Chapter 3. "Dogma"
Wolves leave for the skies
With their burning cold eyes
And no faith in the miracles
Ever ordered.
Another day, another goal
Across the mountains and walls
And the other pack awaits,
Desperate strangers
(B-2 – Wolves)
The rain was assaulting the windows. A single glowing cigarette was the only source of light in the room. Its ember nearly reached the filter tip and soon would burn Ascol's fingertips.
They kept grilling him for four hours, maybe longer. The interrogators repeated the same questions over and over, as if hoping to hear something new on the third or fourth attempt. Their hopes were in vain, though – Katt could only tell them what he himself knew.
"Let's hear it again," Hissed Rayle. "You have taken Albert Blach into custody-"
"By pure chance, as he was a witness of our operation to take down… damn, what was his name-"
"Please, concentrate. Every small detail is important to us."
"Farco. Ish Farco, the fugitive from Atlas."
"Who had used his chance to sell quite a few of our secrets to outsiders," Koss gave his two cents on the matter. "What a pain in the ass it was…"
"Who carried out the extermination of the subject? Was it you, father Katt?" Asked the balding representative of the Assembly.
"I was in charge of the operation," Ascol sighed. "Whisper was the one to personally rip his head off, if knowing that is so important to you."
"Spare us your silly nicknames," Rayle barked. "We need names."
"Rosaria Leno," Katt answered. "Is she still alive, by the way?
"Yes," Said Julian, grimacing. "Doesn't seem like there's a way to put this mad dog down. By the way, father Katt… after your disappearance she was put in charge of the "Dogma" squad."
"Not the wisest decision if you ask me," Ascol mumbled. "So how long she held out?"
"The "Dogma" squad was disbanded after eighteen months," Julian answered. "What was left of it, I mean. But we'll have time to discuss your erstwhile squad members, for now let's return to the Farco case. Apparently, some complications arose during the operation."
"A stray witness. Kid happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. What's worse – he happened to be a mage," Ascol went quiet for some time, reminiscing. "He saw Whisper butcher Farco. Thought we were going to dispose of him too. Freaked out."
"Continue," rasped Rayle.
"I was trying to settle the things peacefully, but Torch and Whisper scared the hell out of him. When he got pressed into a corner, he tried to raise a Bounded Field of an insane magnitude; one has to be at least an Ancestor to successfully channel that much power. He screwed up, of course."
"And?" Rayle raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
"I've never seen that happen to anyone before… It was like he burned out from inside. At first I thought he just fainted, but after a careful examination we saw that he was completely paralyzed. We made sure he could breathe and speak, so that he could tell us who the hell he was and who we needed to call. He was from the Blach family-"
"Quite a well-known, old European family," Julian interrupted, talking to Rayle. "One stable, tenacious dynasty. Nothing out of the ordinary, though."
"Did you return the boy to his family?"
"I did. His father came for him, the goon. I turned over his idiot child and told him everything. He just thanked me and asked to keep it a secret. Told me this problem should stay inside the family and that he was going to solve it personally, like a true magus."
"He should have killed that whelp," Coldly said Julian. "Yet he spared his life."
"Hollow… is that how you called him?" Asked Rayle.
"Yes," Ascol nodded. "Just a slip of the tongue I made while talking to his father. We took an opportunity to make a few tests, and they showed no circuit response. Null."
"The mage who, as you claim, has zero magical ability is slaughtering our people, squashing them like flies," Angrily barked Julian. "Looks like Albert wasn't the only one to screw up."
"Thank the trinket he got his hands on," Koss chimed in again. "It could easily heal him, among other things-"
"Can you tell me at least, what this thing is?"
"No, father Katt, not yet," Rayle clasped his hands together, covering his mouth. "Right now we are going through the candidates to lead the operation to locate and exterminate Albert Blach. Should you be approved for it, however-"
"Hold on, do you want me to take him on? – Ascol felt like laughing straight into their ugly faces. "Me? The old, bloated wreck with no life left in him?"
"Yes, precisely," Julian said with a nasty grin. "And we have a few reasons for that. First, you know him better than us."
"Bullshit! I was with him for less than a-"
"Silence. Secondly, all our best agents are currently engaged in other operations and we cannot afford to abort tracking the Apostles just to bring down Blach."
"And thirdly?"
"And thirdly, father Katt, this is your only chance to redeem yourself after the failure of the Blizzard operation."
"Can I refuse?"
"Yes. But that's a one-way road to the nearest crematorium and then to hell."
"Sounds sweet. Gotta warm up my old bones."
"Stop fucking around!" Julian snapped. "Yes or no?"
"I have… a few conditions."
"You are not in a position to-"started Julian, but Rayle stopped him with a gesture and calmly replied. "You have our undivided attention, father Katt."
"Firstly, I need all available information about Blach and the thing he stole from the Tomb. Secondly, I need my people."
"We have told you already that the "Dogma" squad was disbanded."
"Then gather those who are still alive. I'm not going to work with people I'm seeing for the first time. Next-"
"Wasn't that all?" Julian's face was already red with anger.
"No, but I'm getting to it. If you are letting me back into the House of Slaughter, asking me to carry out the God's will, rather than spread His word, I will need your protection. As an executor in His service, I am of course, under the protection of the Eighth Sacrament, but since I am currently in this vale of tears, woe, and misery, I could use something more tangible."
"Your right to kill is returned as of this moment, father Katt," Rasped Julian. "You are free to do whatever you deem necessary. Time is of the essence so we'll have to skip the formal ceremonies. You are on board, and so the Church will provide you with protection and cover, whenever needed."
"Fantastic," Ascol let an impudent grin stay on his face a little longer than was necessary. "Now, let's talk budget..."
Of course, they didn't comply with every demand Ascol had, and he was well aware of how cheeky this move of his was. Still, to pass up on an opportunity to mock Julian and get away with it… no, the temptation was too strong.
It was the third day of his confinement to quarters, during which the survivors from the Dogma squad were hurriedly gathered in Vatican under the orders from Julian the Raving. Apart from that, Julian's men gathered or, more specifically, rearranged all available information on Blach the Hollow (a nickname that somehow stuck to him very easily) as well as the artifact he stole from the Wandering Tomb. Ascol couldn't access that info yet. Hell, he couldn't even go outside until all the preparations were finished. Ever-sullen corporal Andrie kept vigilant watch over Ascol's temporary apartments. A different was there for the night shift, though. Ascol was reinstated as an executor, albeit in name only for now. The bureaucratic machine got even more sluggish under Julian's command and needed time to digest the new data so that father Katt's reappointment was approved by all the relevant authorities. For now, he could only pass time by smoking and reading the newspapers. No new murders were reported: either Hollow finished all his business in the Vatican or he chose to lay low and wait. This whole mess could use some thought, but Ascol, unfortunately, had none to spare. Plunging into this deadly whirlpool and keeping a level head after six peaceful years was bloody difficult…
Yet he did his best.
As Ascol put his cigarette out and reached to grab a pack from the table, there came a sound of some racket from behind the door.
"...negative."
"Why not give it a second thought?"
"His Eminence Julian V-"
Next words drowned in groans, and after a moment Ascol heard a body hit the floor.
Fantastic. Apparently, his vacation was going to be cut short…
Ascol jumped from the bed, grabbed the silenced pistol they gave him yesterday and leaned against the wall.
The front door creaked, but held after the first strike. And even the second one. The third, however, was strong enough and with a weak noise it gave in.
Ascol almost became one with the wall.
The intruder wasn't even trying to hide: the steps were loud and clear. He stopped in the corridor, most likely to look around.
He even turned on the light – in the silent apartment the click felt loud like a gunshot.
Just what I need…
A split-second was enough for Ascol to dash into the doorway and in a moment he opened fire on the tall figure in a black hood. His enemy dodged out of the way, showing flawless reflexes, and a second later Ascol saw a short Key, flying in his face.
A Key?
Dodging at the last moment, Ascol felt his muscles rapidly going numb. He put all his strength into turning his neck and saw that his clear shadow was pinned to the wall by a sharp blade.
So they decided he was expendable?
Or was it Julian's personal vendetta?
The heavy boots thumped as the tall guest walked towards Ascol and struck him down with a single powerful blow. Then, he sat on his chest and took the hood off.
"You've gone soft, Owl."
Ascol took a good look at his assailant and thought that the last few days were quite taxing, meeting all his old acquaintances and all that.
"Whisper. Damn, I should have chosen the crematorium."
The door with a broken lock was now securely propped by a bed table. The knight, which used to guard the apartment, was dragged couple floor above to come to his senses.
"So, I've heard you were the boss for a while?" Ascol snapped his lighter.
"A little while, yeah. Nobody understood my tactical genius."
Everyone in the House of Slaughter knew Whisper, whose nickname was a deliberate mockery, courtesy of Ascol. She could be considered a quiet type – albeit only in comparison to the most turbulent inmates of insane asylums. One could also call her a Shrimp. Why not? After all, next to some mythical man-eating ogres she would be small and docile. Unlike said ogres, though, she was a living, breathing human being of flesh and blood. Those, who stood in her way, soon became painfully aware of just how real her existence was. Ascol always kept a realistic outlook and never overestimated his ability. He could kill an average person quickly and easily (or at least he used to be able to do so at the peak of his strength); mages, his most common targets, posed a greater difficulty. Nevertheless, he spent most of his life hunting them, and so vast experience and careful preparation always secured his victory. Vampires, however… he had to admit – this nut was too tough for him to crack. Whisper, on the other hand, specialized in vampires. She looked the part, too.
"How did you know where to look for me?" Ascol stretched on the sofa, puffing smoke.
"Julian told me. He said we'd meet tomorrow – forgot I don't like waiting," Whisper took a bottle of pills from her pocket, poured out a few in her palm and swallowed them.
"Still gobbling that poison?"
"Take it easy, Katt. For me it's like a cup of tea."
"I don't start seeing shit after tea. Anyway, spill the beans."
"About what?"
"How was it here without me? Without others?"
"It was hell. No, double that and maybe then it'll be close."
"And our people – anyone still kicking?"
"Torch and Glassman are. The former's gonna arrive any day now, they dragged him from Switzerland and he's bloody pissed about that. The latter was to become official number eight in the Burial Agency. This shit got in the way of is exams," Whisper let out a husky laugh. "He's not any kinder for that either."
"Is that all?" Ascol asked quietly.
"Yes. Quite a few people got assigned to the squad, but most of them didn't make it – bit the dust someplace or another," Whisper wasn't as cheerful anymore. "Some of them are still MIA, like our Neus, for one," She sighed wearily. "Though Atlas wants us to take their alchemist for the mission, and there's that newbie as well-"
"I don't even want to know where you get all that info."
"You gotta know the right places. People, too," Whisper passed him a crumpled piece of paper. "Here, I snatched it from Vert yesterday."
"Incredible, simply incredible," Mused Katt, looking through the short list. "A rat from the Atlas is bad enough, having a raw recruit on this mission… What is Vert thinking? I'm not going to drag around dead weight."
"Julian says he's not bad at all."
"Except his file states he has no field experience. Dear Lord, am I such an old wreck they have me lead greenhorns on their first hunt?"
"And you have the nerve to complain," Whisper grumbled. "I am forbidden to teach anyone at all after that one time."
"Not exactly surprising. You've "accidentally" snapped one's neck and the other three got maimed for life."
"Well, I did go a little too far, what's wrong with that? Stop nagging already, will you? There are four of us, plus that creep from the Atlas. You know that's not the worst hand we'd got dealt. I'll keep an eye on the newbie, I promise, okay?"
"Pass my sincere condolences to him," Ascol sighed. "Since you've said you know more than I do… have they told you about that thing Hollow nicked?"
"Nope, they are mum. Whenever it's mentioned everyone screws their faces and the Atlas guy almost starts drooling."
"Any ideas?"
"Could be fuckin' anything," Whisper shrugged.
"If what I've heard is true, the power of that trinket made him comparable to a weaker Apostle Ancestor. And we're talking about the kid who nobody thought would be able to use magecraft for the remainder of his life."
"We're in deep shit, Katt, but after the Blizzard every job I've been through was like a walk in the park. And you-"
"Shut up," Ascol stubbed his cigarette out, visibly irritated and turned away, looking at the dirty walls.
"Katt, I didn't want to-" Whisper raised from her seat, her bravado dying out after a single glance at Ascol's face.
"Six years. I thought it would be enough to forget it, never to recall again," Ascol muttered without even turning his head. "You know, I almost did it. And now, every goddamn day they drag me though this. Making me answer their questions over and over again."
"I'm sorry, Katt."
"You've done nothing wrong," He raised abruptly and dragged himself to the kitchen. –"Wanna drink?"
"You have anything to choose from?"
"Yep. Julian ordered to deliver a bar worth of alcohol, anything you could want and then some. From absinthe to champagne."
"You're joking, Katt. Why would Vert ever try to please you?"
"The only one this bastard is pleasing is himself. Out kind friend from the Atlas has implanted in me something that subsists on alcohol."
"Wha-at?"
"You heard me. Said I won't be able to hold a drop of liquor for half a year. And if I try to, I'll be all set for a precision puking contest."
"You're shitting me."
"I'm serious," Ascol returned to the room with a large bottle and a single glass. "I tried it yesterday already – been talking on a big white phone for the rest of the night, thought I'd spew my guts out. So go ahead, I'll just watch."
Whisper wasn't the sort of person who needed an invitation like that repeated twice – she gulped down more than half a bottle in no time. Then, she stretched her huge body in an armchair and put her legs on a stand, looking at her companion: Ascol was sitting on a wobbly wooden chair, smoking and looking out the window.
"What are you thinking about?"
Ascol didn't answer – the question was obviously a rhetorical one. What else could trouble his thoughts aside from the accursed Blizzard operation?
Pupilless eyes, brimming with blues. Shattered glass. Dead, lying in tattered winter clothes – clumps of broken, gray flesh, covered in ice. Cold, crooked fingers, clenching the assault rifle.
Drop. Drop. Drop.
White, almost colorless blood, dripping onto the white floor tiles.
A broken Black Key in his hand.
"Hey, are you listening?"
Tortured face of a child.
"Katt!"
"Yeah, yeah," Ascol shook his head, throwing another stub into the window. "I did the right thing that time, didn't I? Tell me."
"That time… what are you-"
"You know what I mean."
"You did what you had to. Don't let any motherfuckers tell you otherwise."
"Tell that to Vert."
"Vert can stick those charges up his ass. He wasn't there with us. That day, during the attack… why did you drag this freak out of there?"
"He may be a freak. But he's still our boss. Besides, I… denied him the prize." Ascol struggled with the last word."
The prize.
Julian the Raving saw that thing as a trophy. It was a sought-after treasure that Ascol stole right from under his nose.
However, Vert was not so easily thwarted and he achieved his goals regardless. And now nothing could ever stop him.
"Enough about that, Katt. By the way, now that you mention rewards…" Whisper took an old worn lighter. "Remember leaving it with me before the assault? "
"You didn't lose it?" Ascol muttered, surprised. The old engraving, reading "Fuck the Association" was still legible. "Thanks, I really missed it."
"Now give me mine. I'll bury you if you lost it."
"You ain't sturdy enough for that." Ascol threw her his lighter, with a barely-readable engraving "...nto dust shalt thou return". "The circle comes to a close, huh. Remember when we made those for each other?"
"Oh I'd never forget what a dimwit you were back then."
"I used to be one, true, but you were the same and haven't changed at all. And how we first met?"
"Of course," She grinned from ear to ear. "I gave you one hell of a beating."
"Shall I remind you how I got back at you for that?"
"Now that's something you've got no stamina for. And you know, Katt…" Whisper suddenly made a serious face. "When I was walking here, I really wanted to kill you."
"The news get better and better," Rasped Ascol, choking on his smoke. "I don't even know why-"
"You don't know shit!"
The wooden stand cracked miserably when she kicked it into the wall.
"What can you know?"
Ascol dodged at the last second and the bottle with the remaining booze flew near his skull."
"You ran away! Vanished for the six damned years!"
"-Whisper-"
"Shut up!"
He needed a couple of seconds to rise from his chair near the window. Unfortunately, Whisper needed a lot less time to dash through the room and reach him. Being pushed to the wall, looking at her angry, white face and the Black Key that was still half-sheathed in her clothes, he felt an urge to laugh in her face.
Really? So many people out to get him, and the one to do him in was someone he'd wanted to see the most?
"You…you…" Whisper struggled with every word. "You fled and left me to answer for what you've done! For all of it! You knew I wouldn't be able to refuse! But you can't deny you knew how bad of a leader I am! You-"
"I had no choice. I could stay and stand my ground, but nothing would come out of it. Except death. First mine, and then yours, after you'd have been sent to the worst flash points. Or I could choose this exile, taking the heat and giving everyone a semblance of a chance. Do you see, Whisper? This wasn't a choice. No choice at all."
"That's your favorite excuse, Katt," She hissed angrily. "You always think you're so special, right? Think that you suffer more than anybody else? Did I have a choice? Tell me, did I have a choice when they dragged me from that bastard's den? The bastard, who had my family served as a dinner? Maybe I should have just wiped my tears and walk away?"
"No you shouldn't. And yet you could have done that."
He came to his senses after a brief flight through the room and thought it was a pretty damn poor choice of words. Ascol got even more convinced of it when his face met the unlucky wooden stand.
Whisper didn't deem it enough, though.
"Your cronies from the Assembly covered you and you fled, without telling us you were alive!"
She approached. Ascol spit blood and slowly stood up. His body hurt, every part of it.
"People who died under my command – they all died because of you!"
"Whisper-"
She took the armchair and hurled it aside like it was a feather, walking to him ever so slowly.
"All because you were such a damn coward!"
My God, what do they dope her with?
"But you know, it wasn't your worst sin, Katt. I can understand it, I really can. But you… you've discarded me."
The blow was so strong, Ascol regretted standing up too quickly – now he felt like he couldn't do it even if he tried. Still, he knew that Whisper would not hesitate punching a lying opponent.
He also knew that in a direct melee combat that creature, which got crammed-up with Assembly's finest enhancement drugs, could wreck him even at his peak. And now… it wasn't even a fight. She simply beat him to a pulp.
"This is for when we've met for the first time!"
Crack. Searing pain.
"This is for when you fled!"
Black circles float in front of his eyes. He feels being dragged away somewhere.
"This is for all these years I searched for you, digging through the dirt!"
Looks like she's going to smash a TV set with his head.
"And this is for when I've finally found you!"
Without wasting precious time, trying to wriggle from her grasp, he spat out a couple of words along with blood. Insane, monstrous pain flashed in his arms, only to consume his entire body the very next moment.
God, I hate this.
It felt like breathing suddenly was easier. Whisper's grip too, seemed like at least one third weaker…
"And you still-"
Just don't falter.
The short incantation was complete.
And their roles were reversed.
"Ag-gain-"
"You never learn," Wheezed Ascol, finally breaking out. "Even though I've been telling you to stop living in the gym and spend some more time with the holy books since day one."
"Owl!"
As always, she didn't want to admit she lost her advantage. And she always went for a frontal assault in such cases.
And – even if this didn't happen all the time - quite often she realized her mistake upon running into it.
He had less than a minute before the power would leave him, robbing him of strength to stand upright and making him drop to the ground like a wet rag. But Ascol made good use of that time.
Now Whisper, formidable as she was, moved like a clumsy doll. Now his blows landed precisely. Now she felt their full power.
"Maybe I have something to answer for," Rasped Ascol, continuing his onslaught. "Those things can't be undone by an apology. So I understand why you are angry. I won't punish you for it. But you have forgotten how to speak to your superior and this is something I won't let slide."
"Think you can make me remember, old man?"
"I don't "think". I know I can. You do remember, what will happen to the loser?"
"Whatever winner will be able to come up with of course," Whisper grinned nastily, waving hand to him. "Are you ready for more?"
The heavy iron door opened with a screech – its hinges haven't been greased in a long time. Kirik Brunillio, a prospective executor, took a break from his business and glanced at the two visitors, who came to his modest room.
The first one was a tall, lean man, dressed in a plain suit. His bruised, scared face was marked by lack of sleep and intense irritation. He was followed by a woman so tall, Kirik, being rather short himself, immediately felt uncomfortable. The giantess had a more-or-less friendly expression, compared to her companion, but nonetheless someone of her stature could wipe the floor with someone like Kirik without breaking a sweat. Who could stay cool in his shoes?
First thing he tried to do was to hide the results of his work, but, unfortunately, there was absolutely nowhere to put them. In the meantime, the sullen guy got even more irritated.
"What is this?" He gasped instead of introducing himself.
"I… I was training," Kirik couldn't take the pressure and averted his gaze. "You know, materializing Black Keys from the pages-"
"I see what you've been doing," The moody executor took a cigarette pack from his pocket and picked one. "So how long you've been practicing? It's in your interests that this Bible stays the only one you've torn to shreds."
"Y-yes. I decided to try yesterday, it's my first time."
"What a blockhead," The man chuckled slightly. "I'm working here for more than twenty years and it's my lucky day if I get it right two times out of six. Don't waste your time."
"But they told me I have a good aptitude-"
"Where did they tell you that? In the boot camp? That would make for yet another reason to get that shit out of your head. You hear me, Kirik?"
"Excuse me, are you-"
"Katt Ascol, your new commander. And your worst nightmare if you think I'll let you mess around. This is Whisper," He made a short gesture towards the tall woman. "My number one assistant. If I get killed or replaced by someone better, your life will rest in her hands. And she's not nearly as kind as me."
"Nice to meet you!" Added the female executor, clenching Kirik's hand in a handshake so firm that his face wrinkled from pain. "Fresh meat is always nice. By the way, did they tell you what game are we going to hunt? No? An insane magus, who reached the level of an Apostle Ancestor in terms of sheer power. He's being hunted by the whole Association, actually."
"Power of an Ancestor-" Kirik muttered in a daze. "Wait, are you the… the "Dogma" squad everyone is talking about?"
"The now defunct one, yes," Ascol snorted. "Do they still have some good words to say about us?"
"Certainly!" Kirik burst out. "You were the living legends, I'd never imagine to meet someone like you on my first mission-"
"I wouldn't see it as a good thing in your shoes," Ascol paced around the room, looking at his scarce belongings. "No offence, but you are still cannon fodder, not that different from our brave knights. And since somebody shoved you onto us, it means you've already pissed somebody off."
"But I-"
"I don't care what you did or who it was that you pissed off. I'm simply stating the facts. They want to get rid of you; your survival isn't an intended outcome."
"Hey, why did you get so pale?" Asked Whisper, towering above Kirik. Having the jitters? Don't flip out, I'll keep an eye on you. You may be cannon fodder, but what's the point in getting you shot for no reason?"
"So how did you land in our department?" Ascol said, puffing smoke.
"I have… erm…Circuits…a little, but-"
"Circuits, you say?" Whisper slapped his back with such force he nearly fell flat on his face. "Doing magic when nobody's looking? And have you heard how many of those fellas with thick circuitry were send to hell by me and father Katt?"
"I...I just wanted-"
"Let's keep it to the point," Ascol sighed. "Tell us what you can do."
"I'm a healer," Kirik blurted out. "Top notch."
"That so?" Whisper mused, lost in thought. "Can you attach a torn limb?"
"I can. I'm not very experienced, but-"
"Good enough," Katt interrupted him. "Now listen here, kid. Two more former Dogma operatives are arriving tonight. Briefing is tomorrow morning and after that we'll start the hunt. Are we clear?"
"A question, sir?"
"Make it quick."
"They… really want me dead?"
"Yes. A standard practice, really. But if you follow your orders, you will survive, that much I can promise. And if you screw up, we might rip your head off ourselves – will be easier than waiting. For now, pack up, pray, check your guns, do whatever you want except bothering me with more pointless questions. We-"
The ringing of Whisper's phone interrupted Ascol mid-sentence.
"What? Who?" She roared into the phone. "I can't hear shit, there's no signal in this damn dungeon!"
"Go talk in the corridor, please," Ascol hissed. "Or you'll wake even the dead here."
The door clanged behind Whisper and Ascol looked at the candidate once more.
"You wanna hear some advice?" He stubbed the cigarette and reached for the new one.
"I guess?"
"The Dogma attracted all sorts of brutes and numbskulls. I don't know what shit did they tell you back there, but don't bring that up again, okay? We're not heroes and you ain't gonna be one either. Second, just a friendly recommendation, mind what you say and what you do. I may be an understanding person, but Whisper… let's just say she occasionally has anger management problems. Worst thing you can do is to call her by name."
"Why?"
"Because that will remind her of who she was and what she went through, before the Church took her in. She really hates those memories. Last guy to forget that finished his career with a seven-storey drop. And, between you and me, the name Rosaria, meaning "rose" – it's for something beautiful and poetic, not a walking tank that can catch a bullet with her teeth, tear apart an Apostle in melee and who has to daily take a handful of drugs, getting incredibly high in the process… damn. In short, as long as you remember that, she won't lay a finger on you, that much I can guarantee. And if you forget that… well, might as well come up with an epitaph while you're still alive."
"I… I'll try to remember that."
"Clever kid. Now, about the others… what's with that look?"
"Well-"
"Spit it out already."
"Was she the one who bruised your face?"
"Bingo. This time she got me. I'm not getting any younger after all."
"But you-"
"We had certain disagreements, and besides, she got herself drunk. She's quick-tempered, but cools down just as easily. So if you manage to survive the first few minutes, everything goes swimmingly," Ascol laughed wryly and dropped the issue, leaving Kirik stunned and surprised. "Anyway, there's gonna be two more people besides her. Firstly – Torch. He's a sick asshole, but he does his part well. He's an expert in all things firing: firearms, explosives – that kind of shit. Glassman is… well, he's a quiet type. Shy, even. Doesn't make trouble for anyone, though he doesn't think so himself. Oh, and there also will be an asswipe from the Atlas, steer clear of that one. That's all for now. Any questions?"
"I-"
"No questions? That's wonderful! We'll pick you up in the evening."
The door slammed shut and Kirik was once again alone with his torn Bible and so many questions he didn't get answers for…
Ascol closed the door and looked around, hoping to see Whisper, but she vanished without a trace.
Damn it. And she promised to treat me to a dinner, too.
"Father Katt?" A quiet and soft, pleasantly sounding voice with a slight foreign accent made Ascol turn around.
There she stood, leaning against the wall, peeking from below her hood. The bloodhound of Narbareck, the one who stated her alias during the interrogation and didn't utter a single word afterwards.
"Julian was certain we'd got rid of you," Said Katt with surprise. "And you are still-"
"His Eminence may think whatever he pleases," The agent replied with the same quiet voice. "It doesn't have to be true, though. Father Katt, I was looking for you."
That voice… has to be a woman. One can barely tell otherwise, with all those loosely fit robes.
"So is your boss dying to get me interrogated as well?" Ascol hummed, trying to keep the worst thoughts at bay.
"Not exactly," Answered the agent. "They asked me to bring you for a brief talk, nothing more. Nobody is going to hurt you."
"Bring" me? Does that mean that you are going to use force, if I'm not cooperating?" The executor studied her delicate figure for a moment.
"They didn't order me to fight you, father Katt. You may refuse, but she said this was rather important."
"She?" Ascol nearly choked. "Hold on a minute, are you saying that I'm going to talk with Her personally?"
"Yes. She wishes to see you, father Katt. As soon as possible, while we still have time," Agent insisted. "Please, follow me, the car is ready."
Personally… no, impossible.
Almost nobody has seen that abomination in the flesh.
"Alright, I'm sold," Ascol surrendered, talking to her with his usual smug tone. "I'll have to skip my dinner… but whatever, meeting Her is worth a little trouble. Lead the way."
The figure quickly nodded and walked down the corridor.
"So, what's your name?"
"They didn't give me a name yet."
"How so?"
She responded with silence. Ascol decided to drop the sensitive topic and recalled the way she'd introduced herself at their first meeting.
"Erm… whatever you say… number seven."
The entire time they were in transit Ascol counted minutes passing. He was blindfolded so the only thing he could do was to try and remember how much time it takes them to reach the destination. Afterwards he might be able to estimate the location of the Agency hideout. Nevertheless, they could be changing their location frequently and then it would be empty next time he tries to walk in…
The agent took his hand and walked him out of the car.
She's ice-cold…
…and dragged him forward, grumbling about something under her voice.
"Stop."
Ascol reached out with his hand and touched the wall in front of him. Some kind of a sign plate, probably bronze...
That narrows down the list somewhat.
"Don't move around, please."
The communicator made an unpleasant squeak.
"Who's there?" A rasped, tired voice.
"I've brought Owl. Get the room ready."
"She will receive him at her room." The communicator replied. "Come in."
The door opened with a creak.
"Please, follow me. Hurry, father Katt, we are running late as it is."
"If not for this blindfold, I'd-"
"If not for the blindfold, you'd never be allowed to leave this place. You'll get to take it off when we descend further."
For about ten more minutes they wandered through the unseen corridors and Ascol tried his best to remember the way.
Ha, as is they would let me leave if something goes wrong…
But still…
Right, left, left, forward. A door. An elevator. Three stairways down. Left. Forward. Right…
"Have you found a new friend, Elesia?" Someone sneered in a childlike voice. "And here I thought you were beyond hopeless. Did you cover your eyes so that he wouldn't run away too soon?"
"Shut up, Merm. Go to your room," The agent's voice seethed with such cold rage, that even Ascol shivered. "Or else-"
"Okay-dokey. Just don't tell him what happened to your other friends. And your parents. Screw that, don't tell him anything-"
"Leave."
"By the way, you are late. You gonna get your buns burned!"
"Father Katt, let's go. Quickly."
Another long corridor. Left, forward, a door and left again…
"Who was that?"
"Nobody. Stop. Here, you may take off the blindfold."
Ascol tore off the black cloth and found himself in a long, barely lit corridor, in front of a huge, armored door – even bigger than the kind he often saw in banks. He counted at least ten mechanical bolts and shutters, but it must have been stuffed with electronics as well.
He thought it probably wasn't be.
After all, the woman he was going to be introduced to took down three Apostle Ancestors.
And brought them in alive.
"You will enter first, and I shall follow. Do not pay me any attention during the talk as I haven't earned a right to speak yet."
"You-"
"Just a moment."
The agent typed in a long code on a panel in the wall and, after a minute, the door came alive, slowly moving. The locks gritted and turned, the door hissed, trembled and flickered with warning lights.
The door slowly opened.
All the hope abandon, ye who enter here...
"Please go on, father Katt."
Beyond the door was a spacious chamber – clean, luminous, decorated with antique paintings and tapestries. Empty armor suits stood beside the bookshelves with their swords and axes set on the floor, as if guarding them. There was a wooden table at the far wall, covered with heaps of paper and even further, leaning against the wall, stood a large sofa.
The agent, escorting Ascol, typed another code on a similar panel inside the chamber and the door slowly closed. After making sure everything was going as expected, Number Seven slipped into the shadows to sit down in a small, worn armchair. Her entire pose showed her desire to be left out of the conversation.
"So you came at last," The hostess grumbled.
Her appearance didn't even slightly resemble the monster Ascol came to expect, after hearing about all her exploits. A middle-aged woman in a baggy purple cowl, her long hair was tumbled and partially covered her face. There were no weapons in sight, no symbols of office – everything lacked theatrics and was plain… maybe even a bit too plain.
"Have a seat, Katt," She pointed to a chair across her table. "Forgive the lack of snacks, but I didn't invite you here for a cup of tea."
"I wasn't expecting it anyway," The way she looked didn't exactly promote formal speaking, no matter how grim the rumors surrounding her were. And so Ascol dared to keep his usual plain and slightly smug tone. "To what do I owe the honor?"
"To being sent after the Hollow Blach, and nothing more," The Agency head cut straight to business, rising in Ascol's eyes even more. "Your grudge against Julian the Raving is a welcome addition."
"So, I take it, Vert managed to make a nuisance of himself even to you?"
"Unless he stops poking his nose in our business, I'll dispose of him within the next six months. And yes, Katt, you heard me right. Not that you'll tell anybody."
"Because I'm not leaving this place alive?" Ascol blurted out.
"Why, of course it's not like that. What's the point of wasting my time on a dead man? It just so happens that I know you'd like to get at Julian yourself, but lack the ability. I, however, do not. We are outside your rotten system and above its laws. We can skewer any bishop on a Key and nobody shall raise a voice."
"I'm impressed," The executor carefully remarked. "But you didn't invite me here to demonstrate the power of your office, right?"
"True. I ordered to bring you here because you can expedite matters I'm concerned with, Katt."
"And how exactly could I do that?" Ascol tried to relax in the big leather chair, but it wasn't so easy under the piercing gaze of his conversation partner.
"Won't you even try to refuse? It's so boring when people agree with me so quickly. I don't know if it's fear or something else. Are afraid of me too, aren't you? Be honest."
"Well… I'm certainly not keen on getting shot in the head the moment this conversation goes sour. Still, you don't look like an evil incarnate to me."
"I like your answer. You might be cut out for the job. Anyway, let's get to business," The Agency head pulled a folder from the heap of papers and opened it. "They didn't tell you what Hollow snatched, did they?"
"No. But that guy from the Atlas-"
"The Atlas would stop at nothing to get their hand on this item. As would any other branch of the Association for that case. That's exactly why the Agency can't spare anyone for this task – we have to cover the most vulnerable spots."
"Do you anticipate a strike?"
"The Association may go for such a gamble. There's too much at stake right now."
"So what has Blach got his hands on?"
"The Sphere," Narbareck answered plainly.
"Excuse me-"
"There, a photo. An old one, to be sure, but still."
Ascol leaned forward and took an old picture with an ID number in a corner.
It was, indeed, a sphere. An orb, made of some strange pale metal, completely covered with some ornamental scriptures – Ascol had never seen any language quite like it before.
Looks like a lucky 8 ball. I can't believe everything started because of this piece of junk…
"We know neither this thing's origins, nor its intended purpose." The Agency head said, anticipating Ascol's questions. "The language of the writings proved impossible to translate as well."
"Where did it-"
"The Sphere was found on the ocean floor, during the time the Association as we know it today didn't exist. There were only small, separated mage covens, which walked the Earth. Eventually it ended up in the Wandering Tomb, buried in the depths of the reliquary department. All research attempts for the last thousand years proved fruitless. However, the dwellers of the Tomb somehow found a few bit of information from some ancient chronicles… if not for those, the damned orb would be long-forgotten by now. But in those texts, it was written that it could grant power. The power on an unimaginable scale. One only had to find a way to unlock it. They spent centuries, trying to find the solution. The brightest minds came from far and wide to try their luck at activating the damned trinket and finding the truth behind it. But all of them left with no results. According to my sources, last time they tried to crack it in the XVI century… After that, the Tomb gave up. They put the Sphere back into the depths and forgot about it. But now…"
"Do we know, how did Hollow manage to-"
"Some of it. He was the laughing stock for the whole Tomb. Junior office assistant in the reliquary department, barely able to walk even with his crutches. They say here, that on his nineteenth birthday he was given an old wheelchair and a room somewhere on the lower levels, so that the "true" mages wouldn't have to meet this disgraceful wreck in the hallways. For years he was busy with paperwork, to the point they saw him as a piece of furniture. The department head pointed out that it all had started with recurring late arrivals. Albert started spending more and more time on the lower floors, where the Tomb keeps all the useless junk, which is too dangerous to simply destroy. And then one day he suddenly starts walking around on his healthy, normal legs."
"Didn't anybody ask him how in hell could he manage that?"
"He told them he found and used some old recipe. Nobody cared about him at this point so the interest died down in a couple of days. And then there was a bloodbath. About fifteen dead among the reliquary department, and a dozen apprentices… He somehow caused an explosion of such power that a few tunnels collapsed and a whole dorm block was cut off, leaving the denizens to starve or suffocate. Then, he stole a boat and escaped."
"They followed him, of course."
"Certainly. But all the teams were lost. Only the remains of their transports were found," The Agency head passed the folder to Katt. "Take a look. Here you will find all we know concerning the incident as of today. More precisely – everything the mages of the Wandering Tomb could give us. Did you have a look at Julian's report on the Vatican murders?"
"Of course."
"And what can you say, Katt?"
"He used a broad-ranging spectrum of magecraft. It doesn't resemble a professional style, with the preference for a small set of reliable methods, more like… Like the killer flaunted his powers in each case, tried something different every time."
"Continue," The Agency head didn't show any interest in what he said.
"They were some bigwigs from the Vert's office. None of them were in any way connected to the old Hollow case – it was confirmed already by Julian's men. Each of them was important to the Church, but not indispensible."
"What was the aim of this attack, Katt?" The tone of Narbareck almost implied Ascol'd been the one to attack them.
"Destabilization of the whole power structure, possibly with intention to break the masquerade. Panic, confusion, turmoil. If he were to seek personal vendetta for the injuries he was himself responsible for, he would hunt not these people, but… us. My squad. And especially me."
"But Blach didn't know your whereabouts. So he left you a message – tasteless, stupid and betraying his identity to anyone and everyone… and what does that mean?"
"Somehow, he has no time to enact vengeance, but he craves it anyway," Said Ascol after thinking for a moment. "That's why Hollow Blach starts a slaughter at the very heart of Vatican and leaves his business card, knowing that now, if I'm still alive, they will dig me up and fill in on the situation. Then I'd be sent after him. And that way he'd be able to fulfill his revenge without getting side-tracked from his main goal. The question is, what's he trying to do?"
"We are already working on that front, Katt, you don't have to worry about that. Now let's talk about what you're going to do."
"Will you also threaten me with the crematorium?"
"Why bother? We don't like empty threats here. Our policy is to cut straight to business. Besides, there's a much better motivator for you – an opportunity to rub your victory in Vert's face," The Agency head put her hands in front of her and leaned forward. "So will you listen to me? Or shall we throw you out now?"
"I'm listening," Katt exhaled after a minute. "But what you are going to ask of me is already obvious. You want that goddamn metal ball Hollow has."
"Trivial, yet true. However I also need Blach himself, alive. To get the secret of activating it."
"Anything goes, eh?" Asked Katt with a grin.
"Indeed. We need to know how did he manage to unlock its power, how could the Sphere empower Blach and what time of power it gave him, what he is capable of after the contact with the orb… we need to know everything, Katt. Of course, under no circumstances the Association can be allowed to obtain that knowledge."
"Soon we will be sent for Blach's head. And you want me to bring him in alive and with the damn Sphere."
"Correct. In that case our advantage will be great enough to-"
"I refuse," Ascol rasped, raising on his feet. "Excuse me, but this is something you'll have to do yourselves."
Katt was surprised by the lack of angry response or threats he was so used to hearing.
"I know why you respond like that. You were already used for one such task that ruined your career, in the 87."
"If you know that, then you also know I'm not keen on discussing it."
"The situation is different, Katt."
"Oh really? And how so?" Ascol let the anger get the best of him, losing control. "Everything seems just like back then – you are itching to get your hands on some junk that could give you an advantage over the Association in your own bloody cold war. And you don't give a single flying fuck about the true nature of what you see as an advantage-"
"It's different this time, Katt. Narbareck repeated. "I send you for a magical mechanism. Julian Vert sends you for a living being."
Blue eyes without pupils.
A dripping sound.
The wild roaring of the chopper, shooting at the building with all its guns…
Enough.
Enough.
Enough.
"I know what you did back then, Katt. You tried to hide it so desperately that the truth found its way to the surface-"
"Shut up."
"I don't ask for impossible things, like Vert. Get the mage and bring him to me. That's all."
"And what are you going to offer in exchange?"
"A little help with Hollow Blach," Narbareck waved her hand. "Number seven!"
The agent rose from her seat and slowly walked towards the table, her heavy boots making the floor boards creak. She approached and stood on the right from her superior.
"Let me introduce you! Katt, this is our new toy. We haven't decided upon the name yet, there's but one suggestion… what was it… ah, Ciel. Means "Sky" in French, if I'm not mistaken. A bit too flashy for my tastes," The Agency head pulled a drawer and dropped a huge pistol on the table. "Don't worry, Katt, it's not for you."
"Then what-"
You were wrong to come here. She's a complete psycho, true to the form.
"Have a seat, please," She waited for him to slowly sink in his chair and then Narbareck clicked the safety lock and turned to the Seventh. "Show me your face."
The girl's face, covered by the cowl until now, was only in Ascol's sight for a couple moments.
Before he knew it, the gun went off.
The girl, shot right between the eyes, slowly slid down the wall, leaving a bloody trail.
"What the hell are you doing?" Ascol, jumped from his seat and was ready to dive for the nearest cover, forgetting all the rules and instructions – what if this mad bitch was going to target him next?
"Please, don't make a scene. She is perfectly fine," The Agency head put the smoking gun aside and pointed at the body. "See? She's twitching."
"Convulsions. What the fuck do you-"
Ascol fell silent as he saw the massive hole in the Seventh's forehead slowly close.
Lovely. A vampire? Or is it something even worse?
"What… what is this thing?"
"Oh, her? The skin, left behind by The Serpent of Akasha," Narbareck laughed softly. "A walking paradox. We haven't yet grasped the nature of this phenomenon, even though we tried about six hundred different ways of killing her… none of which worked, unfortunately."
"Six hundred?" The number overwhelmed even the seasoned executor of the Church. "You've killed her six hundred times?"
"Oh, much more than that. I kill her couple of times a day if I get bored," The Agency head spoke with no regard for her suffering, as if she was talking about making tea. "The world itself denies her death. And if our researchers are correct, it will continue to do so for as long as the one who wore her skin is still alive. The Infinite Reincarnator, founder of our department. As you understand, extinguishing his life completely is a task beyond trivial."
Ascol continued to watch as the girl, whose wound has disappeared entirely, stood up, her face keeping the same indifferent look.
"Absolutely indestructible. Of course, she has yet to be trained and equipped, but she will be our trump card soon enough."
"You-"
"If you accept my proposal, I shall leave her under your command. If there is somebody, who can actually take Hollow Blach alive, it's her. You just have to track him down and let her off the leash. So what do you say? Deal?"
"I say "How do I open your goddamn door?"
Koss closed his apartment door and fumbled around for a moment, looking for the switch. He turned on the lights and went to the room, dropping his overcoat on the floor as he walked.
He went to the bathroom, took a cold shower and, after covering his body with an oversized bathrobe with the hotel's emblem on it, stood in front of a mirror for a few minutes, examining his face. He was shivering: a fix was in order. And a drink. Also, preferably, a woman.
Unfortunately, he only had time for a fix.
Until he met the agents of the Church, he used to shoot up his inner thigh – just in case, so that his arms would be clean. But now they were transported in a completely new way, so the precautions were no longer needed. He stretched on a soft leather sofa and took out his injector. The tiny window on its side showed a single black strip. The last one.
A large gem, resembling a big chunk of quartz, rested on the glass stand. Suddenly, it started to turn red. Koss ignored it and slowly buried the needle in his arm… The gem – already bloody crimson in color – started to emit a low hum. Koss knew all too well that if he ignored it any longer, the stone would wail loud enough to wake up the whole hotel.
Forced to pull the needle out and throw the injector to the floor, Koss, enraged, grabbed the rock with both hands, pressing it against his face. Closed his eyes. Listened. Tried to keep thoughts about the drug from his consciousness.
Report.
"Their squad is almost ready," Koss whispered. "All goes as planned for now."
Are you ready? Do you have everything you need?
"That's insulting, sir."
You have to bring in Blach as soon as possible. Time is wasting. London has already sent enforcers. The Wandering Tomb also engaged a number of associates on the continent.
"Who will I deal with?"
We don't know yet. Whatabout "Dogma"?
"There won't be any complications. If you wish, I can take first steps to deal with them now."
Do it. Your estimates as to the time?
"A month. However, premature activation is also possible. What should I bind it to?"
The choice is yours. I remind that you that as of this moment, you are in control of "Sekhmet". If the situation proves critical – don't hesitate to call upon them.
"Understood. Anything else?"
This mission is your career's decisive point. Prove us that we were right to spare your life back then.
Koss felt his teeth grind. Fortunately, the gem had no way of sending along that bit of information.
"I serve the wisdom of Atlas. I will contact you later."
The gem tumbled to the floor – the carpet muffled the sound of impact.
How dare they?
He did for them more than all of theirs damned agents managed in fifty years!
And yet, they…
Koss only calmed down after returning to his drug and finishing what he'd started.
Kirik Brunillio, an aspiring executor, raged himself through the corridor, bent under the weight of his huge black bag. His left hand held a sweaty crumpled note, where he scribbled the names of the people he needed.
He pressed against the heavy door, opening it barely enough to slip through, onto a helipad of considerable size. He dropped the bag and set down next to it, trying to catch his breath. As the Pontifical Gendarmerie stepped out of the helicopter and quickly cordoned the area off, he wiped sweat from his brow and tried to make out the smeared letters.
At last, two passengers stepped out of the chopper. A blond man with a sickly pale face, wrapped in a pale beige coat, walked first. He had only a small briefcase in his left hand. The right one, slightly sticking out of his coat, was resting on a massive bandage, wrapped in soft cloth.
Why would we ever need a cripple? What's the point?
When Kirik looked at the calm face of the cripple, he noticed that the passenger kept his eyelids half-closed, as if sunlight hurt his eyes. The second guest was an exact opposite of the first one: if the cripple had long hair, this one was wearing a short military haircut. The maimed man's face was calm and kind-looking, his gray eyes were lazy. By the contrast, his companion's face, marked by a bunch of old scars, showed nothing but irritation. As if that wasn't enough, he was wearing an old, worn and dirty leather jacket with an aloha shirt of a sickening palette underneath, had a cigarette in his teeth… and finally, a massive revolver in a holster. The bag he hauled was also much bigger than the one Kirik had, but he held it with surprising ease.
"Erm, excuse me," – Kirik began when the arrivals came near him. "Sir Renier Gar…"
"Gardeston," The blonde man helped. "And this is Eric Grey."
"Torch," The latter smiled and extended his hand in a fingerless glove for a handshake. "And you must be our reinforcements? You look kinda feeble."
"Kirik B-" The prospective executor started, only to be interrupted by Torch.
"Save your breath. We know your name. Whisper called and brought us up to speed," Erik turned to his companion and smiled, showing his yellow teeth. "Say hello to our greenhorn, glass boy."
Renier only gave him a long, tired and disdainful look and turned his attention to Kirik.
"Where's Owl?" Renier's voice was quiet and cold. "Where is father Ascol?"
"He was… He went for some urgent business." Kirik flinched, just like when Katt called him and told he was "riding from the Burial". "He'll return in about an hour. I was ordered to meet and escort you to His Eminence Julian-"
"As if we don't know where that old dick is," Erik spat a huge glob on the floor. "Well, orders are orders. Go ahead, lead us."
"Of course, sure." Kirik struggled to swing his bag over the shoulder for a moment and limped to the doors. "We are running late already."
A trip with the two former Dogma operatives wasn't as scary as Kirik thought. Renier, a.k.a. Glassman, as the blonde was referenced in the in-house documents, was exactly the person he seemed to be at the first glance. From the moment they stepped into the car he didn't utter a single word beyond asking to turn down the music and for Erik to stop smoking at last. Torch, however, carried himself in such a way Kirik wanted to kick him out of the car. Erik Grey threw profanities around like a sailor, delivering cheap jokes in some disgusting accent and overall reminded Kirik greatly of father Ascol, were the latter to utterly lose his restraints. One could only imagine how those two could bear with each other…
They were late. So very, very late, damn it.
And that's why they ran at nearly full speed when crossing the last few meters to the office.
Nevertheless, when Kirik finally opened the office doors and dashed inside, he understood that during his absence something very serious had happened, so nobody cared about him being late.
Ascol, Whisper, the Atlas agent, even cardinal Vert… they all gathered around a few gloomy Vatican clercs, who nuzzled into computer screens, all in some hot dispute.
"What happened?" Even Renier raised his voice above the usual near-whispering.
"It's Hollow," Julian Vert said loud and clear, so the trio that didn't get there on time would hear him. "Two hours ago we had a report from Cologne, Germany. The Blach mansion was attacked. No survivors."