Moments after regaining consciousness, Gopher screamed. Loudly. For as long as he could in one breath.
"TAPE! GIMME THE TAPE, NOW!" Victoria made an effort to be heard in the living room over Gopher, prompting Dart, Alice, and Julian to scramble about looking, until Julian nearly tripped over it, tossing the roll over to Victoria.
She overestimated how much she needed by a gratuitous amount, wrapping it around his mouth, then his nape, then back around to his mouth again. Peace and quiet, relative peace and quiet, anyway. Even with the legs of the chair bound to the floor by thick rope, he was still insistent on rocking it with every ounce of his strength. A collective breath poured out everyone's lungs once they saw that his best efforts managed to sway the chair, only for it to fall back into place less than a second later.
"He'll have to run out of strength eventually." Victoria matted a hand over her hair and turned her back to the sight. "When he does, we'll have a nice, long conversation." She followed that up with a glare, affixing Gopher with a nasty look. "Maybe you'd like to make it easier for all of us and yap sooner?"
A muffled noise unlike a scream came from Gopher's taped mouth, nodding fervently. Julian, standing closest to him, pretended not to hear it with his arms crossed. The noise continued, no one eager to respond to it.
"Screw it." Out of pity, Dart moved to peel the tape off Gopher's mouth, half-expecting to have his ears blasted by a scream. His wince proved to be an unnecessary precaution as Gopher stared up at them all with a look of abject horror.
He paused, mouth dry before quietly speaking. "What's wrong with you? You would defy Lord Noah, a veritable God, and for what?!" The more he talked, the faster he went, turning pink in the face with anger. "Do you hate prosperity?! Do you incompetent humans not realize this is the best thing that could happen to you?!"
"Uh..." A slow blink sobered Dart just the slightest, holding himself back from telling Gopher right then and there that Noah was the most cowardly blowhard he'd ever had the displeasure of meeting in the flesh. He scanned the other faces in the room for any idea of what to say; Victoria shrugged, Alice impatiently gestured for him to respond, and Julian looked downright pissed, head cocked up contemptuously at Gopher. "Well, uh..." He clasped his hands together, trying to cook together some sense of tact in what he was about to blurt out.
"We're fightin' Noah 'cause he took our friend." Dart said. "We don't wanna kill him, if we don't have to." He explained the best he could, knowing anyone else's input was sure to be harsher.
At that, Gopher lurched from his chair, mere inches away from his face. "You're insane!" The sheer hatred in Gopher's expression made Dart recoil, perhaps regretting having taken the tape off. "L-Let the girl rot! You blaspheming, rat-bastard—"
"Dart, Alice, Julian, go home." Authoritative and booming, Victoria stopped Gopher mid-sentence. "It's clear that none of us are in any state to talk. You, whatever the hell Noah named you, you're entitled to three meals of day, but until further notice, you're staying snug in that chair."
Gopher's nose scrunched up, immediately distrustful. "'Meals'?" He said, with the same inflection one would give faced with an alien probe. The extent of his naivety was baffling to Dart; if 'born yesterday' was meant to be applied literally and figuratively, then Gopher would most certainly be the poster child.
"Let's get moving, Dart. A whole new tomorrow's ahead of us." Alice wasn't too keen on staying long, headed to the front door without so much as looking at him. Hunched over in a sulk, Julian followed, his usually loud anger gone dead silent tonight.
Dart hesitated before leaving, his stare lingering against Gopher's: those purple eyes of the void. So full of abhorrence and loathing, that he feared gazing a second longer might've turned his soul to rot.
The next day came, but Dart's mind remained firmly tied to the events of yesterday, thoughtlessly tapping his eraser on the desk while Mr. Mifune went on calmly about...something, that he'd long since tuned out to. His mind always circled back to thought of how they could beat Noah, and if not that, where Cassiel could possibly be stowed away. I can't kill him, even if I wanted to. Gotta figure where Cassiel is too, and just think of all the attention. Alice wouldn't even give that plan a wink. Like a rock dropped in a pond, Dart's head sunk to the desk. He could mull for hours like this and still end up at square one, square negative one if he overthought it.
"We won't be holding a sparring session today." Those were the words that roused Dart from his muddled consciousness. Sparring was something to look forward to, and although minor in his day, its sudden cancellation brought him pause. "There's an assembly about what was in the news. You all heard, I know."
Dart's eyebrows rose; he was informed of neither. He glanced to his left, tapping Nicolette's wrist with his eraser. "You got any idea what he's talkin' about?" He asked in hushed tone. The reaction he got wasn't what he expected, stealing a look at her face: her mouth hung crookedly open in disgust, eyes narrowed sharply at him.
"Are you fucking with me right now?" She returned, though gradually settling into confusion once she seemed to pick up that he was being genuine about that question. "I'm guessing you like, live under a rock, so that's why I'm gonna forgive that. All you need to know is that there was a terrorist attack the other day. Big. Bad. "
"What?" Nicolette had a point about living under a rock—he was so wrapped up in Cassiel's crisis that he'd neglected everything else. "The hell happened?"
"A dragon." She punctuated each syllable. Dart's mouth opened, dry. "Yeah. Yeah, it was bad. Sicced it on a city! An entire fucking city. My little sister and I were one of the ones who got sent to respond to it. And ya know the worst part about it? We don't even know where it is now 'cause it's fucking gone—"
"Nicolette." The baritone of Mifune's voice cut the conversation short, both heads turning to the front of the class. He had a force of will that was so strong even the unruly like Nicolette felt compelled to respect. "That conversation can wait. Pay attention, if only for now."
What a cliffhanger. Dart grabbed a fistful of hair and bared his teeth, watching the second hand inch its way around the clock.
/
When class did end, he made an effort to flag down Nicolette in the hallway, fast; he knew she wasn't the kind of person who liked to waste time on frivolous conversation.
They stopped by the lockers, still carrying their things from last class period. "Hey, you got a second to spare? There's still...questions, that I gotta ask."
Nicolette's fingers rhythmically rapped on the leather purse at her side. "Yeah?"
"Great." Relieved, Dart sighed. "You said the dragon was 'gone', earlier. Gone like how? Flew off?"
"'Gone' as in gone." A finger snap served to emphasize her point, further bringing to Dart's mind some kind of disappearing act.
If there were beads of sweat forming at Dart's head, he didn't dare show it, focusing instead at the slits in the locker beside him. Realization was sinking in. "That's...somethin'." He looked back to her, a silent breath taken in. "Thank you, Nicolette. I really oughta stay more on top of this stuff."
Nicolette's eyes narrowed again at him, trying to discern something Dart wouldn't spill. "Sure," she said. "Are you okay? You sound..."
"Me?" A hawkish laugh came from Dart's throat, as he turned around and began to walk off with a backhand wave. "I'm just fine. Stupid is as stupid does."
"Whatever." She reached for her phone and activated it from sleep mode, stalling entering her password to stare at Dart a second longer. "You're acting weird."
Scrub, scrub, scrub, Victoria went, plodding the broom against the tiled hallway floor until she could see her own, disgruntled reflection in the shine. She was eighteen, but every continued day working the janitor shift seemed to add another ten years, becoming more and more resentful of those damn kids running about the place and tracking mud everywhere.
Looking into the mirror created by the floor's sparkling sheen, Victoria could see no pride in the face that stared back at herself. A shadow of what it once was. That pathetic, peering shadow, was that the face that Azalea saw when she killed him?
A great and judging hand seized Victoria's heart and shook it, reminding her of the sins that still circulated and festered within her. When she turned over her palms, she saw it: in trails of thick red, Azalea's blood was freshly seeping down. The memory wasn't just vividly replaying; no, she was experiencing it all over, powerless to stop herself from pummeling the life out of him. She couldn't command her fists to stop, even as she heard her strikes breaking bones and tendons—no, she lacked the strength to even part her lips in protest. Stop. Stop! STOP!
"Victoria?" And then, she was transported back into her present shoes, adapting to having control over her body again. The broom handle once in her hands had fallen onto the sparkling floor, and she wondered just how long she'd been out for. A glance to her left, and she was met with an understandably concerned Justin Law leaned over to meet her at eye level. He was in his usual ministry getup, probably just finished delivering a sermon. It was amazing to her that the heat hadn't stifled his desire to wear
"H-Hey." She took a breath, straightening out her hunched posture. "Dropped something." She gestured vaguely to the floor. Christ, how embarrassing. The only thing that could've been worse is if one of her students walked in on her in that state.
"...Well, yes." Justin said, acknowledging the obvious that Victoria had pointed out. "Judging by the way you were looking at that floor, I wondered if you'd discovered the secret of life, the universe, and everything with the intensity of that expression."
Victoria cocked her chin up curiously—so it was that noticeable? "You've got an active imagination. You ever thought about ditching the Death Scythe life and becoming a novelist?"
He laughed a good Christian laugh, not too loud or gawking to be considered obnoxious by anyone passing. "No, no, but I have considered going full-time missionary on occasion. Though I wonder if the scene would jive with trained killers. Do you think so?" He dismissed the question before she could provide any input. "Sorry, sorry. I'm getting off point. Do you have time to chat?"
"Well, my shift—"
"Don't even worry about it! I'll just tell staff I strung you along if it comes to that. This is rather important," he glanced over his shoulder, as if checking for any eavesdroppers. "For reasons I can't quite state out loud."
At that, Victoria's interest was firmly piqued, no questions asked. "Name a place."
/
Death City's south side comprised the city's most posh district, its inhabitants either longtime families of benefactors, and a few academy alumni—Victoria and Justin both fell into the latter category, but thanks to the former's sudden taking over of Stein's role, she was bound to maintaining the Patchwork Lab. Justin, however, had no such ties, and jumped at the opportunity a month ago. Admittedly, she was rather jealous.
The apartment lobby was more akin to a hotel's than anything; an overpowering whiff of vanilla incense invaded Victoria's nostrils, big, cold tiles clacking with each booted step she took. High above, the ceiling was plated with glossy glass, shaped outward in a pyramidal shape. The 'floors' of the place were non-existent; standing in the center of the room, one could observe the doors to every room the apartment offered, at three varying heights. "Nice place." She commented. Justin stayed silent, leading Victoria to one of the elevators and dinging the third level.
As soon as they were behind closed doors, he sunk into the couch, hitting Victoria with a look that betrayed her image of him as the jolly priest. "It's about Noah. Something...curious, that I've noticed."
Victoria's eyes widened. "What—what about him?" Shock, and a well-hidden relief filled her more than anything; he'd found something out about Noah with tying anything to Cassiel's disappearance, if he was even aware of it. Now if only everyone else started to realize something suspicious
"Please, sit. This could be long." Justin breathed in, hands clasped together at the lips. He was glancing elsewhere, as though having second thoughts about this conversation already. "It's important that you know this is all my speculation. I would never point fingers at an innocent man 'til the day I've gone mad."
"Kill it with the formalities. No one's bugged the room." At least, she assumed. Even if they were being somehow monitored, she considered the possibility of having blackmail against Noah more worth it than anything. She leaned forward in the fancy chair of hers, listening avidly.
Justin sighed, first making sure to close the blinds. "He isn't human."
"If you really pressed him, I...I think B.J. would vouch for it too. I took pictures of what I saw." With a moment's pause, he reached for his phone and showed off a somewhat blurry picture to her; there, Noah looked to be in the process of sawing off his own arm without a hint of pain in his features. She cringed at first, but a closer look indicated that the skin he was cutting into was not skin at all, but wood.
"He isn't human," Justin repeated. "An artificial creation, thrust into adulthood just like Lord Death did with Asura."
"Wait, wait, wait." The revelation needed to settle in Victoria's brain before he could be allowed to go on. "Just like Lord Death? You're saying Eibon chopped out something from himself and put it into Noah, is that it?"
"Yes. Not fear, but pride, and that's something that he himself admitted himself." He went on. "There's more, and this is where it crosses into accusation territory. Are you ready?"
Victoria nodded once, compulsively balling her fists in anticipation. It made sense. Of course a physical embodiment of pride would accept an enemy surrender, and it did more than explain his undying egomania.
"Did you know," daylight from the shutters gleaned into his eyes, the brightness only serving to highlight his piercing blues. "That Noah was the only witness to his father's murder, and consequently, that Toxicity leader's? His story went that the old man managed to kill Eibon, and Noah killed him in retaliation. But that's wrong." He smiled apologetically. "It's a little morbid, Victoria, but I need you to look at these pictures." Rather than just show her, he handed off the phone face-down.
"Christ," nothing could sum up her reaction better than disgust, but she couldn't look away either. "They let you do this?"
"It's a perk of status." He said, casually. "But look at the wounds. According to Noah, the old man used a knife to kill Eibon. Noah was armed with a lance. Just...keep that in mind, if you peek closer."
Victoria zoomed in, further, further, and though the reduction in quality made it hard to tell, there was quiet clearly a hole in Eibon's throat, rather than any sort of smaller stabbings or a slit throat. She compared it to the picture of the old man, swiping left—a gaping hole through the chest.
Victoria tossed the phone back to Justin, and the two dodged each other's stares for a moment, utterly wordless.
If Justin wasn't going to say it, she would. "You're implying that Noah killed both of them, using the same weapon?" In this case, silence indicated a 'yes'. "Alright. What's his motive then? He can't've just gone off the deep end."
"I have an idea." No longer able to sit still, Justin paced in circles around the rectangular coffee table, talking as he walked. "There was an attack, yesterday, I don't know if you heard—"
"The dragon in Austin, yeah."
"The dragon in Austin." Justin stopped, if only for a moment. "Have you ever heard of something like that, Victoria? In the reality that we know? Shit, mythical creatures with that kind of strength?! I suspect that's only something you'd only find in the Book—"
"Why are you telling me all this?" Victoria came to a stand, glaring at Justin suspiciously. How much did he really know? Just natural intuition, or was he in on it? She couldn't trust what she was being told, not after she'd learned everything about Noah so recently.
"Oh!" He raised his hands up, ditching any semblance of mystery or menace. "This is all conjecture, of course. Just something I thought you'd find interesting. You did lead the Fleurahan mission, didn't you?"
Stare lingering, evaluating his intent, Victoria relented with a sigh. "...Yeah. Yeah, I figured as much, Law. I'll keep what you told me in mind, just don't pull anything daring yet." She gave that advice not for Justin's own capable sake, but for Cassiel's; if Noah had even the slightest belief that more people were finding out, or worse, that one of them had spread the word, then the Esper's fate would be sealed. "See ya around." She took her leave, not minding her own abruptness.
"...'And that's everything we know. Signed, Victoria.'" Alice read the handwritten letter aloud during the lazy afternoon, just loud enough for Dart to hear. They were within the confines of their apartment, safe, but Victoria had still seen fit to deliver the letter herself, and told them to read it either silently or with the TV running in the back.
Calls can be recorded. Conversations can be overheard. Mail can be intercepted. I'm not saying the walls have eyes, but...
That was Victoria K. Brant's word verbatim, having descended to conspiracy theorist levels of paranoia in their ongoing war with Noah.
"Anythin' else?" Dart laid his head on top of the couch, not sure what he could do with the knowledge Victoria supplied; if anything, it only made him fear what would happen to everyone else in the event of their failure.
"No. Nothing." She glanced his way, eyebrows sharpening. "Don't look so down. This is valuable intel."
"You don't look too ecstatic about it." Dart pointed out. Alice didn't have a rebuttal to that, averting her gaze quickly.
Sinking back into the couch, he paid less attention to The Price Is Right than he did his phone, thumbing through his contacts in alphabetical order. Admittedly, this was the largest circle of friends he'd had in a lifetime, if one counted the fact that everyone on the Fleurahan mission had exchanged numbers for safety.
Alice.
Cole.
Georgina.
Joaquin.
Julian.
Nicolette.
He sat up a little, hunched over the screen like his life depended on it—on Nicolette's name. Hitting the confirm button with her name highlighted brought up two prompts: call or text. It was there that he froze, unable to put the phone down, but unable to do anything with it either, locked in a constant state of second-guessing himself.
"Oh my god, Dart." Alice passed by the couch, getting a good jolt out of him. "Just do it. In all likelihood, it won't be long before we're fighting him again. Best to make the most of what little we have left."
He hesitated to stand, thinking on that for a moment before giving her a definitive reply. "You're a good friend, Alice."
She 'hm'ed flatly, and Dart excused himself onto the balcony. It seemed the sun laughed at him, his own embarrassment, as he brought the phone up to his ear.
It surprised him how quickly twenty-four hours passed, gazing straight up at the deep blue sky as he sat on the cement border of the fountain.
"Yo, Dart. Dart!" Nicolette called, snapping him out of the trance he'd sunk into. "Which one of these is cuter?" She stood at a sunglasses vendor, dangling two pairs in both hands; one with a dark, sleek design and a red frame, the other bearing round frames with a rainbow tint. He was briefly caught off-guard by the sight of Nicolette's unguarded visage, but didn't show it in his expression.
"The rainbow-lookin' one. It's got character."
Nicolette scoffed at the idea. "Character isn't cute." But regardless of whether she took Dart's opinion into account, she still slammed a fifty-dollar bill down for them at the outdoor register.
"It's not a bad look on you." Dart commented, going with the flow of Nicolette's path. It was a calming experience, in a way; not having a plan, soaking up sun as they navigated the cheery labyrinth of the Death City mall.
"Yeah?"
"For sure." Dart was surprised that Nicolette even needed input. "You're a trendsetter, Nicolette. Like...cover of Vogue, stuff. That's a fashion magazine, innit?"
They hopped on an escalator, Nicolette keeping her gaze forward. "Yeah, one of them. There's Elle, Glamour, Cosmopolitan...and a fuckton more. If fashion does end up being my 'calling', I'm not gonna be a covergirl."
"Why's that?" He cocked an eyebrow.
Without turning around, she passed Dart a handful of groceries. "...Carry these, I'm gonna go off for a second."
"Go right ahead." He accepted the burden without a fuss. Nicolette's propensity for fierceness was something he admired—a quality he wished he could see in himself, sometimes.
"You can only be a pretty face for so long, before some up-and-coming bitch snatches it from you." She explained matter-of-factly, her faux red nails showing as she gestured with her palm. "I wanna feel permanent, like a column writer, maybe. Someone who all the new bloods look at with respect, not a mark to surpass."
"Huh! Never figured you the journalist type."
Nicolette shook her head, as though embarrassed to have spilled so much. "Y'know, like, appearances are deceiving."
They went on about meaningless things—hypothesizing aloud about where Dart would end up after graduation, talk of Nika, shared tips on how to look engaged in class while mentally being twenty miles away—until Dart spotted an indoor batting cage, set up like a carnival attraction in the open. He halted, leaning over the fence that divided him from it.
It was a rectangular enclosure of metal frame and net, and inside there was what looked to be a black bat wired up to some machine, and on the other far end of the cage, a cannon-looking contraption loaded up with baseballs, made of a thick metal. Any other day, it would have elicited some dull curiosity, but what really excited him was the entrance in front of it. Tickets were a necessity for giving it a whirl, but behind the register, there were shelves of prizes. Lined up were cute plushies ranging from palm-sized to half Dart's own height, and that was an opportunity he simply refused to pass up.
"Nicolette," Dart said, making a hasty grab for his wallet. "Wait here. I'm gonna win you somethin'."
"What, really?" Only the slightest hint of surprise slipped in her voice, standing aside as Dart eagerly slammed his money on the counter, spooking the plump man behind the register.
"How do I play?" He asked, a rarely-seen competitive edge in his eyes, peeking around the man to focus on the door leading inside the batting cage.
The man explained the rules as Dart strapped up in some provided protective gear; for one game, the batter is given three attempts to make contact with the ball, with a goal of striking with the highest force possible. Apparently, whoever assembled this sideshow had it down to a science—the mechanical-looking bat could calculate the exact amount of force exerted on it, measured in Newtons. Hit above 3,000, and you were qualified for a jumbo prize. "Sounds easy enough." Dart said, stepping up to plate and assuming proper stance. He wasn't a baseball pro by any stretch, but maybe every spring or two, he took the time to sign up for a game at the local diamond.
"Dart!" Nicolette hollered from the sidelines. "Get me one of the big ones! I don't give a shit about anything else!"
Smiling a little too cocky for his own good, he looked at her and nodded. In that brief window of time, a ball clocked in at 91 miles per hour blew past his head. Nicolette cringed.
"Strike one!" An automated voice declared from the bat itself, almost mocking. Teeth grinding together, he steeled his gaze at the ball cannon and buckled his knees. Of all the times to look dumb among his peers, this was the one time he couldn't afford it.
The second ball shot out. Dart blinked, and swung with the same vigor he might put into a slash. Sweet, satisfying contact.
Once the adrenaline wore off, he couldn't see where the ball went. The bat, however, was split straight in half, sparks dancing from its mechanical wreckage. "Nice." Dart mouthed, perhaps unaware of his own strength, while Nicolette was busy laughing her ass off behind him.
The man at the register flung open the door to see what had caused the commotion, looking at the broken bat and then Dart.
"So," Dart smiled. "What prize can I get with that?"
In his whole lifetime, Dart had never seen someone's veins bulge so visibly. "GET OUT! GET THE HELL OUT! SECURITY!"
"Aw, hell." Realizing his error all too late, Dart made a beeline past him and ran, settling for a little stuffed cat as his 'consolation prize' for Nicolette. The two of them made an escape less than daring, mall cops riding segways hot on their trails.
/
After what felt like running a marathon, they managed to find refuge far, far from the mall, letting their aching bodies rest on the bench of an empty basketball court.
"Hey." Nothing short of exhausted, Dart panted. "...I got it. Sorry it's small." From his jacket pocket, he withdrew the cat doll and held it out for Nicolette, dangling its arm between two fingers. She held out her hands to catch it as he let it drop, her reaction hard to gauge while they were both still catching their breath.
"Not terrible. It's got...character. I dunno how else to describe it. Whatever, I'll hold onto it." She handled the plush cat with a delicate touch, meticulously laying it into her purse before zipping it up.
Dart laughed, more born of much-anticipated relief than anything. "I'm glad it's good for somethin'."
Conversation lapsed, not quite awkward, Dart finding his eyes wandering back to the purple-ringed sky again in thought. "Forgot to ask, Nicolette." He scratched his cheek, making delayed eye contact with her. "How have you been holding up since that terrorist attack? Seein' as how you were...there, and all."
"Fine." Her response came out way too quick to sound natural, lips pursing as if to hold something back. "...Well. Y'know."
"Y'know?" Dart's head arched forward a little, hoping not to come off as prying when he inquired.
For once, Nicolette's sunglasses couldn't hope to hide anything at all—her deepened scowl and curled knuckles spoke volumes. "What if this isn't just an isolated thing?" Words eluded her for a moment, a more profound anger palpable in the air around her before she offered the weariest of looks to Dart. "We didn't manage to kill that monster. And I've got this stupid fear that they're gonna hit close to home next, and if it's not the next attack, then it'll be the attack afterwards. Do—do you understand what I'm saying?"
"No, no, not paranoid at all." He knew Nicolette was proud, and felt wrong regarding her with eyes of pity even in times of vulnerability. The sunset could suffice if he needed to look at another beauty. Above all else, he wanted to spill his guts about everything. Tell her about Cassiel. About Noah, and about Gopher. Wondering how short his life was going to be, but glad to be spending the uncertain amount of time he had left with her.
The thoughts remained bottled in his chest, shoved further down with each respiration. "If you ever need a hand with any of that, we're there. It'd be my pleasure." He said, before quickly adding, "our pleasure."
Nicolette rose to leave, stopping first to address him. "That's a cute sentiment, I guess." Laughing haughtily, she gave him a backhand wave. "Thanks, though."
Ultimately, he didn't know what emotion Nicolette evoked in him—perhaps an awkward mix of things, but whatever the sensation was, his cheeks burned. "See ya around." Though he hadn't picked his words meticulously, he hoped that it wouldn't prove to be a lie in the near future.