Ch.26Ch.3 – My Miskatonic Comrades (6)

# April 17, 1929. 9:15 AM

## Miskatonic University Medical Building, Research Professor’s Office

The research professor’s office had a small adjoining room. It was just large enough for one person but was equipped with a sink and basic cooking facilities.

Catherine Scully took a tray and crackers from the shelf. The kettle hissed, releasing steam.

Agent Scully closed the lid of the alcohol lamp. She placed tea leaves into the pre-warmed teapot.

However, she didn’t immediately pour the hot water. She seemed to be waiting for the water to cool to the right temperature.

“So, did you get any sleep?”

Ironically, Scully herself looked the most exhausted. She was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and her posture was somewhat hunched. Yet her sharp gaze remained unchanged.

“I slept enough.”

Creyfield, who had been nodding off, startled awake.

Last night, Arkham police and the state militia had descended upon the hotel almost simultaneously. As they argued over jurisdiction, Agent Scully had to mediate.

Our alibis were perfect, but to prepare for any contingency, phones were ringing everywhere, and the investigation continued until late into the night.

Ann Molly reportedly refused all help and locked herself in her room. She even rejected offers to move her to a different hotel room.

Doctors diagnosed that she needed absolute rest and should take at least this semester off.

As expected, she refused. She insisted on finishing the semester. The doctors expressed concern but encouraged her nonetheless.

She is far from ordinary.

Catherine Scully brought over a tray with the teapot, pre-warmed cups, and cookies. The bergamot scent was strong.

“It’s Earl Grey. Quite a good variety.”

Though he hadn’t eaten a proper breakfast, Creyfield blew on his tea and sipped it slowly. He also nibbled on the crackers unhurriedly. Rather like a ruminant regurgitating its food to chew it two or three times over.

Scully shared the investigation findings first. She said a paper clip had been found on Creyfield’s floor.

It had been used to unlock the door, using what she called “a childishly simple technique that could be learned in ten minutes.”

“There were several anomalies at the scene. First, ‘Rasputin’ didn’t emit any radio waves last night. So it wasn’t a frequency-induced killing.

Second, the condition of the plant. Unlike the other corpses, Marie Shelley’s head was intact. But her abdomen had been cut open with a knife.

It’s certain she was slashed with the obsidian dagger found in her hand. And the flower grew from inside her stomach.”

“The letters?”

Creyfield asked in a hoarse voice. As if she had expected this, Scully handed him a sheet of paper. Twelve characters were written around the circumference of a circle.

“I’ve sketched it, but it doesn’t seem to be any language from this world. Not Arabic, not Greek, and definitely not cursive.”

“Have you asked Professor Gordon Whateley?”

“The folklore professor? No. Do you think there’s a connection to folklore?”

In response to Scully’s question, Creyfield recounted his conversation with Professor Gordon Whateley.

Marie Shelley had written an excellent report that included superstitious beliefs about Mars and sacrificial rituals to receive “seeds.”

“I hadn’t thought of that angle. Indigenous beliefs.”

Scully took out a pen and made notes.

“Thank you for your hard work. Please continue your efforts.”

Then she put down her pen. Now it was Creyfield who felt deflated.

“Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“Damn it, a corpse with flowers blooming was placed in my hotel room like a grand opening congratulatory plant, and you’re telling me to ‘continue my efforts’?”

Creyfield growled, almost shouting. But Scully’s expression didn’t change.

“That’s why we need to uncover the truth as soon as possible.”

“Are you even human?”

Scully’s lips twitched.

“Vilify me if you want. If you’re scared and want to back out, you can. But my policy remains unchanged. I came here to take action, not to sit around whining.”

“You’re so cold you could slap Bismarck’s cheek five times round-trip.”

“If that’s what it takes to bring someone to their senses, then so be it.”

Creyfield grabbed a handful of crackers and stood up. He flung the door open and stormed out.

“What about you? Are you going to quit here, or will you continue?”

She ran after Creyfield. As expected, he hadn’t gone far. He was outside the medical building, crunching on crackers.

“I’m starving, but I was trying to be polite by eating slowly, which was frustrating. These are quite tasty, aren’t they? They seem to be seasoned with just salt, yet they taste so good.”

When a student gave him a strange look, Creyfield raised his middle finger. The student stuck out his tongue and went on his way.

“No, assistant. I’m not crazy. I may be sleep-deprived, but wouldn’t it be ridiculous if I responded to her ‘Keep up the good work!’ with ‘Yes, beautiful agent, I’ll serve with all my loyalty!’?

The natural response in that situation is ‘Don’t talk nonsense.’

I have absolutely no intention of quitting. Was my acting so good that even you were fooled? Stop overthinking and have some of these crackers.”

Chewing on the salty crackers, Creyfield walked toward the main building.

“Good. Let’s talk while we walk. We’re quite busy now. Ann Molly is indeed a player. But she’s not an ordinary person.

I don’t know if the one playing her is male or female, but one thing is certain. That person is a villain. A villain protagonist.

Someone deliberately heading for a bad ending.”

Clouds devoured the morning sunlight. The world suddenly darkened.

“I don’t know their exact motive. They could be a ‘Breath of Fire cultist’ disguised as a female student, or they might have been an ordinary player who’s now following a corruption route.

Either way, the ending is offering this world to the Breath of Fire, so it doesn’t matter much. The problem is that this damn person, whoever they are, specifically called me a ‘murderer.'”

Perhaps because the sun was hidden, the main building looked ominously foreboding. It felt like looking up at adults gathered with gloomy faces, discussing incomprehensible stories in childhood.

And after adults had such discussions, storms always followed.

“I think ‘those above’ are watching me. The way they keep trying to exclude me from the game content, and all.

Not content with arbitrarily confining me, they’re trying to mess with me again. Wait. What’s that?”

A group of five or six people were posting notices at the main entrance. Judging by the rolled-up papers they still had, they seemed to be planning to post them throughout the campus.

“The government and military must withdraw! Why are people with certain ideologies being murdered? And why are these horrific events happening after ‘you people’ arrived?”

“People with certain ideologies are being murdered?”

“All the victims were deeply interested in socialism.”

A well-built male student who was carefully applying glue to the paper answered.

“Honestly, I’m not interested in socialism. But I don’t like soldiers setting up camp like this. They can’t really stop anything anyway. Not now.”

“That’s right.”

A long-nosed female student agreed.

“Do you know what rumors are circulating? There’s talk that the military has cordoned off Miskatonic University, and the government is conducting secret experiments.

That seems a bit far-fetched, doesn’t it? But the current approach of just shutting everything down doesn’t look good either.”

“The government is shutting things down?”

“Who are you?”

Creyfield stepped back and waved a notebook.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I’m Howard Lovecraft, a reporter from the Boston Globe.”

Creyfield told the lie without changing his expression.

“That’s an unusual surname. You’re a reporter?”

The students’ wariness noticeably eased at those words. They seemed encouraged by the presence of a reporter from a renowned newspaper in a major city, not a small town like Arkham.

“It’s not common for the military to cordon off a campus. Even a fool would know something’s wrong, wouldn’t they?”

“How did you get in? Access must be restricted.”

One of the students expressed doubt, but fell silent upon seeing the thick wallet that emerged from Creyfield’s pocket. In reality, it contained only memo papers.

“As I thought. The military is corrupt.”

“It’s what you might call ‘intuition.’ Would you mind telling me more about what you were discussing earlier?”

The students kindly shared what they knew.

Even for students at the prestigious Miskatonic University, few could easily distinguish between communism and socialism. And many of them disliked the idea of becoming like the ‘Soviet Union.’

“That place was just a countryside ruled by an emperor. How much could those ‘people’ possibly know?”

Everyone nodded at the claim of the well-built male student.

“Honestly, ideology from such uneducated people? I wonder if they even know what they’re doing.”

“Ah.”

Creyfield winked as if in understanding.

“So this country should be led by elites like you.”

“You’re teasing us, aren’t you?”

The long-nosed female student laughed and playfully pushed Creyfield.

“Still, wouldn’t it be better if knowledgeable, intelligent people took the lead?”

As soon as the group of students left, Creyfield quickly entered the main building.

“Aren’t you following? Next time I should carry a black sticker or something. Maybe I should put a dot next to my nose for a disguise. Should I apply one now?”

The folklore department’s office and professors’ rooms were all gathered on the second floor.

Peculiarly, the folklore department’s dedicated bookshelf was on the third floor, but the stairway was blocked by an iron door, and a chain as thick as a forearm was locked at the entrance.

Fortunately, the assistant accepted our request and even offered us the conference room next to the office.

After a short wait, Professor Gordon Whateley entered. He was carrying an armful of file folders and his eyes were noticeably swollen.

# Same day. 10:12 AM

## Miskatonic University Main Building, Folklore Department Conference Room

“I heard the sad news. I can’t believe it. Why, how?”

“My condolences.”

The frog-like man pressed his lips tightly together.

“No, we shouldn’t just sit here. I received a call from Agent Catherine Scully. You’ll need materials. Look at this first.”

What he handed over was Marie Shelley’s report.

It was titled “The Connection Between Fertility Rituals and Breath of Fire Worship – Focusing on the Old Farmhouse on Meadow Hill,” written in meticulous yet legible cursive.

“The original is on the left, and the mimeographed copy is on the right. At Agent Scully’s request, I made six more copies. Please take one.”

“Do you know about Marie Shelley’s condition? Specifically, her…”

The professor covered his face with both hands.

“It’s an abominable act. It’s a sacrificial ritual. Marie Shelley was offered up. It should be in the report, but that…”

“Professor, I understand your distress.”

Creyfield pressed somewhat forcefully.

“But we need to catch the perpetrator who did this to her as soon as possible. If this is connected to an ancient ritual, wouldn’t that narrow down the possibilities?”

“Yes. You’re right… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The professor breathed heavily. Just then, an assistant brought in warm tea with the scent of chrysanthemums.

“In addition to Marie Shelley’s report, I also searched the bookshelf records. The specifics of the ritual are horrific, but the procedure itself is simple.

First, they cut open the subject’s abdomen. Then they plant the seed of the Breath of Fire. It’s unknown where they obtain it, but records indicate it was passed down among families of ancient priests.

Then the seed grows, absorbing the organs and blood…”

The professor struck his chest with his fist. Startled, Creyfield grabbed Gordon’s arm.

Click.

The clock struck five.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. If I don’t do this, I really… really can’t continue speaking. It’s alright, Mr. Creyfield. I’m fine.

Yes, they tear open the abdomen to let the seed grow. And before the sacrifice loses consciousness, they quickly write twelve characters with the… sacrifice’s blood.

Those are the very characters you saw, Mr. Creyfield.”

“What’s the purpose of such an act?”

Creyfield made no attempt to hide his disgust.

“Invitation. It’s an invitation.”

The professor finally burst into tears.

“How painful and agonizing it must be. The sacrifice would scream loudly. Then, then… the Breath of Fire’s flower shoots that sound into the universe.

As if to say, here is good soil, come and sow your seeds. The flower acts as a kind of signal.

Those inscriptions serve to… amplify the screams and accelerate growth.

It’s written that the sound is too shrill for human ears to hear, but it makes all creatures in the world tremble with fear.”

“Is there a connection to Mars’s proximity?”

“Yes. The Breath of Fire is not a passive deity. Rather, it constantly tries to enter Earth whenever possible.

Mars is barren, not a place where plants can grow. So during its 15-year cycle of proximity, it desperately sows seeds.

Though the seeds are too small to be seen, they bloom under specific conditions. The condition is…”

“…a song.”

The professor nodded.

“Yes, a song. In that case, it grows explosively inside the body.

The literature describes it as ‘like a ripe seed pod bursting open, like a ripe persimmon tearing at the slightest touch.’

But that’s even more difficult than offering a sacrifice.

The literature also states, ‘The sound of a thousand demons wailing will enter the listener’s ears like a thief.'”

Ding dong.

Music played. It was coming through speakers mounted on the wall.

“What is this?”

“It’s an announcement. It plays when there are notices. There’s a facility in the astronomy building.”

[Ahem. Ahem. Test. One. Two. One. Test. One. Is it working?]

It was a sharp, thin voice.

[I am Major Winston, commanding the state militia. A short while ago, one of my soldiers was found dead in the boiler room of Miskatonic’s Humanities and Social Sciences Building basement.]

Everyone rose from their seats in surprise. The sudden vibration made the table shake and a cup fell and shattered. But no one looked at it.

[As of this moment, all access is restricted. Also, as of now, the military will maintain order at Miskatonic University. Be advised that anyone who resists military or police instructions without just cause or fails to comply with inspections may be considered hostile and could be shot. I repeat…]