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Ser Valerius sat behind the heavy oak desk; his posture relaxed in a way the real Instructor Ral's never was. On the desk before him, looking grotesquely like a discarded skin, lay the ID Mask. It held the hollow image of a frozen doll in a placid, empty stare. Valerius's own face, pale, sharp, and intelligent, was exposed. He looked younger without the mask, but his pale blue eyes were infinitely older.
Across the room, leaning against the wall by a map of Paradis, was the Silent Knight. The features of Instructor Kent. He had not removed it since they'd assumed their roles. He was the still center of the room, a statue of silent purpose.
Outside, the training grounds were unnervingly quiet. No clatter of practice swords, no shouted drills, no grunts of exertion. The cadets were confined to their dormitories under strict orders from "Instructors Kent and Ral."
A "special, intensive evening training session" was announced. They were to rest, conserve their energy. A perfectly logical order, delivered in Ral's stern monotone. The lie was a cage, and the children, rattled by yesterday's horror but cowed by authority and the shocking discipline meted out to Martin, were staying inside its bars.
Valerius picked up the ID Mask, turning it over in his hands. The technology was cool and slightly pliant to the touch. "Remarkable things," he mused, his voice a quiet, cultured murmur that filled the silent office. "A fascist alien race's paranoia made manifest. Those creatures designed them to infiltrate unknown worlds and places. To think we'd be using them to herd children on a forgotten world." A faint, disdainful smile touched his lips. "The universe has a strange sense of irony."
His gaze drifted to the window, looking out at the peaceful, sun-dappled quad. His mind, however, was hours and miles away, on a forest road stained with the first blood of their deception.
Yesterday, forest road…
Instructors Kent and Ral urged their horses into a gallop, the urgency of their mission a fire in their veins. The image of the demonic hound and the butchered scout was burned behind their eyelids. They had to reach the Garrison outpost. They had to get word to Trost, to the Scouts, to anyone.
They never saw the attack coming.
One moment, the forest road was empty, dappled with late afternoon light. The next, two figures stood in the center of the path, as if they had grown from the shadows of the trees. They reined in sharply, horses skittering.
One man was tall and lean, with the posture of a scholar but the pale, calculating eyes of a predator. Ser Valerius. The other was a void, a silent, motionless figure in a dark tunic, his face hidden by a featureless white mask that reflected the forest light in distorted, ghostly shapes.
"Out of our way!" Kent barked, his hand going to his sword. "Cadet Corps business! Emergency!"
Valerius didn't move. "Your business is concluded, Instructors. The incident at the training grounds. A simple question: did you speak of it to anyone before leaving?"
Ral's eyes narrowed, a soldier's suspicion flaring. "Who are you? Armed Bandits?"
"Did. You. Tell. Anyone." Valerius repeated, each word a drop of ice.
"Even if we didn't tell anyone, it's none of your damn business!" Kent snapped, his fear turning to anger. "Now stand aside or we shall use force!"
"Good," Valerius said.
The Silent Knight moved.
It was not a blur of speed. It was a discontinuity. One heartbeat he was ten feet away; the next, he was beside Kent's horse. There was no wind-up, no dramatic flourish. A single, gloved hand shot out, not with a punch, but with a precise, palm-forward tap against Kent's chest, directly over his sternum.
The sound was not a crack, but a damp, deep thud, like a melon hitting stone from a great height. Kent's eyes bulged, his breath exploding outward in a silent spray of spittle. He didn't cry out; the impact had stolen all air, all sound. He simply folded forward over his horse's neck, then slid bonelessly to the dirt, landing with a finality that was more terrifying than any scream.
Ral stared, his mind white with disbelief. He fumbled for his sword, his mouth working soundlessly.
"An efficient application of concussive force," Valerius commented, stepping closer to examine the body as if it were a botanical specimen. "The ribcage acts as a natural amplifier. Internal hemorrhaging is instantaneous." He looked up at Ral. "So. No one else knows. The incident is contained to your grounds."
Terror finally unlocked Ral's voice. "M-Monsters! You're both—!" He yanked his sword free, the steel glinting. "The Garrison will hunt you! They'll—"
A third figure emerged from the tree line. A man in a Scout's green cloak. It was Edric, his "Duran" mask still perfectly in place, his expression one of profound boredom. "Are we done with the theatrics, Valerius? The schedule is tight."
"Nearly," Valerius said. "He was just leaving to inform the authorities."
Edric sighed, as if dealing with a stubborn child. He walked toward Ral, who was backing his horse up, sword trembling. "You really shouldn't have seen that."
"Traitor!" Ral spat, and swung his blade in a desperate, wide arc.
Edric didn't sidestep. He stepped inside the arc, his own movement a study in minimalism. His hand closed around Ral's wrist, twisted once with a crisp, dry snap, and plucked the sword from nerveless fingers before the pain even registered. In the same fluid motion, he reversed the grip and drove the blade up under Ral's ribcage, angling for the heart. It was less an execution and more a medical procedure. Ral gasped, a wet, surprised sound, his eyes locked on Edric's impassive face before the light fled from them. Edric held him upright for a moment, then lowered the body gently to the ground beside his comrade.
He wiped the blade clean on Ral's tunic and tossed it into the bushes. "Messy. But serviceable." He looked at the two corpses, then at Valerius. "The masks. We're burning daylight."
Valerius produced two silvery discs from a pouch. He placed one on Kent's cooling face, the other on Ral's. They activated with a soft, greenish hum, casting an eerie light as they spun, scanning and mapping every pore, scar, and follicle with impossible speed.
A moment later, the hum ceased. Valerius peeled the discs away. He handed one to the Silent Knight and kept the other. He pressed his disc against his own face.
The transformation was silent and ghastly. His skin seemed to liquefy and flow, his bones subtly shifting beneath. In three seconds, the sharp angles of Ser Valerius were gone, replaced by the full, weathered face and thick neck of Instructor Ral. He blinked Ral's eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was a perfect, gruff mimic. "Disgusting technology. It itches."
Beside him, the Silent Knight's mask simply… changed. The blank white surface swirled like milk, then resolved into the stern, lined visage of Instructor Kent. He flexed the new face's jaw once, a silent test.
Edric nodded, satisfaction cutting through his impatience. "Adequate. I'll return to headquarters, and rally the pseudo team and deliver my 'report' to the survey corps. You two," he said, pointing at the now impostors, "Can get back to the corps. Lock it down. Maintain absolute control. The beast will return to its last known feeding ground, especially once we... encourage it."
The new "Ral" nodded, the movement perfectly capturing the man's bullish demeanor. "Kent" simply stared, his silence now a character trait.
Edric mounted his horse, sparing one last glance at the two real men lying in the dirt, their faces already cooling in the forest shade. "A tragic accident during a high-risk training exercise," he murmured to himself, the lie settling into truth.
"So easy for things to go wrong." He spurred his horse and vanished down the road towards Trost.
The two impostors turned their stolen horses and walked, with slow, deliberate steps that perfectly mimicked the weary return of frustrated men, back towards the Cadet Corps. Back towards a hundred and fifty unsuspecting children.
Valerius set the mask down gently. The flashback faded, leaving only the pressing quiet of the office and the weight of the next phase.
"It will come," Valerius said, his voice once again his own, low and sure. "The creature is wounded. Desperate. It has imprinted on this place as a source of food and relative shelter. Its primal instincts will draw it back to familiar ground, to the scene of its last successful hunt."
He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the wooded perimeter. "Our comrades are in position in the forest. It shall appear, whether it wants to or not."
He turned from the window, his pale eyes glinting in the dim light. "When it does, it will be agitated. Enraged. A perfect weapon of chaos. We will guide its fury. A contained purge. The creature eliminates the witnesses; the cadets who saw it, a tragic, inexplicable massacre. And then, in its exhausted, wounded state, the purge team subdues it. We secure the specimen. The story writes itself: a rogue beast, a heroic but failed defense by the instructors, a total loss. No loose ends. No curious Scouts. No whispers of 'demon dogs' reaching the wrong ears."
He looked at the Silent Knight, who had not moved a muscle. "The silence afterward will be… absolute."
Outside, the quad was deserted. Not a single cadet walked the paths. From this vantage point, Valerius could see the long, low building of the dormitories. Every shutter was closed. The only movement was a lone, armed figure patrolling the space between the dorms and the main hall; one of their own knights, disguised in a cadet corps auxiliary uniform, ensuring the lockdown was total. No curious eyes, no brave souls sneaking out for a glimpse of the woods. The children were bottled, waiting.
A soft, rhythmic tap came at the door; not a cadet's knock, but the coded signal of a fellow Knight. Valerius smoothly picked up the ID Mask and pressed it to his face. The transformation was instant. Instructor Ral straightened his tunic. "Enter."
The door opened to reveal the patrolling knight, his face young and forgettable under the auxiliary cap. "Perimeter secure, sir," he reported, his voice low. "All cadets accounted for in the east and west dorms. No movement. No attempts to communicate or leave."
"Good," Valerius-as-Ral grunted, the perfect picture of a stern commander. "Maintain the watch. No one steps outside, not even to use the latrine. They can hold it until evening. Dismissed."
The knight nodded and withdrew, closing the door softly.
Valerius removed the mask again, the stern instructor's face melting away to reveal his cool, composed features. He ran a finger along the edge of the mask.
"A necessary precaution," he said, more to himself than to his silent companion. "Children are unpredictable. They sense fear, they whisper, they plot. Better to keep them in the dark, literally and figuratively. Let them stew in their anxiety. It will make the chaos more… believable."
He glanced once more out the window. The patrolling knight had resumed his circuit, a slow, menacing stroll that communicated one thing clearly: you are being watched.
Inside the dorms, the air would be thick with unsaid questions, with the memory of Jansen's death, with Martin's choking punishment. They would be jumping at shadows, misinterpreting every creak of the building as the return of the beast. Perfect. Fear was a chemical that would sweeten the air for the predator they were about to summon.
The stage was not just set; it was locked down. The actors were in their cages. The director was ready in the wings.
All that was left was for the star of the show…the feral demonic beast…to answer its cue.
Chapter 26-31 are already available on Patreon.com/Weeb Fanthom.