“Uh, what?” an officer asked.

Ken sighed and squeezed the area between his eyes with his thumb and index finger in frustration. Many police officials were at the scene of the crime, along with detectives, all scrambling for evidence.

“Iraltiphos,” Ken repeated. “I-r-a-l-t-i-p-h-o-s.” The officer wrote the name down, clearly puzzled.

“Last name?” Ken shrugged. “You don’t know his last name?”

“Why the hell would I know that?”

“You’ve known him for two years, have you not?”

“And?”

“I’m sure we’ll find some record of it inside his home,” the officer concluded, wanting to stop talking to him as soon as possible. “I’ll leave you alone.”

Ken sat cross legged in the grass, looking toward the sea, his mind racing. He was angry and scared. He was angry that he was scared. It wasn’t so much that he wondered who did it, because he knew his master’s arrogance had probably earned him an abundance of enemies. It was the idea that somebody able to beat him at his own game was out on the loose and with Iraltiphos’ lack of fame, not a single person alive will take Ken seriously when he tries to say that the murderer, whoever he is, is extremely dangerous. Would he come after him next?

“Ken, may I have a moment with you?” he heard somebody say, snapping him out of his thoughts. Rot in hell, he thought.

“Sure,” Ken replied without enthusiasm. The man wasn’t in a police uniform. Must be a detective, he thought as the man sat down in the grass in front of him.

“I just have a couple of questions,” the detective began. He was Japanese, had short black hair, a lean build and wore a dark purple button-down shirt.

“Why? What could I possibly tell you that you don’t know? The DNA is at the scene as is the body. Why are you wasting time?”

“That’s the thing, Ken…”

“You have all this technology at your disposal and you still twiddle your thumbs two hours later…”

“The only DNA evidence at the scene is yours and Iral’s.”

Ken’s eyes narrowed and his jaw dropped slightly. “He was murdered. The bruises around his neck…”

“Were by his own hand, as strange as that sounds, but that’s what DNA testing has concluded.”

“What? No. What about the bruises on his knuckles and forearms? He fought somebody. I know a fight when I see one. I trained with him every day. We…”

“Are those injuries generally present when training with you?”

A chill went down Ken’s spine. “What are you saying?”

“I just want to know if your training sessions were this fierce.”

“We weren’t exactly going for each other’s throats.”

“Weren’t exactly?”

“I didn’t kill him, you moron. I couldn’t if I tried.”

“I didn’t say you killed him, Ken.”

“You sure?”

“With your DNA being the only other one at the scene, it’d be silly to not at least consider you a suspect.”

“Hell with this!” Ken shouted, getting up and beginning to walk away. A handful of officers blocked his path.

“I still have to ask you some questions. If you try to leave we’ll have to take you by force.” Ken glared at the officer directly in front of him and remained silent. “Was Iral a poet?”

“No. He hated high magic,” Ken replied quickly. His eyes drifted to the left as he thought. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“We’ve heard poets are being rounded up and killed in large numbers. It started in the U.S, but it seems by the hour other countries are taking part as well. It’s possible his death is related.”

“And who are killing poets? Vigilantes? The governments are. They always have. If he was killed for being a poet, it would have been these tools blocking me wouldn’t it?”

“We don’t kill them, we arrest them,” the detective corrected, carefully.

“And by what hour will that change to killing? I saw two officers just the other day paralyzed a poet. Practically fought me just for asking why,” Ken said with fire in his eyes. At mentioning the day before, he suddenly realized how distant it felt. It felt like a week. Perhaps more. And he couldn’t bring himself to remember the end the day. The more he tried to remember the events after he confronted the officers, the hazier it got until it vanished. “Are you sure it started in the states? Are you sure we weren’t a police state before them?” he continued to taunt him, his anger getting the best of him. He was alone and he knew it. Iraltiphos’ murderer will probably never be found and if he was found, the authorities certainly wouldn’t be the ones responsible. With a hostile on the loose capable of taking down his master, the idea of these officers keeping him away from finding out whom the murderer is made him laugh inside.

“Arrest him,” the detective ordered. He’s no detective, Ken thought with an internal laugh as he heard cuffs being pulled out from behind him. He spun around, instantly taking a fighting stance and letting his spirit energy steadily rise. The officer with the hand cuffs froze, but the others quickly surrounded him, though keeping their distance. “Please come quietly, Ken.”

“No.”