Chapter 6: Timmy

Approaching the wall where the handprint had been reported, he looked closely at the brickwork, running his fingers along the surface. There it was, faint but discernible—a mark unlike anything he'd seen before. It wasn't blood. It wasn't any standard crime signature either. It was a dark smudge, as if someone had deliberately pressed their hand there, but with a purpose. And yet… there was something off about it.

No blood, no visible signs of a struggle. Ethan knelt down closer, examining the angle and depth of the mark. His mind, trained by years of detective work, was already working through possibilities. But none of them seemed to make sense in the context of what he knew about this world.

"Interesting…" he muttered to himself, his fingers lightly brushing against the brick. It was smooth to the touch, but something felt wrong about it. He looked up at the surrounding buildings and then back down at the alley. No signs of any struggle, no witnesses in sight. The scene was almost… too clean.

"Well, well, well," Lucius's voice suddenly rang in his ear, making him jump slightly. He hadn't noticed the god's presence until he spoke. "You're still playing detective, are you?"

Ethan turned to face Lucius, who was standing by the entrance of the alley, wearing his usual cocky grin. Kael was dressed as if he belonged in this era—anachronistically so—but there was no mistaking the way he moved. He was from another world. "What is it now?" Ethan asked, trying to keep his irritation in check.

Lucius simply smiled. "It's funny, you know. You're the only one who would come here and try to solve a crime. The rest of these people just walk by, oblivious to the truth. But you? You're trying to make sense of it all. Of course, you're good at it. After all, you were once a detective."

Ethan didn't have the time or patience to entertain Lucius's usual banter. "Do you know anything about this handprint?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

Lucius raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. "Oh, I know all sorts of things. But this world, this era, it's all part of the game. The handprint is just the beginning. As for what happens next… well, let's just say you should be careful where you step. You might step into something you can't get out of."

"Sounds like you're trying to warn me," Ethan said dryly.

Lucius smirked. "More like giving you a heads up. Don't get too comfortable, Detective."

Ethan clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling up, but he didn't let it show. "Thanks for the advice," he said, turning back to the wall. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

With one last chuckle, Lucius vanished, leaving Ethan alone with his thoughts and the faint but intriguing handprint that was the start of something much larger.

For a moment, Ethan allowed himself to breathe. He was on his own now, not only in a new world but also in a case that could determine much more than just the fate of this city. There were lives at stake, and no matter the bizarre circumstances, he would find the answers. Even if it meant confronting the god who had been trailing him like a shadow.

The sound of footsteps interrupted his musings, and Ethan quickly stood, turning to face whoever was approaching. He straightened his posture, adjusting the tie on his neck. He couldn't afford to look out of place, not when he was trying to solve a case in a body that wasn't his.

It was a passerby—a man in a fine coat who seemed to notice Ethan's suspicious behavior. The man hesitated for a moment before speaking.

"Excuse me, sir," the man said, his voice polite but edged with curiosity. "May I ask what brings you to this part of town? It's not often we see folk of your… station around here."

Ethan hesitated. The last thing he needed was unwanted attention, but the man's gaze was curious, not hostile. He knew how to handle such situations. He forced a smile, trying to sound as confident as possible.

"I'm merely a traveler," Ethan replied smoothly. "I've been reading about the recent… unfortunate events, and thought I would take a look myself. As you can imagine, there are things in life that don't sit well with one's conscience."

The man nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, though his gaze lingered on Ethan's face for a moment too long, as if trying to decide whether he believed him. After a few seconds, the man tipped his hat and continued on his way, leaving Ethan alone again.

The encounter didn't faze Ethan, but it did remind him of the thin line he was walking. He was an outsider in this world, and he couldn't afford to attract too much suspicion.

He turned back to the wall where the handprint had been, his mind racing with possibilities. The mark could have been a clue, or it could have been placed to confuse anyone looking for answers. Either way, it was something he had to investigate further.

Ethan's fingers brushed against the mark once more, and his mind began working through the puzzle. If the killer wanted to leave a sign, why would they choose something so subtle? he wondered. He had no answers yet, but there was something in the air—something strange about this case. The fact that it wasn't as straightforward as it seemed told him that it was far from over.

With a final glance at the handprint, Ethan straightened up and walked away. He had more to do—more to learn about this world and its secrets. And he wouldn't stop until he had solved the case, no matter how many obstacles this strange new life threw his way.

…

Once again, a flock of white doves soared above the town, their wings casting fleeting shadows on the cobblestone streets below. Were they omens of good fortune? If so, then solving this case should be a simple matter.

Ethan strode along the narrow path beneath a canopy of trees, the rhythmic tap-tap of his cane punctuating the quiet air. The scent of damp earth and aged stone lingered around him. Suddenly, a lone dove swooped down, settling atop his fedora with an air of casual entitlement.

With a sigh, Ethan lifted a hand to shoo it away—only for the bird to tilt its head and speak.

"I've been expecting you, Mister Gray."

Ethan froze mid-motion.

…What?

 "Ahem—excuse me, where are my manners? I am the King of Angels, Timmy!" the white dove declared, puffing out its chest.

Ethan narrowed his eyes, his movements slow and deliberate as he reached into the jet pocket of his suit. With a practiced ease, he drew his revolver, the cold steel glinting under the light as he aimed it directly at the talking bird.

The dove blinked.

"Oh…" it muttered.

"Uhhh, it seems as though you don't believe me…" the dove murmured.

Ethan exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on the revolver. "I've seen millions of floating mirrors, fought a doppelgänger of myself, and met someone with shapeshifting magic. I could believe anything."

"Oh? Is that so? Well, I'm your guide! Timmy the Guide!" the dove declared proudly.

Ethan arched a brow. "Really now? What am I in? A video game?" he asked dryly.

"No," Timmy replied flatly.

The dove flapped its wings, suddenly radiating an air of grandiosity. "My creator—the High King of Angels, the One Over Heaven, GOD ALMIGHTY—has given me a purpose! To guide the Jester! The one who is not of this world! The one who is not of this era! THE ONE UNDER THE SUN!"

Its voice echoed, dramatic and unwavering.

Ethan stared.

Then he sighed. "Right. Of course. And Jesus came to me in a dream and told me I was supposed to be a high priest of some church. You know what happened?" Ethan said.

Timmy tilted his head. "You didn't become a high priest of a church?"

"Exactly," Ethan replied.

Without another word, he slid the revolver back into his suit's jet pocket and turned on his heel, walking away.

Timmy flapped his wings and quickly followed. "Wait, wait! That's completely different!"

…

"Look, Timmy, or King of Angels, whatever—you can call yourself the Divine Emperor of Feathery Bullshit for all I care—I have a case to get to," Ethan said, his tone exasperated. "I don't have time to chase after magical talking doves. I have a serial killer to find."

Timmy flapped his wings excitedly. "I can give you a hint!"

Ethan paused mid-step, narrowing his eyes. "…What's the hint?"

Timmy puffed up his chest. "Elder Son Graveyard."

Ethan stood in silence for a few moments, his mind turning over the words. Then he let out a sharp breath.

"That's like walking into a police station and asking where the handcuffs are. Who the hell even told you this stuff?"

"Ahem—via divination!" Timmy announced proudly. "It allows me to speak to higher existences, and they tell me things! This is how all angels interact with God Almighty."

Ethan's gaze darkened slightly.

God Almighty… is that the new name Lucius is going by? Is he even God, or is he Lucifer?

Suddenly, mister Carlos walked by, The landlord of baker street, he knew Alaric thorn, the body he was currently inhabiting, so he can't let Carlos catch him.

Without thinking, he's mind immediately went to he's conversation with Richard Ovlive, and the face shifting tarot card. That magical tarot card he that fell out of Richard's pocket, that murdered might have been useful.

As he pulled out the tarot card and used its face shifting talent and shifted and changed he's face to the face of a old man, as Ethan and Carlos walked past each other, they didn't spare each other a glance as Timmy flew to Ethan again and said, "seems as thought you're on the investigator pathway."