For you, being followed and arrested by unfamiliar police officers and thrown into a jail cell all took place within a matter of hours.
Before today, you were just an unremarkable nobody who owned a detective agency off the beaten track, living with your assistant Eileena, who occasionally made a small mistake or two.
The agency mostly investigated trivial matters: extramarital affairs, leaked compromising photos, stolen jewelry, mysterious telegrams, and the like. When finances got tight, you'd even walk dogs and do other odd jobs.
So very few people know your true secret—
While others of your kind battle supernatural horrors to the death, you've been enjoying all the human pleasures: news, theater, gossip, food, fortune-telling, and even legal tax evasion...
But all of that became nothing but a distant memory the moment you were forced to the ground and handcuffed.
There's a gravely wounded person in the cell besides you, her consciousness fading, her face and limbs severely mutated. She must have been entangled with the Mist for so long that she's trapped in that world with no way back.
It's unclear whether this is a new way of execution or if you're being tested. You grip your weapon tightly, ready to counter any possible attack.
Blood... Your blood... Help me...
The mutated woman before you can somehow still produce human speech. The uncanny scene sends chills down your spine.
Her hand, covered in scales, "clutches" a long blade that has grown into her flesh. Bound tightly with fabric strips, the weapon is unlike those ordinary monsters could wield.
She lets out a faint sigh, releasing the scent of blood within her chest. It's the scent of a kindred being, one that instantly ignites something primal within you.
A welcoming resonance surges within you, as if a lone wolf has found its kin through a howl across the wilderness.
Until now, the existence of Aberrations was merely an urban legend. Even the Countess, the only confirmed Aberration, has remained elusive.
You've always lived cautiously, but just this once you want to trust your instincts. Perhaps the chaos has broken you, or perhaps it's sympathy for your own kind. Either way, the urge to save her feels almost primal.
As you take her blade, a tremendous force courses through it like a surging tide, nearly causing it to slip from your grasp.
Merely trapped in a beast's body, the Aberration clearly retains her humanity, but the transformation will be difficult to revert. As she struggles to move, you quickly examine her wounds.
The reflections from embedded bullets glint faint silver across her body. Chains tied to the ground pierce through her hands and feet, restricting her movement to a small radius.
They've "sewn" her to the floor without dignity or mercy. Even the slightest movement will tear open new wounds on her.
Her wounds are festering, and her fever is burning. As you clean the injuries, you can't shake a deepening sense of despair.
These barbed bullets are designed to inflict fatal wounds that are nearly impossible to remove. In other words, her executioners never intended for her to survive.
The Aberration trembles throughout the procedure, breaking into a cold sweat from the pain, yet she bites down on her own braid, never making a sound.
As you extract the final bullet, she slumps to one side and taps at her heart with her hand. Once. Twice.
Stab here—my heart.
The Aberration doesn't answer, merely drooping her eyelids as her pupils dart to one side. The human equivalent of this gesture would be a contemptuous eye-roll.
Left with no choice, you move behind her, close your eyes, and plunge the knife in. Even though it's to save her, the feeling is still deeply unsettling.
The pent-up energy instantly erupts, its force throwing you and the blade to the ground. Mist coalesces before you as the bestial form recedes, and a woman appears in its place as if newly born.
She curls into a fetal position and clutches her slender neck tightly in both hands, as if she is drowning and desperately searching for air.
There's no time to think. You quickly remove your coat, wrap it around the woman, then try to pry her jaw open.
Those suffering seizures often bite their lips and tongues from the intense pain, and many have lost their lives this way. As you draw close to her face, you hear her broken, delirious murmurs.
Bottle... Liquor... Give me
All of it... give me all that's tainted.
Even though the liquor has dried up, the bottle still reeks of whiskey. But the alcohol is masking another, even stronger scent—blood.
It's definitely not human blood, but rather the blood of an evil, corrupted creation—the Mist creatures.
Fortunately, she doesn't use human blood as medicine. Fortunately, another Aberration is here with her.
In a way, an Aberration's blood is more similar to the blood of Mist creatures than human blood, which is why yours will be able to satisfy the woman's needs.
The residual solution in the bottle takes effect, and tiny bubbles churn through the amber liquid as blood ferments into alcohol... and guilt ferments in your heart.
After drinking the blood, the woman's skin turns semi-translucent like jade. Bestial bone structure and musculature briefly surface beneath her face, but her pain gradually recedes, and her form becomes stable once more.
Cold... so cold... the deep sea...
Looking around, you find no heating source except for some moldy straw. You place the woman on your lap and gently pat her shoulders and back.
Her breathing steadies with your reassurance, and she lets out a few painful whimpers before falling asleep. At this distance, you can't help but notice the grotesque scars on her arms and the calluses on her hands.
The next day is the day of execution.
You wake up shivering in the morning light to find a coat draped over you. The Aberration woman is sitting calmly in the center of the room.
Still looking fatigued, she sits cross-legged with her eyes closed. One of her hands is pressed to her forehead, and the other is gently tapping her blade.
Sunlight filtering through the roof adorns her like a throne, the chains scattered on the floor serving as her regalia. She sits in stillness, waiting for her hunt.
My name is Alpha. Thank you for watching over me last night.
If you wish, you may call me Crimson, or the Countess.
You immediately recall the numerous rumors about the Crimson Countess. Her achievements during past battles against different monsters were nothing short of extraordinary.
So even she has become a sacrificial pawn, discarded in such an undignified manner...
No, you won't die. You aided me in my hour of peril, and so you too shall make it through this day unscathed.
This is my promise to you, and I always keep my word.
Alpha lowers her head, as if she's lived through this exact scenario countless times before.
She silently turns her head to the other side away from her sole cellmate. She often responds this way when faced with matters she doesn't wish to address.
[player name], what crime brought you to this prison?
To be clear, I'm asking about offenses other than "being an Aberration."
I appreciate your ill-timed humor and your not-quite-funny jokes.
Not everyone can maintain their dignity when facing death.
Just so we're clear, I extracted quite a bit of information from yesterday's "liquor." In the interest of fairness, you get to ask me one question.
Make it count. You only get one shot.
No, I don't think so.
You're a natural-born Aberration, while I was changed from an ordinary human. I went through many... strange experiments...
I need a constant supply of blood liquor to command this power, but with each use, I inch closer to becoming a complete monster.
Alpha smiles wryly, thinking this must be the price for stealing power that was never meant to be hers. An uncomfortable silence falls between you.
The Countess seems to have fully accepted the facts and her inevitable doom. Any words of comfort would seem unnecessary and forced in the face of her tranquility.
My time is running out. The change is irreversible. I can feel my time as "Alpha" slipping away.
If that day comes, [player name], please kill me.
While waiting for your answer, she suddenly rises and walks toward you, concealing her weapon and looking out the window.
Do you hear that? The execution squad is coming.
Get ready. Today's gonna be a long day.
Don't you want to see the show?
They judged me despite my innocence, so I shall judge this city as well.
I'll tally how many want me dead with my own eyes. Then I'll calculate how many bodies it'll take to balance the scales of justice.
When all's said and done, who knows whose execution this will really be.
They should all be grateful. Honored, even, that I once considered them worthy enemies.
Yesterday in this venue, the same people gathered to proclaim Alpha's crimes.
Today, they don their finest attire to attend the funeral of the Countess and other Aberrations.
The first is known as the "Crimson Countess", who walks in the night and spreads terror through darkness.
The second is known as the "Bloodthirsty Siren", who endlessly thirsts for the vitality in warm blood.
The third is known as the "Revenant Hunter", who preys on the shadows in the Mist, and more.
The fourth is known as the "Silent Undertaker", who leaves nothing but death in the countless paths she trod.
And all four servants bow their heads to "Gray Raven", their leader.
When chaos and fear ripen in the mortal realm, they will summon the Archdevil and usher its descent to earth.
As the litany of charges continues, Alpha turns her cold gaze toward you, her eyes playful yet tinged with what appears to be respect.
She closes her eyes, silently enduring the words that don't concern her, treating these conspiratorial fantasies as nothing more than a poor joke.
Sometimes, the city is more dangerous than the Mist. In the Mist, you know who your enemies are. Here, you can never truly tell what lies in people's hearts.
These people gather all the Aberrations in one place to slaughter them all at once... But what if they refuse to bare their necks? What if they still have the strength to retaliate? This is like cornering wild beasts.
Just as Alpha carefully contemplates when to draw her blade, screams erupt, disrupting the orderly proceedings.
The Mist! The Mist is here!
It's them! They summoned the Mist, these damned Aberrations!
Alpha raises her hand, and her restraints are instantly cut apart by her summoned blade—Daybreak, a weapon forged from her very own bones.
The city before you is enveloped by a shroud of death. The panicking crowds scatter in all directions, all equally blessed by death's embrace.
Alpha watches as a woman holding an infant disintegrates before her eyes, transforming into a mist creature of bones, yet still pressing her cheek against the swaddled baby. A guard fires, shattering her body.
A burning carriage breaks through the encirclement, momentarily escaping the horde before being caught again. The monsters climb onto it one by one, tearing off the roof. Inside sit Doyle's new wife and infant son.
Iva presses the gun barrel to her temple, hoping to end her life with dignity. But a moment's hesitation is all it takes for the monsters to drag her away, leaving only her blood-stained veil fluttering to the ground.
All these people once cried out to Alpha for help, but neither her heart nor her blade has moved for them.
I heard them.
Isn't this exactly what they wanted?
A world free of Aberrations.
No, they never repent, except when they're staring death in the face.
When a dying viper survives the winter by a hearth, the first thing it does upon recovery is bite the benefactor who tended the fire.
Thank the Mist, Gray Raven. Now we're the city's "heroes" again, aren't we?
Alpha coldly observes you as you and the guards form a defensive circle, standing back-to-back to protect the vulnerable. Alpha turns and walks down a different path.
Alpha doesn't respond, merely waving her arm as a final gesture of courtesy.
Are these humans really that important to you?
Questions of right and wrong shouldn't come before matters of life and death. This city's future should ultimately be written by humans—but keep these words to yourself.
Because when it comes to "protecting the city," the Countess has more authority to speak than anyone, but she has also endured far more disappointment because of it...
Still, she ultimately stops in her tracks, drawing Daybreak by your side. It is a blade that grows sharper when tasting blood.
Don't linger after we're done with this. I've got more pressing matters to attend to.
