In Claude's vision, the wreckage that was once Hawden vanished. Instead, flashing scenes surged past him—some blurred, others razor-sharp.
Memories. Foreign and unfamiliar, they flooded his mind—fragments he had not recovered while inhabiting this body.
The chaos of images twisted and then collapsed into a single, coherent scene. Nevertheless, before Claude could take a moment's breath, his consciousness was pulled into the memory.
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"Yawn!" An exhausted yelp escaped Claude's lips. The myriad of fragmented scenes blurring together in his mind were gone.
Instead, he found himself in his bedroom, standing as he gazed out of the window near the bed. Beyond the glass, an idyllic scene stretched before him,
The vibrant greenery of the surrounding landscape unfolded like a lush tapestry. Tall trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves shimmering in hues of green that seemed to dance in the gentle breeze.
The faint silhouette of the town was barely visible in the distance, obscured by the rolling hills and thick forests that separated it from the manor.
Yet before he could ponder what was happening, a chilling realization swept over him.
He could not move.
His hands, legs, head—none obeyed him.
"Evelyn…?" His lips moved on their own, his voice steady, yet foreign.
"Yes?" A familiar voice chimed from the doorway. Evelyn peeked inside, her bright eyes searching.
Claude—no, his body—tilted its head slightly before speaking. "Did you hear anything just now?"
"No," Evelyn replied without hesitation. Then, after a pause, she added, "Master, did you hear something? Was it perhaps a pest?"
"Pesky scoundrels, these pests are," she muttered. "No matter how much I try to rid myself of them, they keep scurrying back. If only we were at the main residence, then you would not have to deal with these problems…"
Her voice faltered. Eyes widening, she clapped a hand over her mouth.
"Master! I didn't mean to say—"
"Evelyn." His hand lifted dismissively. "That's enough. Go back to your duties."
Evelyn hesitated, her lips parting as if to say more, but the moment passed. Tears pooled in her eyes before she cast her gaze downward.
"Yes…" She whispered, retreating from the room.
Silence returned.
Claude—or whoever he was in this moment—turned back toward the window. His eyes glazed over as they stared off into the distance.
"What on earth was that..." He muttered under his breath.
Before the thought could settle, a sudden noise slammed into his mind.
Thruuum!
"Argh!" 'Claude' clutched his head, his fingers digging into his temples as the low, vibrating hum rattled through his skull.
It was as though the bell were ringing directly within the confines of his skull. Its echo running along every fibre of his being.
Chnk!
Then, the sharp sound of breaking glass splintered through the hum.
Crack—Shatter!
Bit by bit, the scene before him began to distort, fracturing like a shattered mirror. The edges of his reality twisted and cracked until they splintered off into numerous jagged pieces.
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Once again, before Claude could catch his breath, another scene swallowed him whole.
Pitter-patter!
Rain poured over Hawden's cobbled streets, drumming against rooftops and pooling in uneven stone cracks.
The air smelled of damp wood and cold iron, heavy with the scent of an approaching storm. Above, sullen grey clouds stretched endlessly, casting a dim, suffocating gloom over the town.
Splash!
Barely shielded from the elements, Claude—clad only in his waistcoat—strode through the rain-slicked streets, his boots sloshing through shallow puddles. Water streamed down his face, clinging to his clothes in persistent rivulets.
"That damn sound!" 'Claude' growled through clenched teeth, his breath misting in the chill air. "Why does it never end? I haven't had a good night's sleep in over a fortnight."
Claude remained a prisoner in his own mind, forced to spectate as his body—unfamiliar yet unmistakably his—pushed through the desolate streets. The town square loomed ahead, eerily empty beneath the storm's shroud.
Thruuum!
The deep, vibrating hum returned, sinking into his bones like a distant war drum. And, just as before, he was not alone in hearing it. 'Claude' was also hearing it.
"There it is again." 'Claude' muttered, his gaze snapping toward a narrow alley veiled in shadow. A flicker of movement stirred within. "It's coming from over there..."
Yet, as he neared the mouth of the alley, his breath hitched. Dark, shifting figures darted between the buildings—silent and swift, their outlines blurred by the sheets of rain.
Chnk!
A sharp, metallic snap rang in his ears.
Crack—Shatter!
The world around him quivered. The scene splintered at the edges, cracks spiderwebbing through his vision.
Hawden's streets, the alley, the faceless figures—all of it fractured like brittle glass, ready to collapse into nothingness.
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"Huff—Puff!" 'Claude' panted, his breath fogging up the cool glass of a small window. He stood hunched before a narrow townhouse, its red-brick façade glistening under the relentless rain.
The structure was modest yet sturdy, its sash windows framed with white-painted wood, though the paint was beginning to chip from years of wear.
A single, wrought-iron lantern hung beside the entrance, unlit, swaying slightly in the wind. The roof, steeply pitched and adorned with weathered slate tiles, groaned under the weight of the downpour.
Through the window, his vision pierced the dim interior. The flickering glow of oil lamps barely illuminated the scene within—just enough to reveal a horror that sent ice through his veins.
Figures clad in flowing black robes moved swiftly through the house like wraiths. Their garments billowed as they dragged lifeless bodies across the wooden floor, heedless of the thick trails of blood left in their wake. The corpses—limp, still twitching—belonged to the residents of the home.
A man's arm dangled lifelessly from a doorway, his fingers slack, his once-white nightshirt soaked in crimson. A woman's body was slumped in the corner of a room, her glassy eyes reflecting the dim lantern light.
There was no struggle. Only the cold efficiency of the robed figures as they worked in eerie silence.
"Ack!" 'Claude' let out a quiet yelp, his stomach twisting at the sight of the blood-streaked floorboards. The color, deep and viscous, seared itself into his vision.
His exclamation, though hushed, cut through the stillness of the scene.
The air grew heavy. The figures froze mid-motion.
Slowly, unnaturally, every hooded head turned toward the window. Though their faces were shrouded in darkness, Claude could feel their gaze drilling into him.
Then—
A jagged crack splintered through his vision.
Crack—Shatter!