Doubts

In Backlund's East Borough, a three-story villa stood amid poverty wholly at odds with it.

A police sergeant in a black-and-white checkered uniform slowly pushed open the villa's front door. A powerful stench hit him, making him squint.

"Officers, this is the place."

He did not step inside. Instead, he looked back at the two men behind him. They wore uniforms similar to his, but each had three silver six-pointed stars on his epaulets, marking them as senior inspectors.

The brown-haired, dark-eyed one nodded and instructed him:

"Guard the door. Don't let anyone in, including yourself."

"Understood, understood!"

The sergeant hurriedly stepped aside to let the two inspectors into the foul-smelling hall, then closed the door behind them.

Click. As the door shut, the two Nighthawks exchanged a glance and sprang into action.

One set up a simple Spirit Channeling ritual on the spot, using Saint Night Powder to form a Wall of Spirituality. He lit candles, sprinkled essential oils and hydrosol, and prayed to the Goddess. The other walked to the center of the hall and looked at the corpse kneeling there.

The body was charred black, its skin carbonized, yet its head was strangely intact. It hung above hands clasped in prayer, as though the man had been praying to some being—or begging it for mercy.

Stranger still, neither his clothes nor the carpet beneath him bore any sign of burning. The heat had scorched his flesh and spared everything else.

After putting on gloves, the brown-haired Nighthawk searched the corpse. Apart from a revolver, a dagger, and some loose change, he found no further clues.

The local police hadn't even bothered to search the body. Since the Great Smog, they'd grown more and more reliant on official Beyonders in cases like this...

As he grumbled inwardly, he