A wooden ship sailed across the sea, the sun rising with rays of yellow and purple. Smog slowly thickened as the shores of Britain drew closer. The colors dulled as clouds gathered, raindrops began to fall, and the salty sea air became more briny. Hazzle looked out at the Welsh coastline, the lush greenery tinged with grey.

She clutched a scarf, once belonging to the rat of a thief. The dream of seeing that fiery hair again would never be a reality. There would be no welcoming faces, no one who intimately knew the thief she had once cherished. Her reptilian hands, covered by tight gloves, tightened on the scarf, causing a small puncture. 

The droning static returned, even through the mask. Then the ship's bell rang. With a single breath, it was gone. This was Hyde, not Hazzle. Perhaps, someday, Hazzle could be truly free, even temporarily without the mask. Bingo, roused from sleep in a nearby cabin by the bell, croaked, "Well, good morning, SGF..." Hazzle turned. "Good morning, Bingo," she greeted him with a bitter smile. 

Bingo inhaled deeply, his eyes widening. A harsh cough escaped his lungs. "Whoa, this scent gives a whole new meaning to 'culture shock,'" Bingo said, looking around. "Why is it so... concentrated and grimy?" Hazzle looked confused. "What do you mean?" She smelled the grime herself and flinched, a cough rising in her throat, almost turning into a reptilian bellow. "No wonder... what in the ever-loving hell is that? It wasn't this bad before." The air grew warmer. Bingo wiped his forehead, noticing he was sweating. 

He asked with concern, "Why is it getting so hot?" Black smoke began to spread. The bell rang louder, and a crew member yelled, "FIRE! Some bloody drunk threw a bottle of fire!" The duo's eyes widened with a dreadful realization that the bell was a warning. Judge Wyaden, his coat covering his mouth and nose, told them, "Grab your things quickly before the ship is engulfed. Immediately!" The two rushed to their cabins, grabbing what was important to them. As they all jumped into the shallow water, where rescue vessels, smaller but numerous, waited, Bingo sighed bitterly. "Culture shock indeed..."

The trio watched the ashen remains of the ship, crumbling slowly, wood falling away like roasted meat. They were all drenched in the green, mossy water—a fitting end to the chaotic situation. The rescue vessel moved slowly, waves lapping calmly against the backdrop of the flames.

 Hazzle sighed, thinking that if this was how Britain treated its guests, she wished she'd stayed home. Wiping some moss from her face, she asked, "Mr. Wyaden, have you been to Britain before?" Wyaden, gazing at the nearby shores, replied, "Never." 

Hazzle was confused. "Then how do you know so much?" Wyaden turned back to her. "I had an assistant and a messenger who dealt with those who opposed me. The poor man died during a..." He paused, looking back at the shores. "Confrontation with an aggressive client."

 Hazzle's expression softened into a bitter frown. "Oh, I'm... sorry for your loss." Wyaden took a deep breath. "Don't waste your sorrow on my losses, Doctor. I ran out of tears and joy long ago..." Hazzle stopped wiping the moss, relaxing her posture. She shifted slightly towards the Judge. Flags were being raised slowly. 

Before she could speak, the vessel stopped. The rescuer yelled, "We're at the shore!" The trio stepped out. Judge Wyaden offered Bingo a leather hat, slightly burnt at the edges. "Here," he said. "The first part of your disguise." Bingo put on the hat with a small smile. "Great. Now, where's the other part?" Wyaden replied, "In your cabin." A bead of sweat dripped down Bingo's face.

"Oh. I only grabbed what I immediately saw and my personal belongings." Bingo's face went blank. Wyaden looked back at the ship, now a charred ruin. He massaged his temples, then turned and grabbed his coat. Like a parent tying a child's shoes, Kneeling helped Bingo put it on. The bulky coat made Bingo look like a child dressed in their parent's clothes. "There," Wyden said. "I don't blame you for earlier; that incident was unexpected, to say the least..."

Bingo moved his arms stiffly, almost like a toy. "I'm starting to regret this," he said jokingly. Wyaden told him, "Don't. You'll only make it worse by overthinking." Hazzle looked at the dock, where law enforcement and townspeople were trying to contain the drunk. "I certainly didn't expect the ship to burn down today," she commented. Judge Wyaden, still gazing at the scene, remarked, "Nor the drunk, for that matter."

He paused, arms crossed. "I thought..." Something then caught his attention, his eyes narrowing. Hazzle, scratching her gloved hand, asked the Judge, "Hey, sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to ask, are you...?" Wyaden held up a finger for silence, a hint of realization in his voice. "This drunk isn't what he seems," he said. "His mouth is foaming." Bingo, having heard this, looked at the crowd. The drunk's mouth was indeed foaming, and his face showed not relaxation but agitation. 

Bingo shed his discomfort and playful demeanor, becoming colder as he moved closer. "That man isn't drunk. He looks enraged—more violent than any ale could make him." Judge Wyaden looked at Bingo. The sudden shift to a cold, calculating demeanor made his jaw drop slightly, his eyebrow lifting.

 This felt different. Yet, the Judge sensed something unexpected from this usually jovial man—a focused pride he hadn't seen in a long time. A slight smirk appeared on Wyaden's face as he scoffed. "I'm surprised to see that side of you, Bingo." Bingo, even in his seriousness, glanced at Wyaden, surprised. "Mr. Wyaden, those words from you are a compliment I... never expected," Wyaden replied simply, taking a stance, his left fist near his face, the other hanging loosely, reminiscent of a street fighter. 

"The same goes for your keen observations." Bingo mirrored his stance with a slight smile, his posture more like a Spanish dancer, one hand behind his back. Hazzle noticed something—ghostly machinery, the same ability Bingo had used on Milky to block his punch with an invisible wall. She moved forward, the lingering question in her mind.

Hazzle, slightly out of breath, quietly asked Bingo, "Hey, I know this is a bad time, but what's in your hand behind your back?" Bingo replied softly, "Can we talk about this later? This is a threat—possibly to us as well.

"Wyaden raised his palm, signaling for silence. "Listen," he said. The trio stopped. A voice broke the silence, faint yet loud enough to be heard. "CAN'T YOU SEE? I BEEN TRYING TO FIND THE DAMNED! EVILS!" the enraged man spat. 

"TWO AGENTS OF THE UNDERWORLD! THE EXPLORER AND THE SCUM!" The Judge spoke softly, "This is for us. Someone knew we were coming." He then added, "Though who is the 'explorer' in this situation?" The man then did something bizarre. Pieces of hair or clothing on those restraining him burst into flames. The restrainers screamed, setting off a chain reaction of chaos.

Bingo, an inquisitor both by profession and nature, was alarmed. Innocent lives could be at stake. Hazzle, driven by her role to protect others, was equally determined to intervene. Wyaden, despite his past and questionable beliefs, still possessed a sense of justice and duty.

He raised his fingers, counting down from three. The screams, the panic, and the palpable distress amplified the fear. Their gazes locked like a catapult being prepared. As the countdown ended, the man yelled, "YOU ARE ALL SINNERS TRYING TO HOLD ME BACK!" This maddened cry signaled the three to charge. The Judge struck first, his fist hitting like a brick wall, knocking out one of the enraged man's teeth. 

Bingo took off the bulky coat and threw it to Hazzle. "Come on, this looks a bit—" Hazzle started to say. Bingo, realizing his mistake, his eyes widening, interrupted, "Oh, shoot. I know 'you can't join us' sounds wrong, but just hold the coat until things get worse, alright?"

The scene now revealed innocent hostages caught in the crossfire, their faces etched with panic and fear. Some were young, fueling the trio's determination. The enraged man foamed at the mouth. "YOU TWO! I THOUGHT I ENDED YOUR SINFUL LIVES!" 

The Judge asked, "Then perhaps you can explain why you're attacking innocent people." Their eyes locked, though Wyaden quietly commented to Bingo, "Your focus, kid, isn't strong enough. Apologies." A slight frown touched his icy gaze. The enraged man, sensing the chill, spoke calmly, though his rage simmered beneath. "Then I owe you this, DAMMERS!" His rage erupted.

"I was here because you two were predictably coming here, to end something personal." The man spat, yelling like a feral dog and pointing at Wyaden. "SOMETHING THIS SCUM IS SEEKING!" The man cried out in a near-religious frenzy. 

"THE SIGHT OF A REAL GOD'S GIFTS IS TOO PRECIOUS FOR THE WORLD TO KNOW!" He aimed at the hostages, a slight smile on his face. "These now include these people too. MY HAND IS THE UNDERWORLD'S JUDGMENT!"

 He clenched his hand, and a small fireball exploded behind him. "NOW TRY AND DEFEAT REAL JUDGMENT..." Wyaden, gripping his bloodied fist, punched the enraged man. His back showed a slight sign of impact, and the faint sound of ribs breaking could be heard as the man stumbled. Wyaden taunted, "Is that all you've got? You just set off explosives at the bottom of the dock. You planned this, you maniac!" 

The enraged man groaned in pain, slowly regaining his footing. "What do you mean..." he croaked, his body swaying as he repeated the phrase. Bingo noticed small, ghostly pitchforks forming on the man's fists. His eyes widened, sensing something was about to happen. 

The pitchforks grew larger, burning on the man's hands as his voice grew louder and his veins bulged. "WHAT IN YOUR DAMNED MIND DO YOU MEAN I PLANNED THIS?!" The man threw small bursts of fire like playing cards, rushing closer.

Wyaden did his best to dodge but still received burns and cuts. Bingo saw the enraged man leap, ready to pounce on the Judge. In a swift motion, Bingo pushed Wyaden away and used his backhand to activate his wall ability, parrying the man's attack. As the man fell, his forearm hitting the invisible wall, Bingo used this makeshift shield to slam him down. 

The man's face took the brunt of the impact. Stunned, he recoiled from Bingo, the ghostly shield dissipating. His jaw was slightly disfigured, foam still dripping from his mouth, but he brutally slammed his face against the ground to reset his jaw. Despite the new burn marks, he spoke as if nothing had happened. "NOTHING CAN STOP MY JUDGMENT!"

Bingo muttered about the man being a formidable foe, "God damn..." before being grazed by the man's fiery fist. The intense heat made Bingo twitch, but the hostages fueled his determination, mirroring the man's obsession with Wyaden's demise.

He continued to parry the man's berserk attacks—multiple jabs and grabs. With a slight smirk, Bingo tried to speak to the man, but something about the ability felt wrong. He noticed cracks forming. Silently cursing himself, sweat began to bead on his forehead. 

Why was the ability cracking more with each hit? Then, a sledgehammer-like blow shattered the ability entirely. Bingo spat blood, his vision blurring as he was repeatedly struck. The hits turned into a barrage.

Hazzle, watching the scene, saw Bingo's body becoming frail. "BINGO!" she shouted, her mind racing with conflicting thoughts: the need to protect the innocents, the threat the man posed, and the sight of her new ally crumbling.

She snapped out of her observer role and threw Wyaden's coat over the man's head, sliding down and wrapping it around him, attempting to incapacitate him. Yet, a troubling thought lingered: what if she killed him? He was a threat, but did he deserve to die? These thoughts caused the coat to burst into flames. 

Hazzle was stunned as the man emerged from the burning coat. "THEY HAVE A NEW FOLLOWER? YOU MUST BE STOPPED!" His hair was now ablaze, turning him into a walking inferno in Hazzle's and Bingo's eyes. But Hazzle noticed Bingo rising to his feet, driven by either hope or desperation. She grabbed the man as Bingo prepared something behind him. 

The enraged man tried to burn Hazzle's gloves. Instinctively, she bit down on his shoulder at the last second, her mask concealing her identity but leaving bite marks. In a desperate cry, she yelled, "BINGO! DO IT NOW!"

Bingo cried out, his voice hoarse, "Get out of the way!" Hazzle jumped to the other side of the dock. A strange, ball-like machine with barrels on each side—new to her—spat out pellets. A volley of what sounded like blanks, powerful enough to pierce the skin, struck the enraged man, sending him crashing to the ground.

Bingo then clenched his fist, stopping the barrage. The ball vanished into thin air, ending the fight. The man lay unconscious in the shallow water. Gasps and heavy breaths filled the air. Wyaden, who had been briefly knocked out, awoke, massaging his head. 

He sighed. "This is the first thing we do in Britain—attack a man on sight." Bingo scoffed, his mischievous demeanor returning, though a hint of coldness lingered—the icy persona, mostly for the Judge's benefit. "This is what they mean by 'rude awakening'," he said, laughing before collapsing onto the dock, exhausted. 

"Hey, at least you understand me better now, Mr. Wyaden—the real me, I mean." Hazzle, standing nearby, noticed the distressed innocents. "Don't worry," she reassured them. "He won't attack again. Go on..." The confused bystanders began to disperse. Then, the sound of galloping hooves announced the arrival of Welsh constables. Their eyes widened in surprise at the scene. Bingo addressed the law enforcers. "What? Aren't you happy we cleaned up the mess? By the way, the guy who caused all the trouble is floating in the shallows—not dead, of course."

The Welsh law enforcement, accompanied by a medical team, investigated the cause of the attack. Wyaden, being attended to by a medic, noticed the man. He stood, looking around the greenery before glancing at the makeshift cage where the man was held. A few law enforcers were awestruck by the man's wounds. "Look at those burn marks. They're almost unnatural. Could it be...?" Wyaden cut through the speculation. "He used explosives—a crazed maniac with a religious delusion, using fire as a representation of the underworld." 

The law enforcers were slightly taken aback by the Judge's imposing size and pale complexion. One of them broke the silence with a smirk. "What are you, big guy?" Wyaden responded, "I need some information before he's imprisoned. I believe there's a reason for the attack, as it was directed at me." He added, "And for the record, I'm a Judge—a member of Irish law. I'm here for a meeting, but this is highly concerning." The same Welsh officer jokingly asked, "Oh, does this mean another war with Ireland...?" Before he could finish, another officer hit him on the shoulder. "What the hell, brother?" he said, then apologized to Wyaden.

"I apologize to my colleague, sir." The two Welsh officers began a minor argument regarding the incident. Wyaden, looking at the drenched, slightly injured man, snapped his fingers and shouted, "Hey! Wake up. I have some questions." The man awoke. "Wh...What?" he mumbled, his tone softer, calmer, more fragile. "Wait, did I do that?" he asked, pointing at the dock.

"Yes. Don't you remember?" The man's hands trembled. "Oh gods..." He pushed his bangs back from his forehead. "Oh, they did it again..." He spoke in a somber tone. "Ach, I remember. Apologies, friend. It's a long story." Wyaden calmly asked, "I'll ask some quick questions, alright?" The man nodded, a blank yet slightly concerned look in Wyaden's eyes as he took a deep breath. "Okay, first: what made you so angry?" The man replied, rubbing his head, trying to remember. "At this point, I'm not going back. It's a poison—the irony of sin in the gods' praise."

Wyaden responded, "Good. Now, what caused the explosion? If there's any fairytale involved, I'm ending this conversation." The man replied, "There are others with skills like mine. If the rumors are true, they use us as wrathful assassins." The Judge asked, "Then who's behind this? I know you're going to tell me eventually, given what you've said." The man chuckled. 

"Well, to be honest—hear me out—I don't know everything, so some details might be wrong. But do you remember me mentioning the 'gift of god'?" Wyaden responded, "Of course. You yelled it out during your rage." The man now spoke softly. "It sounds crazy, but some religious organizations have recently become involved with this 'gift of god'—a mineral called Rusmage." Wyaden responded, "You mean Magerus?" The man realized, "Wait, you know about this mineral?" Wyaden replied, "Yes," a hint of disappointment in his voice. The man said, "So you're that Judge from the thief case. Never met a celebrity before." 

He continued, "But back on topic, that same crystal is being used as a symbol of gods, I think. I don't believe it, thanks to you confirming the myth, but if you're trying to find this threat to religious communities, I suggest checking the Pride Uphill Church. I once went there on my journey of the gods, but I think leaving that damned place is best." Wyaden scoffed. "You're a good man. I wish you luck..." Then something caught his eye. "Wait, what's that bite mark?" The man replied, "I don't know. There weren't any wild animals around. 

"I do remember your masked friend holding me back during my... episode," Wyaden said, glancing back at Hazzle. "Thanks for the info. I'll talk to the local law enforcement..." The man replied to Wyaden, "If you're ready to wrap up the discussion, it's time for me to share more. 

The explosion and the power—sounds crazy, I know—but it's related to this Lukirum thing..." He paused, his back still turned, but the name sparked something in Wyaden. "Lukirum... that name rings a bell," he murmured. The man, sensing Wyaden's concern, asked, "Do you need to... ?"   Wyaden quickly replied, "No, it's alright.

 Just something from my past." The man nodded and waved, saying, "Then goodbye."  Wyaden walked away with a heavy sigh. He later managed to persuade the authorities to release the man, convinced it was a case of manipulation and that the true threat lay elsewhere. 

Hours passed, and Hazzle—known as Hyde to Wyaden and Bingo—received updates on the situation. Bingo crossed his arms, his smile fading as he went to get some fresh air. Wyaden, recalling the inquisitor's past, filed this action away. The way Bingo had leaned in slightly, raising an eyebrow, suggested hidden depths. 

Wyaden's gaze then settled on Hyde, who seemed to carry a silent burden. Whispers of rumors he'd heard echoed deep in his mind, there was someone who had those predator's teeth, and the deep thought of it roaming is something that could bypass his beliefs on monsters and the supernatural. Yet, it couldn't be true; it was too fantastical, and the man was barely remembering anything. 

As their plans shifted towards the Pride Uphill Church, Wyaden felt his vendetta burning within him, a raging spirit. This was the beginning of that vendetta's end.

The potential gravestone of a man's sorrow, or at least, he hoped, its closure.

TO BE CONTINUED