Industrial Mage: Modernizing a Magical World

30 - Signed an NDA

Author's Note:

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The heavy doors of the meeting room creaked open as Ethan entered, his face a mask of concern. Roland and another man, Leto, were already seated at the long table, their expressions just what Ethan had expected them to be: grim.

Ethan had promoted Leto after his good work. Taking his place at the head of the table, Ethan drummed his fingers in an anxious rhythm on the polished wood. Taking a breath, he looked at them both.

"Report." He asked.

Leto cleared his throat. "My lord, I'm afraid the news is... troubling. We've confirmed a total of thirteen deaths so far."

Ethan's eyes widened in shock. "What?" he exclaimed, his fist slamming down on the table. "That's too quick!"

Why? What the fuck? What's going on? Ethan had been wondering, thinking, theorizing so as to what had happened, how this new disease had come, and who the fuck was responsible for it. The answer was kind of obvious: The Night Whispers. I'm going to kill these fuckers. They'd been the ones to let the Blight run amok in the towns, and now they were back with some other disease. Fucking bastards. Just what did they want exactly? Ethan had his suspicions. Regardless, thirteen deaths...

Ethan was furious.

"Yes, Lord Theodore," Roland interjected. "But there's a strange thing too."

Breathing, Ethan leaned forward, his gaze intense. "Explain."

Roland exchanged a glance with Leto before continuing. "The deaths are... erratic. The thirteen who died, they passed within the very first hour of realizing they were sick. Or so have their families told us. But here's the peculiar part—everyone who's survived past that initial hour is still alive."

Leto nodded, adding, "Their conditions vary greatly. Some are worse off, while others seem to be faring better. It's a mystery, truly."

Ethan's brow furrowed. "So, those who survive the first hour... they don't show signs of dying?"

"No, my lord," Leto confirmed. "But their conditions fluctuate unpredictably. It's unlike anything we've seen before. However, I'm afraid we're going to have our first death on the first-hour survivors' side soon, as well. Because, well, as I said, unfortunately, the patients' conditions vary greatly, and a few of them near death."

"We're doing our utmost best to make sure that they do not die." Roland leaned in, his voice lowered. "There's more, Lord Theodore. The symptoms... they're unsettling. The sufferers, they have this pale complexion, and there's this rapid... well, we're not sure what to call it."

"Speak plainly, Roland," Ethan urged.

Roland grimaced. "It's as if they're losing their... meat. Rotting isn't the right word. They are simply leaving behind a band of exposed white... well, it looks like skeleton. The meat disappears, as if eaten, and the bone becomes apparent."

Ethan recoiled slightly. "Meat? You mean... flesh?"

"Aye," Leto nodded. "I'm not a learned man, so I don't rightly know the proper terms. But it's a ghastly sight."

Ethan stood abruptly, pacing the length of the room as he processed the information. After a moment, he turned back to his seat, drumming his finger on the table.