179. Eat Your Dead

At the outer edge of the graveyard, a stone building stood in the shadows of a large alder tree. It was the entrance to a mausoleum, sealed by a heavy bolt lock.

Travertine reached into his leather bag to produce a keyring, bulky and overcrowded like the sort a groundskeeper might carry. He needed several tries to find the right key, revealing a narrow corridor that led deeper underground. Serac stepped in after the deerherd, noting the dank air and dim lighting, courtesy of torches that gave off a distinct resinous fragrance.

"Myrrh," Travertine explained, "used to purify the final resting place of our ancestors. It's what helps to keep out Aberrants such as the Glutton."

"Neat!" Serac said, perhaps a little too cheerful for the setting. She lowered her voice as she added, "But why couldn't you have done the same thing for the graves out on the surface?"

"Not enough myrrh. We try to reserve our dwindling supply for the Catacombs, but it may be a matter of time before we run out altogether. As I understand it, myrrh used to be plentiful earlier in Dawnwick's history, but with the lengthening of the Days, you might imagine the strain it places on the upkeep of various resources."

Serac hadn't given it any thought before, but she followed the logic easily enough. She tried to follow it further… and was disquieted by where it seemed to lead. She decided to stray a little wide.

"I guess my next question would be, why couldn't you bury everyone underground? Just to keep them safe from grave-robbers?"

Travertine gave Serac a curious look. Despite the pause, his next answer was just as matter-of-fact as the first.

"Not enough room. You'll only see a minuscule portion of it toDay, but these Catacombs cover the entire depth and breadth of Dawnwick. From the lowland farms to the Temple atop Veilwatch Hill. Even so, we've run out of room to house the newly dead. Which reminds me… be sure you don't wander the Catacombs without a Templar guide. That is, if you wish to see the light of Day again."

Such ominous words, spoken in such an even-keeled baritone. Serac nodded gravely (no pun intended!) while shuddering in both fear and amazement.

How many generations upon generations of Tidereigner dead must be buried here, for them to have filled an entire city's worth of graves? Serac could respect the Mrigas' devotion to those who came before them, but she had to wonder if they might be flirting with eventual disaster. And possibly for the first time, she appreciated the convenience of the Souldust phenomenon common to all other Realms.

Travertine led the way deeper into the Catacombs, pausing occasionally to inspect the floors, walls, and densely packed sarcophagi for signs of disturbance. It didn't take long for Serac to lose track of the hallways' turns and twists. One such turn took them to a short, dead-end offshoot. Here, they finally found what they were looking for, and even a greenhorn recruit like Serac instantly saw what was wrong with the picture. For Flint the Butcher had been anything but subtle with its/his taunts.

At the end of the corridor, a sarcophagus had been dislodged from the wall, its heavy stone lid rotated to reveal its contents. The mummified corpse of a Mriga ancestor, remarkably and terrifyingly intact, had been made to sit upright in its own coffin. Held within its withered jaws was an oval-shaped, fist-sized organ.

Drumlin aft'Rafferty's missing spleen. Its still pinkish texture stood out in macabre contrast against the mummy that had been dead for much, much longer.

Despite the horrific sight, Serac managed to hold it together. What do you know? I think I'm starting to get desensitized to this stuff. She steeled herself and followed her partner to the end of the corridor, where she saw one more highly unsubtle example of the criminal's modus operandi.

A message in dried blood, scrawled upon the sarcophagus's dusty stone lid in uneven, almost childlike writing. It read:

EAT YOUR DEAD AND MAKE ROOM FOR MORE. YOU CAN'T STOP ME.

Serac's own blood at once ran cold and boiled with rage. How gleefully and sickeningly cruel! Flint the Butcher must be brought to justice, and soon, if for nothing else than Serac's own satisfaction.

Beside her, Travertine stood stock-still, a dark scowl hiding what must be a storm of emotions. The only thing that gave any of it away was his hand: white-knuckled and visibly shaking as it gripped CROZIER. Now was clearly not the best time to disturb him, but Serac had a burning question that needed urgent detective-ing.

"How did it get in?"

Travertine didn't answer right away. He first breathed out slowly from his cervine nares, then unclenched his jaws, before turning to Serac with a scowl-tending-toward-frown.

"To what do you refer?"

"I mean how did it get into the Catacombs at all? The place was locked when we came in. And I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that Flint hasn't been given a spare key."

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Travertine couldn't hide a rather dramatic reaction: equal parts surprise and embarrassment. Such a simple observation to have escaped a hunter of his experience. The criminal's latest stunt had really done a number on its/his pursuer.

"No sign of a break-in." Travertine muttered, as if to himself. "Could he have used one of the other entrances, further up the city? No. The timeline simply doesn't add up. Or…"

"Assuming this is the work of a Night-side Wayfarer, is it possible they knew to send their Breachspawn directly to this location?"

"… Perhaps not impossible, but highly improbable. It'd require knowledge of the Catacomb's layout and the ability to map it onto its Night-side equivalent. Besides, we already know the spleen came from Bishop Rafferty, who was certainly killed above ground. Which would mean the Breachspawn would've had to cross over at least twice in the same cycle. That, I can confidently say, is impossible."

Serac nodded slowly, herself frowning in contemplation. What Travertine said rang true, though it necessitated an alternative explanation that would seem just as impossible. What kind of Wayfarer could send their Breachspawn through a locked door without leaving any clues of how they did it? Once more, Serac was forced to consider the only Night-side Wayfarer she'd met. At this point, Oriole ere'Quinlan was her only suspect, and what little she knew about his shadow-based Oathborn certainly seemed to fit the bill.

It's just, she debated with herself, I just can't see Oriole doing any of this heinous stuff! Granted, I don't know the guy, but I'm usually pretty good with first impressions. And her first impression of the ginger tabbycat was of a shifty ne'er-do-well terrible at explaining his hare-brained schemes. To go from that to this was a bridge Serac was reluctant to cross, at least without more solid evidence.

Slowly, almost subconsciously, she turned her contemplative gaze back onto the clue. A pinkish spleen held within the withered jaws of a mummified corpse. The second viewing was just as upsetting as the first, but Serac managed to hold her gaze. Pondering, wondering, asking.

"Very well," Travertine declared, having regained much of his calm demeanor. "We shall inspect the Catacombs some more, but I suspect we've already found everything of note from toDay's incident. I'd like another pair of eyes on this, so as much as it pains me, we ought to leave this… scene unaltered. With the circumstances being what they are, I'm sure Bishop Rafferty would under—"

"You said Drumlin would reconstitute in full toMorrow morning?" Serac suddenly blurted, seized by a powerful thirst for knowledge she knew not the source of. "Even if his corpse is, er, missing a piece?"

Travertine cut her a sidelong look.

"Yes. Once a dead Wayfarer is reunited with his Oathborn, he can reconstitute normally. At which point, any 'physical evidence' of his previous mishap will fade away."

"Right. So no matter what we do with his spleen right now, it won't have any lasting effect on Drumlin."

"… Correct. But why—"

Bang!

Travertine backed off several steps, eyes wide with alarm and CROZIER held out in defense. DLEE let out a high-pitched yelp and galloped in a circle. ORD reared his head and pawed the mausoleum floor, grunting in righteous menace.

As for Serac, she stared unblinkingly at the REVOLVER in her hand: unholstered, its smoking barrel pointed into the ground at her feet. She really should've warned her companions of what she was about to do, but in truth, she herself was just as shocked as anyone!

"It's okay!" She yelled, just as high-pitched as DLEE. "Just cycling my chambers… so I can do this!"

[Chamber Two: METABOLIC SHIFT]

A Zealous-imbued bullet made silent contact with the jagged rocks Serac had for a left-sided vambrace. Then the whole forearm, including the relatively rock-free hand, disappeared into its new, deeply unpleasant form.

[PULVERIZER Alternate Form: DREAMEATER]

All things considered, Serac had been holding it together fairly well. Her first sight of a physically dead Wayfarer. Following a trail of entrails. Culminating in a freshly dissected spleen inside a cadaver's mouth. She'd managed to hold it together through all such extraordinary horrors, and yet…

The sight—or rather, the feel—of her new left arm made her double over and retch. Loud and violent. Dry heaving in shock, disgust, and pain, until it felt as though her whole insides had been gouged out.

Travertine lowered his weapon, even as his eyes widened some more. He seemed utterly at a loss, and who could blame him? DLEE and ORD too, taking their cues from their Oathkeeper, hung back in indecision.

Serac finally managed to get a hold of herself. She coughed one last time, before wiping clean the froth and drool around her mouth, using her perfectly normal REVOLVER hand of course! She then straightened to face the spleen of her nightmares.

"Are you… sure you want to do this?"

Even Trippy, ever one to encourage Serac to explore and hone her magic, let his discomfort be known. And so, it fell to Serac herself to be the voice of madness. To forge her own Path through uncharted territory.

I have to. She asserted, to build her own courage as much as to defend her reckless actions. There's this urge inside me. Kept growing stronger the longer I stared at the damn thing. If I won't say 'hell yes' to this, then to what?

Even as she psyched herself up, her MP kept ticking down at a rapid rate. Soon, she'd have to start spending [Satiety], and she had no idea just how long whatever this was might take! Better get started sooner rather than later.

Serac stepped up to the open sarcophagus, all the while holding out what had become of her left arm. In truth, however, she barely had any control over that part of her body.

For one, because everything from her left elbow down had transformed into a dark, wafer-thin triangle that twisted in on itself. For another, because DREAMEATER seemed to have a mind of its own. Right now, it wished—nay, demanded—to be fed. Imagine its savage, gluttonous delight then, to have found such an accommodating host!

Serac stepped up to the sarcophagus. Her left arm unzipped itself and opened wide, ready to swallow whole a dead man's spleen—and the secrets hidden therein.

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