Isekai-eh Chapter-25 (Patreon)

Metsa had returned to the training hall alongside Sotas what must’ve been minutes after the incident, judging by the still smoking debris of the floodlight. They hadn’t needed even a minute to determine that something had gone very wrong.

“This weapon, it is used by the marshals,” Sotas said, kicking the rifle on the floor. It was still jammed inside the training holster that Metsa had fashioned for Jed.

“How much you wanna bet these piles of dust are former marshals?”

“This would not be a wise bet to take, I think,” Sotas said, head turning as he inspected the damage.

Metsa was doing the same. The still present floodlight - leaking whatever they used to balance the load - had been a bad enough sign. Especially since the Empire’s symbol was etched into the housing. The red hexagon of the eternal eye felt like it was staring back at her. “How many you think?”

“Five. Perhaps more, if they took their weapons,” Sotas said, kicking the other rifles into a pile.

Metsa nodded, moving into the equipment, tracking the damage. One of them had been hiding near the climbing wall. And the marshals hadn’t been hesitant in shooting. “Damn thing’s gonna need to be replaced.”

“Why replace? Is good. More like real climb,” Sotas said with a chuckle that told her he was only half serious.

Metsa considered it for a second before nodding. They’d want to make sure the braces were still intact, but her love wasn’t wrong. It would make for a more interesting obstacle for when she ran the course.

Had to stay in top form.

The rest of the course was mostly in better condition, though very little had escaped unscathed. She paused under the old office in the corner. The rope ladder had been cut, though she couldn’t tell if that was before or during the firefight. One of them had likely made it to the top.

“How many surviving trainees you think we’re looking at?” Metsa asked as she turned around, finding Sotas near a bench not far from the stairs.

“I think both, but perhaps not in good shape,” Sotas said, gesturing towards his feet.

Sure enough when Metsa came over there were bloody footprints leading straight towards the stairs. “Idiots,” she grumbled fondly. At least they hadn’t tried using the front door.

“Ah, they have left us another clue, it seems,” Sotas said, gesturing to the nearby wall where Metsa would normally write out the few parts of her lessons that needed a visual aid.

Metsa read the message once, before striding over to get a better look.

“Gwen?” Metsa read out, hoping there was more to it, reversing the page to find it was blank. Not so much as an arrow. “What on the Empress’ rotting ring is that supposed to mean?”

…Isekai-eh…

The hunters had beaten him to the crime scene.

Despite the fact Adam had come up through the regular marshals and not one of their forensic division, even he could tell. The giant muddy wheel tracks running up to the side of the building made it clear.

His brother had come to apprehend the skyfaller. And then failed to report back. Adam had let him take the case, since the connections he’d made between the hunters he’d spotted in the barfight a month prior and those dropping off the boosters had been key.

A barfight…

A shame to his family.

But still family.

Moving into the warehouse, Adam made the lieutenant wait outside. The floodlight his brother had requisitioned sat destroyed. An expensive waste.

Ahead he was able to pick out the rifles and the dust. Technically, Adam wasn’t supposed to be there. The Inquisitor Imperialatis were on their way.

Still, he had to know.

It didn’t take him long to find his brother’s gun. It was just under the broken floodlight, away from the small pile. Adam doubted his brother would’ve left it behind, but it was the hat that confirmed something had gone horribly wrong. It was singed at the edges.

Another glance about the warehouse at the gray dust all but confirmed it.

His brother was dead.

The skyfaller wasn’t just a Written. They were a killer.

…Isekai-eh…

The sun was setting when Inquisitor Imperialatis XXIII arrived on the scene.

He was, as lesser men had designated his kind, a ‘Sniffer’. One of the Empress’ first lines of investigation for any matter related to the security of the empire.

Normally such a place as Vaskerville was beneath his attention.

Even the death of seven marshals was not so great a crime as to warrant a Sniffer’s involvement. Not without significant political leverage.

He inspected the ashes carefully, sifting through their signatures. Yes. It had been seven. And they had been attempting to kill the target instead of capturing them as they had been ordered.

It was too late to punish them. It did not matter.

No, Twenty-three, as he was known to his collective, wasn’t here for their murder. He was here for their target.

The skyfaller.

It had been mere chance that one of the local marshals had sent a still image with the markings on it. They’d been attempting to get assistance with a theft of medicine of all things.

As if the empire’s policies didn’t allow for theft of those drugs so long as they were under a certain value.

All carefully balanced, to maintain efficiency, of course.

The thieves had been careful not to damage anything of import, so Twenty-three had no reason to care for them. They were operating within acceptable tolerances, likely addressing issues the department didn’t have the resources to address directly.

It was, unfortunately, like that sometimes. Unlike in the glory days of the empire, they couldn’t be everywhere at once.

Twenty-three’s attention shifted about the warehouse, his feet clacking as the steel prosthetics he bore over his weak human flesh carried him closer to the damage.

They had attempted to injure the skyfaller, and as expected, had paid the ultimate price for their sins. Twenty-three drew on the warp, the warehouse transforming into a series of afterimages.

The fight had been quick, though Twenty-three was surprised to discover the warp had not been used as a weapon, but as a tool to clean up after.

There was something strange to the pattern. As if the warp was… wielding itself? Yet there were very few beings capable of such actions. And all six of them remained in the capital.

None of his kin had summoned them, so what reason would they have to be all the way out…

Twenty-three’s thoughts ground to a halt as it turned back to take a closer look at the skyfaller’s impression. They were dense, and their warp belonged to them in a way that was rare for most, solid and stable. Which would make it far harder to wield, but also meant that there was less for Twenty-three to interact with.

Yet as he kneeled next to the frozen form of the man raising his rifle, Twenty-three was able to see enough.

Rising, he made the symbol of the Architects with both hands.

The skyfaller was even more important than they’d thought. He should have brought the entire collective. This prize could not be allowed to be harmed.

A living key had fallen into their hands. And perhaps, a way to save the Empress.

Twenty-three took a half step, conflicted on what he should do next. He needed to find the skyfaller, to keep them safe.

But the safest thing would be to have the others come, to bring support. Perhaps even call for more.

His eyes flicked to the singular word on the wall. Gwen. A message. To whom, he did not know, but it was the right idea.

He too, would send a message. One his brothers wouldn’t be able to refuse.

Twenty-three had found a key.

Looking back at the ashes, Twenty-three realized his earlier logic had been flawed. There was something those six in the capital would leave for. And he had found it.

An archangel would go anywhere for a key of the Architects.

…Isekai-eh…

Metsa had gone to half a dozen places attempting to figure out what her trainees had meant by Gwen. Obviously she’d gone to Gerty first, since if anyone knew where Gwen might get off to it would be her grandmother.

Of course, Gerty hadn’t seen Gwen in weeks, since she’d been with Metsa the entire time, even sleeping in her second guest bedroom.

They’d gotten a few suggestions about where Gwen might’ve holed up, including Boltir’s firing range, but the kids weren’t in any of them.

They were currently in the apartment, looking out over the city, Metsa dragging her fingers along the invisible mesh that was inlaid in the window to keep it intact even if it was shot.

An expense that had proven its worth over the years.

“I do not think they meant it to be hard for us,” Sotas said, hand resting on her shoulder.

As usual, his presence soothed her as only he could.

“Okay. Maybe I’ve been trying to be too clever. Let’s take a step back for a second. If Gwen left us a message with her name on it, what might that mean?”

“Was it her who left this message?” Sotas asked, looking upwards.

Metsa followed his gaze to the Eye which had slid into place over the sun. “You think maybe Jed left it?”

“Perhaps,” Sotas said, brow scrunched.

Metsa paced back and forth, staring out at the city, her eyes landing on the pillars they’d been exploring earlier in the nearby shadow districts. “You don’t think they… no, that makes no sense, not with… oh those idiots.”

“You have determined where they have run?”

“If they’re not dead, I’m going to kill them,” Metsa said, moving to the hidden door behind the bar.

“Ah. They have thrown themselves out of the pot and into the fire hoping we will catch them before they burn,” Sotas said as he followed her lead, selecting some of their more expensive and devastating anti-demon weapons.

It was tricky to get rapid fire to work with the special ammunition needed for warp demons, which meant it was expensive. But if the kids were where she thought they were, in a shadow district in the middle of the night, then she was going to need it.

Cursing the whole way to the buggy, Metsa rolled her eyes when she saw Sotas’ giant grin.

It might be expensive, but he did love having a good reason to break out the Wrath of Heaven.

And much as she might be upset with the kids, she could understand the logic of retreating to a shadow district to escape the Empire.

Even the marshals wouldn’t go into the shadow districts in the middle of the night.

After all, they didn’t have a death wish.

Metsa sighed as Cella roared to life, trying to keep a grin off her own face. Much as she didn’t like to admit it, there was more than one reason she and Sotas were still demon hunters in one of the least protected parts of the frontier.

It. Was. Fun.