Chapter 56: Siren

Howard returned to the small chapel near Sanctilaminium Ambrosii's central cathedral, the faint scent of candle wax lingering in the air as he stepped inside.

Waiting for him was Lemuen, her presence a quiet comfort amidst the growing tension of their investigation.

She sat in a sturdy wheelchair, its frame reinforced with Laterano craftsmanship, a necessity after injuries sustained in her past missions.

Her pink hair was tied in a neat braid, a soft glow emanating from her halo, her pale golden wings folded delicately behind her, their feathers shimmering in the dim light.

Her blue-pinkish eyes were sharp with focus, though a gentle warmth softened her expression, and she wore a white investigator's coat with gold trim, a sniper rifle resting across her lap, its barrel engraved with Sankta runes.

They began to discuss their findings, Howard's voice steady but tinged with urgency.

"I think I've uncovered where Gavriel might be—the old docks, near a secluded port by the sea. Clément saw him there, and it matches the evidence I found at his house: the gold and the sea-damaged coat."

Lemuen nodded, her hands resting on the arms of her wheelchair as she shared her own discoveries.

"I confirmed that Gavriel was a truly good-natured doctor, well-respected at the hospital here. But he vanished years ago, never seen again after his last case—a patient who fell ill after being rescued from the sea."

"There were whispers of something unnatural about that case, but nothing concrete."

Howard kept the details in mind, his detective's instincts piecing together the puzzle—Gavriel, the sea, the patient, the disappearances.

A connection to the Seaborn seemed more likely with every clue, a thought that made his stomach churn.

He glanced around the chapel, its pews empty, the silence heavy.

"Where's Executor?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

Lemuen frowned, pulling out her communicator, a small device engraved with Laterano insignia.

"I haven't seen him since we split up."

She tried to contact him, her voice calm but firm.

"Executor, this is Lemuen. Do you copy?"

There was no response, only static crackling through the responder, a worrying silence that stretched on too long.

Howard's expression darkened.

"We can't wait. If he's not answering, something's wrong. Let's head to the location —the docks."

Knowing that waiting would take too much time, they agreed to move out together.

They arrived at the old docks under a cloudy sky, the air thick with the briny stench of saltwater and decay.

The same giant ship Gavriel had seen loomed before them—the Santa Isabella, its blackened hull encrusted with barnacles, its tattered sails swaying like ghosts in the wind.

Howard noticed Lemuen's wheelchair on the uneven planks of the dock, realizing the challenge of boarding the ship. He turned to her, his voice steady.

"I'll get us up there."

He unveiled his Arts, a subtle shimmer of blue energy enveloping him as he focused, his body glowing faintly as he was covered.

This time, he used it to manipulate gravity, lifting Lemuen and her wheelchair into the air with a gentle ease.

She floated upward, her sniper rifle still in her lap, her blue eyes wide with a mix of surprise and gratitude as Howard leapt onto the ship and guided her down beside

him, the deck creaking under their weight.

"I am surprised you have such useful art."

"I often hear that," Howard sneered in response to her inquiry.

Howard glanced at her, his expression serious.

"It's better we stay together in a place like this. We can't rely on a transmitter out here—not with the sea so close."

Lemuen nodded, her voice firm despite the eerie surroundings.

"Agreed. Let's stick close and find the Sanktas and hopefully Gavriel."

They began to explore the ship, moving through its interior with cautious steps.

The corridors were narrow and damp, the walls slick with mold, and the air heavy with the scent of rot and saltwater.

Despite its age, there was an old valor to the Santa Isabella—faded paintings of Iberian saints on the walls, their colors peeling but still vibrant, and rusted chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, their crystals long since shattered. Each corner they turned revealed more decay, the ship groaning as if alive, its hull creaking with every gust of wind.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the silence, sharp and desperate, echoing through the ship's bowels.

Howard and Lemuen froze, their senses heightened as they pinpointed the source.

"That way," Howard said, his voice low, drawing his pistol as he led the way.

Lemuen followed closely, her wheelchair moving silently across the uneven floor.

They descended into a dark hall, the only light coming from rays filtered through the clouds, streaming through holes in the ship's hull like ethereal beams, guiding their path.

They walked carefully, the wooden floor slick beneath them, the air growing colder the deeper they went.

Lemuen raised her sniper rifle, her blue eyes scanning the shadows as she whispered,

"This place gives me the creeps. It's like the ship's watching us."

Howard nodded, his grip on his pistol tightening.

"It's probably because of Seaborn influence. Keep your eyes peeled, Lemuel. We don't know what we're walking into."

Another scream rang out, closer this time, and they hurried toward the sound, their steps quickening.

They reached what used to be the ship's kitchen, its rusted counters covered in grime, broken dishes scattered across the floor.

There, in the center of the room, stood a Seaborn—a grotesque creature, its body a mass of writhing tentacles and scales, its eyes glowing an unnatural blue, its maw dripping with a viscous fluid that hissed as it hit the floor.

Lemuen reacted instantly, her sniper rifle barking as she unleashed a bullet, the shot precise and deadly, piercing the Seaborn's core.

The creature let out a guttural shriek, its body convulsing before collapsing into a lifeless heap, its tentacles twitching in its death throes.

Howard, still on guard with his pistol, approached a cabinet in the corner, its door slightly ajar, the faint sound of sobbing coming from within.

He opened it slowly, revealing a small Sankta girl curled inside, her small cross necklace glinting in the dim light, her halo flickering weakly above her head.

Her white dress was torn, her face streaked with tears as she looked up at them, her golden eyes wide with fear. Howard knelt down, his voice soft and reassuring.

"It's okay, little one. You're safe now."

The girl threw herself into his arms, sobbing as she clung to him, her small body trembling.

Lemuen lowered her rifle, her expression softening as she spoke.

"We need to get her out of here, Howard—bring her to safety."

But the girl cried harder, her voice breaking as she pleaded,

"No! I want to save my friends! Someone captured us and brought us here—please, we can't leave them!"

Howard and Lemuen exchanged a glance, realization dawning on them—this ship was likely where Gavriel had brought his victims, a hiding place amidst the Seaborn's influence.

But as the girl moved to follow Lemuen, Howard noticed something in the cabinet where she'd been hiding.

The interior was wet, the wood slick with saltwater, a faint shimmer of scales clinging to the surface—a sign of Seaborn contamination.

Howard approached the girl again, patting her head gently and taking her small hand to reassure her.

"We'll find your friend, I promise," he said, his voice steady despite the growing unease in his chest. The girl sniffled, her tears slowing as she whispered,

"Thank you…"

Lemuen and the girl walked ahead, the Sankta investigator's wheelchair moving carefully across the uneven floor, her pink braid swaying slightly, but Howard lingered for a moment, his mind racing.

Silently, he confirmed something to himself: the truth.

He pushed the thought aside for now, joining them as they moved deeper into the ship, the creaks and groans of the Santa Isabella echoing around them like a warning.

***

Howard and Lemuen followed the small Sankta girl deeper into the bowels of the Santa Isabella, her flickering halo casting a faint glow in the dark, damp corridors.

The girl's voice trembled as she spoke, her small cross necklace glinting with each step, her golden eyes darting nervously as she recounted the horrors she and the others had endured.

"They've been keeping us here… It's been horrible," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"The other kidnapped people—they helped me escape, told me to get help. But then I ran into those… those Seaborn things. I hid, but I was so scared."

Howard listened intently, his pistol still in hand, his eyes scanning the ship's interior for any sign of danger.

The walls groaned around them, the air thick with the stench of saltwater and decay, the faint hum of something unnatural vibrating through the hull.

Lemuen stayed close, her pink braid swaying as she maneuvered her wheelchair over the uneven floor, her sniper rifle at the ready, her blue eyes filled with determination to save the missing Sankta.

Suddenly, the girl stopped, her small frame trembling as she pointed to a rusted door ahead, its hinges warped with age.

"This is it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Howard paused before entering, his gaze shifting to the girl, his tone calm but probing.

"Is Gavriel here? Have you seen him?"

She shook her head, her golden eyes wide with uncertainty.

"I saw him leaving earlier… I don't know when he'll be back."

Howard nodded, exchanging a glance with Lemuen before pushing the door open.

The room beyond was a grim sight—a storage hold, its floor slick with grime, the air heavy with the scent of fear and seawater.

A bundle of people—Sankta, their halos dim, their wings bound—were tied together with coarse ropes, their faces pale and gaunt, their golden eyes reflecting a mix of hope and despair as they saw their rescuers.

Lemuen rushed forward, her wheelchair moving swiftly as she began working to free them, her hands deft despite the urgency, her voice soft as she reassured them. "Hold on, we're getting you out of here."

Howard stayed behind with the girl, his expression unreadable as he watched Lemuen work.

He knelt down to the girl's level, his voice low, a question forming that seemed out of place amidst the tension.

"Can you tell me something, little one?"

"How does Lemuel feel right now? It's strange to see my 'cold partner' so occupied."

The girl fidgeted, her small hands twisting the hem of her torn dress, her golden eyes darting to Lemuen before she answered, her voice hesitant.

"She… she feels sorrow and sadness for what happened to us. She thinks she could have protected us better."

Howard's eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he murmured,

"I see." In one swift motion, he raised his pistol, and with a single, precise shot, he fired at the girl's head.

The sound echoed through the hold, a sharp crack that cut through the silence, the girl collapsing to the floor, her small body limp.

Lemuen, who had been working to untie the Sankta, froze, her blue-pinkish eyes wide with shock as she turned to Howard, her pink braid whipping around.

"Howard, what have you done?!"

She demanded, her voice trembling with disbelief and horror, her hands still on the ropes.

Howard put a finger to his lips, silencing her, his expression cold as he pointed his pistol at her, his gaze steady.

"Look," he said, his voice low, gesturing to the girl's body.

Blue fluid began to flow from her head, pooling on the floor, its unnatural hue shimmering with an otherworldly sheen—a hallmark of Seaborn.

Lemuen's shock deepened, her hands trembling as she stared at the fluid, realization dawning.

Before she could speak, the ship jolted violently, the entire hull shuddering as if caught in a sudden storm.

The tied Sankta cried out in fear, the creaks and groans of the Santa Isabella growing louder, the sound of crashing waves echoing from outside.

Lemuen gripped her sniper rifle, her voice urgent as she looked to Howard.

"What's going on? Why is the ship moving?"

Howard sighed, his expression grim as he lowered his pistol, his worst fears confirmed.

"It's the worst-case scenario," he said, his voice heavy with dread.

"We're dealing with a Siren."