Chapter 5. "Church is fooled once again…"
Stand your ground against the storm
And hail the crucified
Ein, zwei, Amen and attack!
(Powerwolf - Amen & Attack).
Cold. God, was it cold here.
Here, in the middle of nowhere, on an endless white waste open to the seven winds.
The body did a poor job of obeying his commands. Blackened fingers slowly crawled forward, trying to move the snow aside, but it kept falling and falling from the sky to no end…
So cold.
At least it didn't hurt any more. Didn't hurt at all.
Only there was something strange with his right hand now…
Just looking at it took inhuman effort.
He saw that thing, still clinging to his flesh.
He started screaming.
"Renier, are you alright?" A gentle push woke him up.
"Yes, Whisper," Glassman turned around only to see his companions looking back at him bug-eyed as if he just suggested slaughtering every damn passenger on the plane. "Is something wrong?"
"Do you even have to ask?" Torch snorted. "Everyone on the plane heard your moaning and mumbling. Our little clique was getting unnecessary attention as it was… if Whisper didn't wake you up you might have gone running for the cockpit, you freaking lunatic."
"My apologies," Quietly said Renier. "Did I say anything strange in my sleep?"
"Nope, the usual stuff," Eric scoffed. "They are dead", "I have to do it" and "This door won't open".
God, my head hurts so badly.
Renier looked around. Nothing changed in the half an hour he was sleeping: Ascol still peacefully snored, stretched across two seats at once. The young executor candidate (What's his name…Kirik?) was studying the mission briefing with every ounce of diligence he could muster. Others, it seemeds, were playing cards until he started talking in his sleep again. The alchemist from Atlas was where Renier expected him to be too – in the far corner of the cabin, reading a book.
Owl wanted this mission to go smoothly and without a hitch and didn't even remotely care about possible expenses, so he spent half a day getting the brass to provide everything he requested. As a result, "Dogma" didn't just get tickets for the first class, they had the whole first class to themselves. Renier deemed it excessive: even if they got on board without fanfare, their ragtag bunch was nothing like top-managers of a respectable company they were pretending to be. Still, it was the official cover and they had to play along till they got to the destination. It was going to get easier after that. Much easier.
Search and destroy, nothing out of the ordinary. Renier had done enough jobs like that since getting into the House of Slaughter to have lost count. Unlike in the Assembly, he rarely got any tasks involving something besides killing. Nevertheless, it wasn't like he had any alternatives: there wasn't any hope for a peaceful life thanks to a certain possession of his, Renier understood that much. Gardeston didn't doubt they had already told the newbie his story – he had the eyes of someone with many questions to ask, enough to make "Glassman" feel completely overwhelmed. Only Renier couldn't tell him the truth. He didn't know it himself.
"Where are you going?" Whisper startled, seeing him rise from his seat.
"Bathroom," Renier's talking voice was never louder than his murmuring. "Also, gotta get something to deal with my headache."
"Headache?" Eric raised his head. "I think I have an axe lying around somewhere…"
"Never heard that one before," Renier remarked as he walked under the heavy red curtain that separated the business class from the rest of the cabin.
One disadvantage of flying business class was that whenever you go to the restroom you have to march through the whole cabin. And in Renier's case this meant lots of curious eyes staring at his covered right arm.
Gardeston hated curious stares. He disliked curiosity in general – it always had a way of getting people in trouble.
Just like that time, when he volunteered for that accursed mission back in his days as a relic hunter.
Renier took his sweet time washing his face – he splashed cold water over it, then rubbed it for a couple of minutes, after which he took the cloth off his right arm and simply looked at it for five more minutes.
He just couldn't stop peering at his arm, checking it, touching it every now and again. All these years, and he still couldn't let go and carry on.
A glove made of strange glass-like material, covered in weird and intricate patterns, was fused to Renier's skin. If one looked at it closely enough, it was possible to see a few dozens of hair-thin tubes and thorns going deep into his flesh.
It was hell. Ignoring it, forcing himself not to touch or look at it again and again. The glove was like an aching tooth, the one you just have to press once more to make sure it indeed hurts and you have to see a doctor about it. It was like a wind-burned lip, one had to lick it over and over, bite into the numb flaking skin around it…
The only more or less noticeable effect of having that glove on his arm skin on his right hand becoming unusually dry – that's why whenever Renier he soaked cloth in cold water and wrapped it around the glass-bound limb whenever he had a chance. It helped, if only for a short time. Gardeston did what he could for his arm, sighed with tiredness, swallowed three strong painkiller pills and quickly walked back – water dripped from his clothed arm.
"-and of course, templars blocked everything. Not even a mouse would slip," One could hear Whisper spin her yarn from a half a mile away. "Owl gave them a friendly hint that there's full moon and you don't just waltz into that mess, but those guys were dense as hell."
"So what happened then?" Kirik quietly asked her, obviously enthralled by the tall tale.
"What do you mean "what happened"? There was a bloodbath. No joke – we've counted ten Apostles, but they weren't alone, each had his entourage of ghouls-"
"I remember it well, might as well be happening before my eyes now," Torch chimed in. "I was the first to walk into the village first… saw a dozen bodies, mostly dismembered – and that's before I even get there! The further I went, the more there was. A hell of a party."
"They got two of them somehow, losing fifteen grunts in the process," Whisper sighed. "Then they fell back, waited for the choppers and razed the sorry village to the ground. But guess what? When they went in for the clean-up the Apostles threw them out again – the bastards were entrenched so deep I'd wager even a nuke wouldn't be enough. Meanwhile the clock was ticking and the Club slowly advanced with their regular forces. So our bucket-heads fumbled around in that dirt for about three hours more, gave up and called us in. And when it comes down to us-"
"Here comes the part when you can stop listening," Eric snorted. "Now she's gonna tell you how she tore apart the whole clan by herself."
"Do you have any objections?" Whisper raised her brow.
"I sure do. For one, I could tell a story about you getting kicked in the face hard enough to fly thirty feet to the nearest pile of snow."
"It didn't stop me from slicing his throat."
"Yeah. First you sliced him, then he writhed free and sent you flying."
"Storyteller, my ass."
"Oh, I sure have much more to share than just that tidbit," Eric smiled, turning his face to Renier. "Hey, Glassman. That was quick. Now, how about you tell us about that time when you sent that Russian son of a bitch under the ice? The one who turned Whip's brain into mush?"
"No, I'll pass," Renier grimaced at the unpleasant memory and dropped into his seat.
"Anyway, there was that one bastard… Many more than one, actually, but that prick was especially annoying," Torch continued, not even slightly upset about Renier's refusal. "He wiped the floor with our people: once he gets close to you, your friends might as well read your last rites. Nothing helped against whatever he did to them."
"But how-"
"He burned out their goddamn nervous system," Ascol spoke. "Or something like that. We weren't exactly in a position to ask him, you know. If I remember right, the brass sent a group of ten against him. So they approached his position and everyone dropped to the ground two meters from his hideout, writhing in agony. Whip almost got him, "almost" isn't enough. Not in our line of work."
"So how did you kill him?" Kirik glanced at Renier. "If he-"
"I happened to be immune to whatever he was doing," Gardeston quickly replied, giving up on his attempt to keep out of the conversation. "The rest was a technicality. Besides, he went stark raving mad when we tore off the mask he was always wearing."
"If I had such an ugly mug I'd go mad too," Torch chuckled. "He tried to take down our Glassman the usual way, but trick like that don't go well against him."
And now, of course, he's going to ask why…
"And why is that?"
"I possess a certain conceptual weapon," Renier said with a sigh. "Its offensive and protective capabilities are equally impressive. But I have to ask you to stop your questions here. I'm not particularly enjoying this topic."
"You'll see for yourself," Every new smile on Eric's face seemed to be more wicked than the last one. "When the slaughter starts. And you won't have to wait long, that's for sure."
"Did you… did you read about that Hollow?" Kirik asked.
"I saw his photo, it's usually enough," Torch made a straight face. "I'm not keen on stuffing my head with useless trash. Most of the time I only need to know where's the target and how much ammo to take with on the job. Speaking of ammo – did they deliver our toys there already, eh, Owl?"
"Yes," Ascol answered. "Everyone on the mission gets a full set. Also, we'll be supported by a local cell of Teutonic Order once we are on the ground. I'm not talking about the clowns from public side, of course. They requested back-up, said they needed one more day to cut off the remaining ways out of the city."
"What about the Blach mansion?"
"The Raving's already pulled all the strings. They'll cover up that case very soon. Everyone who is involved in the investigation answers to one of our men one way or another. We've got everything under control."
"So we'll have to come and-"
"Come and inspect the scene, for starters. The police was ordered to tread lightly, but I'm sure the place's got covered in their muddy footprints. In any case, we have our work laid out for us. As soon as the full blockade is set up, we establish our operation and start the hunt, just as planned."
"No, Owl, not exactly," Renier shook his head. "It seems we underestimated him. To think that he could single-handedly slay a whole family of magi…"
"If it was indeed single-handedly."
"I strongly doubt anyone would want to help him," Torch noted. "He's a psycho. I have a gut feeling."
"Birds of a feather, and all that," Whisper said. "I bet your story would eclipse everything we've heard tonight, shame it's yet to be told."
"What's there to tell? I'm a veteran and a war hero, everyone knows that much."
"You didn't forget what was your brass going to do to you because of that heroism, did you?"
"Fuck them all," Eric barked with irritation. "Hope they choke on all the ranks they stripped from me. Fuck it. I have a new life now, got it?"
"Tell me something new. Oh, do you remember how-"
Koss watched the Dogma fighters bicker and squabble, while trying his damndest to look engrossed in a book reading a book – some cheap novel he bought in the airport. At the same time he was thinking about the info that his commanders sent him, while his gaze was wandering from once face to another.
Katt Ascol, the Owl. A true nightmare of the magi… at least that's what they used to say about this man. He was still very dangerous, but not because of his strength, weapons or some special moves. No, what made him a man to be reckoned with was the colossal experience he had his bloody line of work to thank for. Sly, shifty, dishonorable bastard who managed to put down the Leningrad Сlub and countless other threats, which mushroomed in the second half of the twentieth century. This old drunk managed to stay the number one threat simply because he was the one who held the squad together.
Rosaria Leno, the Whisper. Owl's right hand. At first glance she is nothing but dumb paid muscle. Yet, she's good at keeping her wits about her. Monstrous physical strength and resiliency. Dozens of successful fights with Dead Apostles, hundreds of injuries survived. She's a hulking mass of scars. A former terrorist, according to his informant, and has been sentenced to death in three separate countries. Then she took refuge with the Church, went through plastic surgery, was subjected to experimental performance-enhancing drugs and was running ragged ever since. It's an old story, typical, even. Still, something didn't quite fit. In her youth she didn't even try to hide her relationship with the squad commander. Now, however, she kept her distance from Ascol, despite obviously relying on him more than anyone else in the group. Getting rid of the Owl would significantly lower her threat potential, since brawn is useless without brain.
Eric Gray, the Torch. Special squad veteran, butcher, psychopath. His personality didn't change since he was with the US military. Dropped any pretense of humanity during the Vietcong campaign. After the defense of some strategically important village he rewarded his troops with a day of unbidden marauding, violence and murders. Assisted in testing the latest chemical warfare agents, increasing his personal kill-count up to two hundred, including over sixty civilian casualties. By his orders about fifty captured war prisoners were used as mannequins during a bayonet drill. Of course, nothing was proven in court-martial in the end. Unfortunately for Gray, the witnesses happened to take notice when he murdered a soldier in a fit of rage over disobedience of orders. He escaped from the country, most likely with the assistance of his old CIA contacts. Aggressive, merciless, there is a real barbarian hiding behind that relaxed smile of his. Extremely proficient with a wide array of modern weaponry, and his luck is rumored to have a supernatural origin. Hopefully, those are mere rumors. His sadistic streak took a turn for the worse in the service of Church. Excellent performance both in solitary operations and as a squad member, he usually performed acts of intimidation and demonstrative executions. Threat number two following the Owl.
Renier Gardeston, the Glassman. A former relic hunter in service of the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament. Possesses a powerful conceptual weapon. He acquired that artifact during a failed Assembly operation in some ancient city, at the cost of having to learn to walk and speak again afterwards; the rehabilitation took three years. Further details are classified. Has a quiet, calm and reasonable personality. No bad habits, no disreputable connections. Too perfect for an actual human being. A loner, almost never seen smiling. Carefully hides his PTSD. The only alternative he had to the service in Dogma squad was execution. Threat level needs further assessment.
Kirik Brunillio, an executor candidate. Young and naïve, zero field experience. Made it past the filter only because of his magic circuitry and notable affinity for spiritual healing. His past and family need further investigation. Completely unprepared for operations such as this one, so his threat level approaches negative values.
All of the safety precautions were taken the day before the flight. Well, almost all precautions. Koss was damn proud of squeezing all of that into such a small timeframe.
Katt Ascol got his dose along with his drink – Koss made sure to spike every bottle delivered to Owl's apartment with his special sauce. He had absolutely no doubt the old drunkard would try and trick his alcohol-devouring virus.
Rosaria Leno shook hands with him – a transparent film on his palm carried five clear droplets. More than enough, even for a monster like her.
A small mosquito bit Eric Gray in the neck – he squashed it without even paying attention to why such an insect appeared here during a wrong season. The loss was regrettable as those mosquitoes usually took more than a week to prepare and fill with an agent of choice.
Renier Gardeston had a cup of coffee this morning before takeoff. He didn't think that a little white paper bag might contain something besides sugar and emptied it into his drink.
Four people out of five were already carrying one of the two necessary components. Koss was going to turn his attention to the greenhorn as soon as possible. Not that he was expecting any problems with a snot like him anyway…
The hall was, without a doubt, huge. Or at least it seemed so. And if such a tiny patch, torn from the darkness by the three humming luminescent lamps contained so much, one could only guess what an arsenal waited for him further in the dark.
That one wasn't for them, though – even seeing it wasn't permitted by the superiors. Nevertheless, even what they were allowed to access was more than enough for Ascol – he couldn't help but grin, imagining the face of the current Ordenstrappier when he sanctioned the Dogma squad to come and plunder their warehouses. Oh, receiving the messages from the Raving, containing polite "suppliances" for him to provide any help requested by the agents of the House of Slaughter must have turned him into a sight to behold. The other members of the Brass must have been also pretty pissed off by the Vatican letters, covered in dreadful official seals almost to the point of redundancy. The letters that informed them of the role they and their troops were going to play in the Hollow's capture. Their trained fighters were only needed to cover the retreat and support the executioners. The soldiers themselves, most likely, felt exactly opposite in that regard – at least they were going to be far and relatively safe from the mad magus. The magus who, according to the briefing sheets they all got, somehow ascended to the level of an Apostle Ancestor.
Ascol approached a large iron box, took off the black band and two fresh seals – and finally raised the lid.
Here it was, a standard package, just as he ordered. Ascol unsealed the bag with the Black Key hilts and noted that there were even more of them than he hoped. Katt followed through to the next item on the list – a spare sidearm, probably would't hurt to bring that one along. Next was a new executor's suit. Now that was something he couldn't help but be glad about: even if the Assembly enchanters were lazy with their protection charms, the basic armor plates beneath the fabric should provide a careful person with all the protection he needs. And the best of it was that now he could at last do away with the old and ragged cowl he was wearing all these years. For now Katt examined a small metal box – it seems like the brass was generous enough to allot a piece of "sacred" cloth. Actually it was just bearing a high-grade enchantment, woven into it by the Assembly mages, but smart people didn't speak about it aloud.
My, my, would you look at that, the Raving actually cares about me…
"Help yourselves, people; today's a hundred-percent discount!" Eric opened another large crate with a triumphant cry. "Owl, hey, Owl! We can take whatever we want, right?"
"Within reason," Ascol sighed. "You are going to pillage the whole warehouse again?"
"Well, not everything, of course, but… Hey, Whisper, move aside, that gun is mine!" Gray snatched a brand-new AUG A1 from a crate and reached out for another one to get a machine gun based on FN FAL. "I think I'll take this one too."
"And that's exactly why they don't like letting us into military supply depots," Said Whisper with a tired sigh. "Damn it, if they messed up my order again… I swear I'll bury them."
"What could they mess up?"
"The kid on the phone verified my sizing ten times in a row, thought he was mishearing me. To hell with them," She took a couple steps away from everybody else and gripped a hilt – a moment later there was a hefty mace in her hand. "Now that's better. Nice one. I understand you are settling for the usual set, aren't you, Renier?"
"I am," Gardeston examined a small pistol lying on his palm, as if seeing it for the first time in his life. He paid no attention to the fuss with the crates. "My weapon is always with me."
"I'll have your share then," Eric grinned as he took a smaller crate. "Well I'll be damned! They actually sent it!"
Kirik, who took only a pistol and a dozen Key hilts, cautiously approached Torch to see what made him so happy.
"Good old Willy Pete," Gray stroke the crate. "Have you ever seen the wounded ignite and burn alive on the surgical table? Oh, that's a sight to behold. Wait, where are the frag grenades? I need a reserve of those. Oh and before I forget-"
"Owl, stop him before he demands a truck to haul his guns," Whisper rolled her eyes.
"It's futile. Let him have his fun," Ascol finally wrestled the tiny box open. "Looks like I was wrong. There's some little medallion here."
"Ah, these ones were recently mass-produced," Whisper took a glance at the trinket. "A piece of trash for single use. It's supposed to create a barrier upon activation, but twice as often it just leaves you out cold. Better throw it away."
"Like hell I'm going to pass up on free supplies," Ascol sighed, watching Eric unwrap a worn flamethrower. "By God, what is this thing even doing here?"
"Don't know, don't care, it's mine now," Gray took a pair of gas masks from the crate and started trying on the armor vests. "After all, my Mister Holocaust sunk in that god-forsaken swamp. I believe this boy will make a fine replacement."
"Kirik, are you sure you've got everything?" Ascol gave the candidate a hard glance, seeing him go in circles. "Are you asleep there or what?"
"No, I just… I just wondered why we would ever need this much-"
"Because we don't know what we are going up against. Because sometimes even this much weaponry is not enough or we don't have time to use it. In that case we'll have to go melee."
"Oh yes," Torch laughed. "All those torn bellies, rolling heads, bodies cut in half… It has its moments but it's nowhere near as fun as flame. Or gas. Do you know the joy of killing with the gas? My, nothing else makes such a clean kill-"
"Stop trying to scare him," Whisper was getting mad already. "Can't have him die before the mission."
"May I… ask something, sir?" Kirik mumbled after a pause. "Why is that… that mage from the Atlas not with us?"
"Well, first things first: nobody in the command would ever let him anywhere near this place. Besides, he said he's got a special weapon for the mission," Ascol said, dropping the medallion in his pocket. "And knowing those Atlas people… pray he won't use it."
"How are we going to search for the Hollow?" Kirik couldn't help but ask another question.
"Dear Lord, what did they even teach you? There's a procedure for incidents like this one. Our Teutonic friends have blocked every escape route and are performing a joint operation with the police, running around with their tongues lolling out, looking for our guy. Every bit of information is being checked, every possible lead is followed, every witness interrogated. You can't even imagine the number of people involved in this operation. The city is long since under our surveillance and the net gets tighter by the minute. And since we still haven't found him, he's either laying low or my guess is actually true."
"What are you talking about?"
"I think he doesn't want to hide. Oh no, what he wants is to lure us out into the open and start a fight, have his revenge. A revenge on me," Katt smirked. "He wouldn't try and get the Vatican's attention otherwise."
"Do you think he might attack us himself?"
"Sure, if he knew where to look for us. But the way it goes, however… I could bet my favorite lighter he's going to let us know where we can play with him very soon. And we aren't going to disappoint him, are we?"
The Blach mansion – what was left of it – was still blocked off. Truth be told, the number of police cars beside the crime scene has been decreasing dramatically ever since Albert left it – now there were but two. As for the people, who were on duty inside them, they were only part-time police officers – and only for disguise, allowing them to always be in the center of action and keep their real boss informed about the crimes with a supernatural side to them. Lieutenant Siebel was in a bad mood today. He greeted the Slaughterhouse executors with a glum look on his face, having no desire at all to report to them. Especially considering their reputation. They were but a clique of fanatical maniacs, ever self-righteous, ever believing in their infallibility and always covered by the Vatican cardinals, no matter what crimes they commit. The old executioner, called the Owl by his colleagues, shook his hand, took off his hood and said in a hoarse voice:
"Where are the bodies?"
"In the morgue, where else? What's left of them anyway," Siebel answered, trying not to look the executioner in the eyes. "One of them was literally disemboweled-"
"Which one?" The second hood hid a woman's face. "And let's get inside already."
"Of course, of course." Siebel tore down the police line which was hanging across the breach in the wall and let the executors into the mansion. "Even though the bodies were heavily damaged, it wasn't hard to identify them. Irma Blach was decapitated, her son Caspar… well, we kept finding pieces of his body all across the second floor. As for the head of the family… he seems to have been drowned in acid or something. But no acid I know of could-"
"I expect a complete report," Ascol stopped near the blood-smeared wall and took another glance at the tracks on the floor. "Did he ram the building?"
"He did. The surveillance cameras caught sight of a heavily damaged truck the same night and then we found it in a ditch."
"Even the Hollow is smart enough to get rid of the wheels," Katt approached the stairway and looked up. "And if he didn't arrive to the city on it, the truck must have been bought here. We should check the local chop shops. Have to begin somewhere."
"We are checking everywhere," Siebel sighed. "We're dead on our legs already. There's no way to manipulate the mundane police into running in circles like this and stay covert-"
"It's not like we have any choice in the matter," Ascol ordered his crew to show faces with a gesture. "You have an hour. I don't care what or where you will do, but I need two or three solid leads within an hour. And the clock's ticking."
"Wonderful," Eric grumbled. "I came here to kick ass, not sift through the dirt. Owl, you are-"
"I'll listen to your concerns later, when you have something important to show me," He turned to Siebel and pointed at the door. "You can return to your car and continue with the surveillance."
"But-"
"You weren't allowed to touch anything here precisely because the brass was waiting for us to arrive. We have a way of getting results. Now that we are here you are free to go. Let's not waste our time so that everyone stays satisfied with their job. Are we clear?" Siebel noted the threatening notes in the executor's voice. "You know, just to be on the safe side."
"Fine, fine," Lieutenant backed off. "I'll call you if anything comes up."
Upstairs it looked even worse than on the first floor. Burnt carpets, blood-splattered walls, bits and pieces of medieval armor suits, torn and broken portraits lying on the floor…
Ascol walked into the room that must have been the Blach family head's study and looked at the wall, where he saw yet another message, written in blood – in huge scrawled letters.
"Church is fooled once again, Albert Blach, your endless pain," Renier read the message in his usual quiet voice, as he entered the room a minute after Ascol. "He doesn't have any self-esteem problems, does he?"
"Remember the Lutri case in ninety eighty-four? This little bluster is nowhere near being that much of a megalomaniac. Besides, for someone who couldn't light a candle with magic a couple months ago, his achievements are mind-blowing."
"I'm surprised they managed to get you to come back, Owl," Renier pulled out a drawer and searched through the papers. "You still haven't told us where you were hiding."
"The Assembly sent me away to Cavaillon, so that I didn't attract any undue attention."
Six years hugging a bottle… Sixyears…
"And how did you fare here without me?"
"Well… we had a hard time when Whisper assumed command of the squad. With all respect to her combat skills, she simply couldn't cope with the responsibilities of her new role. Still, it's not like we had anyone better. Eric loses his head quickly, way too quickly."
"And what about you?" Ascol smirked.
"Even riskier with me at the lead," Glassman pulled out the next drawer. "I can't be fully trusted."
"How much time passed-"
"It doesn't matter, Owl. I still haven't remembered anything about what happened to me back then, in the mountains and getting this cursed glass glove. And until I remember, I can't even trust myself."
"You've saved our asses more than once. Everyone's used to having you around and no one thinks you might just go stark raving mad on a moment's notice."
"No one but me," Renier walked around the bookshelf, picked up an empty glass vial, checked its label and took a whiff. "Well, that's surprising."
"What do you have there?"
"Can't ever forget this smell. One of the strongest painkillers, often used during the closing phases of the Crest transplantation. Quite an expensive drug, I have to say. And now let's recall the words of Herr Polizist…"
"Dismembered pieces of Capar Blach were found all across the second floor," Said Ascol, lost in thought. "Judging by the trails, he was most likely operated on in the room nearby. I bet he was also alive at the time."
"Albert tried to transplant himself a family Crest. A dangerous task, but he succeeded, or else we'd see one more corpse there. However it doesn't give us much to go on, Owl."
"I wouldn't say so," Ascol took the vial and turned in around. "You do remember what young mages get stuffed with during the preparations for the receiving ritual and also for a while after it? Lowers the risk of rejection."
"Herbal tinctures with bone meal. It's also recommended to use the bones of-" Renier fell silent, finally understanding. "So you think that's why he remains in the city?"
"He could flee before we could fully block off the city. Nevertheless, we have to check this lead. Call the lieutenant."
Lieutenant Siebel walked into the study, even more sullen than usual, trying to avert his eyes from the aftermath of carnage. The old executor has already managed to empty the contents of the table, cabinet and two lockers on the floor and turned to face the lieutenant.
"We need you to make a couple requests for us."
"What kind of requests?"
"I need to know for how long the Blach family has been livinf in this city. And if the last few generations also lived here, I need to know which graveyard their remains can be found in."
"But why do you-"
"And as soon as you find out, send your men there. There is a possibility that Albert had to rake over some old bones. And make it quick, too," Ascol said, leaving the puzzled lieutenant with Glassman as he went out to the next room.
The room where Caspar Blach was murdered.
"Nice to see you here, father Katt".
Ascol froze at the doorstep, barely managing to keep his hand away from the Key hilt in his pocket.
"Koss," He hissed with anger. "I think I ordered you to stay in the car."
"And what exactly am I going to get that way? Nothing. And my bosses are mean and hard to please as is, so I better get to work and get into the thick of the investigation, like they want me to," The alchemist opened the window, letting the cold air inside.
"And I want your ugly face to show up as rarely as possible."
"Are you still upset about that little pinprick? Let's put it behind us, shall we?" Koss lifted his hands. "Julian told me to fix you up so that's what I did. The effects will fade in half a year, and you'll be able to drown yourself in your favorite booze again. Believe me, I know how hard it feels for you right now, I'm not the one to pass up on a drink myself."
"I thought you prefer drugs."
"Oh, anything goes for me if it makes me feel good," Koss laughed. "That's the main reason they prefer to keep me away from the academy itself. My moral standing is not good enough for them. I, for one, think that it's nobody's business what I drink, how often I get a fix, when and who I fuck. Me, or anybody else for that matter. After all, our life is so short, why spend it following all those rotten dogmas?"
Ascol didn't answer, he only walked around the room and studied the scattered pieces of furniture and personal effects.
"A question, if I may, father Katt. Are you really the same Owl, who orchestrated the Leningrad Club's demise?"
"I was only one of those tasked with carrying out the judgment, nothing more. And I'd prefer not to discuss it, especially with you."
"So you are still angry," Koss grinned again. "Let me say it again: I've got nothing against you. What's more, I don't hold grudges against anybody, even if someone's goals contradict my own. I have a simple outlook on life – we do what we gotta do, it's just business, nothing more. If you do your work well, people appreciate you. If not – well, you might get your ass kicked. But everything else just gets in the way. And I'm not a religious type if you wonder that. Oh, I know what you think – "if he's an agent of Atlas from Middle-East, he has to be an insane Muslim to boot", am I right? Well, here's some good news for you: I don't give a damn about any of the existing-"
"It'd be some really good news if you were to get out of my sight in next two minutes. After all, my fists ache to be intimately introduced to that ugly face of yours ever since Cavaillon. Maybe that'll get rid of your damn grin."
"Alright, alright!" Koss backed off to the doors, laughing. "I'll go talk to your second in command; maybe she'll prove a friendlier sort."
"I'm not going to scrape your guts from the walls," Katt shrugged. "You've been warned, you hear?"
When the door closed behind the alchemist, Ascol closed the window and sat down in a nearby chair.
You want to meet us, Albert, no doubt about that. You've prepared for us as best you could, I'm sure of it as well.
Where, where are you waiting for us?
The door banged against the wall – not the first time today.
"How did you know?" Siebel was at the doorstep.
"If you chase magi as long as I do… So, what did you find?" Ascol rose from the chair.
"There was a report yesterday evening. I don't know how our agents missed it."
"A report, you say."
"There was a break-in in the tomb. No stone left unturned. Your Blach really did visit the graveyard. He also got himself another vehicle. And we got ourselves a witness."
"We're moving out. Immediately."
The encirclement slowly narrowed down. The road into a sparse wood near the city suburbs was safely blocked while the forest itself was forced to stay awake. Birds and animals alike tried to hide or get away as the knights made their way, clanging their armor and trying to maintain formations.
A black car, followed by a couple of police vans, was speeding at the top of its engine's power, however small it was. Eric pressed the rickety bucket of bolts to its limit.
"Someday you'll get us all killed, no joke," Whisper opened the window, trying to get rid of the cigarette smoke.
Ascol took the fourth one from his pack in a row. The payoff was close. So very, very close.
Upon arrival at the graveyard they met a guard, who was, by that time, thoroughly brainwashed. He tipped them off about a suspicious vehicle – another old truck. The matching of the vehicle id with the surveillance recordings took half a day, but it paid off in the end. In the evening they got two separate sightings of this truck within the last four days. It was on the course out of the city, but the highway was blocked by the knights as well as police officers for a long time now and that truck had no way of passing through the roadblock unnoticed. Ascol was sure of it. The Teutonics immediately called an Assembly agent, who, in turn, unleashed a bunch of weak familiars to search through the woods – and after a few hours of nervous waiting they finally got the results.
It was a success. The truck they were looking for was found deep in the forest, near an old two-storey cottage. A single command lets the troops off the leash.
Dozens of fighters dart off from their positions, each of them follows the plan to the letter. They are so perfectly coordinated even Ascol is a bit surprised.
The plan was standard, even trivial. All of them were through this kind of exercises countless times. The knights block off the territory while the executors go in for the kill. The blockade is then lifted and the evidence is cleared. The end.
Or at least it's supposed to be like this on paper. As Ascol understood a long time ago, nothing ever goes exactly as planned, no matter how intimidating the official seals and signatures on those plans may look.
When it comes down to reality, operations like this often go awry, especially when they were cooked up in a great hurry, like now. Still, it could be worse.
"Dogma, come in. This is captain Trota," The cracking of the radio on the control panel woke Ascol from his thoughts. "We have them surrounded."
"Any reaction?" Katt wheezed back into the radio.
"Zero. The windows are lit, but everything is quiet both inside and outside the house. Nobody tried to escape yet. Should we send our men to scout ahead?"
"Negative. Continue observation, we will go in within next five minutes. Over."
Ascol tossed the radio back and turned to others.
"We're approaching."
"Business as usual?" Renier asked, as he slowly took the cloth off his right hand.
"As usual. Go in, mop up and get out. Eric, you are going to cover us. I repeat, cover us, and not blow up the whole fucking woods because some birdie looked at you funny."
And here is the turn they need, the one where there were already people waiting near the roadblock. The executors were to stop there, check their equipment one last time and then the house was only a couple of minutes away.
Three minutes left.
The rain was beating against the glass. Black trees swayed their branches under the force of the wind. The radio was cracking with swearing, orders and prayers. Everything merged into a mad, unintelligible chorus where no one could understand anyone but himself.
"Number three, motion spotted. Negative, it's just-"
"Two minutes to destination, captain. Ready in two-"
"And then, o Lord, let the radiance be yours alone and nothing of mine to be there-"
"One minute to destination. Ready in one-"
"Let me praise your holy name, let me and all beside me bask in your holy light-"
"We're going in! Go, go, go!"
"Yours with not words, but my deeds, the strength in my accomplishments-"
Heavy boots stomp across the dirt, hands in thick gloves brush aside the wet branches.
"I'm in position, Owl," The voice from a tightly fit earpiece almost makes his head burst from all the static. "Ready to move on your mark."
The building is straight ahead. A bleak gray double-decker. The windows are boarded up, but some light trickles through. There is someone alive there. Oh yes there is.
The last glimpse back. Somewhere in the dark among the bushes Eric unfolds his deadly machine. The reinforcements wait even further back – Whisper, Kirik and that damn Atlas agent. He was still completely unarmed, all he had was some retorts and beakers, which were promptly splashed across the footpath. Any questions as to what the hell he was doing were ignored. Renier brushed aside the wet hair from his face and shuddered a bit. His glass glove began glimmering and quietly ringing, like countless little chimes. The glass rapidly lost its transparency, the patterns disappeared. Thin glassy threads started crawling up his arm, intertwining and covering more and more of his body.
Ascol feels a short flash of pain, but right now he doesn't even flinch. A moment later each of his hands holds a blade.
"Go."
They dash out of cover and run towards the building. One of them whispers old prayers meant as formulas, completing the prepared rites. The other one cringes in pain as the glassy shell covers his body, right over the clothes. Renier's right hand now sprouts monstrous shining claws, which keep on growing.
The house was some ten meters ahead when the radio crackled again.
"Dogma, we are under attack!"
A moment to comprehend that simple fact…
…immediately followed by an explosion.
Some rubble flew past him as he dodged sideways into the dirt and threw his pair of Keys into the smoke, praying to hit something. His fingers immediately grasped next set of hilts, weaving deadly blades from thin air.
"Damn! Dogma-"
"Everywhere-"
"This is Trota! We've got undead! Hordes of th-"
What?
What the hell?
Then again… they are a family of necromancers…
"Crawling from underground as if on command! I-"
"Attention, the perimeter is under attack! The encroachment is-" Voices drown each other out, not only on the radio channel, but all across the forest now too. Screams and gunshots fill the air.
The smoke up ahead slowly dissipates. Dazzling bright light flows from a fresh hole in the side of the house, making the man, standing there, perfectly visible.
The blonde man in a wrinkled bathrobe raises his hands and screams at the top of his lungs.
"Father Ascol! How punctual of you, coming to your funeral on time!"
"Are you ready, Renier?" Katt hissed through his teeth.
"As always," The creature, sealed in the glass armor responds in a dull voice. His face is impossible to see at this point.
"Eric?" Ascol picks up the radio.
"Yes. If he moves a meter to the left, I'll take him down."
"Did you want to see me, Hollow?" Ascol screamed back. "Are you satisfied now?"
Albert Blach roars with hatred, lowers his hands and a wall of fire rushed towards Ascol.
Just a meter to the left, as Eric told him.
Two Keys fly straight to the target, followed by another pair. All of that took less than five seconds.
The moment last Key leaves his hand, Eric's machine gun starts blazing, while Renier dashes forward with an unfathomable speed for a human, even not taking his massive armor suit into consideration.
A blinding flash – the first pair of Keys reach their target, piercing his shoulders and throwing him back, letting the rest of them to skewer Blach's stomach. Or so it should have been. Instead, they pop in the air with a thunderous clap.
In the same instant searing pain throws Ascol back into the dirt.
What the…
The volley from a machinegun likewise disappears before it could rip the Hollow to shreds. Ascol tries to rise, but his arms are slippery with dirt and blood – his blood. Where did it all come from? Oh, right… he was wounded. His hands slide along his clothes and soak up even more of the crimson juices.
The pinpoint surgical strikes which should have crucified the Hollow on the nearest wall, instead were somehow inflicted upon himself. The absurd, impossible irony of the situation makes his head spin.
What?
How did he-
Somewhere near Torch shrieks – as if his body is torn up by dozens of bullets.
Then comes the horrible understanding that it was exactly what happened to him.
A simple barrier.
No. It's nowhere near simple.
And if the Keys aimed at Hollow's chest were to strike their target…
Ascol would have been ripped to shreds.
Somehow he managed to rise on his knees and elbows, to cover the most dangerous wound with his palm. Then, he fell back into the dirt, splashing numerous dirty droplets into the air. He muttered old words, hoping to close at least the worst lacerations.
"Mighty, eternal Lord, you are the endless salvation of those who have faith in you… hear our prayers for the ailing and show them your mercy and your comfort…"
It hurts. It hurts so badly. He wasn't in this much pain ever since that one bitch carved his back and plucked a few toes with huge pincers...
Somewhere ahead of him Renier and Hollow fight as if in milky fog. Never stopping to chant his precious words, Katt waits to see Blach's body eviscerated by the shining claws, just like so many bodies before that.
But it doesn't.
Renier is thrown back right after he made his swift attack. Shattered glass sprays everywhere.
The glass, which was completely impervious to any attempts of the Assembly specialists to melt, cut or break it. Ascol remembered that nothing left a scratch on it.
What has he done to himself?!
He could hear Eric moan and swear as he called backup. Screams of the knights filled the channels and every minute of listening to them sapped his spirit.
"In the trees! He's in the trees!"
"Damn, nine o'clock!"
"An Apostle! We've got an Apostle, requesting immediate-"
"What in-"
Renier lies in the dirt, his glassy armor gradually crumbles away. Albert Blach runs to Ascol straight through the dirt, laughing hysterically as his feet splash the mud.
"A Hollow, you say? A Hollow? Hollow, right?"
As Katt mutters the third prayer in a row – this one should give him strength to raise and fight – he looks Albert in the eye.
"Take that! This is for "Hollow"! You took everything from me! Everything! I hate you!" The firestorm will consume him in a few seconds.
There is no fight left in him. Almost. Still, that little spark isn't enough to get Ascol through the prayer.
A short phrase awakens the tiny medallion, the one Whisper told him to throw away. Turns out she was right.
There is a click.
His body shivers.
The fire dies down as it clashes against an invisible wall, but the next instant his head flashes with pain. Then everything drowns in the black void.
Church is fooled once again...
Albert Blach, your endless pain...
Albert's heart was pounding in his chest. He was tired of running already, but the highway was still a fair way ahead. Of course, he could make quick work of anyone who dared to chase him, but…
His strength was oozed away. The Sphere, despite all its power, couldn't sustain him indefinitely.
In fact, he probably should feed it sooner rather than later…
Trying not to think about it, Blach searched for something pleasant to concentrate on. Let's take that fucking Ascol's death, for example. He died by himself, probably messed up a spell or something. Just shuddered for a moment and died, falling face first into the mud.
Good riddance… that scumbag.
Albert hopped over a fallen tree and continued on his way…
Or at least he wanted to, but suddenly found himself sunken into the earth up to his knees.
Or was it even earth?
It wasn't. Not even close.
Something gray, viscous, incredibly sticky…
He fell prey to panic immediately. As he tried to free his feet, he only sunk deeper – and when he started flailing around, trying to find solid ground, he immediately sunk to his waist.
"I would recommend calming down," A tall man stepped from behind a tree and graciously leaped on a rock. He had dark skin and sly eyes. A disgustingly smug grin was plastered on his face. "Or you might sink all the way down to the bottom, Hollow."
"I'm not hollow!" Blach howled. "Not hollow! You can't kill me!"
"Not going to," Koss searched his pockets and took a small vial. "Atlas needs you alive. I think they will even dissect you alive."
"You might get dissected yourself," Candle stepped into the light, covered in blood from head to toe, smiling wickedly. "Atlas, you say? You people never knew how to fight."
"You must have never seen an operative of ours in action," Koss never stopped trying to scare his foes with increasingly sinister grins. "But you can be proud of yourself. You got their – mine attention now."
Koss dropped the vial and tore a piece of cloth from his belt – unveiling thin steel strips underneath. Two seconds later he had a very peculiar weapon in his hands, the kind Freri has never seen before in his life: it was an odd-looking tangle of razor-sharp metal ribbons. Not quite a whip, not really a sword, and surely not a proper belt.
"The fuck is this?"
Without bothering to answer, Koss lashed out with his ribbons.
Half-blood dodged the first one, slipped away from the second ribbon, but all the others found their target. The whiplash sent him to the ground, splattering blood. His right arm was seeping blood from multiple cuts, clearly unable to hold a knife any more.
"Now to finish you off," Koss was ready to lash out again when a gunshot threw him off.
"No you won't," Epnord left his cover, keeping the alchemist at gunpoint. He was covered in dirt and blood, his eyes were so red one could barely notice the pupils in there. "Freri, Albert, the hell are you doing? Can't leave you to fend for yourselves for a minute-"
"Get me out of here, you dipshits!" Blach wailed. "Hurry, damn you!"
"I wouldn't recommend that," Koss noted. "He belongs to Atlas."
A gunshot and another whiplash were made simultaneously.
Almost simultaneously.
"Well, there you go," The alchemist said.
Epnord examined the stump of his arm, as well as the part of it lying on the ground. It pressed the trigger at the same moment it was cut off.
"You-" Riar could barely contain his rage and pain. "Do you even know how long it takes to grow another one, you motherfucker?"
"Now let us even the odds," Whisper made her way through the thick growth, swaying her bloodied mace playfully. "Those undead of yours... shoddy work."
Albert was one step away from hysteria. The situation was getting from bad to worse: if his companions didn't get him out of this cursed bog, even Mark of Cain wouldn't save him from what was in store for him…
"Your Ascol is dead!" Albert cried at the top of his lungs, as he saw the tall woman, who once tried to catch him. "I left him to die in the mud!"
As soon as her face reflected the realization, Blach knew he was spot on.
"Stop!" Koss roared. "Our goal is Hollow!"
"So take care of him. I'm going to save Katt."
Before the alchemist had a chance to answer, she dashed forward. Candle leapt out of her way the instant before she would have smashed him, he didn't even have time to pick up his trusty knife.
"Dumb bitch!" Koss spat on the stones in rage. "Why nobody ever listens to me?"
"Don't you worry, we are all ears," Epnord took a small hatchet from his sash with the remaining hand. "Candle, get Blach out of here and look for a car. Don't wait for me."
"I wasn't going to," The half-blood laughed, as he darted in to save Albert. "Grab my hand, come on!"
"I think I told you, he is Atlas property," Koss repeated tiredly. Thieves usually get their hands cut off, but in your case I think it'll be decapitation."
"Are you done talking?" Riar growled, as he threw himself forward.
Albert grabbed the bloodied, maimed Candle's limb, who screamed with pain, but didn't let go, only pulled with redoubled strength. For a moment there Blach thought he saw Freri's eyes get a little hazy, but they got normal in a second.
Steel ribbons slashed Epnord all over again – he didn't ever try to dodge them. After all, what is pain for a Dead Apostle?
With great effort the alchemist managed to dodge the hatchet aimed at his face, but in Epnord knocked him off his feet with all his weight. Without wasting any time, Riar quickly pinned him to the ground and aimed to tear the alchemist's throat with his teeth. Instead, Koss poked him in the eyes as hard as he could and the momentarily blinded Apostle howled and rolled off the alchemist, getting dangerously close to the sandpit which nearly swallowed Blach a minute ago. Koss looked around, searching for Albert and Candle, but they were nowhere to be seen.
"That dumb, dumb bitch…" The alchemist repeated himself. "All my work wasted because of her."
Riar slowly rose from the blood-covered earth. One of his eyes was already back in place, while the other was still regenerating from a wet bloody pulp.
"One more dance, red-eyes?" Koss wheezed, picking up his odd weapon.
"My work here is done," Epnord growled, as he turned around and bolted into the woods with all his remaining strength.
The sharp ribbons whiffed behind his back, but the Apostle was too far for them to reach…
It was so hard to open his eyes. Bright white light was so painful, almost lacerating. It was maddeningly familiar: the light, the color of the ceiling and the beeping of the medical hardware – those three are the same no matter which hospital he got into.
When Ascol finally got his bearings, he tried to raise from the bed, but was immediately thrown back by the searing pain in his back.
"Don't move, Katt," A sad and tired voice made him turn his head in search for its origin.
Whisper was sitting next to a wall, holding a small book in her hands.
"Best if you don't try to get up yet. You've been in intensive care for about a whole day, being stuffed with some alchemical shit."
"I-"
Fireworks of pain exploded behind his eyes. Katt pressed his head against the pillow and said in hoarse voice:
"The squad-"
"Everyone is alive," Whisper responded quickly. "Thanks to our greenhorn. He brought Eric back from death's door… you too, for that matter."
"Renier?"
"Somehow he recovered without any assistance. Had a couple of deep wounds, but well… you better ask him yourself. That was a sight to behold."
"I don't remember shit," Ascol moaned, trying not to sound as miserable as he was feeling. "How did everything go so badly? How could he best us?"
"You are the mage killer, not me. I've no idea," Whisper sighed. "Damn it! We took the bait like children!"
"It's my fault. I thought he was a blockhead, uneducated, powerless… hollow. But he still got us."
"You are right, he was waiting for us. And he wasn't alone. There was a mediocre Apostle and some quick fucker with him. They had undead buried all across the forest. When the knights encircled the building, those undead rose from the ground and in turn encircled the knights."
"I remember that. He also had some weird, monstrously powerful shield."
"Indeed. Renier, Eric and the surviving knights all reported that any attempt to attack him caused the attacker himself to be heavily wounded or killed outright. Eric got the same wounds as if his bullets all turned around and came back at him… if he hуld the trigger just a little longer, he'd be torn apart."
"And what about the rookie and that… Koss?"
"First thing Kirik did - he got to Torch. I though he's a spineless worm, but… hell, you should have seen him!"
"What…what did he do?"
"Once he heard someone needed help, he ran alone through the ghoul-infested forest. Didn't ever stop. He brought Eric back from the brink of death."
"And me-"
"I brought you to him," Whisper laughed sadly. "You always either fall out of the window, or into the river or crawl into some dirt and try to die. And who else would save you but me?"
"Th... thanks," Wheezed Katt.
"It's not like I could let you die there before you apologize for all you've done to me. And as for Koss, well, that dick from Atlas ended up being a damn hero. He almost caught Hollow, and almost cut that Apostle along with the gray-haired fucker."
"Almost, almost, almost… do we have any results?"
"None, Katt. Mission failed. Hollow and his companions skipped town, Julian is furious. Same with the Teutonic commanders who got their ranks culled in a bloodbath by our fabulous trio."
"Terrific. How long have I been out cold? Just don't tell me it's been a week."
"Two days."
"Dear lord…" Ascol fell silent as he stared at the blank white ceiling. "It's been a while since we got our asses kicked this hard."
"Yeah. First time since the "Blizzard". Worst thing is – Hollow seems pretty sure he killed you off for good. He won't try and bait us into attacking him anymore."
"We'll just have to find and attack him ourselves. I'll rip out his guts personally."
"How are you going to do that? Of course, our reports are being analyzed as we speak and soon we might know what kind of barrier we are dealing with, but during that time he's free to sow all kinds of chaos."
"I have an idea. A lousy one, but looks like we don't have any other options," Katt grimaced. "Now give me my phone book, please."
"And just who are you going to call?" Whisper looked surprised.
"It was the Wandering Tomb, right? The place where Albert Blach got his damn barrier? Thankfully, I have an old contact with good ties to the Sea of Astray. Sometimes he "shares" their secrets."
"Is he a mage?"
"Indeed. He's a pain in the ass, but I saved him and now it's time to pay the debts."
Ascol got his worn note book and nervously looked through the pages.
"What's his name?"
"Neutgart von Weitle."