June 16th, 1881
The air in Maraheim was thick with dread as Emma made her way to the new crime scene. The fog had rolled in even denser than usual, wrapping the town in a suffocating shroud. The gas lamps cast weak, flickering lights, struggling to penetrate the gloom. The streets were deserted, the silence only broken by the occasional cough or distant wail from those stricken with influenza.
Emma’s heart pounded as she approached the alley where the latest victim had been found. She turned the corner and was greeted by the sight of constables already securing the area, their faces grim. Thomas stood in the center, his eyes fixed on the lifeless body sprawled on the cobblestones. She joined him, her eyes immediately drawn to the victim. It was a young woman this time, her body as pale and lifeless as the others, her face frozen in an expression of pure terror. Emma knelt beside the body, her gloved hand gently lifting the woman's wrist. The skin was cold and rigid, death having claimed her hours earlier.
"It's the same," Thomas said, his voice low. "No signs of struggle, no wounds. It's like the life was just sucked out of her."
Emma nodded, her mind racing. She glanced around the alley, the shadows seeming to dance in the flickering lamplight. The buildings loomed overhead, their windows dark and empty. She could feel the oppressive weight of the silence, the sense of something unseen watching them. As she examined the body, her thoughts drifted back to the documents she had found in the Grand Library. The pattern was unmistakable. Each murder, identical in nature, spanning centuries. She had uncovered the terrifying truth: the killer was not just a man, but something ancient and malevolent.
Thomas watched her closely. "You found something at the library, didn’t you?" he asked, his voice tinged with both curiosity and concern.
Emma looked up, meeting his gaze. "I did. These murders—they're not just happening here, and they're not just recent. They've been happening for centuries, in different parts of the world. The victims, the way they're found... it's all the same."
Thomas frowned, skepticism evident in his eyes. "Centuries? Emma, that sounds like a ghost story. These are real people being killed, by a real person."
Emma took a deep breath, struggling to put her thoughts into words. "I know it sounds unbelievable, but the evidence is there. I found records from the 17th century, the 15th century, even the medieval period. Each time, the victims were found in the same state—drained of life, their faces frozen in terror."
Thomas shook his head, his expression hardening. "You're suggesting that this is the work of some... immortal killer? Come on, Emma. It's more likely a copycat, someone who's studied those old cases and is recreating them."
Emma stood, her frustration mounting. "I thought the same thing at first, but the details are too precise. The legends, the folklore—they all point to something far older than a simple copycat. There's a pattern, Thomas. During times of great suffering and unrest, this killer strikes. The influenza epidemic is the perfect cover."
Thomas sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Even if that's true, what are we supposed to do with that? We need to find this person, whoever they are, and stop them."
Emma nodded, her determination renewed. "We need to approach this from both angles. We look for any modern connections, anything that ties these victims together, while also considering the possibility that we're dealing with something... different."
Thomas seemed to ponder this for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "Alright. But we need hard evidence, Emma. Something we can use to stop this killer."
As they continued to examine the scene, Emma's mind raced. She replayed the details of the ancient documents in her head, the chilling descriptions of a shadowy figure that brought death wherever it went. The victims, always isolated, always drained of life. The killer, leaving no trace except for the lifeless bodies and the terror etched on their faces. She looked around the alley, searching for anything that might have been missed. Her eyes caught a faint mark on the cobblestones, just beneath the woman's body. She knelt down, inspecting it closely. It was a small, almost imperceptible symbol, worn with age and barely visible.
"Thomas, look at this," she called, pointing to the mark.
He joined her, squinting at the ground. "What is it?"
"I'm not sure, but it looks like a symbol. It could be significant," she said, carefully sketching it in her notebook. "We need to find out if this symbol appears in any of the historical records. It might be a clue."
Thomas nodded, his skepticism momentarily giving way to curiosity. "It's worth a shot. Let's get it analyzed."
As they finished their examination and prepared to leave, Emma couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The shadows seemed to close in around them, the fog thickening. She knew they were racing against time. The killer was out there, and he—or it—would strike again.
Walking back to the station, Emma's thoughts were a whirlwind. She needed to dig deeper into the lore, to understand the nature of the killer they were dealing with. But she also needed to stay grounded, to look for tangible evidence that could lead them to the culprit.
Back at the station, Emma spread out her notes and the sketch of the symbol. She needed to cross-reference it with the historical records, to see if it appeared in any of the ancient documents. She couldn't afford to miss any detail, no matter how small.
As the hours passed, the weight of the investigation pressed heavily on her. The lives of the townspeople depended on her ability to uncover the truth. She couldn't let them down.
Thomas watched her work, his expression a mix of concern and respect. "We'll find him, Emma. Whatever it takes."
She nodded, her resolve hardening. "Yes, we will. And we'll make sure no one else has to die."
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