Chapter 47 Distant Rumbling

Asher looked at Jack and smiled. "You know what? I agree. I apologize. What do you propose we do from here? You have to understand, it was self-defense. I may have lost myself a bit there at the end, though."

"A bit? These are just lowly grunts of the security detail! What did you think they would say? 'Please stop beating me?'"

Though Asher disagreed with Jack's perspective, he feigned agreement. "You're right. I'm glad you stopped me when you did."

Jack gave him a sharp look, but the tension in his posture loosened a fraction. "Good. Let's go get a constable to collect the bodies. Then we'll take this man into custody for further investigation. It's clear that this lead has run dry. Somehow, they knew we were coming. As soon as we arrived, they attacked. The captain will get this place shut down before morning—make no mistake. We don't have to do everything ourselves."

Jack gave Asher one last appraising look, making sure he was truly okay.

"Got it. You go and get the constables. I'll watch over the bodies. I've got blood on my shirt; I don't want to attract too much attention."

Jack nodded and quickly made his way to find the police.

Asher watched him turn the corner, waiting until the sound of Jack's footsteps faded before speaking, seemingly to no one. "Come out."

From the shadows, his dark knight materialized. Her eyes glowed behind her visor, blood splattered across her armor. Her silent arrival always unsettled him, but tonight, it felt different. More intense. There was a hunger in her that mirrored something dark within him.

He felt a brief pang of hesitation, his conscience tugging at him. But he pushed it aside.

"Continue," he commanded.

The dark knight approached the man gasping for breath, his life slipping away. The rasp of his shallow breathing was the only thing tethering him to this world. Asher stood still, arms crossed, watching as she raised her hand over the man's heart.

Slowly, a brilliant white light emerged, invisible to mundane sight. Asher watched with cold fascination as she siphoned the man's spiritual essence into her soul. The process was disturbingly efficient. In just a few moments, the warmth had left his body. His knight's presence felt even more sinister now, as if the act had emboldened her.

Asher felt it too, though to a lesser degree. A faint surge of energy flowed from her into him, seeping into the corners of his mind. His strength was returning, and with it, a dark sense of satisfaction. The ring, linked to his knight, was frighteningly powerful.

Incredible.

His thoughts turned inward, grappling with the implications. Was he truly wrong in his actions? These men were criminals, human traffickers. What mercy should he have provided? They would have killed him without a second thought. Yet, the brutality of it all... Was it justified?

Asher dismissed his knight, deciding that perhaps naming her would be a good idea. As she faded back into the shadows, a familiar unease gripped him.

His thoughts returned to the brutal fight. He had lost his cool—again. But how could anyone expect him to show restraint in situations like these?

The memory of that night at the ball came rushing back with violent clarity.

Torell the Clown.

The former emissary, now a madman lost to his power. Asher could still see his twisted, inhuman face.

His heart tightened at just the thought.

Moments later, Jack returned with several frightened constables in tow. They shrank back as soon as Jack flashed the firm's badge, knowing well the power it held over their modest department.

"Have that one sent to the firm," Jack instructed the constables, gesturing toward the unconscious man they'd subdued earlier.

Jack and Asher exchanged a brief glance, both weary but resolute, before vacating the premises.

As they rode back to the firm in silence, Asher could sense Jack's unease. He understood the feeling all too well—this work, the moral compromises it required, gnawed at both of them. But for Asher, the line between right and wrong had blurred long ago. He could justify his actions, even if they sometimes felt too brutal.

Naive... Clarissa, too. Did they think they could wrestle a pig without getting dirty? How childish. I will do what it takes to protect the people I care about—and the citizens of Menthil.

Soon, they arrived back at the firm. The tension hung in the air as they walked into Captain Bolard's office. The captain listened to their report in silence, but Asher could see his anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

Captain Bolard paced the room, his frustration palpable. "You let them get away?" His tone was sharp, but not unreasonable. "This isn't a simple oversight; it's a serious breach of protocol. You should know better, Jack. Damnit."

Asher and Jack exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of Bolard's words sinking in.

Bolard took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I'm not angry about how you handled it. What matters is that we lost the chance to gather crucial information. They slipped through our fingers, and now we have no leads."

Jack, desperate to explain, stepped forward. "Sir, we were just trying to gather information. It escalated quickly—"

"I understand," Bolard cut in, raising a hand to silence him. "But we need to be smarter. We can't let them outsmart us."

Asher felt the need to offer his help, perhaps to regain some control. "Captain, I can assist with the investigation. Whatever you need—"

Bolard's eyes softened slightly as he turned to Asher. "I appreciate that, Asher. But right now, I need you to take a step back. I want you on standby with Henry at the office while I sort this out."

Relieved to avoid further confrontation, Asher nodded. Bolard's measured response gave him clarity, but the sting of failure still lingered.

"Just... stay out of trouble until we can regroup," Bolard said, heading for the door. As he stepped out, he turned back. "Jack!"

Jack rushed to follow, leaving Asher alone in the room. The silence pressed down on him, the captain's disappointment lingering in the air.

With no clear direction, Asher felt the pull to seek out Henry. He needed guidance—or perhaps, validation for the choices he had made tonight.

Asher stood outside Henry's office for a moment before finally knocking and stepping inside. Henry was reclining in his chair, his expression lazy yet somehow perceptive.

"What's got your knickers in a twist, kid?" Henry chuckled, his casual tone a stark contrast to Asher's turmoil.

"The warehouse incident," Asher began, his words tumbling out. "Captain Bolard is... concerned. We lost the criminals. I think we've crossed a line this time."

Without waiting for Henry to respond, Asher gave a brief summary of the night's events—the violence, Jack's unease, Bolard's reaction. Though he avoided rehashing every detail, he sensed that Henry understood the gravity of what had transpired.

Henry's expression shifted slightly, moving from amusement to something more serious. For a moment, Asher thought he might offer some profound insight.

But then, Henry simply laughed and waved his hand dismissively. "That's the game we play, kid. You or them. No two ways about it."

Asher stood there, caught between relief and dread. Henry's words, though comforting in their simplicity, carried a truth he wasn't sure he was ready to accept.