3rd POV

The Detective stared at the board he created in his office, connecting all dots in his web. Red lines of string connect to one person to another, objects and reasons correlating to their deaths.

The wind of summer blew against the window shutters, creating a rattling sound that slightly disturbed the Detective’s stirring mind. He rubbed his chis as his eyes landed on the initials written in a letter.

The initials, C.Z. was written at the end of the letter that he received a couple of days ago. A formal letter that states for him to stop his investigation. He cannot help but think of only one person that could fit with the initials.

The Detective heaved a sigh, heading back to his desk as he pulls out his journal from below one of his locked drawers. He began writing everything he learned from his investigations, the real culprit of the case, and the regrets he carries along with it.

His mentor’s friend’s wife and his friend both died in two consecutive days after a heated argument. A heated argument between the masters of their guilds. It happened three months ago and since then, the Detective has been investigating the case, along with a series of murders that somehow connects in his search for the murderer.

But… he never expected the murderer to be him…

He wrote the name of the killer on his notebook, the initial C.Z connected to it. He explained what motives the killer could possibly have, and the things he has done. He hid the journal to where he took it, hiding it at its very bottom, concealing it with magic.

A knock came at his door just as he was about to leap out of his seat. He stood up, pulling the curtains over his board as he skidded his way to the door. He let his magic run through his hands, ice forming in his palm.

The Detective approached the door, turning the knob as he opens it. A man stood in front of the door, with a cane in one hand. The Detective recognized who the man was, hiding his hand with magic behind the magic.

“What brought you here this late at night?” the Detective asked, blocking his body on the doorframe.

“I want to talk to you. May I?” the man said, a musing tone on his face.

“Sure, come in,” the Detective answered, letting the man inside his office.

The man walked straight inside, the corner of his lips curling up. His eyes darted on his right, where the Detective’s board is concealed, his eyes turning into slits.

“Have you finished your investigation?” the man asked to the Detective, taking a step towards the board’s direction.

The Detective hid his hand with magic behind his back. “Yes, I did. I know who the killer is,” the Detective answered.

“That’s unfortunate…” the man mumbled. “I thought I could hide for much longer.”

The man faced the Detective, sprinting at him with a knife on one hand. The man tried to stab the Detective, but the Detective blocked it with a barrier made of ice. The knife pierced halfway through the ice, crumbling it into pieces.

The Detective pulled the hand he hid behind his back, raising a knife made of ice. He planned to stab the man on the shoulder to paralyze him, but the man in front of him disappeared, turning into smoke.

The smoke filled the air as it tries to suffocate the Detective. He waved his hand in the air to disperse the smoke. He felt the man’s presence behind him. The Detective turned, but as soon as he did, a sharp pain pierced through his chest.

He froze, his breath hitching as blood oozed out of his chest. He looked down, finding a knife stabbed through his chest. The smoke swirled together in front of him, forming a figure that turned into the man’s appearance.

The man had transformed himself into smoke, stabbing the Detective when he least expected it. It was his magic. The Detective fell on the ground, betrayed and regretful. He stared at the man who stabbed him, grabbing him by the collar with all his remaining strength.

He mumbled a spell in his mind, distracting the man before he realizes what the Detective is trying to do. The Detective held the man by the collar, slowly making his hands around his neck as he chokes him. Ice formed on his fingertips, travelling down the man’s neck that froze his voice and throat.

“Why…? Why?” the Detective quavered, horrified and overwhelmed by his betrayal. “Why did you kill them? What exactly are you trying to achieve?”

“I need the artifact,” the man muttered, choking. “And I killed them because they are ruining my plans. And so do you, Detective,” he added, his voice raptured, yet there was no hint of remorse.

“No…teach—”

The Detective’s words fall into a whisper as the man pierces the knife deeper into his chest, ending his life completely. The Detective fall lifeless as his life flashed before his eyes like a dream.

The spell he tried to cast dissolved midway, his hold against the man’s neck loosening. His eyes spun as he fell blankly, regretting not saving his friend.

C.Z… Why?