The Wielder of Death Magic

Chapter 984

Chapter 984: Celina

A hole left unfilled; a wound left unhealed. Gophy’s departure and her changing sides had a more prolonged effect on the Shadow Realm. Those of disinterest in politics could have cared any less. The effects weren’t felt either – if one were to ask if the leadership or a major change had taken place, an ignorant, ‘-not really?’ would have escaped their lips. In many ways – the sudden departure gave ample time for reflection. The guardian deities, their students, and those around them – from the top to the middle, everyone thought. As most of life follows along a linear passage – time would handle the rest. Trouble in paradise, such was to become the name of the short-lived period.

Far from the godly realm; upon completion of many deeds – camera flashes point anew to the growing capital-city of Rosespire. Her reputation and prestige lay in the balance of a gruesome murder.

Day cried shivers of cold, the meandering figures along the somber crossroads had their arms tightly wrapped around themselves or firmed within their pockets. A wailing gust pushed shower drops against the man-made blocks. The water cascaded down the stone bricks – many of the streams followed indentures. A slowly moving mist swapped the area. Squatters hammered upon a feeble oak door, “-open it,” said an unidentified muffle.

“Hold on,” returned the other – loud clatters beckoned. A distant silhouette passed. The following rainstorm screamed and cried till a triumphant crash. “-I’m in,” said one loudly shuffling in. A cacophony of whistling gusts and droplets against the window, ‘-tap, tap, tap,’ so it ambled, snuffed into a mild thud.

“This place isn’t that bad.”

“Been abandoned for a few weeks,” returned another.

“Sure about that?”

.....

“Yeah, a few of my buddies took up residence not too long ago. Come on,” he led on knowingly.

“Why did they leave?”

“Found a better place, ” he explained,”-us folks need to stick together. Never too late to start again...” the regular steps paused at the sight of a staircase; “-I mean... I wish I could go back. This leg of mine,” he limped.

“Doesn’t the adventuring guild award retirement funds?”

“Nah,” he returned distantly, “-no way. They’re only concerned with reputation. A thug like me had no place there. Soon as my guild learned of my past – it was bye-bye adventuring and hello a new of crime. Too bad,” they arrived on the first floor, “-a life of crime doesn’t pay as well as I’d hoped. Seen too many be thrown to the wolves.”

“Wolves?”

“Yeah, it’s slang for narcotics. Anyway,” the end of the corridor neared, “-here’s our home for a little while,” he pushed, a darker square opened to a repugnant smell, “-what the fuck is that?”

“I don’t know, it smells like rot... Come on,” hands shuffled aimlessly, “-light the torch.”

A click, similar to a retractable pen summoned light. The squatters narrowed aimlessly, checking corners and peering over their pinched nose, “-there,” the spot landed on a stained dress. It led upward to a half-naked chest overshadowed by a gruesome head injury.

*Thud* “-mind your step!” cried one, “-we have to go.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

“Don’t play dumb,” fired the man with a limp, “-we have to leave. If someone were to see us here, we’d be dead. There’s nothing to be done. Come on, come on, we have to GO!” Scattered steps and fumbling gestures; the night would soon swallow the capital. Dampened lamps ambered little they could. Rain poured akin to silver threads. Red and blue blinked in hues. Reports of trespassing and illegal activities prompted a dispatch from the royal guards.

“Working in the rain,” shivered a recruit.

“Don’t complain just yet,” added another bigger man, “-we have to scout the area first. Such is the duty of the police force,” they exited their vehicles to another ‘on-standby,’ unit.

“What’s happened here?” wondered the bigger man rushing to shelter, else the porch of a nearby shop.

“Tragic,” returned another officer, “-it’s tragic. We were forwarded a call about the bad smell, I thought it’d be something to do with narcotics... turns out, it was worse. We entered the building and found a decomposing unidentified body,” as they spoke, a bag carried the unknown lass, “-the case’s going to be transferred to homicide. No signs of drugs, rule the anti-narco out.”

“Right, well we better continue patrolling,” said the big man, “-later.”

“Take care, Patrice,” said the slimmer gentleman. A mild buckle of the car prompted, “-what happened?” from the rookie.

“A homicide, most likely,” he answered, “-not our department. Good thing we didn’t come here first,” the car toggled, “-would have been bad. From what I see, the dead girl is in a horrific state. Welcome to the world, kid – let’s continue.”

Location, education district, Rosespire. Day rose like any other day. A brooding ray announced the morning. ‘-my head,’ yawned Lizzie, “-damn,” she winched. A slow tap entered, “-lady Lizzie.”

“Hello Rile,” she smiled, “-how are you?”

“I’m great,” he returned, “-what about you?”

“I’m fine,” a tap automatically parted the blinders, “-I guess I slept alright?”

“No, my lady,” narrowed the handsome Rile, “-you should be wearier.”

“I know, I know,” out the bed-chamber and into the living room, “-the practice’s harder these days.”

“I presume you’re headed to the university?”

“Yeah, I have practice.”

Coffee in hand, Lizzie exited the apartment complex, a great building of noble standard, to the confine of her very comfortable car. ‘Morning traffic’s going to be a pain,’ the engine started – headlights darted upon a foggy gate.

“Good day, lady Lizzie,” waved a guard.

“Good day to you as well,” she replied. A painful two-hour drive – rush-hour traffic at its worse. Soothing classical music halted for the hourly update, “-and in other news, police found an unnamed body earlier last night. No reports have been published as of yet. Identity of the victim remains unknown.”

‘Dead bodies have become commonplace within the city,’ she narrowed, ‘-where’s this country going...’ the bulletin surrendered to classical music.

Gnah university read beautifully. Lizzie arrived sooner, the car halted underneath a tree, “-over here,” said a distant voice, “-Lizzie, we’re here.” Amiable chatter ensued. To and fro of students, new and old; seem a pleasant sight. the campus couldn’t have been any better. Braver students dared paint outside – challenging the damp condition to further their craft or quest for self-discovery. Campus whispers carried into a conversation; “-did you hear about the murder?”

“Yeah, it’s awful,” returned Lizzie, “-no one knows who the victim is.”

“Imagine dying without anyone knowing... man, I’m scared thinking about it.”

“You always were a coward,” added another, and the group chuckled. A larger construction rose in the distance, “-alright girls, I have to go,” it came alongside the many melodies of the music.

“Later Lizzie,” they waved.

“Later,” she replied, quick to hide her smile upon facing the musical department. ‘-life here is hell,’ she marched as if entering a battlefield, ‘-no one smiles, no one laughs. Everyone practices. Classical music’s filled with snobs, rich heirs wanting to flaunt their wealth and push their own selfish narrations. I guess I’m one of them,’ she kept her head high, ‘-I’m the snobbiest of ’em all. I’m a Haggard,’ she continued inside, ‘-the hallway opens regardless of the crowd. I earnt my respect and reputation,’ she swiftly cut into a recital hall. Syndra Lordon held her head upon a music book. Talented musicians tended to their equipment, the centerpiece of the orchestra; Lizzie Haggard’s piano. A pure white gem, a feather of an angel’s wing.

“I’m here,” she said, “-Syndra.”

“Ah, Lizzie,” her trance snapped, “-just the person I was looking for.” *Clap, clap,* a line extended automatically – the musicians followed on after the other. None cared to breathe a word or give a snarky remark. The painful mistaken belief of silence equating to respect played the muted melody of awkwardness.

Lizzie took her place at the piano. Syndra stretched her arms and stared at the orchestra. ‘-long are the days where we would have fun,’ reminisced Lizzie, ‘-no one here plays for fun anymore. Becoming a successful orchestra has hampered any sense of camaraderie we ought to have had. No one wants to make a mistake or stand out. No one except her, a bassist turned violinist. Celina,’ she side-glanced an empty seat, ‘-absent yet again. Syndra’s on her breaking point. No matter what we do, she never replies.’ A slew of mistakes marred the musicians. They barely crossed the three minute-mark – the draconian conductor exploded into a frustrated rant. She screamed, putting to shame any amplification. The atmosphere all but intensified. Three long hours followed, “-break.”

Pure fatigue grasped the flushed expressions, ‘-fucking snobs,’ she narrowed, ‘-a talentless bunch of wannabes. Where are you, Celina... where are you?’

*Tap, tap,* the muddied collective glance landed upon a strange figure, “-the director.”

“Syndra, Lizzie, may I have a word?”

Director’s office; ‘-why did he come out to see us?’ wondered the heated Syndra, ‘-he never leaves the damned office.’

“Ladies, please, have a seat,” he offered, “-about the absenteeism of Celina, her instructors are very worried. A missing person’s report will be filed later this afternoon. This is the reason why I came. Ladies, if you know anything about her whereabouts, do us a favor and bring her back. I’m under pressure from her guardian family,” he firmed on Lizzie, “-you know how protective the Haggard Dynasty can be.”

“We just have to find her?”

“Yes... if we hear from her later this afternoon, there won’t be a need to file a report. However, if I hear nothing, we’ll take the necessary actions to find one of our students. Is that acceptable?”

“Suppose it is.”

A key soon appeared from underneath his desk, “-here you are,” he dropped, “-we’ve already tried her room, no response. At the risk of invading privacy, I’d like for her friends.”

“...”

Practice finished earlier that day, “-here it is, Celina’s room,” commented Lizzie. Dormitories were a perfect mix between comfort and cheapness – the best compromise for needy students adapting to Rosespire’s rather high cost of living. A click and it opened, “-wait,” paused Syndra, “-what if we find something...”

“Find what, a dead body?” she smiled, “-don’t be absurd. Celina’s one of my closest friends, she’s an indirect member of the Haggard dynasty,” a flick of the switch showed a messy room. Musical sheets and empty noodle cups laid about. A cluster of dirty laundry rambled over her bed. There was barely enough space for the window to open.

“What about the indirect comment?”

“What about it...” Lizzie’s inside sank, “-she’s close to us... why is she living in such an ungodly apartment?”

“Unwashed dishes and trash. She hasn’t cleaned for quite a while. No never mind that, it barely looks like anyone’s visited this room in ages.”

“Not good,” quick to grab her phone, “-outgoing call; brother Igna.”

A disgruntled, “-what is it?” answered.

“Brother, it’s me, Lizzie.”

“Hey, Lizzie, something the matter?”

“I have to ask a favor...”

“Depends on what is needed.”

“It’s about Celina... she’s vanished.”

“Vanished?”

“Yeah, I’m in her room... there’s nothing around. I mean, nothing.”

“Probably out and about,” he sighed, “-if that’s all, I’m hanging up.”

Syndra snatched the phone and cried, “-stop wasting time. Celina could be dead or worse, kidnapped.”

“If it isn’t Syndra, what are you doing there?”

“I’m here to check on a friend, unlike someone I know.”

“Right, the passive-aggressive comments. Honestly, it doesn’t befit someone who’s run away her whole life, now does it? I’d rather heed the warning of a mime.”

“Stop it,” screamed Lizzie, “-brother, I don’t care how you do it. Find Celina!”

“My,” the voice deepened, “-seems Lizzie’s grown confident. By all means, go ahead and dump this pointless matter onto me, a king.”

“Don’t kid yourself, brother, a king by name is worthless, show me thy kingly stature in action. Don’t forget, she’s a member of the Haggard dynasty, or am I mistaken? Man who killed her family.”

.....

“Fine, you’ve made your point. I’ll see what I can do,” the call ended.

‘Celina’s missing... what if?’