Secret World of Occultists
Chapter 66: Ominous Headline

Chapter 66: Ominous Headline

Abel stood on the platform, gazing at the steam locomotive, which was spewing plumes of smoke into the air as it slowly departed.

After accompanying Miss Thompson to her seat in the first-class compartment, he returned to the platform and waited for the train to leave.

He stood there with his hands resting on the cane, his gaze distant.

Winchester... The capital of capitals, he thought, a faint smile adorning his lips.

One day, I’ll go there for sure.

After the train had left the platform, he finally turned around and exited the station. Emily’s driver was still waiting for him outside.

Just as Abel was descending the steps, he overheard one of the many newsboys speak animatedly, trying to sell the papers in their hands.

"Extra! Extra! Another lady slain! Killer on the loose! Buy the Herald for the full story!"

Hearing those words, Abel’s brows furrowed together.

Another lady was slain? He thought to himself with a grave expression.

He walked up to the boy and bought the newspaper from him after paying only a penny.

With the advent of the Industrial Revolution, allowing for cities and factory work to spread, urban population skyrocketed.

Additionally, thanks to education reforms and church schooling, more people, especially the lower and middle class were able to read, but traditional newspapers weren’t made for them.

This made way for the penny press.

The steam-powered printing press was invented several years ago, allowing for mass printing at a fraction of the cost. Newspapers could be printed faster and cheaper than before.

Traditional newspapers in Albion were expensive, costing around six pence. But the penny papers, as its name suggested, cost only one penny.

By selling to a much broader audience, penny papers relied on high circulation rather than high prices for a profit.

It was a revolutionary business model.

"Another maiden butchered... Killer strikes again... Heart torn from helpless victim," Abel read the headlines of the morning edition of the Newport Herald.

In the early hours of this morning, the body of a young woman, no older than twenty, was discovered sprawled across the rain-drenched cobblestones of Barrow Lane near the bustling warehouses of the dockside.

Like the first grisly murder that had shocked the city a month ago, the victim’s chest had been savagely opened, and her heart was removed with precision.

The article stated that a 10 sterling reward was now offered for any information leading to the arrest of the killer.

Moreover, the murderer had already been dubbed by the public.

"The Ripper..." Abel muttered under his breath, his expression solemn.

He folded the paper and walked down the stairs, towards the carriage waiting for him.

I should ask the guys at the Trust if these murders could be related to an Occultist, he thought.

Or worse yet... an Anomalous Being!

...

Standing atop the rooftop of one of the buildings lining Barrow Lane, a tall figure wearing finely tailored garments stood with his hand resting on his cane.

He was a bald old man with a thick and neatly trimmed white beard. He gazed at the place of murder with his piercing blue eyes, seemingly seeing through the mysteries of these killings.

There were several people present on the ground. Some were journalists, some were constables, and others were regular citizens.

All of them trying to figure out just what might have happened.

The old man standing atop the building looked intently, his eyes narrowing. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew and he disappeared from his spot.

The people on the cobble street found it strange that a strong gust of wind would suddenly sweep through, especially considering that it was a warm and sunny day.

But soon they all threw this matter to the back of their minds, choosing to instead focus on the murder mystery laying before them.

...

Moments later, the bald old man with a thick white beard arrived at one of the many piers along Newport’s dockside.

His presence was accompanied by a sudden gust of wind, which gradually died down.

The hems of his dark frock coat fluttered in the wind as he reached into his coat’s inner pocket and retrieved a metal case.

From it, he drew a cigar, struck a match, and took a long, deliberate drag, savoring the rich taste of imported tobacco as his gaze drifted out across the horizon of the North Sea.

John Kensington, the director of all three containment sites in Newport, stood tall and unyielding as his gaze seemingly crossed countless kilometers.

Then, he lowered his head ever so slightly, gazing into the depths of the sea—a place where unknown horrors reside, a place teeming with anomalies!

His eyes narrowed and a cold light flashed passed them.

How long will you make me wait? He wondered.

There was a reason why a man of his stature had arrived at Newport several years ago.

There was a reason the Ministry of Occult Affairs would entrust him with the oversight of three containment sites, given that, under normal circumstances, each site would warrant its own director.

There was a reason for everything.

Still, this long wait has not been without its merits, he thought.

He closed his eyes and took another long drag of the cigar, recalling all that he had experienced in this city so far.

Emily Thompson, a child with extraordinary potential, he thought.

An Aberrant-type, no less, and with a natural gift for the ritual arts. And then there’s her Hallmark... A truly terrifying ability.

His thoughts then shifted to the blond-haired and blue-eyed youth, someone who he had never thought he would ever come across in his life.

An Occultist who awakened the old way!

Abel Bishop’s Hallmark is even more terrifying. Hmm, I do not think I have ever seen or read about anyone who had awakened the same ability or something identical.

In occultism, mirrors are deeply symbolic and are associated with the unseen. They are believed to be the gateways to the beyond.

Only time will tell just how far he will ascend.

John slowly opened his eyes, his pupils flashing with a mysterious light.

Lastly, there is Henry Mercer. Although his Hallmark is classified as an Elemental-type, but something tells me there is more than meets the eye.

He cast one final glance into the depths of the unknown sea, his eyes gleaming with a cold glint.

A gust of wind rose and wrapped around him before he vanished once again, leaving behind his parting words that lingered in the breeze.

"I shall be waiting for you..."