Chapter 295: Execution Hour
"Shit...."
Morgan couldn’t help but swear as he stood in front of Warren’s walk-in closet. Shelves had been installed and on each one a jar was placed, each containing a different set of human eyes. A quick count estimated that the number of jars was close to if not exceeding a 3 digit number.
With no cigarette available, he resorted to sticking a piece of gum in his mouth, chewing with annoyance as his stress levels began to rise. He was only 23 years old but as a 2nd year detective, he had seen quite a few things that made him wiser beyond his years.
Even still, he had not expected to find a serial killer, especially one so vile like the Watcher like this.
Morgan stepped further into the closet, the scent of aged formaldehyde hitting him like a slap. It was cold in there, too cold for a closet. A shiver ran up his spine, but he forced his legs to keep moving. Each jar sat perfectly spaced, labeled in tiny, meticulous handwriting. Names. Ages. Dates.
He felt his stomach tighten as he realized what he was looking at wasn’t just a collection. It was a record. A damn museum exhibit curated by a psychopath.
"Jesus Christ..." he muttered, pulling out his phone and snapping photos. He couldn’t risk touching anything, not yet. Forensics would need to go over every inch of this place, but the evidence was overwhelming.
The Watcher. The press had come up with the name after the third body was found, the eyes always removed postmortem with surgical precision. The department had argued over the motives.
Was it Trophy hunting? Obsessive compulsion? ritual symbolism? Some said it was some twisted sense of artistry while others thought it was purely madness. None of the theories had ever truly satisfied Morgan. Not until now. Not with this closet full of eyes, catalogued like a damned gallery.
He backed away slowly, shut the door with care, and walked back through the apartment. The stale air felt heavier now. The kind of heaviness that lingered after something unnatural. Warren’s body was still there, staring at the ceiling as if he had been burnt from the inside out.
He left the building, got into his car, and started the engine. The gum in his mouth had long since gone tasteless. The taste didn’t matter anymore. He needed something to keep him grounded.
Before he even made it halfway to the station, the call came in.
"Morgan," he answered.
Captain Rex’s voice came through, clipped and tense. "We’ve got another one."
He leaned into the wheel. "Same death?"
"Same markings. No signs of struggle. This time it’s worse."
His stomach sank. "Who?"
"Dominic Heller. We confirmed it through fingerprints. He was The Inquisitor."
Morgan didn’t respond right away. His grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles paled.
continued, softer now. "He was found in an abandoned warehouse near the church district. Same markings. Same condition. This wasn’t a murder. This was an execution."
Morgan’s thoughts spiraled. The Watcher and the Inquisitor were the two most terrifying predators this city had ever known. No connection. No shared methods. One stalked his victims quietly. The other tortured them into screaming confessions. They hunted differently. They were killed for different reasons. And now they were both dead.
"Tell me that’s it," he said, somehow knowing that it wasn’t going to be that easy.
"There’s a third," Rex confirmed. "We just got the call."
"Who?"
"Elise Samael."
That name made him sit up straighter. Everyone in the city knew who the Samaels were. A Massive Pharmaceutical Company. Lots of money and practically untouchable. And Elise, well up until recently, she had been in the running to take over the family business. That was until that scandal broke about all of that family’s dirty dealings.
She disappeared soon after. It didn’t take a genius detective to put two and two together. Either she was the whistleblower and went into hiding ... or someone had used her as a scapegoat. Either way, he now had two leads.
As Morgan pulled onto the main road, tension was grinding against the base of his skull. Three bodies in one day. All dead within hours of each other. Same impossible condition. Burned from the inside out with no signs of trauma, no blood, no struggle. And now a third victim with a name that made the whole city flinch.
His phone buzzed again.
"Morgan," he answered, his tone heavy as he awaited the update.
Rex didn’t waste time. "Time of death estimates are in. All three died about an hour apart. Warren first, Heller second, Elise Samael last."
Morgan stared out at the empty road. "Order’s intentional."
"Feels that way. Elise’s case is the outlier."
He stayed silent, listening.
"She wasn’t found in her penthouse. She was discovered in a cheap motel on the outskirts. No security, no ID check. Room paid in cash under a false name. Jane Doe."
Morgan exhaled slowly through his nose. "She was hiding."
"Looks like it. But it didn’t help. Same cause of death. Internal burns, no wounds. But she had one thing the other two didn’t."
Morgan tensed. "What?"
"She was missing her tongue."
He said nothing.
"Surgically removed," Rex went on. "No ragged tissue. No bleeding at the scene. It must have been done at least a day or two before her death but we will need a full autopsy to confirm."
Morgan’s jaw flexed. "Anything else?"
"She was holding something in her hand when they found her. A VR Game console. It was still powered on."
Morgan already knew what came next.
"The screen said, ’Welcome to Ascension of Souls Online.’"
His hands tightened on the wheel.
His eyes stayed fixed on the road, but his mind was spinning. Ascension of Souls Online. The name kept echoing inside his head. The game everyone was obsessed with, yet shrouded in mystery. No known developers, no company headquarters, no public records. Nothing.
A strange feeling settled deep in his gut, an insane mixture of dread and curiosity. What if the answer wasn’t just in the physical world anymore? What if it was inside the game itself?
He pictured the screen on that console: "Welcome to Ascension of Souls Online."
An idea, wild and reckless, took root. What if he logged in?
What if he entered the game himself and saw what the others had seen?
Morgan swallowed hard. This was not protocol. This was not how detectives usually worked. But the rules here were already broken. The killings, the mutilations, the impossible burns—they all pointed to something beyond his understanding.
Maybe the only way forward was to go deeper.
His phone buzzed again. Captain Rex’s voice filtered through, cautious.
"Sir. Put me on the case."
There was a pause. Then Rex sighed, heavy with weariness.
"You sure, Morgan? I could assign Jones or Valentine instead. You have put in enough overtime. You deserve some time off."
Morgan’s lips twitched into a grim smile. "Maybe I do take that time off," he said slowly, "but not to rest. To do this right. Off the books."
He glanced at the rearview mirror, catching his own tired eyes.
"If the game is the key, then I am going to find out what it is hiding. I am going in."
Rex did not respond right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and serious.
"Just be careful. If this goes sideways, you are on your own."
Morgan nodded to himself, the resolve settling in like armor.
Whatever this game was, whatever forces it held, he was ready to face them. Because if he did not, no one else would.