Hidden codes

Belial couldn't resist. The seemed to draw him to it, as if it were alive.

Its secrets pressed against his curiosity, and he knew he had to read it.

It didn't take long for him to open it and read it, his sharp eyes scanning the faded ink and cryptic symbols. The archives around him seemed to fade into the background, the dust and silence forgotten as he focused on the words before him.

The scroll spoke of the Holy Order, an organization he had heard whispers of but never fully understood. It was a group shrouded in mystery, their origins lost to time. But as Belial read, he began to piece together a story that was both fascinating and unsettling. The Holy Order, it seemed, had not been formed in the name of light or life, as one might expect. No, they had been born from the shadow of the Death Angel himself.

According to the file, the Death Angel was not just a figure of destruction or an omen of the end. To the Holy Order, he was a guide, a savior, even a god. They prayed to him, revered him, and followed his teachings with unwavering devotion. The Angel of Justice, though mentioned, was secondary—a balancing force, but not the focus of their worship. The Death Angel was their true patron, the one they believed would lead them to salvation through the trials of mortality and beyond.

Belial's brow furrowed as he read Further. There was something off about the way the scroll described the Death Angel. It was as if the writers of the scroll had been afraid to name him directly, referring to him only by his role and his purpose. The Angel of Justice was similarly unnamed, His identity reduced to His function. It was strange, almost as if the names themselves held power—power that the writers had been unwilling to invoke.

And speaking of the writer it was scribbled off, but he had a hunch that it was The Flame of knowledge.

But what truly caught Belial's attention was a single line near the end of the Book. It mentioned the Holy Order's main base of operations: a place called the 'Black Gate'. The name sent a shiver down his spine, though he couldn't quite place why. It felt... significant, like a piece of a puzzle he hadn't realized he was trying to solve. The Black Gate. He rolled the name around in his mind, testing it, probing it for meaning.

...

On the Other side of the archives, Xin was growing increasingly frustrated. He had been searching for what felt like hours, though in reality, it had only been twenty minutes. His task was straightforward: locate the sales or accounting records to uncover the history of the organization's financial transactions. It should have been simple. After all, this was an archive—a place designed to store information. But the volume of files, the disorganization, and the oppressive silence of the room were wearing on His patience.

Xin wasn't a fan of reading. He was intelligent, yes, but His mind worked best with visuals, with patterns and images He could analyze at a glance. Pages upon pages of dense text and numbers were not His forte. Still, He pressed on, flipping through file after file, His sharp eyes scanning for anything that might point His in the right direction.

The files He examined were a mix of mundane and bizarre. These were records of shipments—"Ether Crystals, Grade A, to the Silver Veil Trading Company"—and invoices for supplies like "Adamantine Reinforced Chains"** and "Bright blight quills." These were payroll records for individuals with titles like "High Inquisitor" and "Shadow Warden," as well as receipts for services rendered by "The Obsidian Forge" and "The Crimson Alchemists' Guild." It was a glimpse into the inner workings of what appeared to be a highly organized, if somewhat sinister, operation. But none of it was what Xin was looking for.

Just as He was about to give up, something caught His eye. Across the room, partially hidden behind a stack of crumbling ledgers, was a massive safe door. It was unlike anything He had ever seen before. The door was made of a strange, iridescent metal that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light. It was enormous, easily weighing ten tons, and it was clear that it had been designed to withstand just about anything. Blast-resistant, Ether-disrupted, and fitted with a dual-wheel combination lock, it was a fortress unto itself.

Xin approached the safe cautiously, His instincts on high alert. The ether disruptor built into the door meant that He couldn't use His echolocation to peer inside—a frustrating limitation, but not an insurmountable one.

He knelt in front of the safe, examining the dual-wheel lock. It required two people to enter the code simultaneously, a security measure that suggested whatever was inside was of immense value—or immense danger.

"Great," Xin muttered under His breath. "A million combinations, and I don't even have a partner to help me crack it."

He sat back on His heels, considering His options. He could try to brute-force the lock, but that would take hours, if not days. He could search for clues elsewise in the archives, but He had already wasted enough time. Or He could wait for Belial to show up, assuming he hadn't gotten himself lost—or worse, distracted by some shiny trinket.

Deciding to make the most of His time, Xin began scanning the area around the safe, looking for anything that might hint at the combination. He rifled through nearby Helves, flipped through more files, and even checked the undersides of tables and chairs. But He found nothing—no notes, no codes, no hidden compartments. Just dust and more dust.

It was then that Xin noticed something quite interesting. As He flipped through the files, His sharp eyes caught a faint pattern etched along the bottom edges of the papers.

At first, it seemed like nothing more than a decorative border, but the more He looked, the more He realized it was a code—a series of intricate symbols and lines, almost imperceptible unless you were looking for them. His curiosity piqued, He began to examine the files more closely, His fingers tracing the patterns as He tried to decipher their meaning.

He went through twenty files, His focus narrowing as He searched for a connection. Finally, He found four files that stood out from the rest. These files had codes that were more pronounced, more deliberate, and they seemed to share a common thread.

The symbols were arranged in a specific sequence, repeating in a way that suggested they were part of a larger message. Xin's mind raced as He tried to make sense of it. He considered Morse code first, but the patterns didn't align—it was inconsistent, too erratic to be a simple translation.

As He sat, hunched over the files, a cold chill ran down His spine. The air around His seemed to grow heavier, the silence of the archives pressing in on His like a weight. And then, He heard it—a voice, low and guttural, whispering directly into His ear. It was the same voice that had been taunting His earlier, but now it carried a tone of unmistakable menace.

"If you value your life," the voice hissed, "put that down now. Your intelligence will be the end of you... and you have already regretted this before."

Xin froze, His hand hovering over the files. The words sent a shiver through His, not just because of their ominous delivery, but because of the implication behind them. The voice wasn't just warning His—it was reminding His of something. Something he had forgotten, or perhaps something he had buried deep within his memory.

He glanced around the room.

The archives were still empty, the Helves stretching endlessly in every direction. But He could feel it—the presence of something ancient, something odd. It was watching him, waiting for him to make a move.

For a moment, Xin considered heeding the warning. He could leave the files, walk away, and pretend He had never seen them. But He had come too far to turn back now. Whatever secrets these files held, He needed to know, whatever .

With a deep breath, He turned His attention back to the codes. The voice had warned His, but it had also given him reassurance.