Maybe he didn’t expect she would react this... way.

  After considerable moments of painful silence, Merik spoke:

  “I guessed that... you, Miss Revella, was a man, doesn’t talk much and that... you’re carrying a weapon under your robe.”

  Another wave of painful silence.

  This time, she muttered something out.

  “A... a man?”

  Yep, there it is.

  Merik wanted to peel his face off, but he kept his indifferent composure. Then, he added while not looking at the girl’s face,

  “It’s a huge blunder from my part. I believe I have yet to properly understand people’s nature. After all, you are nothing but a beautiful woman, Miss Revella, and I couldn’t be more wrong in deducing this way. Thus, I deservingly lost.”

  Merik felt cold sweats on his forehead. He looked at Soran and Deckard to see that... they were stifling their laughs.

  He was being tortured alive and yet, there’s nothing he could do about it. He lost at his own game. Worse yet, he broke his own rule – he disrespected a woman.

  However, the next words from the beautiful, scarred woman made him confused.

  “How do you know about the weapon?”

  She took it a lot better than I thought.

  Merik explained, still not looking at her,

  “I saw you keep reaching out to your, excuse me, your thighs and seeing both of you are being vigilant and, adding the fact that you’re both strangers, wearing huge, shady robes, I guessed that you are carrying a weapon or sort and a dagger is just my personal guess.”

  She nodded slowly, then she asked,

  “How do you know I keep reaching out to my thighs?”

  “I... umm...”

  Then, Soran came to the rescue and interrupted,

  “Milady, don't’ you want to know my guesses as well?”

  “You won, right? I’ll pass.”

  “Wha...”

  She continued,

  “After all, I never wanted to be in your little game and this... guy just sprouted all on his own, so I never got the chance to stop him. So, yes. I’ll pass.”

  Merik glanced at her after looking at the weirdly, smirking Soran.

  Her exquisite face no longer hid behind the hood as much as before – maybe she didn’t notice, or she didn’t care and Merik could finally take hold of her beauty more than just a glimpse.

  The scars on her right face resembled a grotesque, greyish burn as if the skins themselves were carefully pealed by layers after layers, before reattaching them abruptly. Her whole eye, both the pupil and the iris drowned in an ashen hollow and the corner of her mouth couldn’t properly cover her canines.

  However, these scars paled in comparison when it came to her actual beauty. She had an ashen hair with sharp nose ridge and her intact eyes full of ruthlessness and murders.

  She was dangerously alluring. Enchanting, even.

  Merik let out a sigh to ease his heart.

  Before Soran tried to flirt with Revella again, suddenly, Deckard slammed on the door with his hands.

  “Interesting game, indeed! Interesting, interesting!”

  Then, he laughed loudly with his clear voice. Merik inwardly remarked that his scars looked like a small scratch compared to Revella but nonetheless, charming.

  Deckard continued,

  “As I am intrigued by this game, may I play a game please?”

  Soran smilingly confirmed, with a trace of pride,

  “Of course, you may. But then, to play the game you must bet and to bet is to...”

  Deckard interrupted,

  “Merik, if I may, what should be the bet?”

  Merik’s heart skipped a beat with realization. He met the piercing gaze of the man in front of him.

  The smiles were there, the scars were there, but the former cheerful and carefree eyes were gone, instead, replaced by the invading eyes... no, challenging eyes.

  Soran didn’t seem to notice as he pouted slightly beside Deckard but for Merik, the provocation was plain as day.

  Merik’s lips curled upwards satisfyingly. After all, that was why he came here in the first place.

  That’s why he went out of his usual ways to explain the game’s rules, to lure as a bait. It was okay if he didn’t take it, then Merik would just return to his seat gladly, accepting the scarred man was all appearances, no danger.

  Seeing how he challenged Merik and seeing how he noticed Soran and Merik watching them, Merik was almost sure they were nothing ordinary.

  As an Overseer of Peace, this couldn’t go unnoticed.

  Merik answered,

  “Before we establish the bet, why not change the game’s rules a little bit?”

  “Hmm, what do you have in mind?”

  “It’s nothing strange. Instead of three facts, let’s play a game called “Two lies, one truth”?”

  “What’s that?”

  That, Revella asked. Merik brushes off all three pairs of intrigued eyes and explained,

  “Simple. I will say three facts and Deckard here, must discern truth from lies. We’ll play best of three.”

  “Interesting. But how are we to clarify?”

  “Simple, again. We have our own partners here; they will do the job. As for the relationship between us, I believe we are of the same, no?”

  Merik implied that even though they were together, their two pairs of duos weren’t necessarily friends and that, their relationships were not as simple as it seemed.

  Deckard took some moments to ponder and started laughing loudly again. The nature of his tone was different and Merik couldn’t but sense the hidden animosity. Then, he smilingly said,

  “Well then, I agree. My bet will be, if I win, your beloved weapon. The one you cherish and caress all the time. ”

  The next moment though, the room seemed to be ripped of air as the people started to suffocate slightly. They were confused and tried to breathe more and yet; it didn’t matter.

  Because the room really did become heavier.

  Revella for the first time since their encounter, turned her head towards the crimson eyed Merik and stared while reaching for her dagger, her every instinct screaming that she would cease to exist.

  The same way she witnessed how his blade affected people.

  Even Soran felt uneasy over his ‘friend’.

  The two men didn’t break their eye contact though they both noticed the change in the atmosphere.

  Right then, the room turned back to normal with a smile of Merik.

  “Well, then. Let’s make the game a lot more fun, shall we? Let’s raise the stakes higher. If you win, I’ll give you my father’s revolver, my clothes, my house, everything, but if I win...”

  Merik deliberated his words in a slow manner – slow enough for Deckard to feel a shiver in his spine from such ordinary sentence.

  “I want your life.”