Creeping Horror

His sweaty palms wrapped around each other; the liquid dripped down to the floor.

With his head down, Syllian regulated his breathing systematically.

'Calm down.'

He couldn't, the sight was etched into his memory vividly.

The coiling intestines that hung off the ceiling like icicles; the ribcage that had been eloquently placed in the image of a dead butterfly; the mangled hands nailed into the walls in the structure of a cross.

Syllian wanted to vomit it all out again but he had already done that in the toilet 15 minutes ago.

Now, he sat across the Captain's seat in his cabin.

His hands were tied behind his back with rope tightly squeezing them together and the quartermaster held a sword to his neck, prepared to slash down at any moment.

The Quartermaster was a middle-aged gentleman with an elderly visage; with white hairs scattered across his buzzcut brown hair, wearing a brown long coat, and a dilapidated grey shirt beneath, he introduced himself as Illan.

"Make one move, and your head will roll on the floor."

Fair.

He would do the same too.

Imagine someone went to the toilet, no one else was nearby, and then someone else went to the toilet soon after.

And then they end up dead, while the person in the toilet says they didn't hear or see anything or anyone.

Sure, Syllian could come up with some crazy story, but that wouldn't help him here.

With a civil war coming up, and with multiple Trials to complete, the last person Syllian wanted to antagonize was the Captain of The Adler.

This wasn't a rushed decision either, he judged the Captain to be a man of a certain level of honour, and pride. And, most importantly, he cared for his crew.

That was made obvious from his actions the 'night' before.

Otherwise, Syllian wouldn't have risked getting executed.

Syllian wasn't smart, that's for sure. He never considered himself to have a high level of intelligence.

But he wasn't ignorant or stupid.

His opportunity to survive this nightmarish Trial lay in the hands of the Captain.

Not that he trusted him, hell, he didn't trust himself either.

But trust wasn't necessary, only survival.

Maybe even more than just that...

Now, all that was left was to unveil whether or not that hand would aid him, or kill him.

If he failed to get on the Captain's side then he would end up dead one way or another either way.

Might as well risk it all in one calculated gamble.

The door behind them creaked open, Syllian turned to the noise as it opened.

Thud.

His steps were heavy today, the expression in his eye solemn with controlled anger seething and bubbling beneath.

Closing the door with his left hand, Syllian caught a glimpse of something off as the Captain completed his action.

He was wearing one leather glove on his left hand, while his right hand was empty.

"Captain."

"Captain."

The Quartermaster and Syllian greeted him with respect.

Nevertheless, the Captain kept quiet and walked around without taking even a single look at the other two.

He sat on his well-carved wooden chair, picked up a quill with his right hand, and started tapping his desk rhythmically.

A minute passed, then two, and on the third minute.

"Illan, remove your blade off his neck."

Illan gave Syllian a death stare and then moved his sword as instructed, he didn't, however, sheath it.

Tap...

Tap...

Tap...

Three taps.

The teenager shivered, his face paling slightly.

"I will give you three opportunities to tell the truth, and only the truth." Captain's voice leaked with bubbling rage, his tone cold like endless snowfall.

Tap...

Tap...

Tap...

Click.

At some point, an ordinary-looking revolver rested on the desk, its hammer cocked and ready.

The Captain pushed himself off the chair, walked around the table, stood above the boy, and stared down into his soul.

He then raised his left hand, which wore the glove, and rested it on his head.

The teenager's facial expressions froze at that moment, sensing an unknown existence creeping into his skull.

Creeping, caressing, and vilifying his brain.

"By the Captain's Order..."

Scarlet suddenly descended on the room, oozing from the glove as it spread and flooded every dark corner in the room.

"...I command you, Creeping Horror, Purify the Impure, Reveal."

The Captain's face started to pale very slowly, this obviously didn't drain him as fast as the revolvers.

"Finch, tell us everything you can recall from the moment you left the food hall."

The boy meekly nodded and began recounting everything.

"I left the food hall and saw no one in the corridors, turned to the right, walked through more empty corridors, took the first right, into another empty corridor, made my way into the toilet, which was also empty, closed the door behind me, then relieved myself."

Syllian took in a deep breath, "Then when I tried to leave the door was heavy, like something was blocking me from leaving. So I pushed and pushed until I finally opened the door. Only to... to see the dead body."

"Throughout it all, I didn't hear or see anything out of the ordinary."

The Quartermaster and Captain observed Creeping Horror, the glove, and let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

Uncaring of how the boy before them would feel knowing that even they were tense from the paranormal type occurrence.

"You told the truth, the Creeping Horror also does not sense any foreign invasion in your body."

Syllian was ready to ease his body, but the Captain cut him off right before he could do so.

"The second question, did you, the human Finch have full control over your mentality and physical body throughout the entire ordeal?"

Syllian's mind tensed up to the limit.

He wasn't sure whether or not he was considered an invader, or if he was actually 'Finch'.

Plus, this question was interesting, they wanted to know if there was a chance I could have been manipulated, without my knowledge, into ignoring any unusual activity.

If there was no foreign invasion, and I believed that everything I said was the truth, then there was also a chance that my 'belief' was incorrect.

...Or I could have been watching the crime occurring while walking into the bathroom, but they tricked my brain into seeing nothing...

Sweat trickled down his back.

That would be utterly terrifying.

"Yes, I was in full control over my mind and body throughout it all."

Once again, Creeping Horror didn't react.

Syllian wasn't sure if this item could sense if there had been any trickery, but these two clearly trusted it, so it must be useful to some extent.

"He's clear."

The Quartermaster agreed with the Captain's verdict, "Yes, nothing can get past Creeping Horror."

"But..."

The horror of the word 'but', Syllian was experienced with it, whenever someone said the word 'but' it meant that everything before it was bullshit.

"...I have one more question."

'Or not?'

Syllian was pleasantly surprised, he was expecting to suddenly get convicted of murder and get executed.

"Finch, did you have any interactions with Tharnut recently, or any negative interactions with him in the past?"

The dead man's name was Tharnut, he was a member of the Gunnery.

"No, no negative or positive, or even neutral, interactions recently, nor in the past."

"Good."

Lifting his hand off Syllian's head, the Captain hurriedly returned to his seat with a ragged breath.

'That thing must be quite taxing.'

The Quartermaster slashed the rope on Syllian's wrist, then sheathed his sword.

Rubbing his sore wrists, Syllian glanced at the two men and sat in silence, waiting to be dismissed.

"Illan, go take care of the chaos, I'll investigate the source."

"Yes, Captain."

The Quartermaster left the Captain's cabin, leaving the two to face each other.

Opening a drawer, the Captain pulled something that looked like a pen out, returned his revolver back to its holster, and headed for the door.

Syllian hurriedly spoke up before he could leave, "What about me?"

With his hand on the door handle, the Captain casually passed his verdict:

"Stay in that seat until I tell you otherwise, you may not lie on the floor, or walk around the room."

Boom!

Smashing the door shut, he left Syllian in his seat.

"...What about food...?"

-----

On the main deck of the ship, near the bowsprit, a little girl was sitting next to an older man who was in the middle of fixing the hull.

Sensing something in her pocket vibrating, she pulled out an identical-looking pen and raised it to her ear, then clicked it.

"Daddy?"

"Helen, get back to my cabin right now. And get the idiot inside some food while you are at it."

"Alright!"

The line experienced some static, then silence for a few seconds, and then the Captain's voice returned.

"...back now."

Ending the connection, she waved over Crude who had a tense look on his face, and whispered something in his ear.

"Okay."

Bobbing her head up and down in satisfaction, Helen stood up and made her way back into the ship.

-----

"What do you think?"

"Hard to tell."

Two gentlemen stood around an amalgamation of bits and bobs that, when put together, could barely outline a human body.

Putting on a fresh pair of white gloves, the surgeon, Mr Rinton bent over to a shattered bone and rubbed it slightly.

"The blood is fresh, so someone couldn't have dragged the body here unless it was the actions of an abomination specialised in brutal assassinations."

The Captain calmly continued the surgeon's analysis, "So it's either the actions of an abomination that has infiltrated The Adler, or a person on board with an Artifact that has noise suppression capabilities."

"Probably, but you can't overlook the third possibility."

"Such as what? The boy carrying an Artifact that can counter Creeping Horror?"

"No, that more than one person was involved in the murder."

The Captain wordlessly stared at the crime scene, implicitly agreeing with the surgeon's analysis.

He trusted Creeping Horror's ability, it had never failed him, and he doubted that it had failed him this time.

So, who remained?

A subtle smile rose on the Captain's face.

Who indeed...

-----

"Allen, you think Finch-"

"No, don't you dare finish your sentence Lanner, I know Finch, he's not like that."

The food hall was on lockdown.

No one was allowed in or out. Only the person who discovered the crime scene when Finch was still standing in the toilet was currently out there somewhere, probably being interrogated.

'Shit.'

Allen would love to believe his own words, but the doubts still hung in the back of his mind.

What if Finch did it?

What if Finch planned on killing him in the future?

What if Finch was an abomination all along?

Doubts, doubts, endless doubts.

Allen had nothing but doubts in his mind.

Who could he trust, who was worth trusting?

And who, who was the murderer?

Where was the murder?

Were they...

Somewhere in here...

Watching them...

Observing...

Preparing...

For their next prey...?