Event: Murder Mystery

## The Dione Murder Case Detective Event

**Event website**

The event runs from January 2nd until January 15th (PST). There are seven stages *(cases)* and every stage lasts for 2 days. In order to complete a case you have to enter a random access code that can be found in Dione at one of the three locations described in the profile's clues on the website. You will be rewarded with in-game items depending on how many cases you've solved, and after a stage has ended you cannot solve its case anymore.

### **Case 1** - Active 2nd and 3rd of January

**Clues:**

1. Sidera Lodoicea Ski Resort has its own bus to transport the tourists in different regions in the mountains, and it's free as well.
2. Do you know what's the name for the Ski Resort's mascots? The Snowy Brothers, how lame is that?! And the one on the top of the tourist center is the older brother, apparently.
3. Do you know what's the most exciting thing to do at the Ski Resort? Drinking some coffee and on the benches at the end of the Ski slopes while you watch the snowboarders charge to you at full speed.

**Exact Locations:** Youtube Video

01. VAMPIRE IN THE SNOW

I found myself with a new assistant after Carl left, a young man by the name of Joseph with fine hair, bright just like the midday sun. Unlike the shy and introverted Carl, Joseph was outgoing and passionate, and well-liked by the others at the department. He was not always the brightest match in the box, but he had the unique talent of not putting people off even when he says the dumbest things.

That morning, he came in with coffee for everyone in the office. The first thing that came out of his mouth when he opened the door was, "Hey guys, have you heard? Snowstorm warning from the Northern Observatory! It's Ymir!"
I lifted my eyes from the paper. "Yes. I also got another report stating that the tourist numbers in Dione this year -"
"- tripled compared to last year." Tracy finished the sentence as she took her coffee from Joseph's tray.
"Whoa," Joseph exclaimed as he put the last cup of coffee on my desk, "it's gonna be a busy winter."
The laid-back atmosphere of the office was broken by the urgent ring of the phone.
Tracy picked up the phone. A few seconds later, she shouted, "Sir, you need to hear this."
It was not like Tracy to make a big fuss out of nothing, so I took the speaker from her and found myself on the phone with the night-shift officer.
"Sir," the man quickly went through the matters, "we found a dead woman in a hut over at Stele Village. There are red drawings under her body that look like some sort of magic symbol, and..." My brow had furrowed as I listened to the report. "…there are holes on her neck that penetrated her artery. They look a lot like… bite marks."
"Give me the exact location. I'm heading over." I put down the speaker and rushed to the scene with Joseph.

Stele Village was a town built next to a graveyard - a curious thing to many visitors. The town had its origins in the traditions of Dione - up north, it was customary for the family of the dead to gather next to the grave and revel through the night, so as to keep the dead company and prevent them from feeling lonely. With time, these gatherings led to the founding of Stele Village.
It snowed heavily the night before. The investigator set up a police line around the abandoned hut, but heavy snow covered up any indications around the hut, leaving only the tracks of the night watchman who discovered the body, and the investigators’.
Joseph and I crossed the police line into the hut. The first thing that greeted us was the suffocating smell of blood. Seeing Joseph turn a little green, I gave him a little nod and he dashed outside to throw up.
Inside, the hut was pitch-black. With the windows tightly boarded up, the only source of daylight was the open door behind me, casting a long shadow in the morning rays. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw the patterns underneath the body.
The officer's description that it looked like some sort of magic symbol was certainly accurate. A hexagram was surrounded by a circle of inscriptions in an unknown language, which was surrounded by yet another circle of burned-out candles. The victim lay at the center of the hexagram, dressed in nothing but a thin silk dress clearly ill-suited to the harsh northern winter.

"The symbol looks like it was drawn with blood. Still not sure if it's animal or human blood." The investigator reported.
"Well, that explains the smell..." having thrown up his entire breakfast, Joseph's voice was hoarse and raspy.
I put on my gloves and began to examine the body. The skin had turned blue and purple, and a thin layer of frost covered it. She had a beautiful face, but her eyes were wide open, with an expression filled with pain and fear. Her hands were clutched tight in front of her chest. I pried open her fingers and found pierce marks on her palm, but there aren’t any no sharp tools nearby that could have caused it.
There were four little blackened holes on her neck, deep enough to penetrate the artery. Strangely, though, there was no blood on her skin or clothing. The marks did not look like they were caused by wolves or other types of animals, but do fit the gap between human canines. I turned over the victim's head and found an orderly row of print marks behind her neck.
As I examined the body, Joseph was listening to the investigator's report and taking notes, occasionally peeking over my shoulder curiously.
"Strange, isn't it?" He said, "Not a drop of blood to be found anywhere - could the killer have sucked her blood dry? Or maybe..." he gave me a meaningful look, "...the summoning circle was drawn with her blood?"
"Summoning circle?"
"Yeah, hexagram, candle, the sacrificial maiden...that's what the books all say." Joseph mused, chewing on his pencil, "Maybe the killer was a summoned vampire?"
I rolled my eyes. "You're a cop, Joseph, not a horror writer." Without waiting for his reply, I turned and gave instructions to the investigator. "Send the body to the coroner. We'll need an autopsy. And get a sample of the blood used for the symbol, see if it matches the victim's."
Human canines are not long enough to pierce another human's neck artery without leaving only four holes on the body's neck. I would not be shocked if someone told me there were werewolves in the Dione Mountains, but vampires? Come on.
And the strange patterns...I knew a thing or two about those crazies at Bluepeak town, and while their rituals might be weird and creepy, they knew where the line was and had never crossed it, until now. But maybe it was time I had a good chat with them.

While we waited for the coroner's report, I took Joseph with me to Bluepeak town. The town was practically empty - most of its inhabitants were working in the Andvari Mines at this hour. I stopped in front of the house that I was looking for, knowing exactly where it was. As I prepared to knock, Joseph quickly noted down the door number and asked in a low voice, "Sir, who are we looking for?"
"Hmm..." I found myself at a loss for words. "The High Priest? The Elder? Something like that..."
"It's Prophet, sheriff." The door opened to reveal an old man, looking at us with cold eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"Whatever." I flashed my police badge. "You have the right to remain silent, but it is my duty to remind you that anything you say may be used in evidence."

The Prophet – his name was Gilbert - sat in the interrogation room. He remained silent as he listened to the accusations, and for some time after.
"Do you want me to call a lawyer?" I tapped the desk impatiently.
"Now, now, Pete, old boy, how long have we known each other? 30 years? 35? When you were no more than a wee policeman just getting your feet wet..."
I interrupted, "Something pertinent to the case, Gilbert."
"Fine, I'll give you pertinent. This is absurd. Total nonsense. The Glorious King whom we worship isn't something you summon from the fire of hell like some third-rate dime novel. We don't do shit like this. You know that, sheriff."
"The law doesn't care what I do or do not know." I shrugged. "Give me a list of names and you're free to go for now, but don't even think about leaving Dione. We'll find out what you've been up to last night and let the evidence prove whether you're guilty or clean."
Gilbert took out an old cowhide notebook from his pocket. Unbelievable - did he carry that with him all the time?
"We know the law and we respect it while we're still in this world." Gilbert handed me the booklet. "Other than that unfortunate accident with the nutjob who beat someone to death 30 years ago, we haven't caused you any trouble. You know that, Peter. "
"Yeah, except the complaints we get for your strange parties," I quipped and sent him on his way.

Gilbert was barely out the door when Tracy brought the coroner's report.
The victim died of hypothermia. No sign of intoxication by alcohol or drugs. The holes on the neck were definitely caused by some sharp, pointed object that pierced the artery, and the victim lost about a pint of blood. Other than the print marks on the back of the neck and the mark on her palm, both of which I already found during my examination, there were no other external injuries or signs of violence.
The blood on the ground was chicken blood, not from human. Not even an ultraviolet sweep could find any traces of blood on the body itself. The pint of blood was cleanly drained from the victim, and there were no indications as to where the blood went.
We also investigated the whereabouts of Gilbert and the followers listed in his notebook last night. All of them had alibis. The victim's time of death was estimated at around midnight. Half of the people on the list were still on duty in the mines, and the other half were with their families. As for Gilbert himself, multiple witnesses testified that he was preaching to his followers on duty from 11pm to midnight in the mines and did not set out for Bluepeak town until past midnight. The odds that he could have travelled all the way to Stele Village within such a short time were very low.
Above all, we could not imagine how the murderer managed to quietly bring the victim to Stele Village without any use of violence or drugs. We ran into a brick wall just trying to reconstruct the crime scene.

With the case at an impasse, the look on my face definitely was not good. Even Joseph knew better than to talk to me with raised voice. As he put down my coffee, he asked almost in a whisper, "Sir, what could those marks on the victim's palm and neck be?"
I felt a bulb light up in my head at Joseph's words. I had focused my attention on the strange symbols and the drawn blood, neglecting those two questions. I took another look at the photo of the mark on the victim's neck and quickly realized it looked like some sort of chain. Add that up with the marks on her palm...
"A necklace," I said aloud.
"Huh?"
I grabbed Joseph's badge, which he had hanging around his neck, and pulled hard. Joseph yelled in pain and surprise.
"Look," I brushed aside Joseph's hair, revealing the back of his neck and the bruise I left on it.
Joseph touched the back of his neck gingerly. "So the murderer took the victim's necklace? Tried to disguise the crime as a vampire's work?"
"I don't think it's that simple." I pointed at my own palm. "The victim might have pulled it off herself. There might have been a sharp point on the pendant that caused the wound on her palm."
"Why did she pull it off? Where did the necklace go? "
"First we need to prove that there was a necklace at all."

The victim's name was Vera, daughter of a single mother in Ring Mountain City. Her mother worked the night shift, and she was on duty when the tragedy happened to her daughter. We had checked on the girl's background when we informed her family of her death. She had just celebrated her 18th birthday. Those who knew her said she was a well-liked person with no enemies, kind and gentle, a loving daughter to her mother, and a diligent student who was planning to attend Herschel Academy next year.
Vera's mother was ill in bed when we visited her again. She looked like she had aged many years overnight. Joseph gave me a little nudge, pointing at a photo of Vera and her mother in the living room. Vera had a bright smile on her face and a red pendant hanging by a chain on her neck. The pendant was red gem surrounded by metal thorns.
With the permission of Vera's mother, we searched the room carefully but did not find the necklace.
"Is it valuable?" I asked her.
"No sir," she answered in a weak and rasping voice, "just a birthday present I gave her when she was little. Copper and glass. I don't have much money, you know. "

The magic circle, the bite marks, a pint of blood, and a lost necklace. I buried myself in my desk, frustrated at the lack of progress.
Tracy tossed me a newspaper. The headline: Vampire in the Snow?

I had an uneasy feeling - a hunch that this was just the beginning of something big, something really bad. Like a blizzard was coming, and all we saw was one fleck of snow.

### **Case 2** - Active 4th and 5th of January

**Clues:**

1. Apparently, the mayor of Ring Mountain City really likes the obelisk those Europeans got from Egypt, so he decided to get one for himself and place it right in front of his office, he even made the top completely flat just to set himself apart.
2. Ring Mountain City has the flagship store of the biggest donuts chain in Dione, I really dig their logo, that huge donut.
3. I really hate going to the Ring Mountain City Hall to handle businesses, you have to make an appointment for everything! Then you gotta wait at the gigantic lobby that is completely exposed to the outside, even with the heat on, it's still freezing has hell.

**Exact Locations:** Youtube Video

02. WHITE ANGEL

Two days passed since Vera's death, and our investigation thus far had been fruitless. The murderer had left no clue that could be traced to them. How did the murderer kidnap Vera and bring her to Stele Village without the use of violence? Did the magic circle mean something, or just an attempt to set us on the wrong trail? What caused the punctures on her neck? Why did the murderer take her blood, and her necklace - which she might well have pulled off herself? It all added up to one massive impenetrable enigma.
And here I was, doing what I could to pull at the threads, eliminating those that lead to dead ends and trying to come up with a hypothesis that was least unlikely.
Could the murderer have been a master hypnotist?
The murder hypnotized Vera, brought her from Ring Mountain to Stele Village, made her hand over her necklace, then drained a pint of blood from her in four separate exsanguinations. If the necklace had no monetary value - say, if the murderer just took it as a keepsake - were they after the blood? Or were the blood, the bite marks and the magic circle all one big smokescreen, and the murderer just killed for pleasure? Or could Gilbert have given me an incomplete list, intentionally omitting someone or a few someones?

As I tried to gather these threads into one coherent thought, Joseph walked in with a copy of Mysterious Vampires in his hand. "Masters of seduction and intimidation who subsist on blood, the known characteristics of vampires include fear of sunlight, fear of the Cross, the ability to transform into bats, and powerful regenerative abilities..."
Looks like the kid has gone off the rocker because of the complexity of the case. I casually dropped a pen on his book, making him jump.
"Sir…"
"Sir!" At that instant, Tracy charged into the office, yelling the same thing. One look at her face was all I needed to know that something really bad had happened.
"Another victim?"
Tracy nodded, panting. "At Sidera Lodoicea Ski Resorts..."
I had put on my jacket and was halfway out the door before she could finish. Joseph hurriedly put down his book to followed me when Tracy called out to him, with some hesitation, "Joseph...I don't think that's a scene you want to see." Joseph gave her a questioning glance, but quickly followed me into the car without further ado.
What Tracy meant was clear as day when we got to the scene.

A man lay dead in a hut on the west side of Sidera Lodoicea Ski Resorts with windows boarded up just like the last one, wearing nothing but a linen around his crotch, his skin so pale it looked bleached. His arms have been cut off cleanly, the bones and flesh of the arms were removed and laid out next to his back, forming a shape of wings.
Joseph whimpered at the sight, but to his credit did not throw up this time. With trembling hands he took out his notebook and pen and drifted towards the investigator.
I examined the body and found that the scene was even more gruesome than it seemed - his eyes had been removed, leaving behind empty sockets of blood.
He also had four small holes on the right side of his pale neck. If I was right, he had also had a pint of blood drained.
"Poor Teddy," I sighed.
"Did you know him, sir?" Hearing this, Joseph dashed over to me, notebook in hand ready to take notes.
"Yeah," I nodded. Theodore, or Teddy, was born with albinism and was abandoned outside the graveyard church as an infant. He was raised by the priest and never knew his birth parents. When the boy reached adulthood, the priest felt that he should not be trapped by the church for the rest of his life, and asked me to help find him a night-shift job at the ski resort.
Because of his albinism, Teddy's eyes were very sensitive to light and he had to wear ski goggles during the day. Nevertheless, he was always full of smiles when he greets me, his white hair and skin glowing in the sunlight like an angel.
He had a rough childhood; he deserved a better life. I never had the chance to look him in the eye. Now I never will.

Sensing my sorrow, Joseph patted me on the shoulder.
I tried to string some words together, but my voice came out hoarse and cracked. "This is obviously the work of a serial killer." Many serial killers like to leave their signature at the crime scene, something that marks the act as unmistakably theirs. Take, for instance, the holes on Vera and Teddy's necks.

"Hmm…why did the murderer take his eye?" Finally mustering enough courage to approach the body, Joseph suddenly let out a low exclamation. "Look - blood on his fingertips." I examined Teddy's right hand. All five of his pale fingers have been stained red by blood.
Was it the blood of the murderer? Or could it have been...

I did not dare think any more of it.

The ski resorts were closed for the day because of the murder. The entire staff was gathered in the lounge, quiet as the dead. When I walked in with Joseph I could feel the gaze of the entire room turn to us, fear and uncertainty written on every face.
I gestured to Joseph, who cleared his throat and asked, "Who was on last night's shift?"
Three men sitting together exchanged hesitant glances, then raised their hands one by one. Four more men standing at the back of the room also raised their hands.
Joseph asked them a few questions and learned that the three sitting men worked with Teddy on the maintenance crew, while the four standing men were security personnel working the night shift.
"When was the last time you saw Theodore?"
One of the workers replied in a low voice, "It was about 11pm. We had finished our maintenance work and returned to the lounge. The three of us played cards to stay awake. Teddy didn't join in - he never did, so we didn't think anything of it. He watched us play for a while - maybe an hour or so?" He looked at his neighbor for confirmation, and the man nodded. "About an hour later, he said he was going to do some snowboarding and went out. We didn't see him afterwards - thought he must have went into another nearby lounge for a rest. "
"Was Theodore in the habit of snowboarding at night?" Joseph interjected.
His question was met with nods from the entire room. Another man who worked on the night shift said, "Almost every night."
Joseph asked the four security guards, "Did you see Theodore after 11pm?"
A tall, heavy-looking guard answered, "I was responsible for the ski trails last night. At around midnight I saw Theodore fiddling with his snowboard at the starting point of Trail 1. I said hi to him, then went towards the left, but I didn't see him come down after walking for a while. I thought he went back in and didn't think much of it..."
"Poor boy!" Suddenly, one of the older women's sobs turned to crying. I looked around and sadness was apparent on everyone's faces.

I watched everyone carefully as Joseph questioned them, but saw no indication of deception from their expressions and body language. If they were telling the truth, then no one saw Teddy after midnight, and he was last seen at the starting point of the ski trail - about 500 meters away from the hut where his body was found.
Joseph and I checked the tape from the monitoring room, but the path from the hut to the starting point of the trail was unmonitored. All we saw was Teddy walking towards the west at about 12:20 before leaving the camera-monitored area.
Our murderer seemed to know the ski resort like the back of his hand.

The autopsy report was waiting for us back at the police station. The "wings" on Teddy's back were formed using his own arms, and the blood on his fingers was his own. Other than the four puncture marks on his neck, the pint of blood drained and the empty eye sockets, there were no other signs of violence on him.
Looking at the blood test results on the report, a horrifying thought crossed my mind.
If Vera pulled off her own necklace, could Teddy have… gouged out his own eyes?
Serial killers are often in the habit of collecting souvenirs from their victims. There is usually a pattern to what they take, and a pattern to the victims they choose. Identifying the pattern may shed some light on this case. But I could not see what the connection between the necklace and the eyes, nor that between the 18-year-old girl and the albinistic young man.

The department issued an advisory to stay indoors at night and immediately report to the police if any family member was missing, and added people to the night shift. But if we do not find more clues, we would be stuck with the job of burying the bodies that the killer leaves behind - an unbearable thought to any self-respecting policeman. I had to do something.
If no master hypnotist took the two victims and killed them without any sign of violence, then the most likely explanation was that the crime was committed by someone who knew the victim. But Vera and Teddy did not know each other and had very different lives. We are missing something here. I sent people to dig up more information about Vera's family, friends and classmates, and took Joseph with me to visit the graveyard.
There were no services that day and Father Anthony was the only one there, sitting by himself in the Confessional. I did not want to make him face the pain of losing family again, but I had no choice.
I asked about Teddy's life from childhood to adulthood, his friends, and even showed Father Anthony a photo of Vera and asked if he knew her. He shook his head.
"Teddy was a good boy," a grief-stricken Father Anthony said. "Only the Devil would think of harming such a child. "
Only the Devil, indeed.

No connection could be found between Teddy and Vera. I reluctantly shifted the direction of my investigation from an acquaintance's work to the "master hypnotist" hypothesis, which I was still reluctant to accept.
But it was either that, or the "vampire" theory that Joseph was so obsessed about.

### **Case 3** - Active 6th and 7th of January

**Clues:**

1. You would never want to get close to the Andvari Mines when they start their shifts, especially that refining tower, oh god, the noise of that thing could drive all the animals away.
2. The jobs at the Andvari Mines are all pretty dangerous, even the gas tank's administrator has to be very careful to not fall when climbing it, it won't be as simple as just breaking a leg.
3. Some mountain climbers like to set up their tents on top of those weird rocks, like the ones between the mines and the police station.

03. WOMAN WITH A GOAT'S HEAD

The Northern Observatory has issued another "Ymir" Snowstorm Warning. But the blizzard came earlier to the police station than the mountains of Dione.
"It's just like Dilworth, you know, with a Dione twist?" Joseph gazes at his notebook and mumbles through a donut.
"Dil - what?"
"You've never seen it? I'm talking about the TV-series, of course. A murderer from the outside going on a killing spree in Minnesota." Joseph's eyes never left his notebook. "Dilworth is a joke compared to this though."
I did not know what to say. One minute he was wiping away tears in a quiet corner after speaking to Vera's mother and Father Anthony, the next minute he is going on about vampires, supernatural powers and TV shows. Kids these days. I sighed and said, "You've been looking at that notebook for yours all morning. Found anything? "
"If the killer wasn't a vampire - just drinking a pint from its victim..."
"Not a chance."
"Then he must have had a syringe, or several syringes with him, and a bag to hold the blood."
"We checked all the medical equipment suppliers. Every individual who bought a syringe within the past 6 months had an alibi on the night of the crime."
"Hmm...and we checked hospital inventories and records. No sign of theft. "
"What are you trying to say?"
"The great Sherlock Holmes once said, 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'" Joseph put down his notebook and looked at me. "Could it really have been the work of a vampire?"
"One high-intelligence criminal and you're reduced to a babbling madman." I chided him with mock anger, "How do you expect to become a legendary detective like your dad?"
Clearly stung by my words, Joseph dived back into his notebook and photos of the crime scene.
The phone rang.
That was the last sound I wanted to hear.

Things took another turn for the worse.
The crime scene was just minutes away from the station, a hut in the foothills near Balmung. The nerve this murderer had, to commit his crime right under our nose. I felt anger at this intrusion, and frustration at our inability to do anything about it.
The same boarded-up windows, the same suffocating smell of blood. Surely we would find the same bite marks. I thought nothing would surprise me, after all that I had seen, but life had a way of throwing you a curveball.
Inside the hut, a naked woman was nailed to the wall, her legs fixed in a crossed position by wooden stakes. Her left hand hung loosely by her knee, while her right hand was spread outwards at shoulder level. At first glance, she looked like she was floating in mid-air.
And her head - or should I say its head? On her neck was a skeletal goat's head. Dark lines of blood flowed from empty eye sockets like tears.
"Baphomet..." Joseph muttered.
The victim's legs looked strange. I took a closer look and saw that both of her lower legs were broken, clearly in an effort to make them look more like the hoofs of an ungulate.
There were more strange features to the body. The thumbs on both hands had been cleanly severed, leaving only four fingers on each hand.
It was a puzzling observation. If the killer wanted to emulate Baphomet's form, then it should have had human hands with five fingers. If they were trying to create a "goat man", then they should have left two fingers. Why cut off only the two thumbs, resulting in an imperfect "piece of work"?
I thought about Vera's necklace, Theodore's eyes and this woman's thumbs. What was the connection between them?

Anxiety and sleepless nights have given me a splitting headache. I bent down in pain and saw a claw mark on the wooden wall, beneath the woman's "floating" legs. I pressed my finger against it and traced the claw marks. The marks ended up at one of the women's lower legs, and there were human palm prints on its skin.
This was the only victim to have been subject to violence. The killer clearly broke her legs with their bare hands, after nailing her to the wall. The killer gripped her legs with such strength that they left marks on the wall.
The claw looked like it could have come from a yeti or some other monster. It was hard to believe that any human could have broken an adult woman's lower leg like that with their bare hands.
The investigator took the body after carefully photographing the scene. Our challenge right now was to find the victim's original head.

I ordered a search within ten miles, deploying every police dog and search dog that we had at our disposal. Reporters flocked to the scene like sharks that smell blood in the water, but I had no time or energy to think about tomorrow's headlines. It was like being trapped in a heavy blizzard in the middle of nowhere, with no cover or way out in sight.
After half a day of searching, I got a phone call from Tracy at the station, practically hysterical in tone.
The head that we were looking for has been sent to my desk in a package. Tracy opened the package because it was emitting a strange odor, thinking that it must be kiviak or surströmming, only to come face to face with a pair of lifeless eyes.

When I got back to the station, the intense atmosphere of these past few days had turned to outright rage. Big Rooney was pounding the wall when I entered, like a bomb filled with anger, and made a beeline towards me, yelling, "They're clearly mocking us, sir!"
I walked past him straight into the interrogation room, not because I disagreed, but because there was no point in talking about it. Fuming over being mocked does nobody any good. We had more important things to do.
A young man in post office uniform sat in the interrogation room, opposite to Tracy. The chap looked terrified. Cold sweat was dripping down his chin and he was fiddling with his fingers in such a way that it was a wonder he had not broken them.
Across from him, Tracy could be as intimidating as any man when she wanted to. The postman gulped and spoke with such despair that he might as well have been making a crime confession.
"Yes, uh, I, I didn't get this from the office. Someone handed it to me and gave me a bunch of money...I listened carefully for the sound of ticking and I didn't hear any, so I thought it couldn't be a bomb...I'm so sorry, I wanted to refuse when he talked to me, but then I felt a rush of blood to the head and accepted it in the moment. It wasn't just for money, really..."
"What did they look like?" Tracy interrupted.
"Oh, him? He had a black mask on. I was outdoors when he stopped me. He was pretty well wrapped-up, with face mask and hat and sunglasses and everything...sure it sounds suspicious, but it ain't so unusual seeing people dressed that way outdoors in the winter in these parts, no?"
"So you couldn't see his face?"
The postman shook his head agitatedly.
Tracy looked at me through the interrogation room's one-way mirror. She was clearly not satisfied.
But we knew this young man well. His name was Arthur, a local kid. His father died young and his mother was bedridden, and he had a younger sister in college. It was understandable that he would fall for the temptation of money and deliver a suspicious package, though he may end up losing his job for this.
As for his alibis the night the murders happened, they were impeccable. He and his sister were at home taking care of their mother, and their neighbors have never seen him leave the house at night. Without any evidence to speak of, we had no choice but to let Arthur go. Before he left, though, he remembered something.
"That guy's accent - unless he was faking it, he didn't sound local. No, I'm sure of it - he was definitely not local."

I once suspected an acquaintance's work, but there was no connection whatsoever between Vera and Teddy. Add to that the headless woman...if Arthur was right and the killer was not local, how could he have kidnapped the victims without being noticed and killed them with virtually no use of violence or drugs at all? Other than hypnosis, I could not come up with a better explanation.

DNA test reports for the head and the headless body came back soon enough - they matched, to nobody's surprise.
The victim's name was Erin and she was 32-years old. She worked in a nightclub and the time of death was determined to be around midnight. There were grip bruises on the broken lower legs, but no fingerprints. We talked to the victim's co-workers and learned that she had asked someone to take her shift because she was not feeling well. She lived by herself and no one knew where she was during that time.
Joseph and I searched her home thoroughly and found no traces of forced intrusion, only her cell phone lying silently on her dresser.
I asked Joseph, "What are the chances that a young person leaves home without their phone these days?"
"Er, slim? My sister takes her phone with her even if she's just taking the trash out."
Her phone was unlocked, which saved us some trouble. We checked her call records, SMS and mailbox and found nothing but co-workers, bosses and friends. She had no lover, and no remotely suspicious correspondence.
So an outsider, a stranger, came into Erin's home quietly, kidnapped her to the place of the crime, cut off her head, arranged her body to resemble Baphomet, cut off her thumbs, and drained a pint of blood. During all this, no one saw her and no one even heard a sound. No useful evidence left at the crime scene.
This was practically impossible.

While I tried to gather my thoughts, Joseph was still looking at her phone.
"Hmm, this is strange," He pointed to a selfie that she took, "only her thumb nails are painted."
I suddenly remembered something and shouted, "What color?"
Surprised by my response, Joseph replied gingerly, "Er, bright red, sir."

### **Case 4** - Active 8th and 9th of January

**Clues:**

1. There was a wrecked airplane that actually almost hit the Dione Police Station, due to various reasons, the Northern Airlines never sent anyone to reclaim it, I've heard it became a tourist spot.
2. The furthest outpost for the police station is not the towers, it's a small RV trailer, the policemen that has to work shifts at that outpost during the winter always had to bring a camp stove for themselves.
3. There's sofas on the second floor of the lobby is the only pair of sofas in the entire police station. And I understand that there isn't any budget for us to decor the place.

04. THE RED LAMB

Highly-intelligent serial killers, especially those who kill for pleasure, often share certain common traits. Some leave their signature at the crime scene, like our "Vampire". Some take and collect souvenirs from their victims, and there is usually something in common with this souvenir as well. The notorious serial killer- Ed Gein, for example, skinned his female victims and collected their internal organs.
I had struggled to find a connection between Vera's necklace, Teddy's eyes and Erin's thumbs. Joseph's off-hand remark provided the missing piece of the puzzle.
Vera's necklace had a red pendant.
Teddy's eyes were red from albinism.
Erin's thumbs were painted with red nail polish.
Other than Erin, the other two evidently "willingly" gave something red for the killer's collection. I could not imagine what kind of master hypnotist could convince one to gouge out one's own eyes, or cut off one's own thumbs to one's killer. And I dared not think about how much they suffered before they died.
There was only one thing I could do - find the killer before he found more victims.

But if sixty years in this world had taught me anything, it was that wishes rarely come true. The whole station was practically up around the clock, and yet we could find no clue to the ghost-like killer - not even a single hair.
We sent out an advisory warning residents against leaving their homes at night, to lock their doors and windows, be guarded for any strangers, and to avoid wearing red items.
It was futile. Humans had too much on them that was red.

Joseph and I stood in the foothills north of Whitestone town. A woman had lost half of her red hair - and her life.
Vines tied her lifeless body to the trunk of a cedar tree, her hands holding her belly. The organs inside her belly were laid on the snow, frozen solid. Inside her belly, a dead lamb was stuffed into her eviscerated stomach.
The vines stretched from her body to the organs on the ground. Bright flowers bloomed near them. I did not even know these plants existed in the north. Half of the woman's long curly hair lay on her chest, gleaming warmly in the sun. The other half had been ripped from her head with the scalp, leaving only the white bones of her skull underneath.

Joseph had evidently been hardened by the recent ordeals. After recording the scene, he approached the victim and tried to identify her face.
"Jenny," he said, "oh my god, it's Jenny."
"You knew her?" "
"Yeah. She was sort of a frequent guest to the station, mostly for stuff like drug possession and petty crimes, nothing that would have ended up on your desk. She was easy to remember because of her bright red hair. "
As we continued our investigation, we learned that Jenny lived in Valley town. She had a troubled childhood - when her parents divorced, neither were willing to take custody of her and both left Dione, leaving her in the care of her aging grandmother. After dropping out of high school, Jenny began to hang out with the local punks.
Jenny's grandmother was old and suffering from advanced Alzheimer's. The news did not draw any reaction from her empty gaze. She simply sat wordless on her lounger, staring blankly at the wall in front of her.

We were about to leave empty-handed when her caretaker walked in with the old lady's lunch. She came over every day to care of the old lady, leaving at noon to buy lunch, then returning to stay until the old lady went to bed at night. We eagerly asked her about last night, but the answer was a disappointing one.
"She hasn't been home for a long time. Or at least, not any time between 8am and 10pm." Her tone was not exactly cordial. "What trouble has she gotten herself into this time? "
Joseph exchanged a quick glance with me, then turned back towards the caretaker. "She was murdered last night. When was the last time you saw her? "
Surprise flashed across the caretaker's face. Annoyance quickly gave way to sadness and she answered in a low voice, "I'm sorry to hear that. Let me think...it was about two weeks ago. She came back at around noon and was digging through closets and cupboards for money. When I told her to stop stealing from her grandma, she shoved me and jumped on the backseat of some guy's motorbike. That was the last time I saw her. "
"Do you know anything about her friends? Like the guy on that bike? "
"No, they're just a bunch of punks and troublemakers..." Something seemed to come to her mind. "Oh, there was a boy...Weber, if I remember correctly, and I think he works at the Alvitr Circus."

The circus was just packing up as we arrived at Alvitr Castle. I looked at my watch. This was strange - the show should be just about to start.
Joseph stopped a young man pulling at a rope and asked.
"It's Ymir, sir. The observatory's warning has escalated twice and the boss was worried about what it would do to turnout, not to mention all our stuff. We're packing up and leaving."
"Leaving where?"
"Leaving Dione, sir."
"Do you know someone by the name of Weber?" I showed him a photo. "Or this woman, Jenny?"
The young man took a look at the photo and answered, "Jenny is Weber's girl. But I heard they split up recently. You want me to get Weber for you? He's taking stuff down in the tent."
I declined the offer and went into the largest tent with Joseph. A young man with black hair was on a scaffold working on taking down the set. He would soon learn of the death of his girlfriend - or ex-girlfriend, as it may be.

Weber had been crying nonstop for three full minutes. Joseph tried to console him, but he was so beside himself that he could not put together a coherent sentence.
Meanwhile, I was thinking of something else. Young, strong, agile. The way he climbed up and down that scaffold showed outstanding athleticism. If he could fake a foreign accent too, we certainly had our prime suspect.
"I shouldn't have said that to her...oh god, why…" Weber sobbed and stuttered to god-knows-who, "I shouldn't have told her to get lost, shouldn't have smashed her statue. She might be alive if she was still with me..."
"Wait a second." I interrupted him. "Statue? What statue? "
"It's, you know, something those nutters at Bluepeak town gave her." Joseph handed Weber a tissue and Weber took it. "I don't know when he got involved with those people. We had a huge fight over this, because she listened to them and aborted our baby. Said it was an offering to their glorious king. "
"She was pregnant?"
"Yes. Four months - the baby was barely formed! God..." Weber started crying again. "I told her that while I didn't have the money now, I'll work hard once she gave birth so that she'll have a warm home. But she trusted those nutjobs more than she trusted me..."

I thought about the dead lamb in Jenny's belly. The acquaintance theory started gaining legs again. There was no connection between Jenny and the other three victims. Could this have been the work of an imitator? As much as we try to keep the case under wraps, journalists always manage to find something for their stories. And no story has been hotter than the "Vampire Killer" in these parts lately. It was not beyond the realm of imagination for someone to imitate the killer.
As genuine as Weber's tears looked, we looked into his whereabouts the day Jenny was killed, as well as the dates of the other murders. His alibi was impeccable. In particular, the day Jenny was killed he had been out drinking all night with his pals, drowning his sorrows at their break-up in alcohol.

All evidence pointed to the cult of Bluepeak town, and Gilbert found himself in our interrogation room once again.
He looked at Jenny's photo with an impassive expression. "Ah, Jenny. Gifted girl. Very responsive to the Teachings. "
A furious Joseph slammed his fist on the desk. "Did you make her abort her child?"
Gilbert looked at him with a puzzled look. "No one can make a mother do something so cruel, not me, not anyone else. Jenny's fetus was stillborn. All I did was suggest that she offer the poor child who never had the chance to see to world to our Glorious King. That way, his soul will always be with our lord in all His glory."
"Bullshit. If it was stillborn, why didn't she tell her boyfriend?"
Gilbert smirked. "The man who beat Jenny whenever he got drunk? I'd bet he had something to do with the stillbirth, if not the beatings, then the booze. Yes, I 'made' her, if that's how you want to put it. I abetted her, instigated her, told her to leave the side of the Devil. Poor girl. She never knew love, giving herself up in body and heart to those who did not deserve them, just to earn a little pity. But it is exactly people like her who invite those who only want to take advantage of her, taking her even further away from the love that she sought. "
Joseph was speechless. Gilbert had a way of making you listen to him, even if you did not want to. After a little pause, Joseph asked in a low voice, "Is this all true?"
"The Prophet never lies." Gilbert answered in his laid-back manner. "When my followers brought the lost lamb to the flock she was bruised and wounded in body and soul. She did not know where she could find peace and salvation. All I did was to extend my hand. She had the stillborn child removed and told us she had finally resolved to leave Weber and serve the Glorious King with all her heart. She said there was something she had to get, and never returned...."
"She was murdered," I said.
"Poor girl. Did you arrest Weber? "
"It wasn't Weber." I shook my head. "Another victim of the serial killer."
"Ymir is coming." Gilbert remark came completely out of left field.
Joseph, who up to this point had been overwhelmed by all the information, awoke from his reverie and asked, "What did you say?"
"Ymir." Gilbert's expression remains impassive. "The Glorious King shall wash the world of sin. All crime and cruelty shall be punished, and all the suffering souls of the world shall find salvation. The blizzard will take all and leave only silence; a world of nothing but pure white. "
I sneered, "The only thing that punishes crime is the law. You're not in the clear yet, Gilbert."
"We'll cooperate fully with your investigation, 'sir'."

### **Case 5** - Active 10th and 11th of January

05. THE DISMEMBERED BOY

Gilbert was right. The autopsy found many bruises and wounds on Jenny, none of them from the day of her death. They were old injuries.
When we summoned Weber again he was once wailing like he wanted to drown himself in tears. This time, however, Joseph was far less sympathetic.
"Answer the question, Weber." His tone was ice-cold.
This was a side of Joseph that I rarely saw. He was not someone who judged others easily, not because he was especially fair and logical, but because he was too kind.
Between sobs, Weber admitted to his drunken violence towards Jenny, and that he knew Jenny's baby was stillborn. The argument they had that night was not because Jenny aborted the fetus - it was because she had decided to leave him forever. His accusations towards Gilbert's cult were merely trying to deflect blame - and his own shame.
Even though Weber admitted to violence against Jenny, his alibi on the night of the murder remained impeccable. He woke up many people that night with his drunken ramblings.

Surveillance and investigation of the Bluepeak town cult continued for three days. We did not find any useful evidence during this time, but there were no new victims either. It was hard not to suspect that the killer was among the cultists.
On day 4, the Ymir snowstorm warning escalated again. We had to spare some people to get to the homeless to shelters so that they would not freeze to death, and handle complaints about attraction closures between tourist and staff that sometimes turned physical.
As we tried to keep our heads above water, we got another "timely" dose of bad news.

Lake Herschel's scenery made it a famous tourist attraction, though to locals like me it was just a pool of water that we've seen too many times already. The only thing I liked about it was the annual winter fishing festival, a good opportunity to catch a few fat tasty fish for the dinner table.
Joseph and I stood beneath the big metal elk sculpture. He lifted a hand before his eyes to shield it from the sunlight as he tried to look up at the hollow sculpture.
A dead body hung from the elk's horns.
Or should I say, a row of body parts. Starting from the elk's neck, we saw the victim’s left foot, right foot, left leg, right leg, torso, left arm, right arm, left hand, right land, and finally the victim's head hanging from the tip of the elk's horn. The pieces hung from ropes that were of the exact same length, spaced the exact same distance apart. I had to commission old George's crane to take the pieces down with great effort.
It did not snow last night, but there were no tracks other than footprints around the elk statue. No tire or track marks from a crane, not even the mark of a ladder. It was as though the murderer climbed the massive frame of the statue after dismembering the victim.
As we took the torso down, we found a hexagram mark on its left chest - the same symbol that was found underneath Vera's body. The center of the chest had been cut open, then sewn back up with red thread. I pressed my thumb against the area. The ribcage parted exactly like one that just had open-heart surgery performed on it. If my guess was right, the killer took his heart as the souvenir.
Once again, the killer committed a crime that defied common sense. In addition to his "signature" bite marks on the neck, his acts had become crueler each time, and the " souvenir" became more gruesome. It was like the killer was taunting us for our ineffectual investigations, growing bolder with each unsolved murder.

Neither Joseph nor I spoke on the way back to the station. The atmosphere in the car was subdued, almost suffocating. Joseph had gotten a lot quieter these days - he no longer pored over those a-dime-a-dozen horror novels, or bothered me with his ridiculous ideas. Now he spends the day flipping through his notebook with deeply furrowed brows. The phantom of the serial killer has taken a toll for everyone, including myself. In all my years as sheriff, I had never seen a criminal so troublesome.

I went to the morgue with Joseph. The escalating snowstorm warnings have stretched the station's manpower to the limit, but the coroners were free to focus on their job.
"Male, 176 cm tall, between 15 and 17 years of age. Time of death was around midnight." The coroner's assistant took notes as he spoke.
"Stitches on the front chest. Dark bruising around the stitched area indicates it was done after death. "
The coroner reopened the victim's chest. Just as I thought, there was a large incision on the ribcage in the middle. The coroner pulled open the left ribcage and spoke after a brief hesitation, "The heart has been removed."
I could not help to interrupt, "How was the technique of the removal?"
"Very professional. In addition to the stitches, the cutting was fine yet decisive, as though performed by a professional surgeon." He turned over the victim's severed limbs, reassembled in their proper positions. "Same for the dismemberment - the surfaces are so clean that the bones could be reattached perfectly. There were few if any broken bone pieces."
Well, this is just great, I thought to myself: not only was our killing a master hypnotist, he was a surgeon.
"Rope marks on the neck, wrist, upper arm, thigh and ankle. The relatively shallow impression and lack of bruising indicates that they occurred after the victim's death and dismemberment. Four small, orderly-spaced holes on the neck, approximately 4cm deep," the coroner looked up at me as he said this.
I gave him a resigned nod. "A pint of blood was drained, right? That makes five pints. What does he want with all that blood - bathe in it like Bloody Mary?"
Joseph gawked. The serial killer had driven me to the brink - I did not even realize what I was saying.

The boy's name was Lucas and he lived in Snowlake town, across the lake from where he was found.
The sun had not shone on the lake for days because of the cold front. The waters were covered by a thick white fog. As I stood in front of Lucas' house, I turned to look at the lake behind me. Through the fog, all I could see of the other shore was the vague silhouette the metal elk, cold and imposing.
Lucas' parents did not stop arguing even as we entered the house, blaming each other for not keeping a watchful eye over their son. Tired and feeling a splitting headache, I was about to try to get them to quiet down when the two of them suddenly turned their criticism towards us, blaming the tragedy on our ineffectual investigation that allowed the murderer to roam at large.
"This is all your fault!" Lucas' father shouted as he tried to shove us out the door.
I was about to reply, but Joseph spoke before I did, "Neighbors say Lucas was in the habit of jogging around the lake in the middle of the night - AFTER the curfew was issued. Do you know anything about this?"
The couple stopped, looked at each other, and began deflecting blame.
"Multiple neighbors have reported hearing loud arguments coming from your house before Lucas' night excursions. Have you ever thought that it was you who made Lucas leave the house in the middle of the night, even at the risk of running into the serial killer?"
Joseph's tone was calm, quiet, showing nothing of the impulsiveness he had when he shouted at Gilbert. But there was fire in his eyes.
The couple began muttering to themselves. Any moment now and their argument would escalate, or they would turn their target to Joseph.
"I'm sorry we couldn't do more. Our condolences for your loss. "
After that, I dragged Joseph out of the house. He followed me with no signs of anger and frustration, but he said what I did back there wasn’t like me at all.
"They won't understand what you're trying to say. Some people just won't ever admit that they were wrong. It's always somebody else's fault, the world's fault."
The winds were getting higher. I put out my cigarette and threw it away. Joseph pulled his coat tightly around him as he walked ahead of me. His silhouette looked frail, fragile even.

It was close to sunset when we got back to the station. Joseph and I came up to the evidence board in the office, and he put the photo of the hexagram on Lucas' chest on Lake Herschel on the map.
At that instant, our gazes met and we knew we saw the ray of hope in each other's eyes.
The Graveyard, Sidera Lodoicea Ski Resort, north Balmung city, Whitestone town and Lake Herschel. There seemed to be a pattern to where the five victims were discovered. If one connected the first three locations with lines to form a triangle, the other two locations plus another one in the western mountains would form another triangle that overlaps each other, forming a hexagram. I traced the map with my finger, measuring the distance. If I was right, the next location would be – Bluepeak town!

At that instant, the phone on my desk rang.
"Sir," it was Tracy. "You need to come to Bluepeak town. We found a - a bathtub full of blood here. "

### **Case 6** - Active 12th and 13th of January

06. SILENT PROPHET

Since the serial killings began, my suspicion had turned to Gilbert and his cult more than once. While they certainly looked suspicious, our investigations turned up no evidence to indicate that the murderer was among the cultists.
Our profile of the killer painted a picture of a pleasure killer who was highly intelligent, blessed with superhuman strength and agility, and extremely skilled in hypnotism and surgery. If he was local, he also had a talent for masking his accent. Were the occult elements of the crime scenes a smokescreen designed to divert our attention to the cult? If my instincts were right, could the blood-filled tub in Bluepeak town be just another smokescreen?
But if the theory of the hexagram drawn with the crime scene locations proved true, then the next victim would be in Bluepeak town. Was the killer trying to lure us there, or was it an accident, something he did not expect? Many intelligent criminals intentionally commit crimes and escape under the police's nose as a show of skill. Was this the case here as well?
As I tried to clear up the disorganized threads of thought, I felt a pat on my shoulder. The car had stopped.

On a fine day, you can see all of the Dione Mountains from Bluepeak town's peak, a spectacular and wonderful sight to behold. Right now, however, the dark clouds only served to mirror the ominous uncertainty in my heart.

The tub was found in a remote hut near the peak. Unsurprisingly, the hut looked like it had been abandoned for a long time. Without any heating, even the interior was freezing cold.
The tub was single-size, about 1.2 meters long, so old that its original color was practically indistinguishable. It was about 2/3 full with blood that had thickened and clotted and looked like one big piece of red paste. The suffocating smell of blood permeated the tiny bathroom.
"Sir," Tracy said, "We checked inside and didn't find anything other than blood. No fingerprints anywhere either. "
The blood lost by the five victims added up to 5 pints, far from enough to fill such a tub, unless there were other victims that we did not know of - and their numbers would have to be terrifying. The possibility was slim. The other explanation was that this was not human blood, but animal blood, just like the blood used to draw the magic circle underneath Vera, the first victim.
"What about the searches elsewhere?"
"Still going on, nothing to report for now. Records indicate that the hut has been left empty for the past five years, since the previous owner passed away."
"Is the current owner local?"
"The previous owner was an old man. His brother was his only family. The brother left Dione for the south many years ago, and the current owner of the house is his son, the previous owner's nephew. The nephew has not been to Dione recently. In fact, the family has not been to Dione in the past five years."
"Cause of death of the previous owner?"
"Because of how remote this location was, he had been dead for days when he was found, lying on his bed with no external injuries. He was 85 years-old and the cause of death was presumed to be natural."
I remained silent for a while. What were the chances that the family of an old man who lived alone and died of natural causes would come back with murder on their mind? Could they have thought that he was murdered and wanted to exact revenge on society? Did they leave this evidence to overturn the police's conclusion five years ago? With so few clues to work with, I grasped at opportunity of any kind, however inconsequential it might look.
I tasked Tracy to look into the family and left the bathroom to examine the rest of the house. The house had been cleaned after the previous owner's death. Household items had been packed into boxes covered in thick dust.
"Sir, this looks strange." Joseph crouched down and pointed to a corner with his pen. The wallpaper had come off there, revealing a section of brick about 5cm wide - difficult to notice if you were not specifically looking for it. I was about to crouch down myself when Joseph took something out from between the bricks with two fingers.
"A note, sir."
A piece of paper rolled into a cone. The rough edges indicated that it was torn out from somewhere. There was only one sentence on the paper:
"Night is coming."

I had seen this sentence somewhere. I searched my memory.
"30 years ago..." Tracy worked in the archives for a year before becoming an investigator. She earned much praise for her organized mind and unfailing memory. She was right. The same sentence was written next to the body of the girl killed in the "Cultist Murder" case 30 years ago. The investigation revealed no connection to the cult itself. The perpetrator, who killed himself, had a history of mental illness, so the case was put down as a typical incident of murder.
Was the murderer a cultist? Or was this yet another smokescreen? I suddenly thought back to the hexagram drawn by linking the crime scenes together - and the ruby embedded into the spine of Gilbert's cowhide notebook.
"Gilbert!" I yelled, making everybody jump. "To Gilbert's house! Quick! "

It was already late in the night. If my hunch proved true, the tub was meant for Gilbert.
There was no time to be discreet. We marched directly towards Gilbert's house.
We were too late.

Gilbert lay on his couch with closed eyes, covered in a fur blanket. He could have been asleep at first glance. But the edges of his mouth were ripped open from his left ear all the way to his right, then sewed by with red thread. In the light of the fireplace, the horrifying scene defied all description.
Our arrival may have surprised the killer. The holes on Gilbert's neck dropped blood, in contrast to the clean bodies of the previous victims. There were hurried footprints of blood on the ground. By the time I saw them, Tracy and Joseph were after the trail. The sound of broken glass and hectic running roused the crows roosted on the old tree in front of Gilbert's door, and their caws filled the night sky.
I searched Gilbert's body. The cowhide notebook was nowhere to be found.
Hearing the commotion, the people of Bluepeak town converged on the scene. Nobody cried or shouted. The strangely quiet crowd held their hands together in front of their chest and bowed their heads, murmuring,
"He walketh into the snow, and the Glorious King shalt meeteth him in the storm."

"Does anyone know what the phrase 'Night is coming' means?" I asked the one leading the prayer.
"The glory of the King shall cleanse the sinners in the darkness of the night." He replied serenely.
"The sinner - who's that?"
"Everyone," he replied, "we are all sinners."
I had heard enough and changed the topic. "Is there anyone whom you might suspect? A prohpet-in-waiting? A power struggle? Or personal vengeance? Tell me what you know."
"We are all humble servants of the Glorious King," an elderly woman replied, "before him, we are all equals."
"Any privileges of office? Membership dues? "
"The King cares not for the coin of man. We do not collect dues. The Prophet guides us in confessing our sins and shows the path for the lost flock, the path to the Glorious King."
Gilbert and I had exchanged many scornful remarks over the years, but I had to admit he was a patient man, kind and gentle to those in his everyday life. It was hard to believe that he would have enemies.
"The killer took Gilbert's cowhide notebook."
Surprised flashed across the faces of all those present. A few elderly townsfolk whispered to each other - they must be the Elders.
"The only thing in that notebook was some names. What use does the killer have for it?" Having concluded their little discussion, one of the Elders asked, "Could the killer be after all of us?"
"The police will protect you. And our investigation is still ongoing."
The elder replied, "We will cooperate, sir. There is no place for betrayal in our service to the Glorious King. We will not tolerate having the killer in our midst."

I was about to ask further questions when Joseph and Tracy returned, flushed with exertion. I looked at Joseph, seeking an explanation.
"I didn't see anything, but Tracy said that..." He looked towards her. "She said that she saw a shadow that moved quickly towards the cliff, then sprouted wings and flew off it."
"Wings?" I could not believe my ears.
Tracy had caught her breath and explained, "A collapsible hang glider, maybe. It was dark and he was far away..."
"So you didn't see his face."
"No sir, but I fired a few shots just as he was trying to take flight. I'm sure at least one of my shots hit him." Tracy said firmly. She’s the defending shooting champion at the department for a reason.
"Good girl," I patted her on the shoulder. This was a massive step forward. Finding someone with a gunshot wound should be much easier.
I was now convinced that the killer likely came from the outside. The mountains of Dione were a closed, conservative place. Even though we lived in the foothills of a snowy mountain, few bothered with tricks like snowboarding that had little practical value in everyday life, never mind hang gliding.
But I have seen people fly the skies of the valley. The development of the tourist industry has brought athletes, adventurers, thrill-seeking tourists...
And a highly intelligent and athletic killer, a master hypnotist and hang gliding pilot, who had investigated the cult of Bluepeak town...

No moon shone on the snowy mountains that night. The night was dark and frigid, the harsh winds blowing snowflakes into our faces like little knife blades.
Every night was colder than the one before and every snowstorm got bigger. The footsteps of Ymir were clearly drawing closer. Tracy, Joseph and I stumbled in the wind and snow back to the car, like three canoes being tossed up and down in tides.

Cleanse the sinners?
No, this was worse than that.

### **Case 7** - Active 14th and 15th of January

**Clues:**

E**xact Locations:**

"Night is coming."
This was more than a smokescreen, a distarction. There was something deeper to it, something closer to the killer's intension.

Gilbert's cult believed that Ymir was the wrath of their Glorious King upon the earth, and "Night is coming" a prophecy of His coming. If the killer picked the coming of Ymir to do his deed; if he was not a cultist, but a well-prepared outsider, then he did not do this out of religious fervor, but because it was expedient for him to evade the law.

Because...

"Sir," Tracy said as she walked in, "the snowstorm warning has escalated to the highest level. The observatory has issued an advisory to evacuate the local residents and tourists. "

"I got the memo too." I pressed the bridge of my nose. "It wasn't an advisory. It's an order. "

If the winter storm intensified, everyone in the mountains would be evacuated, in as little time as possible.

This was the killer's golden chance to get away, the final touch on his master plan.

For us, the timing could not have been worse.

Once the evacuation order was given, all mountain passes and checkpoints would be wide-open - hard to get in, but very easy to get out unnoticed.

But we had no choice.

The department's manpower was almost fully committed to the evacuation. The evacuation plan called for most tourists and a few of the residents to gather at the evacuation center, to be taken away by busses. Locals with their own cars - which was most of them - and tourists who drove could evacuate on their own. The roads out of the mountains were few and the checkpoints operated as usual.

I made it very clear that every single person was to be carefully checked, even during the evacuation. In particular, outsiders who had bandages that could be covering up a gunshot wound, as well as those with fever, diaphoresis or other symptoms associated with blood loss and infection, were to be detained for questioning by me personally. Joseph and I went to the evacuation center, while Tracy went to the southwest pass, which was short-handed.

Things went orderly in the beginning. Residents who got the notice arrived one by one, while tourists sat on the bus, somewhat cooperatively.

However, a sudden snowstorm in the afternoon changed everything.

Survival instincts took over in the blizzard and the evacuation center became a scene of chaos. People were shouting, babies were crying, and altercations broke out between civilians and investigators. Some even tried to take over the bus, just to get out of this white hell as soon as possible.

The loudspeakers reiterated, "We will make sure that everyone leaves here safely. Your cooperation with the investigation is appreciated." The announcement fell on deaf ears. In the evacuation center's office, we examined every possible suspect that was identified. In everyone's eyes I saw fear, confusion, and in more than a few cases, suppressed anger.

At last, the line of suspects was cleared to leave. I looked outside and saw Joseph in the blizzard, running tirelessly between the busses and the evacuation center lobby, over and over again. I was about to leave the office to help with the evacuation when a voice came through from the radio on the wall. The storm had put a few power lines out of service, and the radio was the most reliable method of communication we had between the evacuation center and the checkpoints.

"Sir?" Tracy's tone was hurried, "I think I might have found him. Somebody abandoned their car and fled on foot. I'm after him. Over. "

"Where are you? Over. "

"Elk forest. I think he's trying to go through it. Over. "

"Be careful! Is anyone with you? Over. "

"Yes, but we got separated in the poor visibility. Over. "

"Do you have your flare gun? Repeat, DO YOU HAVE YOUR FLARE GUN? Answer me, Tracy! "

I yelled at the radio but heard only static. Was it the snowstorm that disrupted the signal, or was it...I dared not think any further. I dashed out of the office and found Joseph.

"You check the remaining suspects!"

"What? What did you say?" Joseph's voice was hoarse and his face raw from the icy winds.

"You check the suspects. I'm going to find Tracy. Call me if anything comes up."

"Yes, sir."

I ran to a patrol car, leaving Joseph behind.

The snowstorm had almost fully obstructed the view outside the window. Day looked like night as buildings and cars swept past like ghosts in the snowstorm, and the wind howled and screeched. The world felt like it was coming down at me.

I held my breath and gripped the wheel tightly with all the alertness I could muster. At least I was going in the same direction as the evacuation traffic, which provided some assistance.

I felt like I aged a hundred years during the drive.

Long queues had formed at the southern pass checkpoint. I got out of the car and ran. One of the officers saw me and took me to the checkpoint office on his snowmobile.

Snowmobile?

I grabbed the officer's collar and yelled, "Did she go in a snowmobile?"

Confusion filled the officer's face and I yelled again, "Tracy. Did she go in a snowmobile? "

"Er, yes, sir. The others are already back, but we haven't heard back from her. "

"Get off!"

"What? "

"I said get off!"

I turned and drove straight for Elk Forest.

It was at this moment that I heard Joseph's voice on my radio, mixed with static:

"Si...I fo...him...I'm...Sig...stle"

As I tried to understand the message, a red light shot into the sky in the distance. A loud crack broke the howling of the winds, then the sky above the trees was filled with red.

It was Tracy's flare. She had caught the fleeing man, who was so cold he could hardly speak. Turned out he was trying to smuggle a bunch of unregistered guns past the checkpoint.

I kept trying to reach Joseph, but heard only silence from the radio. Driving against the flow of traffic in the snowstorm, I kept my foot on the gas, honking horns in the opposite lane came at me but I didn’t care. Next to me, Tracy gripped a handle next to the window, wordlessly staring outside.

The evacuation center continued to be a scene of chaos, filled with people anxious and frustrated about not being able to leave.

"Joseph! Where did Joseph go? Which direction? Anybody went with him? "

I charged into the office, where the officer on duty was examining someone who had a fever.

"He went with two or three others in a car, sir. I think he was headed towards Sigel Castle."

We got back into the car. Tracy had the presence of mind to grab two search dogs. But I wished I could sprout wings and fly, rather than waste my time on this snow-filled road.

We found the patrol car after about half an hour. The snow chains on one of the tyres were broken and the car left long skid marks on the snow before being stopped by a large rock. Two unconscious officers lay inside. As I opened the door I smelled a strong, sweet and sickening scent that made me light in the head.

Joseph was nowhere to be found.

"Where's Joseph?"

I roused one of the officers. Slowly he awoke, looking at me with a confused and disoriented expression. "The snow chains broke so he got off to check, and then...are we back at the evacuation center? Sir? How did I fall asleep..."

The snow was too deep to drive. Tracy had the search dogs sniff the driver's seat - we could only hope that whatever drug was in the car did not affect their noses. Led by the dogs, we struggled through the snow.

The blizzard had passed. The temperature was still low, but the wind had quieted down, with snowflakes slowly falling like drifting feathers. In this white and pristine world, the hell-like scene that we just went through felt like a dream.

The search dog stopped multiple times, digging and sniffing in the snow. My heart was beating so hard, it was a wonder it did not explode.

Please, God, please.

We found him in the snow. Joseph, the young and eager young man with a head of golden hair, who could be a little silly at times but was a good boy at heart.

A lonely charred tree stood in the middle of the clearing, its thick branches dark as ashes. Joseph hung upside down from the tree by a rope tied to his left ankle like the Hanged Man in tarot. His right leg was bent and his hands were tied behind his back at an unusual angle. His golden hair shone in the sun brought by the storm's passing.

He was no longer breathing.

His left ear was removed and I could not fathom why, until Tracy reminded me that Joseph had a little red birthmark behind his ear.

Tracy was so beside herself with grief that she could hardly stand. She knelt beneath his body, futilely trying to stop the blood from flowing out of the holes on his neck. A long trail of footprints, a jarring sight on the flat and even snow, all the way into the snowy mountains.

The vampire, the phantom, the demon of Dione has once again disappeared beneath our noses, taking away our Joseph, bringing the never-ending night to Dione.

I stood on the snowy plains, feeling chilled to the bone.

Tracy will leave with the last group out of the area. She gave me Joseph's notebook before she left.

The young man had meticulously recorded everything big and small in his daily work, marking key points with ink of different colors. The records of the serial killer investigations with me were particularly detailed, even accompanied with images.

On one of the pages was a hexagram drawn with red ink. In the middle of the hexagram was a red circle with a question mark next to it.

If one connected the locations where the six victims were discovered into a hexagram, then Joseph was in the very middle.

The records stopped after Gilbert's death. It closed with two sentences:

"He walketh into the snow, and the Glorious King shalt meeteth him in the storm."

"Night is coming."

I closed the notebook and made my decision.

"Are you really going to stay here, sir?" Tracy looked at me with a worried expression.

"He's still in Dione. I'm going to get him."

Yes, I'm going to get him all right.

The storm of murders began with the coming of Ymir, and I will put an end to all this before it leaves.