A hush fell over the large conference hall of the Department of Supernatural Suppression and Defense, where representatives from the three divisions had gathered in force. Moonlight streamed through tall windows, merging with the silver glow of the chandelier suspended above the long central table, casting shifting shadows across the polished oak surface. A massive map of the capital city lay spread out before them, marked with various annotations and points of interest.
Charles and Joseph, still wearing their long cloaks from the black market incursion, slipped into the hall and took seats near the back. Though they remained quiet, they could sense the tense atmosphere hanging over everyone present.
Madame Esther, Commander of the Suppression Division, stood at the head of the room, her expression steeled with severity and determination. Beside her were Professor Lawrence, head of the Arcane Science Division, and Edward Cavendish, head of the Investigation Division.
"Thank you all for assembling on such short notice," Madame Esther began, her voice resonating through the hall. "We have an urgent matter that requires immediate action."
Members from various units settled into their seats, some faces familiar to Charles and Joseph, others new. Charles noticed several Suppression Division personnel in black armor, a few Investigators he had encountered before, and Arcane Science researchers clutching unusual devices.
Professor Lawrence stepped forward. "Based on recent investigations and newly acquired intelligence, we've discovered that the Script-Decipherers are hiding in an old mansion located in the Knight's District." He pointed to a spot on the city map. "This is the abandoned Hamilton Mansion."
A female researcher from the Arcane Science Division added, "We've also detected unusual energy readings in that area, indicating the use of high-level cursed objects."
Madame Esther scanned the room. "We must act without delay. Our plan calls for a coordinated strike from all three divisions."
One of the Suppression officers raised a hand. "How exactly do you plan to carry out this operation, ma'am?"
Madame Esther turned to Lieutenant Percival, a senior officer in the Suppression Division. "Lieutenant Percival, please outline the strategy for everyone."
Lieutenant Percival stood up, tall and confident in bearing. "Yes, Madame." He indicated four distinct sections on the map. "We're dividing into four main groups.
"Group One will be the infiltration team, composed of those skilled in stealth. They'll slip into the area first, scouting the interior layout and enemy positions. Once the assault begins, they'll also create diversions to draw the enemy's attention.
"Group Two, led by Madame Esther and supported by the Suppression Division, will spearhead the frontal assault. Their main goal is to take control of the situation and engage the organization's members directly."
Several Suppression officers nodded, clearly grasping their role.
"Group Three, under Edward Cavendish and the Investigation Division, will enter from the rear—through the gardens and the stables. Their objective is to reach the main assembly hall of the organization, apprehend high-ranking members, and secure intel."
Charles and Joseph exchanged glances, knowing this would be their group.
"Group Four," Percival said, glancing toward the Arcane Science Division, "will be led by Professor Lawrence. Their duties will include neutralizing any cursed objects, providing equipment support, and administering medical aid. They'll also help seal off the area to prevent anyone from escaping."
Several of the Arcane Science researchers murmured in acknowledgment.
A woman from the Investigation Division—Catherine—raised her hand. "Do we have an emergency plan in case something goes wrong?"
Edward replied, "Yes. If we encounter a scenario that's beyond our control or come across highly dangerous cursed objects, all teams must retreat to the designated rendezvous. Then we'll signal for additional support and wait for further orders."
Another researcher from the Arcane Science Division chimed in, "How will we maintain communication between the teams?"
Edward turned to her. "I'll connect everyone via a telepathic link. We'll share real-time situational updates so we can adjust the plan as needed."
Charles noticed some of the officers scribbling notes. Leaning closer to Joseph, he whispered, "Looks like this is going to be a full-scale operation."
Joseph nodded. "Yes. Keep your guard up."
Professor Lawrence interjected, "The Arcane Science Division will provide special gear for sealing supernatural energies and handling cursed objects. Under no circumstance should anyone touch a suspicious item without explicit clearance."
Madame Esther looked around. "Any more questions?"
A male Suppression officer asked, "How strong a resistance are we expecting, realistically?"
Lieutenant Percival answered, "According to our intelligence, they have a decent number of magic-wielders and some Ascendants, but we'll have the advantage in terms of numbers and preparation. If it comes to an open fight, we'll likely win but take heavy damage. Hopefully, with our coordinated plan, we can keep injuries to a minimum. We don't anticipate fatalities if all goes well."
Madame Esther gave a curt nod. "If there are no more questions, prepare yourselves. We move tonight."
---
When the meeting concluded, Charles and Joseph left the conference hall. All around them, personnel from the various divisions were gearing up in haste. Joseph turned to his friend. "You ready for this?"
"As ready as I can be," Charles offered a wry smile.
Joseph patted Charles on the shoulder. "You sure came in at a turbulent time. Try not to wake up in a white hospital bed again like last time, all right?"
"Thanks for the touching sentiment."
Joseph's playful remark was cut short when Charles spotted two officers who had once chased him through Old Town. They walked by, not sparing him a glance. Charles's expression darkened, his eyes flickering with unmasked resentment. Joseph noticed.
"You still haven't let that go, have you?"
Charles gave a half-smile. "Easier said than done, forgiving the people who roughed me up. I was sore for days!"
"But that misunderstanding eventually led you here, right?" Joseph pointed out. "If it weren't for that, you wouldn't have had the chance to join the Special Unit at all."
Charles let out a long exhale. "And within a day of joining, I was nearly killed again. Not sure that's much of a perk."
"..."
"If I didn't need to work with them, I'd give those two a piece of my mind."
---
Night descended over an ancient mansion looming against the dark sky. Moonlight bathed its tall spires and carved stone walls in a pale glow, while low-lying mist drifted through the overgrown grounds. Operatives from all three divisions fanned out quietly, taking their assigned positions. Joseph and Charles, both in dark gear to blend into the dim surroundings, crept through the bushes along one side of the mansion. They communicated telepathically through Edward's mental link.
The infiltration group moved slowly among the shadows, each member wearing a pendant concealed beneath their shirts. That pendant was linked to a specialized parchment held by the infiltration team leader and by the support unit outside. Every step the infiltrators took would appear as a path drawn on the paper, letting them map out the mansion in real time.
Before stepping inside, the group leader turned to one of the operatives gifted with a special power. A mental command echoed in their shared link:
"Lucas, scan the interior of the mansion first."
Lucas nodded, closing his eyes to concentrate. But the moment his awareness reached out to probe inside, he ran into something strange: instead of perceiving the outlines of corridors or rooms, he collided with a veil of darkness—so thick it was as if the entire mansion were wrapped in black cloth. He could not penetrate it.
Lucas grimaced. "It's pitch black in there, like a thick black shroud is blocking any attempt to see through. I can't make out a thing."
The team leader frowned. "They must be using some sort of barrier or power to prevent outside surveillance. Proceed with caution."
This forced them to be extra vigilant and prepared for anything that might lurk within. They advanced, deciding to start from a side entrance leading into the kitchen. Every eye scanned the dilapidated cooking area in silence—greasy stone floors, worn utensils, and cobwebs dangling from the beams above the wooden counters and stove.
Each time they crossed a threshold or turned a corner, new lines appeared on the map the leader carried, as well as on the corresponding parchment outside. It gradually revealed extra entrances and exits.
Quietly, the infiltration group made their way through the lounge. They passed a massive fireplace and antique furnishings draped with dusty white sheets. A few large windows were cracked, allowing moonlight to seep in, but only faintly. Their footsteps were nearly soundless on the threadbare rugs, allowing them to check the surroundings without drawing attention.
Suddenly, one operative signaled everyone to halt. Faint footfalls and low voices drifted near, indicating strangers were close. The infiltrators froze and held their breath.
"It's so quiet here," a man's voice muttered. He stretched, sounding bored. "Not like that old temple area with all the vagrants and garbage. This place is practically deserted."
"Sure is," another man answered between yawns. "But standing guard in silence gets dull. If something strange would happen, it might at least break the monotony."
"Shut your mouth," growled a third voice. "Don't jinx us."
"Yeah, sorry. Didn't mean anything by it..."
Wanting to avoid a direct confrontation, the infiltration group opted to circle around. Near the main foyer, they glimpsed two cloaked men standing watch near the door to the second floor. To keep from being spotted, the group took a path through a side corridor leading into the dining hall instead. The map lines on their pendants continued to update as they slipped by.
They split up further to cover the mansion thoroughly, noting every corridor and chamber. Despite the oppressive gloom, they encountered fewer people than expected, which made them simultaneously suspicious and uneasy.
One sub-group crept past the main entry hall, the faint click of their boots on dusty marble echoing in the stillness. They eyed the tattered paintings on the walls and the giant mirrors reflecting threads of moonlight. The grand staircase hinted at the mansion's long-lost splendor. Occasionally, cloaked figures crossed the foyer, prompting the infiltrators to freeze until those figures vanished from sight. Then they resumed exploring the lounge and dining areas, where every piece of furniture had been shrouded in cloth for ages. The neglected chandelier overhead enhanced the lonely, forsaken vibe.
A second group climbed the sweeping staircase to the second floor. They found a master bedroom—once luxurious, now cold and unwelcoming. From its balcony, they could glimpse the barren garden. Moving on to a nearby study, they discovered rows of empty bookshelves and a desk that showed signs of recent use, though no documents or volumes remained. This made them suspect that the mansion's inhabitants had moved their important books elsewhere not long ago.
A third group searched the third-floor storage areas, where crates and various old items were stacked but seemingly untouched. They combed the rooms for hidden passages, uncovering only empty boxes and random discarded belongings. Still, the presence of multiple occupied guest rooms suggested certain members of the organization were staying there, sharpening the group's wariness.
Eventually, an operative discovered a basement entrance hidden beneath the grand staircase—tell-tale signs of recent activity were everywhere. A dark sheet concealed the door. They alerted the others via mental link, and everyone converged at that spot.
"We've found the entrance," a psychic voice announced. "It's underneath the main stairs near the central hall, covered by a dark cloth. Likely leading to a cellar or basement."
"Everyone, head this way," came the team leader's caution. "Watch your noise levels. We'll regroup here, then move down together. Check your gear and be ready for a fight."
When the last scouting group arrived, they agreed to venture into the mansion's depths as one.
"Seems clear up here," one voice said, the mental link carrying their words. "No one is around this entrance, but it's definitely in use. Keep your guard up—there could be guards below."
"When we get down there, spread out and check every corner," the team leader's voice commanded. "Don't engage unless I give the signal."
They descended into the darkened corridor of the basement. Even from here, they could hear muffled speech and footsteps echoing from a nearby chamber. The leader signaled Lucas again—a fellow Ascendant—to scout the next room.
"Lucas," came the mental directive, "find out what they're doing. We need intel before we break in."
Lucas nodded and closed his eyes. This time, he felt the barrier that had earlier blocked his vision begin to lift as his awareness swept outward. It was as though that oppressive cloth had been peeled back slightly. His consciousness extended in all directions beyond normal sight, each detail of the cellar's cold stone walls and rusted support beams laid bare in his mind. He could even sense the frosty hush of the surrounding air, as well as the pattern of breath from the people in the next chamber.
In his mind's eye, Lucas saw a spacious room. Three men in dark cloaks stood vigil over a large mirror, propped in the center of the chamber. Thick metal framing circled the mirror's glossy surface, which reflected its surroundings with uncanny clarity. At first glance, the mirror appeared ordinary enough, yet the men's intense vigilance hinted otherwise—one of them regarded the mirror with a kind of wary reverence, as though it held paramount importance.
Driven by curiosity, Lucas focused more intently. He sensed an odd energy emanating from the mirror. It ignited his instincts, and he realized it was anything but normal. Indeed, something was terribly off: no matter how the three men shifted positions, the mirror did not reflect them at all. It showed only the cold, stony walls and the flickering lamplight behind them. Their images were missing entirely—no shapes, no silhouettes, not even the slightest distortion.
Lucas's heightened senses recoiled, warning him that this mirror was some sort of dimensional portal or artifact. He couldn't define its boundaries precisely, only that it was a separate plane altogether, and likely the real stronghold of the Script-Decipherers. The men guarding it were presumably the gatekeepers to something far more dangerous lurking just beyond.