Bab 22: Exploration!
The faint, briny scent hung in the air, an odd reminder of canned herrings. Luther frowned, holding his kerosene lamp aloft as he swept his gaze across the lobby of the abandoned villa. This was the second villa he'd searched today, and his patience was wearing thin.
Luther's investigation had led him here, to the deserted estates on West Street. From what he'd pieced together, this neighborhood should have been the perfect hiding place for Hermann's disciples. Most of the original inhabitants; nobles and wealthy merchants, had packed up and fled, likely tipped off about the impending spread of the blood plague. They left behind their opulent homes, and in their absence, it seemed plausible that Hermann's followers had taken advantage of the vacancy to set up their lair.
But as Luther searched, he felt a growing frustration. He'd combed through each room meticulously, looking for any hint of recent human activity. Yet so far, there was nothing. Just layers of dust, webs in every corner, and an unsettling silence that made his skin crawl.
Then, a thought struck him; a realization that sent a chill down his spine.
"Wait…" he muttered, his grip on the lamp tightening. "It's too quiet."
He stopped, tuning in to the unnatural stillness around him. Any abandoned building should echo with the scurrying of rats or the occasional skittering of insects. But here, there was no movement, no sound, nothing but that odd, lingering scent.
Something wasn't right.
Luther's instincts flared, a sharp, primal awareness that had been honed by countless battles. His swordsmanship training had advanced his senses, gifting him with an acute awareness of danger. And right now, every nerve was telling him he was not alone.
A dark shape darted in the edge of his vision. Luther spun around, lamp raised high, eyes scanning the shadows. But there was nothing; only the dim, empty room behind him. His brow furrowed in suspicion. He'd felt it, a presence pressing in close, an almost physical sense of something lurking just out of sight.
The silence thickened, and Luther's gaze drifted toward the staircase. If there was something here with him, it was likely hiding upstairs. Gripping the hilt of his dagger, he began to approach, moving carefully, his every step calculated and silent.
But just as he reached the base of the stairs, a sudden clatter shattered the quiet. Luther froze, his eyes snapping up to the dimly lit landing above. A handful of glass marbles tumbled down the steps, clinking and bouncing with an eerie cheerfulness that felt deeply out of place. In the reflective surface of one marble, as it rolled toward him, he caught the distorted glimmer of something… something lurking behind him in the shadows.
A grim smile crept onto Luther's face. He'd faced worse than sticky tentacles and eerie sounds. Fear wasn't enough to turn him back now.
However, as he lifted one foot onto the first step, a heavy, ominous thud echoed from above, as if something large had dropped to the floor. Instinctively, he took a quick step back, his gaze locked on the staircase.
Suddenly, two figures, cloaked in gray, tumbled down the stairs and landed on the floor with sickening thuds. But as they rose, Luther's stomach tightened. Their movements were wrong; unnatural, like puppets jerked about by invisible strings. Their heads lolled at odd angles, and their spines twisted in ways that no human body should.
Before they could make another move, Luther's blade was in his hand. He lunged forward, striking with practiced precision, slicing through flesh and bone, reducing the twisted creatures to nothing more than dismembered remains. He kicked the writhing pieces into a dark corner, making a mental note to check them later for any Plague Stone fragments.
With a deep breath to steady himself, Luther turned his gaze back to the staircase. Whatever foul presence inhabited this place, it had retreated for now, and he wasn't about to lose his nerve. He resumed his ascent, each step slow, deliberate, the silence more oppressive with each footfall.
At last, he reached the second floor. The shadows seemed thicker here, and the air felt heavier, as if charged with a malevolent energy. Suddenly, in the upper left corner of his vision, a flashing exclamation mark caught his attention.
[Attacked by the blood plague]
[Successful exemption]
The messages continued to blink in his peripheral vision, a grim reminder of the dangers seething in this place. He shook off the distraction, forcing his mind to sharpen, his senses to focus.
The floor creaked beneath his boots as he surveyed the dimly lit corridor before him, every muscle taut, ready for whatever horror awaited him in the villa's dark heart.
The floor was slick with a thick, viscous layer of black slime that gleamed under the faint light. Luther squinted, trying to make sense of it, and noticed tiny insects struggling within the goo, their writhing bodies desperate for escape but trapped, helpless.
"What is this stuff?" he muttered, kneeling to get a closer look. The foul stench was thick, almost oily, filling his nostrils and making him grimace. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches, a plan already forming in his mind. "Wonder if it'll burn."
Striking a match, he held it for a moment, watching the flame flicker, before flicking it onto the slimy layer.
The effect was immediate. A soft 'whoosh' filled the air as a thin, eerie blue flame skittered across the floor, igniting the slime in a ghostly dance of fire. The flames spread quickly, illuminating the room with an unsettling, otherworldly light, casting long, sinister shadows on the walls. A sharp, acrid scent filled the air; like burnt feathers, a sure sign of protein burning, feeding the flames.
Luther didn't wait. He held his kerosene lamp close, using the flickering blue flames to guide his path as he pushed forward, his every step echoing in the desolate room. He didn't know how long he had before the tentacles lurking in the shadows made their move, but he knew he had to be quick.
The flames led him toward the center of the room, where strange runes had been etched into the floor. Around these symbols lay bodies, dozens of them, twisted and lifeless, their limbs splayed as if they'd collapsed mid-prayer. Luther's gaze lingered on the scene, his jaw clenched in silent anger. These poor souls had clearly been followers, willing or otherwise, caught in the ritualistic madness that had led them here.
His eyes narrowed on one particular figure lying amidst the corpses; a man clad in a distinctive black robe, the fabric embroidered with strange, faintly glowing threads. This wasn't just another victim. This man had authority here; his robe marked him as someone special. Kneeling beside him, Luther noticed an empty, dark hole in the man's abdomen, covered in a strange, coppery patina. Whatever had been inside that cavity was long gone.
Curiosity piqued, Luther carefully rolled the man onto his back and lifted his hood, bringing the kerosene lamp closer to study his face. The skin was pale, a look of terror frozen into twisted, distorted features. Yet there was something familiar there, despite the horror etched into the man's expression.
"John?" Luther whispered, shock mingling with confusion. This was John, the town's goat milk merchant. Luther had bought from him many times, sweet, fresh goat milk that the whole town praised.
He let out a low, bitter chuckle. "Guess you really can't judge a person by their appearance."
Shaking off his surprise, Luther began to search John's pockets, his fingers moving quickly over the lifeless body. He found a few items of interest; a torn piece of paper, a broken glass bottle, and a strange gold coin engraved with an unfamiliar symbol.
He examined each item with care. The note was badly damaged, the letters barely legible, but it seemed to have once contained instructions or perhaps a chant. The bottle, though shattered, held a few small red pills that he recognized, ones he'd seen associated with plague resistance, though they only offered temporary relief. And the coin… the symbol on it matched the one drawn on the floor, likely the emblem of Hermann's disciples. Its purpose, though, was still a mystery.
Wrapping these items in a scrap of linen, he tucked them securely into his pouch. Then, he rose, scanning the rest of the room for anything he might have missed. But aside from the eerie blue glow of the dying flames, there was nothing else.
As he made his way back into the corridor, he noticed the flames had begun to flicker out, the black slime receding into the shadows. Taking a few cautious steps forward, Luther felt his instincts prickle. He raised the kerosene lamp, lifting it high above his head, and his eyes widened at what he saw.
Clinging to the ceiling above him was a grotesque mass of black flesh, bristling with writhing tentacles, its oily surface pulsating in sync with some hidden, malevolent rhythm. Luther's hand moved instinctively toward his dagger, his body coiling, prepared to strike.
The creature shifted, splitting open in the center to reveal a maw lined with rows of jagged, serrated teeth. Black slime oozed from the mouth, dripping down to the floor with a sickening hiss, as if the substance itself was acidic.
In an instant, the creature lunged, hurtling toward him with surprising speed. Luther leaped back, twisting just in time to dodge the attack. His reflexes kicked in, and he drove his elbow back with a fierce strike, shoving the creature away. As it reeled, he lunged forward, his dagger flashing in his hand as he plunged it deep into the thing's grotesque body, twisting the blade and driving it in three times in rapid succession. Black ichor splattered, and with a final kick, he pinned it against the wall.
But he knew this wasn't over. The space was too confined, the walls and shadows seeming to close in on him. Any moment, those tentacles could emerge from the darkness again, striking from angles he couldn't predict.
Wasting no time, Luther pulled his dagger free, his grip tight as he turned and bolted toward the stairs. He needed to move to open ground, somewhere with more space to maneuver, where he wouldn't be at the mercy of whatever horrors lurked in the villa's narrow corridors.
As he ran, he could feel the vibrations of something slithering behind him, shadows creeping along the walls, hungry and relentless.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone