Several disappearances and unexplained events have been registered shorty after the commercialization of an ancient statue linked to some legends from a mysterious place called "Reich der Finsternis" in eastern Germany, there is no know route leadin...
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The blood transfer ritual
An air of calm had briefly settled over the agents' souls after dawn. Every tough situation they had encountered tested their mental and emotional stability, revealing both their vulnerabilities and their more human side. Bernard, in particular, had struggled with his fears from the very start of the mission, showing signs of weakness. Yet, it wasn't until now that he managed to push through and take action despite them.
The calm lingered momentarily in the aftermath of the river beast's disappearance and the hunters' elimination. Still, the cawing of crows in the decaying branches of the oak trees and the constant rustling in the underbrush kept the ever-present sense of danger alive.
A rush of thoughts raced through Liz's mind: Bernard shoving the skeletal monster into the river, the beast devouring its remains, and the young man standing there, still holding his hunting rifle. Judging by his clothing, he seemed to have come from a nearby district. He was aiming at the surface of the lake as though expecting some horrific presence to rise again from the cold, murky waters where only dead leaves now floated.
"Is everything all right?" the man asked, visibly confused and lowering his guard. "Gibt es hier noch jemanden, der uns belauschen kann?" (Is anyone else around here spying on us?)
"Everything's fine," Liz replied cheerfully, ignoring his last question. "And you? Are you okay? Hurt anywhere?" The young man gave a thumbs up, indicating he was all right. "We're here to help."
"To help me?" he echoed, stroking his chin with a frown. "I appreciate it, but what are you doing here? Are you the ones who escaped from the courthouse?"
Chris raised his hand to calm the situation. "It's fine. They're U.S. government agents. They've got nothing to do with the looters."
Though the man lowered his rifle, his skeptical frown lingered as he took a few steps closer to the agents.
"My apologies," he muttered in a thick German accent. "It's just... ever since news broke about some Rowland and a bunch of other Americans escaping, everything's gone to hell. Holzmann's always been a bastard, but since those bastards showed up, things have gotten a lot worse."
Liz felt a wave of surprise. Rowland? Wasn't that one of the names the executioner had mentioned back at the cemetery? She remembered Ulrich mentioning he was one of Mark Warren's friends, though it was still unclear what role he played in all of this.
"What do you know about them?" Liz asked, noticing how the man's expression soured at the mention of those names.
"Not much," he replied, shrugging, "only that Rowland was one of the Americans who came here for the looting."
The group made their way toward the bridge. The young man appeared calm, as if what they had just witnessed was part of everyday life around here. Liz, ever the empathetic one, tried to keep the conversation going.
