CHPT 228: So it begins.

If Claude could've seen himself entering the Library from a birds eye third person point of view, he would've thought a mentally unstable mass murderer had just been escorted into the room instead of himself.

The once wholesome carpeted Library with beautiful historical artwork adorning its ceilings and smelling of quality leathers took on a air of hostility that was almost tangible. He felt like he could grab the feeling out of thin air and feel it stretch and stick to his fingers like spider webs.

Spider webs of hostility spun by the many people inside the once welcoming Library. The people filled the place as numerous in number as the books that were crammed into each polished wooden shelf along the walls.

They were like starved Dire-Rats in a sewer, occupying every dark corner and crevice like pests that let their black beady eyes follow him with intentions Claude didn't even want to imagine. But the images forced themselves into his mind. His damn mind.

His mind that worked at breakneck speeds to try and gain any piece of information he could from each pest that occupied the Library.

He wasn't given much time to though, the pair of almond skinned women that made up the eerily synchronized Det. Mixus were at his back like two stalking felines in pursuit of unsuspecting prey.

"Everything they do is for a purpose...." He reminded himself of Arne's earlier guidance as they escorted him through the occupied Library.

"[Very good. What do you think the purpose of putting pressure at your back on this journey is? Its quite simple.]"

Claude let his head turn and follow the direction of his incredibly dark eyes, immediately he felt the Detectives speed up on his heels, causing him to briskly pass the batch of Detectives crammed in between rows of bookshelves while others sat at tables in the distance as still as statues.

"They're rushing me....they don't want me to observe...to see how many others and where they are." Claude thought before his eyes flicked over to a nearby Detective just in time to see his cloak flutter and reveal the dozens of daggers occupying the many sheaths on his legs. Pure silver.

"[Now you're getting it.]" Arne commended, "[You see. If this were a card game centered around keeping your deck hidden, the Detectives numbers and their positions would make up the bulk of their deck. The more of them you find and keep tabs on, the more you secure your shot at enduring this ordeal without further raising any suspicion. Continue to reveal their cards, Claude.]"

Claude nodded to himself and began letting his eyes wander while his other senses strengthened and reached out across the Library like outstretched hands. Hands that touched all the rats occupying this metaphorical sewer.

Det. Mixus 1 and 2 took notice and were hot on his heels for the rest of the journey, their short and long pure white hair swished and fluttered with the gradual increased pace. But, he was still able to "reveal more of their cards" as Arne put it.

His previous understanding that Detectives were everywhere in the Library, was an understatement. With his vision being supported by hearing and smell, a new story was laid out to him with every step he took deeper into the room of books.

Members hid behind chairs, blended with the black spines of books and some were flat out invisible. He could almost feel the magic stretching over a few like thick blankets. They were placed strategically-- to possibly appear out of nowhere mid-interrogation and throw Claude off center-- force him into making a mistake or to simply intimidate him.

But, others would obviously lie in wait for permission to neutralize their target. He saw the weapons, glowing with the color all widely known kinds of Shape-Shifters viewed as poison. They could still kill him with it, but they'd lose their minds after realizing silver had no effect on him.

His thoughts and observations were filed into the back of his mind, where they could be reached while also not becoming a hindrance for what was to come.

They passed a few more rows of bookshelves behind the front counter before the space of opened floor welcomed him.

What was once a floor occupied by numbers of tables and chairs for groups to read, was no a space for two. The rest of the tables and chairs had been pushed out of the way while one table was centered. Placed smack dab in the middle of the room with two wooden chairs and a handful of papers.

The only other thing occupying the table for two was his very own personal interrogator.

The number one Ranked member of, The Nine.

Holder of two of the strongest bladed Hallowed Weapons.

Kingpin of the Onslaught Guild and father of Claude's two bullies made Monsters, Marshall Leon. Also known as, Ronin.

"Claude Grey, welcome." Marshall greeted with a nod of his head whilst beckoning to the chair opposite him.

"[Here goes.]"

Claude nodded back in the same cold and serious manner before continuing his stride to the seat at the table.

As he walked, Det. Mixus calmly abandoned their-- failed, mission of hiding the others from him and approached Marshall.

The short-haired, more talkative Detective ripped a piece of paper from a small notepad and handed it to his interrogator.

"[The paper holding your physical statistics....]" Arne noticed.

"Thought so." Claude replied before reaching the table and pulling out his chair.

The man began to pace while he read over the paper. His eerily dark cobalt eyes scanned over the paper expressionlessly before his right eyebrow began climbing the length of his pale-skinned forehead in surprise.

"Six foot four....I'd say over 200lbs....lean as freshly cooked Elven flesh. The hell are they feeding you? Your physical layout is almost inhuman for a 15 year old." Ronin said, sliding in a verbal and slight accusation at the end.

Claude stifled the growl rising from his throat as he took a seat. "A high protein diet does the body wonders...."

The thin red scar that ran over his left eye and mixed with his dark blue iris gleamed with imagined bloodlust, yet his face remained stone-like. "Oh I'm sure it does."

Silence followed.

It gave Claude time to observe the setting.

Ronin wore another expensive suit, only this time he wore a silk navy blue button up and black slacks that outlined the muscle flexion in his calves with every practiced step he made. Back and forth. Back and forth.

He wore no matching jacket with his suit and instead loosened the buttons on his shirt and rolled up the sleeves, showing sinewy muscled forearms decorated by spirals of jagged scarring that looked like barbed wire.

He was loose, moving and the room was cleared. It was subtle, but he was telling Claude that he'd paint the room red with his inhuman blood if such an option was deemed necessary.

"As if the Detectives weren't enough...." He thought to himself before Ronin stopped in front of him and eyed him directly for the first time.

"Claude Grey.....do you know why you're here?"

He mentally rolled his eyes, "Is the sky blue, asswipe?" He thought briefly before responding, "Yes."

"Go on..." Ronin demanded while the distant scuffles of movement behind Claude drew his attention.

"You're looking for your sons and the missing Detective."

Ronin leaned in, "Yes, and why has that brought you to me?"

"Because your sons accused me of something that the Detective you hired was investigating."

His interrogator stayed silent, motioning for Claude to continue.

"I'm under suspicion of being a Shape-Shifter....and their disappearances hasn't helped my case." Claude explained.

Ronin let a smirk disrupt his statue-esque expression, "Good. You're not just a meathead. With that in mind, allow me to be blunt. This is an interrogation. You have been accused of being a Shape-Shifter...many of your fellow first years believe it to be the truth. And if you are, you can't hide. Your biology will betray you."

The darkening of his eyes disappeared as he leaned back and clapped his hands, "In light of these facts. I'd like to inform you that we will be doing a few things to test that accusation. Things you won't enjoy."

Shlck!

"Ack!"

The cold sting of a bladed weapon fell on his neck, not even deep enough to redden the blade but it definitely cut his neck. Immediately, he spun around with a hand on his neck and found the pair of white haired Detectives behind him.

While he faced them, he felt a wave of power wash over him. The power of dominance and overwhelming intensity that he'd felt a few times before after Ronin became a regular at the University of the Phoenix.

The sudden turn of events was almost enough to have him rising to his feet, claws at the ready and teeth bared to the world.

"[Relax, Claude. They're blitzing you. Det. Mixus with her sudden attack, followed by Ronin forcing his power onto you. Its rather forward, but if you stay calm you'll throw them off in return.]"

Claude took in Arne's words as he turned back to face Ronin with his eyes closed and breaths deep.

"In......out.....in.....out." He reminded himself under the air of power Ronin cast in his direction.

"Silver Test. Negative." The two Detectives behind him said in sync.

When he opened his eyes, the man watched him from across the table with an expression that turned into interest.

He slowly turned his head and watched Claude with a knowing side eye, "Who."

"Who what?" Claude growled.

"You seem rather unaffected in my presence. Something I noticed when I first saw you. So, who....is the God you've become a servant of?" Ronin questioned, his voice now lined with disgust as if the gods were taboo to him.

Claude remained silent while he tried to calm his breaths.

Ronin pressed on, "How long have you been backed by one of the illustrious historical beacons of power? What powers have they shared with you?..."

Silence.

"Have you found your altar?.....Have you created your Order of followers to venerate this god that watches over you? Has this god given you passage into their realm? All gods have their own agendas. Whats yours?"

The barrage of questioning stopped, Claude once again stayed silent.

Ronin restarted his pace, "Your silence. It speaks volumes. It makes me think that maybe.....you've been chosen by something unbecoming of you. By something with ill intentions. Maybe by something foul and hideous. Maybe you've been chosen by a Dark God."

The room stilled at the word, matching Claude's current state.

"That would explain your silence. But it would also be rather impossible. The Enforcers have rounded up most of the beings backed by Dark Gods and locked them up in prisons were they're kept alive...stopping the Gods that back them from being able to move on. But, there is always outliers...ones that slip through the cracks...." Ronin pressed.

"[Just stay calm. He has no way to prove what he's speaking of. Let him continue to try and ruffle your feathers. Failure may agitate him. I'm sure someone like him hasn't tasted much of it.]" Arne pointed out.

Claude sucked in a deep breath through his nose and sat up straight, ignoring the wave of power to show that he was unaffected by Ronin's verbal barrage.

Ronin accepted the challenge, "Let me guess who. You're a Beast Tamer.....one who's said to be strongly connected to Wolves. A creature that represents freedom, dominance, wildness, loyalty and most of all. Ferocity. Now lets mix that with darkness. Lets see..." He said while he rubbed his chin in thought.

"Anubis?....No, he has a taste for Mages. How about Skadi? I've heard the Jotunn are a nasty branch of Gods. Maybe a lesser God, Garm? Hati? Skoll? No No. How about we go straight to the big bad wolf, Fenrir?" Ronin finished, now leaning against the table to look into Claude's eyes.

As if his applied pressure wasn't enough, a collection of the Detectives personified his actions and now stood in the distance like dark shadows with silver glinted weapons. They were waiting.

Ronin sighed, and with the exhale, his face went dead once again. As if everything he'd just done was an act that bored him. He was unsettlingly talented at presented emotions he seemed to not feel.

The next time he spoke, his voice was dead again, and the eyes that peered through the pale mask of flesh resembling his sons faces was unreadable.

"You may be more interesting than I gave you credit for, Claude Grey. Let's see if Ursula was right about you."