Chapter 22

May 26th, 11:20 a.m. Inside GORCC’s surface camouflage agency.

Bal, whose public role was church administrator but who truly served as the head of GORCC’s External Secrecy and Defense Division, picked up an incoming call in his office.

Even before lifting the receiver, Bal had a good guess at what it was about—likely some clueless civilian booking a funeral or a gravesite. “I’m terribly sorry, friend, but the church is undergoing renovations right now—”

“I’m looking for Faust. The Faust employed by GORCC, whose real name is Jean Vashron.” The voice on the line was pleasant and polite, but its content was enough to send any Secrecy and Defense staffer into a cold sweat. “Would you be so kind as to transfer this call for me?”

“…” Bal froze with the receiver in hand for a moment before slamming down the mute button. He whipped his head toward the guards outside the door and snarled in a low voice, “Get Faust in here! How the hell did he screw up his security so badly? A dangerous element’s calling us right at our doorstep—and they know his real name!”

The urgent summons went out and came back with a reply.

Half a minute later, Faust—who had no intention of budging just because Bal barked—picked up the transferred call in his own office. “Good day, dear sir. I have no idea how you learned my real name, but showing up to provoke me like this is an incredibly foolish—”

“Faust.” Ode’s gaze had been fixed on the mutated organ protruding from Lola’s neck. He cut in directly. “I’m calling you from Dreamcatcher Town right now.”

“There’s someone in front of me—or it could be a group—who’ve been contaminated by Deep Ones. One little girl is already showing clear signs of mutation.”

“If you’re too late, you might just end up burying this poor kid’s body in the forest that The Colour Out of Space just burned down.”

Ode’s tone was downright menacing. It wasn’t entirely about settling a score or scaring the man who’d once tied him up—no, not completely.

Calling for help as a supposed victim would only make Faust suspicious: “If you can get GORCC intel and my real name, why play the victim? You’re probably some cultist!”

But owning up as a dangerous element outright? Faust would snap to high alert, mobilize fast with medical teams in tow, ready to treat any hostages they rescued.

Ode’s prediction of Faust’s reaction proved spot-on. In his office, Faust—who had been lounging confidently in his executive chair—paused only briefly before sitting up straight. His voice remained calm and measured. “What do you want?”

“Just a heads-up… our organization isn’t as soft-hearted as you might think. A hundred or two dead means nothing to us—”

“You’ve got one minute to think it over.” Ode hung up cleanly and turned back to return the phone, only to meet a cluster of stunned stares.

Lola still clutched her neck, her mouth agape in shock. “How did you… how could you…?” Act like some terrorist!

Ode widened his eyes in perfect innocence. “He threatened me first! Pointing a gun at me, drugging me—scaring him a little isn’t over the line, is it? Besides,” Ode paused, his voice dropping to a steady calm, “this really is the most efficient way. I can guarantee it.”

As a political operative, he knew all too well the glacial pace of standard British bureaucracy.

In the office, Faust gripped the receiver for barely two seconds after the hang-up before patching into internal comms and issuing an emergency muster order.

The door burst open before the line even went dead. Bal stormed in. “Are you insane!? Mobilizing forces on a whim for some random call? That’s not how protocols work!”

“You have to give our division time to investigate and prep first. Apply for manpower only after we confirm it’s go-time. And we’d still need a meeting to figure out damage control…”

Bal’s tirade cut short as Faust pressed the icy barrel of a gun to his forehead.

He stiffened for a few seconds, then jutted out his chin and bellowed on principle anyway. “What, you gonna kill me over this? You’re so desperate—don’t tell me that dangerous element’s an old buddy of yours? Some grudge making you rush off to silence them and cover your screw-up—ah!!!!”

Faust irritably pulled the trigger. A sharp bang rang out. Bal howled, clutching his calf as he toppled to the floor, rolling in agony while spewing curses amid his screams. “You fucking lunatic!! Ah… I’m the supervisory officer personally assigned by the Minister himself, you—ah!!!”

A second bang.

Footsteps thundered from outside as the emergency response team arrived.

Faust drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the still-smoking barrel. Then he smashed the desk phone receiver onto the floor with a crack, grinding it under the heel of his polished dress shoe until the bug shattered with a faint pop.

He kicked the debris aside with his foot and said disdainfully to the soldiers filing in, “Drag this idiot away. That Deep Ones undercover agent we had before? He let the bastard into GORCC. Now he’s bugging my phone… and he has the nerve to throw the Minister in my face? Sounds like that Minister of his has reached the end of the line.”

“Toss him straight in a cell. The vacancy for Secrecy and Defense Division head goes to Eva’s man in the family—”

“You… you planned this…” Bal, bleeding profusely on the floor, convulsed as he craned his neck up, grinding his teeth. “You’ve been waiting for today… forever, haven’t you? If it wasn’t like this… how else could I plant a bug in your phone so easily? Your door guards… they didn’t even stop me when I barged in…”

“Exactly.” Faust looked down at the spy from on high. “Thanks for exposing yourself. From now on, GORCC’s surface agency will run entirely with my people.”

No one paid any mind to Bal’s ongoing curses. Nobody liked fighting on the front lines while desk-jockey bureaucrats hid safe in the rear, micromanaging and sabotaging at every turn.

Two guards hauled Bal away. The rest entered Faust’s office one by one, their leather boots scattering the priceless desk phone across the floor like junk. No one cared.

Faust struck a match with a hiss, lit the cigar clamped between his teeth, and exhaled. Acrid, strange smoke filled the room in an instant, and the next moment, the office stood empty.

Meanwhile, at the edge of the dense woods.

With Cavendish’s support, Ode stumbled slightly as he crossed the boundary of Dreamcatcher Town, stepping into the lush, verdant fields of May 1980, drenched by the downpour.

“You’re shaking. Why?” Cavendish’s hand steadied him with firm, unyielding strength. Though his eyes remained unfocused, he never missed the slightest shift on Ode’s person.

Ode braced his hands on his knees, slowly straightening under his own power as he faced the rain-lashed green expanse. “…That night on the 24th. The night I killed the first Deep One.”

“I swore to myself I’d save the Old Madman’s granddaughter. I’d spare the town from burning…”

And he had.

He hadn’t died. Neither had Lola, nor the sacrifices. Death hadn’t claimed another soul from his grasp.

Ode’s eyes burned, a sob nearly rising, but even as the frigid rain could wash away any trace of weakness, he held it back.

He wiped the rainwater from his face and scanned the direction from which Faust might arrive. “—Wait, who’s that?!”

“?” By the time Cavendish shifted his attention from Ode, it was too late. “Who?”

“A fat guy—no, a really burly man!” All the reflection evaporated in an instant. Astonishment and suspicion mixed in Ode’s voice as he chased a few steps toward where the figure had vanished, nearly face-planting into the field.

Even as Cavendish steadied him, Ode stared fixedly at the spot, rapidly recounting what he’d seen to burn the glimpse into his memory. “He had on a baseball cap—squatting right there, watching us, staring at Dreamcatcher Town. But the second our eyes met, he just… vanished! You get it? Like he dissolved into thin air!”

Cavendish held him steady and said flatly, “You’re sure it’s not a hallucination?”

“Of course not—” Ode whirled irritably, then froze as realization hit while glaring at Cavendish.

Wasn’t surveilling Dreamcatcher Town exactly what the Church of Kolon Sovereign—devotees of Yog-Sothoth—was up to in the area?

Those Soap Company employees with cameras slung around their necks, popping up in the woods, fields, and behind the school— what was their goal in watching the town? They hadn’t been among the crowd that gathered after the beach fight.

Where had they gone? Had they achieved their objective?

His heart, eased by the return to 1980, began to race again. Cavendish’s hand on his arm felt so cold, gripping so tightly and powerfully, like a massive serpent coiling around him, sending a chill through the late-summer field.

Right—he was back in 1980, but Dreamcatcher Town still brimmed with unsolved mysteries.

Ones tied to the Church of Kolon Sovereign… the Bell Tower inscriptions buried under fresh paint… the sole Child of the Dust corpse not felled in the woods but in the school basement…

Ode pressed his pale lips together amid the slanting rain, chest heaving silently as he drew a deep breath, then reined in all his emotions. “Maybe. Probably from fighting too many Deep Ones—hallucinating a guy in the fields who looks like some Great White Shark thug? Ha. Guess I need to stare at something pretty to cleanse my eyes… Ah! Mr. Vashron.”

Through the hazy curtain of rain, some twenty figures materialized in the swaying grass of the field.

Faust led them, clad in a black trench coat, hands in his pockets, no umbrella. The cigar between his lips glowed crimson amid the downpour. “From the sound of your voice, you must be the kidnapper. Hmm, not bad-looking… Where’s the hostage?”

Facing the biting cold rain, Ode simply and naturally removed Cavendish’s supporting hand, straightened his own body, and then, beneath Cavendish’s surprised backward glance, slowly slipped his fingers into the gaps between Cavendish’s—like two snakes that knew each other’s treacherous intentions yet entwined with utmost intimacy.

Ode didn’t keep Faust waiting long. What mattered now was Lola, who urgently needed rescue. “There are no hostages. I just didn’t want to sound too innocent lest you think I was lying and hold back your men. The contaminated people are right there in the town: one little girl with tentacles sprouting from her neck, and a bunch of cultists still losing their minds after staring down Dagon.”

“…” Faust’s eyes betrayed clear doubt, but he decisively signaled his team to stay vigilant and retrieve the hostages. He himself stood rooted in place, cigarette clenched between his teeth as he bantered with Ode. “You know how suspicious that sounds, right? A backwater town crawling with the Colour Out of Space and Dagon—and there are still live people?”

Faust playfully worked the cigarette up and down between his teeth, lazily jerking his chin toward Cavendish. “And do you even know who you’re cozying up to there? If you’re scheming some grand play with all this, I’d advise ditching that hot potato next to you fast and grabbing some other poor sap instead—”

Faust cut himself off abruptly, glancing back toward the field ridge. “Speak of the devil—look, look. The hot potato’s nannies have arrived.”

At the far edge of the field, three vintage Daimler DE27s glided silently to the roadside like black panthers emerging from the depths of time, their claws discreetly retracted.

Ode’s pupils contracted slightly. From the driver’s seat of the lead vehicle stepped an old butler unfurling an umbrella. His impeccable tailcoat and the elegant snap of the umbrella proclaimed him from a family with deep ties to Windsor Castle.

“Duke,” the old butler said, holding the umbrella aloft as he approached the group and halted at a polite yet subtly distant social remove. “Your Majesty was greatly distressed to hear of your disappearance these past few days. She specifically instructed us to invite you to the palace upon locating you.”

Ode froze for a moment, turning his head inch by inch as patches of blankness clouded his mind. “Duke…? Your Majesty…?”

The last time they’d visited GORCC, Faust had joked, “It can’t be that the Queen is a cultist too, right?” Now, he genuinely didn’t dare entertain the thought.

“It’s not that serious.” Cavendish clearly understood what had Ode stiffening. Right in front of the butler, he stepped closer to Ode, dipped his head slightly, tightened their interlaced fingers, and spoke in a mildly soothing tone—which promptly raised goosebumps all over Ode’s skin, for Cavendish was utterly mismatched with anything resembling comfort. “Just routine chit-chat. I don’t have to go. We still have that promise to keep, remember?”

“…”?? The butler’s composure visibly crumbled at the sight of Cavendish proactively drawing near Ode—holding hands, foreheads brushing. For one or two seconds, his face went blank in a way that violated all decorum. “D-Duke?”

Cavendish didn’t turn around or alter his slightly bowed posture. He held silent for a beat, then spoke faintly just before the butler could start trembling. “I don’t recall summoning you to fetch me, Hein. Cancel the audience. Tell them I just cheated death and require rest.”

“Wait,” Ode blurted on instinct. “That’s Your Majesty!”

He wasn’t even a viscount who could waltz in for an audience whenever he pleased!

“You want to see her?” Cavendish’s tone softened markedly when addressing Ode—anyone with half a brain could detect the favoritism. “If it’s you who wants to—”

‘What are you doing?’ An elderly voice intruded abruptly into Ode’s ear, as if the scene weren’t chaotic enough already. ‘Who is this human…? Why are you glued to him? Wait—he bears the mark of Yog-Sothoth. He’s Yog-Sothoth’s Proxy!’

The elderly voice’s tone sharpened instantly from curiosity to severity. ‘Don’t let him fool you! Anyone who strikes a deal with an Outer God is no longer human—not in mind or essence! Push him away, Ode! Don’t give him the chance to hurt you!’

“Ode?” In the downpour, Cavendish still clasped Ode’s hand. His frosty lashes drooped, wet and glistening, lending him an unexpectedly vulnerable, almost pleading air.

Ode didn’t dare glance at the butler’s expression. He now strongly suspected Cavendish could overhear the elderly voice’s divisive whispers and was thus striking a pose.

“Do you want to come with me to Windsor Castle?”

All eyes turned to Ode in that instant.

Ode: “…”

Ode died a little inside. For someone who’d been running on fumes for three straight days, this felt like outright patient abuse.

Didn’t any of you have your own business? Why circle him like this?

In that moment, Ode perfectly empathized with Cavendish, whom he’d dragged kicking and screaming out the door at dawn three days prior.

When it came down to it, though, Ode’s approach was clear-cut:

Did he need to tag along to the Queen’s residence? Obviously not. He had more pressing matters demanding his attention—and he preferred handling them without a crowd clinging to his side.

“Go see Your Majesty, Cavendish.”

“How can you address— ” The butler furrowed his brow tightly, but halfway through his correction, he caught the low pressure radiating from his own duke and clamped his mouth shut.

The elderly voice, by contrast, brimmed with approval. ‘Well done, dear child. Yog-Sothoth is arguably the most dangerous of all the Outer Gods. Keeping one of Their followers close? Only a madman would—’

Braving the butler’s wide-eyed shock, Ode calmly patted Cavendish’s full pectorals twice. “—then wait for me at your estate. You’re not going to leave me standing at the door, right? Especially when I intend to ‘fulfill our agreement.'”

‘?!’ The elderly voice erupted in shocked fury, but Ode ignored Them outright.

He despised anyone dictating what he should or shouldn’t do. Especially when that “anyone” couldn’t even recognize Cavendish’s true nature—

As for whether he’d misjudged? Ha. Ode trusted his own instincts above all else in this life.

The elderly voice grew ever more frantic, but Cavendish’s expression cleared like clouds parting. “I’m delighted you haven’t forgotten your promise to me… Hein.”

“Er… ahem, yes, Duke?” The butler emitted a faintly dumbfounded noise before snapping to attention and reclaiming his poise—though anyone could see how precariously it teetered.

Cavendish instructed, “Give this gentleman a key to my estate.”

Brushing aside the butler’s bulging eyes and the elderly voice’s frantic protests, Cavendish pinched Ode’s chin, tilted his head, and shared a thoroughly maudlin kiss with him. Only then did he depart gracefully into the elderly voice’s tomb-like silence.

His evident relish lasted less than half a minute.

The instant he boarded the car and shut the door, every trace of human emotion drained from Cavendish’s pale, jade-like features. Speaking in a flat tone devoid of feeling, he said, “Who authorized you to come, Hein?”

“Back to the estate.”

The butler, shaking like a leaf, jammed the accelerator. He didn’t dare utter another word or question.

He knew all too well that the presence in the rear seat required no reply from him—for He was the answer to all things.

His commands brooked no debate or need for justification; the future before Him was but an open book laid bare for His perusal.

He was a being of sparse words, of omniscience. Countless souls exhausted every path to stand before Him and voice their burning questions, yet not all received answers, and not all departed alive or sane.

Hein grasped this intimately, along with his own limitations. He deemed himself incapable of paying the price to inquire, or bearing the weight of whatever truths might come. Thus, he asked nothing at all.

Such as why return to the estate now? Or why, despite evident displeasure at his arrival, permit him to survive this long—right up to the moment of this interruption?

Out in the field, Ode mulled the same puzzle amid his standoff with Faust. From what he recalled of his culture classes, Yog-Sothoth comprehended past, present, and future alike. If Hein’s appearance ran counter to Cavendish’s wishes, how could He have allowed the man to live until now?

Put another way, Cavendish had tacitly consented to Hein’s interruption—and to being whisked away.

Why did he wish to leave? Like Ode himself, did Cavendish have solitary business demanding his attention?

“What a show.” Faust, content till now to spectate from the wings, plucked the cigarette from his lips and exhaled a lazy plume of smoke. No telling whether his “show” meant Cavendish’s grand escort or that lingering farewell kiss. “Mind if I guess your power is seduction? Damn effective, too—”

“Don’t tell me you want to fuck me again.” Ode refocused, shooting him a sidelong glare. “If that’s on your mind, your problem—not mine.”

Faust coughed in sudden alarm, doubtlessly itching to demand what “again” implied. But just then, a GORCC squad burst from the thicket hauling something heavy. The lead operative called crisply, “Chief, take a look at this.”

“A beat-up old Gatling gun? What’s golden about lugging it out for my inspection?” Faust flicked his eyes over it and away, ready to resume grilling Ode—until he registered the odd rifling glimpsed in that glance. “…Hold up. Set it down here. Let me get a proper look.”

Ode crossed his arms leisurely, watching Faust circle the Gatling gun—its barrel etched with an alchemy array—several times. The man’s face cycled from world-weary operator to dawning incredulity before he whipped his head up, staring at Ode in shocked disbelief. “You drew this array? How the hell do you even know this array?! Impossible…”

Ode took his sweet time savoring Faust’s uncharacteristic disarray before replying languidly, “I told you—this isn’t our first run-in… So, can we find somewhere to sit and talk properly now? I mean, head back to base.”

Faust eyed him for a long beat. “You’re seriously not hitting on me?”

Ode: “…”

Ode: “Can’t this deluge wake you from your wet dreams?”