The night in Eldwood was cloaked in a tense, oppressive silence. The town still trembled from the earlier chaos, its streets deserted save for the occasional flicker of a streetlamp or the distant bark of a restless dog.
At the edge of town stood the police station—a sturdy brick building, its façade dimly illuminated by the amber glow of streetlights.
Inside, officers moved about their routine duties, unaware of the storm about to descend upon them.
Mia and Tom emerged from the shadows, their faces hidden behind dark, featureless masks that absorbed the faint light around them.
Behind them, a dozen members of the occultic group followed silently, their own masks reflecting the faintest glint of the streetlamps.
The air around them seemed charged, heavy with anticipation and something far more sinister.
Around Mia's neck hung the Parador pendant, its emerald core pulsing with an eerie, green light that seemed to throb in time with her heartbeat.
She tightened her grip on it, feeling the dark power coursing through her veins, ready to be unleashed.
Without warning, a bone-chilling howl shattered the stillness, reverberating through the empty streets like a primal scream.
From the darkness, a pack of wolves materialized, their eyes blazing a fierce, unnatural red....These were no ordinary wolves—they had been summoned by the Parador's ancient magic, spectral beasts born of shadow and fury.
With a savage force, they surged forward, crashing into the police station's front doors.
The thick wood splintered and the glass shattered in a cacophony of destruction, sending shards raining onto the tiled floor.
Inside, officers shouted in alarm, scrambling to draw their weapons as the wolves tore through desks and scattered papers with wild abandon.
Their snarls echoed through the corridors, primal and terrifying, as they hunted with relentless ferocity.
Amid the chaos, Mia and Tom moved like phantoms—swift, silent, and deadly.
Bullets whizzed past them, but they seemed to blur and dodge with unnatural speed. When they struck back, it was with brutal precision, incapacitating officers with swift, calculated strikes that left the lawmen groaning and crumpled on the floor.
Their goal was clear: the prison cells at the rear of the station.
Tom snatched a keyring from a fallen officer, the cold metal clinking ominously as he approached the heavy iron doors. With a loud clang, the doors swung open, and the group surged inside, their footsteps echoing in the dimly lit corridor.....They moved with desperate urgency, peering into each cell, their masked faces illuminated by the faint glow of flickering overhead lights.
"The host," Mia growled, her voice muffled but edged with fierce determination.
"We need the entity's vessel—find them!"
The host was the linchpin in their dark plan, the human anchor needed to amplify Mistura's revival, a supernatural force they sought to unleash upon the world.
They overturned bunks, rifled through meager belongings, and interrogated dazed, frightened inmates.
But none bore the unblinking stare or the supernatural aura they sought. The search dragged on, growing more frantic with every empty cell and confused prisoner.
Frustration mounted, and the group's resolve began to waver.
With no sign of the host, Mia signaled a retreat. As they stormed back toward the exit, a wounded officer, barely able to stand, raised his weapon in a last act of defiance.
Two shots rang out—sharp and desperate.
The first ricocheted harmlessly off the wall, but the second found its mark, piercing Tom's shoulder. He staggered, a guttural snarl tearing from his throat as blood seeped through the fabric of his mask.
His eyes blazed with a furious, almost inhuman rage.
Ignoring Mia's urgent tug, Tom whirled around, his movements swift and unnatural.
From beneath his cloak, he drew a concealed blade that gleamed wickedly in the low light.
With a single, brutal stroke, he slashed across the officer's throat. The man's choked cry was cut short, his body collapsing to the floor as blood pooled beneath him, staining the cold tiles.
Mia grabbed Tom's arm, her voice sharp and commanding.
"Enough—let's go!" The wolves howled once more, rallying to their masters' call.
The occultic group melted back into the shadows, their footsteps fading into the night as sirens wailed in the distance, heralding the arrival of reinforcements.
The police station lay in ruins, a grim testament to the group's wrath and determination.
Though their mission had failed, their violent assault sent a clear message: they would stop at nothing to achieve their dark ambitions.
James Carter's Frustrated Evidence Gathering**
Detective James Carter sat hunched over his cluttered desk in his home office, the soft glow of his laptop casting elongated shadows across the room.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to fend off the fatigue that accompanied his relentless pursuit of truth. The weight of the $10,000 bribe from Chief Inspector Daniels and the cryptic note -
"The Pierce legacy is the key. Watch the shadows"—pressed down on him like a heavy fog, fueling his determination to investigate Angela's mother despite his impending leave.
The recent occultic assault on Eldwood's police station and the unusual bird invasion at Haul Academy had only heightened his urgency; he was acutely aware that time was running out.
James started by requesting surveillance footage, dialing the precinct to coordinate with the tech team.
"I need footage from the national stadium for June 5th, and from Eldwood police station for tonight's incident.
Focus on Mrs. Pierce's known associates—dark-haired teens, masked figures, anything unusual."
As he spoke, the line crackled with static, barely masking the tension in his voice.
The tech officer's reply came through, confirming his worst fears.
"We're on it, sir, but the stadium feed's corrupted—looks like a glitch wiped most of it.
Eldwood's cameras were down during the attack; they were probably sabotaged.
We've got nothing clear." Frustration gnawed at him; the lack of visuals suggested a deliberate cover-up, possibly orchestrated by the very source of the bribe.
Undeterred, James turned to the bank records from a confidential file, spreading the pages across his cluttered desk. The papers felt like a jigsaw puzzle that he needed to solve. He traced the offshore transfers—large sums moving from Mrs. Pierce's accounts to obscure entities with ominous names like "Vox Umbra" and "Lumen Noctis."
Using a spreadsheet, he meticulously cross-referenced dates with the occultic group's known activities: the stadium heist, the clandestine dungeon raid, and now the chaos at Eldwood.
Patterns began to emerge; transfers spiked just before each event like clockwork.
However, the accounts were nothing more than shell companies, their origins concealed behind a labyrinth of international banking regulations. It felt like chasing phantoms.
A cold draft swept through the room, making the papers rustle as if mocking his efforts.
Out of the corner of his eye, the crow from earlier tapped insistently at the window, its glinting eyes conveying an almost sentient recognition of his desperation. It felt like a silent taunt, reinforcing the notion that the evidence he desperately sought was being shielded by powers beyond his understanding.
James leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples in frustration, the futility of his progress sinking in deeper.
The footage was gone, the financial trails led to dead ends, and the shadows he was meant to watch seemed to close in around him.
He grabbed his phone, wrestling with the decision of whether or not to involve Rossie.
The dead ends left him with more questions than answers, a nagging sense that he was teetering on the edge of something significant yet utterly elusive. He knew he couldn't let this case slip through his fingers like sand, but every lead felt like quicksand, pulling him down further into despair.
He took a deep breath, determination rekindling in his chest. He had to find a way through the shadows.