Ignace pulled himself to his feet and shook his head. He blinked repeatedly in an effort to clear his vision and saw Ricard and d'Artagnan laying on the - ground? He looked down to his feet and felt himself almost fall over. Below him, around him, stretching out in seemingly every direction was darkness. "What the fuck is going on here?" he muttered. He took a step forward and, upon feeling solid "earth" beneath him, relaxed. Whatever it was that was below him, it was solid. But how could he see d'Artagnan and Ricard? There wasn't a light for seemingly miles. He looked about and noticed a figure lying upon the ground in the distance. Charles.

He raced over to his bisharp and shook him. "Charles, wake up. Whole world's gone fucking dark." He shook his pokemon more forcefully and added, "Get up, we're nowhere. Somewhere. I don't know."

The bisharp groaned and his eyes blinked open. Ignace came into focus before him. With a groan, Charles got to his feet and shook his head forcefully, trying to clear it. He swayed on the spot and finally rubbed his eyes. Blink. Blink. There wasn't an up, a down, near or far here. Ignace saw terror cross his bisharp's face for the first time as the pokemon looked to his master in alarm.

"It's fine. At least I think it is. The ground - er, this black shit, whatever this is, the infinite fucking abyss if you want to call it that, is okay to walk on and stand on." He strode back over to Ricard and d'Artagnan and roused them. "At least I think it is. Maybe our resident psychic can help shed some light on this situation," he added. "Get up you two! And try not to fall back on your asses when you look at the ground. It's not there. I think."

d'Artagnan rose to his feet first and began to flap his wings to stay aloft. "It would seem placing that cloth over my right eye was the, ah, "right" idea." Here, the voice seemed to echo from even further away, though now it surrounded Ignace, as opposed to simply booming out from behind the xatu as he was accustomed. "So." A pause.

Ignace signed to Ricard, asking him if he was alright. At his friend's nod, he looked to d'Artagnan and said, "So what? Spit it out d'Artagnan."

The xatu grounded himself and resumed his usual erect stance. "So, here we find ourselves in the realm of spirits. My visions did not quite paint a picture this hopelessly black." Slowly, the bird rotated about with an amusing waddle and eventually came to face the detective again. "We must look immediately for some kind of landmark. We - wait! Listen!"

Ignace raised an eyebrow. "I don't hear a -" he began.

"Whispers on the wind! The spirits have found us, Mortician. We must not dawdle," interrupted d'Artagnan. He flapped his wings and took off in what appeared to be a completely random direction.

Yet somehow, he stood out, his form steadfastly refusing to be swallowed by the pervasive blackness. Ignace looked back to Charles and Ricard and beckoned them to follow - and they too stood out in sharp relief against the abyss that stretched out behind them. He too, then, stood out to them - or so he figured. Nothing here made sense. "Why can I see everyone without any light, d'Artagnan?" he called out, jogging up to the bird. "And what do you mean this is the realm of spirits?""

"Did you not hear them? Ghosts are watching, Mortician. We do not belong here, and as such, we would do well to accomplish what we were sent here to do."

Ignace turned to look at Charles and then Ricard with a confused look on his face before replying, "And that is?" Personally, Ignace would have liked to know more than just that, but the urgency in d'Artagnan's voice made it very clear that now was not the time to ask questions.

The xatu came to an abrupt halt and touched down. "I, d'Artagnan the xatu do not know, but the Conduit does." His eyes flashed and a pulsing wave of energy crawled along the ground, out into the dark, eventually shifting and climbing vertically into the air and then disappearing behind-

"A wall." Stone phased into existence, intricately carved and in the form of an immense wall that seemed to extend infinitely out. Two braziers formed from the abyss, rising up before coming alight with a peculiar blue flame. The light that shone from them illuminated a large iron gate wrought in a strange shape. Ignace let out a low whistle. "The spirit world has a thing for architecture, doesn't it d'Artagnan?" His comment was ignored, and d'Artagnan instead continued to study the gate.

He scowled at the xatu's apparent deafness and studied the gate himself. "That - that looks awfully familiar," Ignace added, as he peered through the gaps in the gate and saw a building that resembled Prism Tower. Though not nearly as tall, and considerably squatter, the resemblance was close enough to concern him. "d'Artagnan?"

After a long pause during which Ignace exchanged some sideways glances with Charles (Ricard had elected to busy himself with wandering off towards the wall and inspecting the carvings) d'Artagnan spoke. "A King's sigil."

Ignace noticed a shiver run down along his bisharp's body. "Charles? You alright?" He knelt down and shook him by the shoulder. "Charles?"

The xatu cut across Ignace. "He's heard of the legends. The glyph on this gate, the whispers on the wind, and this foreboding presence all confirm them." He looked directly at the detective and repeated: "A King's sigil adorns this gate."

Ignace turned to Ricard in confusion. "Do you have any idea what he's talking about?" he signed.

The mute rubbed his chin and stared at the gate for a minute before finally responding. "Vaguely. More research is in order, I think. But I can hazard a guess." Ignace looked on expectantly. "Kings of the old Kalosian states had sigils associated with them. For official documents and what have you. They also had a habit of adorning their architecture with the sigil to signify their ownership of it. You see the sigils here and there in some of the older parts of Lumiose. A crest, a coat of arms, a sigil - all the same, just a symbol declaring to all who see it that whatever it is that's been stamped with it belongs to a man. A powerful one. I imagine that sigil upon the gate is one of a king."

"Correct. But it is unusual. Sigils often follow patterns - they boast of wealth, estate and lineage." The xatu clicked its beak. "Here, we see no such signs. Telling."

It was all over his head. Ignace rubbed his temples in aggravation. "So, what? The sigil is basically useless or?" He groaned. "None of this shit makes sense to me. Do spirits have kings?"

To his surprise, he felt something tug at his sleeve. Ignace looked down at Charles, who looked back at him and nodded. Ignace frowned. The bisharp looked very, very worried. His eyes were darting about and his posture had become meek and defensive.

d'Artagnan flapped over to the three. "Charles is rightly terrified. This is neither his domain nor is his type welcome here. Advantaged though he is in the world of the living, here we are at the mercy of the damned and long forgotten." The xatu, for the first time since Ignace had met him, let out a shrill squawk. Far from one born of fear, it was goading. Inflammatory. Mean. "And though I am not a welcome guest, we have no time to show the spirits that this intrusion was not the last. The power in this cloth wanes, Mortician, and at just the right time. Our time spent trespassing here has been as wise as knocking down a combee hive."

Ignace felt his head swimming. He looked between Charles and d'Artagnan and then at the cloth upon the xatu's chest. It had become almost completely transparent, and the glow it had been emitting had almost completely faded. He looked up at Ricard who stared back. The mute's eyes flickered to the cloth too and a flicker of comprehension rippled across his face. He signed, "Try to land on your feet."

The cloth dissolved into the blackness and the ground beneath them seemed to give way. Ignace tried to keep his eyes open, but as the abyss disappeared, it was consumed by a blinding, pure white, and so too was his vision.

Ricard's advice helped. Ignace felt his feet slam into the ground with significant force, and his knees buckled somewhat. "Fuck." His ankles throbbed as he stood and his eyes burned. "What's with the lightshow we've got going on here? Blinding light, pitch black, blinding light, pitch black. Last thing Ricard needs is to go blind too."

The room came into focus as his vision cleared, revealing the forms of his friends. Despite his warning to Ignace, Ricard laid flat on his back, and Charles had sunk to a knee. d'Artagnan had elected to cheat, and was floating a foot above the ground, looking about as pleased with himself as his beaked visage allowed. "Most excellent." His tone was smug too. "Away from the prying eyes of the spirits, and no doubt, the one responsible for obscuring the tapestry. Ricard, we must return to our research."

Ricard got to his feet and smoothed out his shirt. "Yes, but it would helpful if you could recreate the sigil so I know what I'm looking for. And Ignace too - I'm sure he is just as vested in figuring out what this little foray means as we are." He looked to Ignace and added in sign, "Am I wrong?"

The detective looked at Ricard for a moment and the signed, "I want to know what the fuck just happened I think. What was that? What's this sigil do? What the hell are we looking for and how does any of this help us solve the murders?"

d'Artagnan flapped his wings in annoyance. "Surely you recognize that whoever is responsible for these murders has also created a veritable fortress in the realm of the departed, and is the same individual responsible for the sigil that adorns it?" he prodded.

"Well, yeah, but why? And why does the fortress look like Prism Tower with most of the upper portion chopped off? Is the spirit world just a mirror of our own?" Ignace strode to a chair and sat down, his head in his hands. "And what does any of this have to do with my investigation? If we're dealing with a spirit, a king's spirit, I don't really think we'll find him just waltzing about. They have servants and shit to do that."

Ricard snapped his fingers. "That is precisely what has been occurring. It would explain the brutality of the murders. So far the victims have all but been reduced to ground meat, yes? The last murder left us with a body that'd been savaged but not reduced to pulp, which is unusual."

Ignace looked up at the accountant. "Yeah, and it was probably a sneasel or weavile that did it, which would explain why the body was fucked up but not paste." He tapped his chin. "That much suggests that there could be multiple accomplices or servants or whatever, or that whoever is carrying this shit out has realized that two dead bodies reduced to pâté in two weeks is just a little bit suspicious, especially if a third ends up the exact same way. Not like it matters - three murders in three weeks is unusual for Lumiose, the police are probably on the highest alert they've been since that business with that one girl in that weird suit. Speaking of…"

"Are you seriously suggesting we tap her for help with occult murders?" signed Ricard, his face set in a frown.

With a sigh, Ignace slumped in his chair. "No, just thinking out loud. I don't know what's really going on here. The occult isn't really my thing, you're all pretty blasé about it. Except for Charles." He turned to look at the shaking bisharp and frowned. "He's probably the most torn up about what's going on."

Charles regarded Ignace for a moment before turning to the xatu, a pleading look in his eyes. d'Artagnan's eyes flashed and after a moment, he said, "He has his concerns about that sigil. About the King and about you, Mortician."

"Well, you mind doing some translation here? I'd like to know what's got one of the staunchest hardasses I've ever had the pleasure of training shaking like he's a pawniard again," responded Ignace. He watched his bisharp, brows knit in concern.

The Conduit squawked and looked to the bisharp. At the sight of a single nod, the bisharp launched into an unintelligible conversation with d'Artagnan. It was strange to Ignace, hearing his partner's gruff, harsh tone replaced with a shaky, whispered staccato. After a minute of vocalization, d'Artagnan turned his head towards Ignace along with Charles.

"It seems I was not the only one to hear whispers on the wind, Mortician. The Blade heard them as well. However, while I only perceived foreign whispers, he instead heard commands. Firm, terrifying commands, though rather removed and muffled. He believes they were emanating from that building you believe is Prism Tower." The psychic-type paused and stared at Ignace. His voice dropped. "But still, he could understand them. The King sought to turn the Blade against you. Against all of us."

Ignace's eyes widened. "How? What? Why didn't he? Charles?" he looked at his pokemon, mouth agape. "I- why didn't you?"

Charles looked offended. He crossed his arms and mumbled something in his usual harsh tone.

The unusual, throbbing song of laughter emanated from behind d'Artagnan. "Because he is your friend, Mortician. Partner to you in this ordeal. Your Blade. Do not be so tactless."

He slumped back in his chair and chuckled. "Sorry." He looked at Charles. "Really, sorry. Stupid comment of me to make. I don't doubt your loyalty Charles, I just, uh-" He paused. "I just don't know what to expect out of any of this at this point." He stood and strode over to bisharp and then knelt down. He offered his hand. "You've proved yourself committed to sorting shit out wherever and whenever it hits the fan over and over. Blame me being out of my element for thinking whatever some fucking dickhead in a castle tells you to do is going to sway you. You're better than that. I should be too."

Charles considered Ignace for a moment then took his hand shook it. A faint smirk twitched on the edge of his mouth and he nodded.

"Alright, so now that we've hugged this shit out, we've got some real business to talk. You two are going to do a bunch of research on this shit, I know that much, but if Charles can listen to this so-called king in the spirit world, are we in any danger of him, you know, ever actually listening because of some stupid ghost or occult bullshit beyond his and our control?"

"It is impossible to know at the moment," replied d'Artagnan. "Perhaps if this King can manifest his will over others, then yes. Otherwise, they could simply be messages meant to paralyze, confuse and frighten intruders."

Ricard added on when the xatu finished. "It could be a simple deterrent against spirits there in the realm. Not a bad way to gain recruits. Or perhaps it is a means to prey on whatever hapless pokemon finds its way into the spirit realm. Conjecture, either way. We need to research this. Though I'm not sure how effective my library will be. The occult is a minor fascination of mine, and I have dedicated more to its history than its practice."

Ignace thought back to the sigil. "If this shit involves a king or something, and that sigil is as important and we think it is, history might be what we need. And some shit to help fight occult stuff. Ricard, I think I should pay Dendemille Town a quick visit and get Ana to-"

The mute cut him off with his own signing. His movements were harsh, and his face was set in a grimace. "Absolutely not. Leave the poor woman to her enterprise. "

Ignace scowled. "It's a single fucking train ride away! She's the best bet we've got for making us-"

Ricard stomped his foot to stop his friend's gesticulating. His movements were even more exaggerated now, and his whole body moved as he signed. "No. Unless we absolutely require it, we shall leave her well enough alone. The poor woman is in no state of mind to do anything you are suggesting. The nerve of you, Ignace, how could-"

Now it was the detective's turn to cut him off. "Fine, fine, I get it, I get it. I'll leave Ana out of this," he signed, defeated. He scratched his head in aggravation and then sighed. "We should visit her at some point though. Not for business, just to, you know. Check up on her." His signing was far less animated and a frown adorned his face. He gave Ricard a meaningful look.

Ricard's face fell and his shoulders sagged. His response was now subdued. "She was doing well enough when we saw her last. I doubt she's gotten worse." He sighed, and then reluctant limbs added, "Or better, sad as it makes me to admit it."

"Exactly."

"Another time. For now, we must begin our research."

The xatu flew between the two and turned to face Ignace. "And you must do some hunting, Mortician. Work befitting a man who calls himself detective."

"What do you need me to hunt for? More of those scraps?" he asked.

"Yes, actually. More of those would not go amiss. We may very well need them for another foray or three. More importantly, however, is the sigil." The xatu clicked its beak. "Incredibly important. Mark of the King. Wherever one is, information lies."

"You want me to comb the city for a sigil I can barely remember?" said Ignace, incredulous. "You mind giving me a picture of it or something? And what makes you so sure that random shit out there even has the sigil on it? Wouldn't that be a little obvious?"

"You misunderstand the mindset of a King. The sigil declares to all who witness it what is rightfully his. It is a bold claim, and to challenge it is to invite disaster upon one's own head and house." Ricard continued to sign, "This is what the sigils did in the old Kalosian kingdoms. Now, whoever this king is will be doing the same, likely content that none would recognize what the symbol even means. He can begin his takeover symbolically and completely unopposed. Though after what happened to d'Artagnan's Sight and after our ordeal in the spirit realm, I doubt that this king believes he is unopposed. Or at the very least, unknown. The issue is we don't know if he considers us a threat or a nuisance. For that, we need to know more about this mysterious sovereign. Seeing what he has labeled as his, or had his subjects label, is an effective way to understand his priorities."

"You're both putting an awful lot in nothing at all." Ignace shook his head. "You sure about this?"

"As sure as the the flames of prophecy can make one. Use this." The xatu's eyes flashed and a piece of paper flew from Ricard's desk and into the air - a glowing purple sigil materialized on it and the glow gradually faded to black, leaving a sigil that looked closer to a burn mark. He turned about and waddled towards Ricard's study. "Mind your surroundings. We may very well be targets."

"Used to that," muttered Ignace. He looked to his pokemon. "Charles? You ready to go search out some sigils?" The bisharp nodded. "You wanna make a bet on us finding a sigil on top of a fucking building?" Charles grinned and extended his hand.