The Shadow's Acid

XII.

Well, this is nice. I'm being sarcastic

TW: blood, injuries, dead bodies, burns

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The group approached the admin warily, watching his every movement. Every one of them was tense, fight or flight mode activated. Scar looked perfectly fine with doing neither. However, tales never work out the way one designs them to. The tension grew as the two parties faced off, thin, cracking ice barely holding together.

Xisuma broke it with a sigh. "Grian, why? Why is this happening?"

"I don't understand," the red sweatered hermit replied.

"Mumbo gives me your papers -- which I can't read, by the way -- and promptly runs off. When I go to find him, he's standing over the body of one of my friends. Explain all this."

"Xisuma, it wasn't Mumbo." Grian froze, turning to his friend.

"I swear it wasn't me, Grian," Mumbo insisted. "I found her there. I didn't touch anything, I swear."

"There's one way to know for sure," Grian huffed, running a hand through his hair. "We're looking at blood splatters."

"What's that going to tell you?" Scar asked as the group traversed the hall.

"I'm not sure yet," the detective replied. His forehead wrinkled in a frown. "I hope it will give up the information we need, though."

They arrived at the scene. The blood formed a puddle on the white floor, staining the clothes of the girl lying in the center. Her neck had been cut open, allowing her lifeblood to drain into the ground. A metal scalpel lay in her grip, its sinister blade coated with drying blood.

Grian stood back, preventing anyone from approaching. "Her carotid artery was cut. Since it's the main blood vessel to the brain, it would leave a gigantic splash, like we see here." He gestured to the ground. "If someone were standing here or nearby, the marks would be obstructed and there would be a space."

Bdubs knocked over a roll of bandages while retrieving casting material from across the room. He jumped back across the beds, avoiding the crimson liquid on the floor, and sat down with Scar to set his leg. The group watched in silence as he cared for his friend.

"What?" Bdubs asked, finally noticing the crowd watching him.

"Nothing," Xisuma replied. "Grian, what if the knife was thrown?"

The detective sighed. "It would either embed itself where it landed or fall near the wound."

"What if someone moved it?"

Grian glared at the admin suspiciously. "There are no footprints or disruptions in the evidence. She died and lies as she fell. It is infeasible in the amount of time shown here by the barely dried blood that someone had the time to rig up an apparatus to move the scalpel without disturbing their marks."

The admin seemed to wilt in front of them, seating himself on the edge of the bed and burying his head in his hands. He shook, overwhelmed by the events. Grian placed a hand on his back, rubbing comforting circles as he collapsed from the burden and exhaustion.

Footsteps pounded in the hallways, echoing on the stone walls. Hypno burst into the room, panting and out of breath. Dirt was smeared across his face, lantern oil and grease smeared up and down the front of his tunic.

"Labyrinth. Follow string. Barely made it out. Hurry," he breathed before nearly passing out on top of Mumbo. The mustached man helped him to a seat, avoiding the blood. Hypno laid down, chest heaving for air as Impulse grabs water.