The Maddening Conditions: The Tale of Gilbert

So, what's a mercenary to do once the war's over and the day's won? Go home and be with the wife and kids, of course. And that's exactly what Gilbert did--he left the Stupid Castle without making a sound, found a boat, and sailed most of the way to his home town, where he arrived without pomp and in fact very few people had even noticed he was missing. That didn't matter--the point was that the fighting was over, and Gilbert was home, and he could finally rest and take things easy. After all, his wife needed somebody to love, and his son needed somebody to model after.

It was best for Gilbert to not think of why he left his family in the first place. He didn't like making up excuses, like "they needed the money" or "it was all for the best"; the point was that he had been absolutely brilliant in battle, and absolutely terrible as a family man. Seeking to remedy this most ill situation was Gilbert's first priority once the war was over. In other words, he was finally ready to return to real life.

Gilbert's home was not much--barely large enough to hold four--but it was a nice place, with lots of warmth and a little touch of sophistication. The former mercenary had gotten rather rich during the Dunan Unification War, and so now he could finally give his family the life they deserved, and not one living in this mediocre city. Gilbert had been gone from Zexen for some time, but could've found his way home blindfolded; the entire city had not changed at all since he left it.

After briefly weaving his way through the streets (with his eyes open), Gilbert entered his house and sighed. The mere scent of home brought back a load of memories to the mercenary, most of them good. His wife and son had not changed the house at all, except maybe a little cleaning here and there. Blowing out a deep breath, Gilbert threw off his red mantle and shouted out to his small family that finally, he was home.

Silence.

Raising a quizzical eyebrow, Gilbert just assumed that nobody was home, and made his way to the master bedroom to change his outfit. Living as a merc meant that one couldn't be picky about their clothes, so Gilbert would've been relieved to wear something different for a change. Mysteriously, the door to the master bedroom was locked, which it had never been before, not even once. Gilbert's confusion over the locked knob lasted for quite awhile, even as he muttered a curse and pulled out a few picks for the lock.

After a minor struggle, the door came loose and Gilbert was able to enter the bedroom. He had known something was wrong the very second his hand touched the knob: neither his wife nor his son was foolish enough to leave the house with the bedroom door locked, and unless they were in the room themselves (doing who-knows-what), Gilbert could assume the worst. After muttering a complaint about said door and lock, he stepped into the room and quickly discovered why he had been prevented from entering.

He screamed.

His wife was home--and in a way, she was not. She was lying on the bed, with her body facing the ceiling, and her hands were folded neatly over her stomach. Her eyes and mouth were closed, and if there hadn't been a puddle of blood splattered all over the bed and the floor, Gilbert would have thought she was sleeping. He nearly vomited as he gazed at his blood-stained lover, and wept tears of hot rage and horror as he dared look at the weapon of destruction. A knife had been plunged straight into her heart (which was the cause of most of the blood), and grotesquely enough, a note had been pinned onto her.

Gilbert immediately ran to his dead lover, cradling her cold body in his hands. He let out a screech, and mourned so bitterly that the windows vibrated from his cry. With a tear-streaked face, he looked at the note that had been stuck onto his wife, and his grief quickly turned into rage as he read the letter. It had been written in her blood.

"Sir,

Your attendance is requested at the utmost urgency. Please RSVP at the town square once you read this note, and one of my business associates will accompany you to my place of residence, where we may discuss further terms. I am most displeased that we were not able to finish our initial business, but I hope we can clear away any bad blood in this next meeting, if you'll pardon the pun. If by some chance you are unable to attend, then we will delight in taking the life of another one of your loved ones. You do not have many, so I assume you know that of whom I speak.

Regards,

Your old friend, Stratos"

Gilbert let out such an animalistic growl that he nearly shattered his own vocal chords. He screamed out in an uncontrollable fury, and ripped the note to shreds before tossing the pieces in a trashcan. His dark eyes became filled with hate and malice, and the former mercenary would've gone insane at that very moment if a certain person didn't emerge from their hiding spot.

From out of the closet emerged his son, sniveling and crying bitterly. Gilbert's fiery heart cooled down and melted as he saw his son there, and the relief of seeing him alive almost made him feel good. The mercenary instantly put his arms around the boy, and held him close in a comforting grasp. Though crying himself, he whispered soft, gentle words to his boy, and assured him that everything would be okay, even if he himself didn't believe it.

After having his wife buried, and his son taken to a foster home, Gilbert found his weapon and put on his mantle once again. The farewell with his son was brief; he had business to take care of, and the sooner he got things done, the sooner he could go back to salvaging what was left of his life. So after leaving his son, Gilbert took his sword and made his way to the town square. He never saw the boy again.

The person waiting for him smiled, and surprisingly, Gilbert showed no emotion. He simply followed the other man as they made their way to the headquarters of the mob boss known only as Stratos. Gilbert kept a calm demeanor all the way, and was in no way ashamed to be seen carrying a naked sword with him. He knew he would have to give the tool up sooner or later--after all, Stratos was a very important, and very suspicious man.

Gilbert knew Stratos from way back when; the two had done business before, and as mentioned in the letter, their ties had been cut off. Gilbert seemed to favor other patrons, which made Stratos quite angry--angry enough to kill. The man was dangerous, and ruthless, but mostly he was merciless. Stratos would kill without batting an eye, or else he'd get one of his many famous assassins to do the job for him. He was as powerful as he was rich; some said that he was the real boss of the Howling Voice Guild, and others claimed that he owned most of the Harmonian government.

Gilbert greeted Stratos impassively. The two had never seen eye to eye before, and it would be an understatement to say that they detested each other. Stratos liked Gilbert a little more than he hated him: the man was useful, to a point, and though unreliable at times, he could definitely pull through if given enough incentive. The business that had started between these two men was of the dirty kind, and Stratos wanted to bring things to a conclusion in the worst way.

"Well, so you came at last!" exclaimed the mob boss in a very creaky voice. "Good, that's good. I was anticipating your arrival. I think that 'letter attached to the knife' bit was a very keen idea, don't you agree?" Silence. A weaponless Gilbert crossed his arms, gazing at the wiry Stratos with dead eyes. He was so overcome with emotion that all he could do was keep a poker face.

"…Well," sniffed Stratos after a pause, "I suppose your feelings on the matter are rather ill, eh? I suppose I should apologize for killing your wife, but… ehh, I didn't know of any other way to really get your attention."

"Try standard mail," muttered Gilbert. "I never heard of a person dying that way."

"People die all the time," sighed Stratos with a wave of his hand. "You yourself must have been responsible for the deaths of many people in that war of yours. You might've even killed as many people as I have, though I doubt it."

"Those killings were justified as the means of accomplishing goals and setting boundaries," replied Gilbert. "War is terrible, yes, but it is also necessary."

"Spare me," moaned Stratos. "I don't need to be reminded of your crusades. I have enough bleeding hearts in my own regime as it is--ahhh, if you'll pardon the use of my language." The mobster smiled eerily, and the men in the room laughed along with his twisted joke. Gilbert snarled a little, but just a little. He didn't want to do anything drastic until he was certain that he could get away with it.

"So why'd you ask me to come here?" asked Gilbert, making sure that he kept his eyes on Stratos and his back against the wall. He had learned long ago that an exposed back was a very, very, very bad thing.

"Just to finish something that should have reached a conclusion many weeks ago," replied Stratos. He handed Gilbert a folder that contained several papers concerning the mercenary's final job with Stratos, and Gilbert regarded the papers with disdain. It was true that the work he had started was inconclusive, but unless this was of vital importance to Stratos……

"This doesn't look too important," argued the former merc. "Just another one of your dirty assassination jobs."

"True, but I always like to see a job, or a former client, finished in the end." He smiled and even laughed at his own joke, and the guards joined in. Gilber smiled too, but for a completely different reason. Slowly, he slid a hidden dagger he kept in his sleeve down from his shoulder to his wrist, and caught it before it could be exposed.

"Really?"

"Yes," said Stratos with a grin. Gilbert saw his chance. It was now or never. Even if he should die, the world would've been relieved of one more monster at least, then maybe his son could live in peace……

"Then, as a man of business, you'll appreciate what I'm about to do next," he said. Without waiting for Stratos to inquire about what he meant, Gilbert leaped forward and plunged the dagger into Stratos' neck. The mobster jerked back in shock, and was thrown to the floor by a frantic Gilbert. The guards to the room instantly drew their own weapons, mostly crossbows, and a hail of arrows and throwing knives rained down on Gilbert as he stormed out of the building.

It was only by the skin of his teeth that Gilbert made it out alive, though he did get a little cut from a stray arrow. The wound was nothing; he'd have time to heal later, but now he needed to run for his life. Years of being in the mercenary's and assassin's guilds had made him quick, so he was able to escape not only the building, but also all of Zexen. His son would be taken to a different city, where he could hopefully live out his days in anonymity, but as for Gilbert, he would be stuck as a wandering fugitive from the mob for the rest of his life.

So much for an early retirement, he cursed to himself.

One month passed.

Gilbert now found himself in in Kalekka, a small town situated somewhere between the Toran Republic and the City-States. The town had been abandoned for some time now, and only recently had any life bothered to come back to it. The ghost town was perfect for Gilbert to hide in--nobody in their right mind would think of looking for him there. Of course, that meant that he was all the more exposed, since Stratos' men would most definitely look in the least-likely places first.

But for the time being, he would hide out there, until he could discover a way of fighting back. His skills alone would be insufficient to counter Stratos' forces. Even without the big guy in charge, there were still plenty of people left over to constitute a threat. And as a gruesome side note, Stratos still had his infamous gallery of assassins to choose from, some of whom were so nasty and wicked that they made Lucia from the Karayan seem docile.

Suddenly, Gilbert's sensitive ears picked up the sound of approaching footsteps. He instantly went for his sword, but would not draw until he knew who was coming. The steps came closer, Gilbert held his breath, a shadowy figure appeared…

"Who's there?" he asked, the grip on his weapon tightening slightly. A chuckling sound came from outside, and Gilbert drew his weapon for all the world to see. He snarled as several of Stratos' low-ranking assassins came into the room, and noticed that not one of them was unarmed. He growled a little, and knew immediately that he had been found.

"Bah! I was certain that it'd take you guys a lot longer to find me!" he snarled. The assassins merely chuckled, and a few of them already started to run towards Gilbert with the intention of finishing him off. "Fools," muttered the merc. "When'll you ever learn…?"

Slash! Slice! Swing! Chop!

Silence. Four assassins fell to the floor, dead as stones.

"Pathetic," sighed Gilbert, cleaning his sword of blood. He was not even breathing hard. "Just pathetic. I expected more from Stratos' goons. Is that the best you can throw at me?"

"No," came another voice from outside. The assassins, or what was left of them, suddenly turned as pale as ash as they heard the voice, and each and every one of them backed away to make room for the new figure. Gilbert became curious as he saw them cower, and couldn't help but wonder if Stratos had anybody that fearful left.

"I am the best they can throw at you," came the voice again, and with the voice came a figure, and with the figure came a face. The figure was almost completely covered up by a white cloak and hood, but Gilbert could make out the face. It belonged to a woman, a very beautiful and very deadly woman, with eyes of coldest blue and locks of purest gold. Gilbert couldn't see any other feature except for her face or her hair, but from the looks on the other assassins' faces, this was a woman to fear.

"And who are you?" he asked. The woman smiled at him, like a jackal smiles before ripping up their prey, and threw off her hood to make proper introductions.

"I am called… 'The Hell-Hunter'," she said, and immediately the woman dashed forward, tossing her cloak aside and swiping at Gilbert with ferocious… claws? The mercenary barely dodged the blow, but the wall was less fortunate. Four terrible slash marks had been scratched onto the stone--four very deep, and very wide marks. The other assassins groaned out in horror as the woman known only as Hell-Hunter attacked the wall.

Slowly, the blonde turned her head, licked her lips, and smiled.

"I didn't have to miss," she hissed in a rough, calculating voice. Gilbert swallowed, and his hearing picked up again as the remaining assassins crept up on him. No matter how incompetent they were, he had no chance of facing them all at the same time, let alone with this maniacal woman in the room with them.

"Take a hike, boys," ordered the woman as she turned away from the shredded wall. "If you don't mind, I'd like to handle things myself from here on out."

"Y-yes, ma'am!" they muttered, and every single one of them ran away from the building as fast as their feet could carry them. That left Gilbert and the Hell-Hunter all alone, lucky him.

"Just what do you want, anyway?" he asked of her. She smiled back at him wickedly, proudly placing one hand on her hips. Each hand was protected by a gauntlet that had claws for fingers, so the blonde woman could inflict massive damage with just a singe stroke. It was obvious that she was strong--no normal person could've carved up the wall like she did--so unless Gilbert had a plan, he was pretty much screwed.

"I want you to die," said the Hell-Hunter calmly, and she dashed forward once again to swipe at him. Her speed was unbelievable, and her attacks were fanatical. Slash by slash, step by step, she forced Gilbert to back away until he was at the door to the house. He raised his sword to defend himself, but it was almost shattered by the full power of the hellish woman attacking him.

"What is your deal, lady?!" shouted Gilbert as he parried. The maniacal assassin screeched out in glee, grinning like a hyena as she continued to attack. Sparks flew as her claws struck Gilbert's sword, and if the mercenary didn't know any better, he would have thought that she was toying with him.

"I was one of Stratos' key employees!" she spat, pushing him further and further away. "I was one of his elite five assassins--class Super S! I'm normally called in to do jobs that are otherwise impossible, but in this case, I made an exception!!!" Shouting out, the demented woman lashed out at Gilbert again, nearly cutting his face open with a near-miss of her weapons. She continued to chase him around the room, getting kicks and vicious punches in whenever she could. This was not even a challenge to her.

"Just my luck," muttered Gilbert through clenched teeth. Growling, he ducked under her swiping claws and through some miracle, managed to slash at her face. A streak of blood erupted out of the woman's cheek, and she cried out as the wound stabbed at her. She suddenly went to the floor, groaning gently as she nursed her wound.

"How could you?!" she snarled. "How could you do this to me?! I'm a woman!"

"Yeah, and I'm a man, and you're trying to kill me! Now I'm glad that we cleared all that up, but if you don't mind, I'd like to be left alone!" Gilbert sheathed his sword, and calmly walked away from the defeated woman. Suddenly, she screamed out at him, and dashed forth in a mad tackle. Gilbert was struck hard by her attack, and was slammed against the wall with the force of a wrecking ball. The Hell-Hunter was snarling like a rabid dog, her blue eyes on fire and her teeth bared.

"The Hell-Hunter cannot be killed!" she hissed through her teeth. "Many have tried, but they have all failed! I have slaughtered hundreds, perhaps a thousand people, so you will not be the first to defeat me!"

"Things… change…" muttered Gilbert as the woman pressed him against the wall. It was clear that she was going to try and suffocate him to death--her claws were very much available to her, but it seemed as if she wanted to spare him a quick death.

"We'll see," breathed the woman, and she slammed her knee in Gilbert's back to emphasize the point. He groaned out in pain, but remembered that he still had a few tricks up his sleeve--literally. With a flick of the wrist, he brought out his hidden dagger, and blindly threw it backwards at the woman. She hastily dodged it, but not completely: instead of going towards her chest, it struck her right shoulder as she swerved to miss it, and a mild cry of pain came out of her mouth as she grasped her injury.

Gilbert was freed.

"Now let me go!" he demanded. The Hell-Hunter snarled, her breathing more terrible and slow than anything made in heaven or hell. It was deliberate and harsh, and full of frothing and cursing from the woman's part. The Hell-Hunter suddenly shocked Gilbert by yanking the knife from out of her shoulder, and turning her snarl into a smile as she prepared for another attack.

"What the--"

"Like I said," she growled, "I can't be killed!!"

"So much for that," grumbled Gilbert. "Hey, listen…"

"Enough talk!" roared the woman. "It's time to die!!!" And to Gilbert's amazement, the Hell-Hunter's attack actually increased, and the woman lashed out at him with a much more uncontrolled fury than before. It took everything he had and more to shield his life, and it was obvious now that all pretenses of slow death were out the window. Now, it was kill or be killed, and considering the woman's boasts, Gilbert would definitely lose.

He did manage to give her another cut, but the fiendish woman kept on attacking him without any regard to her own safety. It was as if she not only ignored the pain, but enjoyed it as well. As sick and masochistic as that sounded, Gilbert had to admit that it gave her an advantage, and that he was very well doomed unless he could think of something.

"Hey!" he shouted as he parried her attacks. "Do you know why Stratos wants me dead?!"

"I don't know and I don't care!" shouted the woman. "The only thing I'm getting out of this is a paycheck! Your reasons mean nothing to me!"

"I was the one who killed him!!!" shouted the mercenary, hoping against all hope that the news would sway the attacking woman. It did not.

"Good!" she retorted. "Then I'm not wasting my time!"

"And do you know why I killed him?!"

"Lots of people wanted him dead!" she snarled, her claws dangerously close to his face. They attacked and parried again, and with a grunt, Gilbert told her the truth.

"…He… killed my wife," he said. "Stratos… wanted to speak with me, so… he killed my wife to get my attention!!" A pause. The Hell-Hunter glared at Gilbert through eyes of deep, calculating blue, and a flash of thought crossed her mind. Slowly, she backed away from her attack, and gazed at the mercenary through inquisitive eyes.

"…Really?"

"Yeah… put a knife through her heart and everything. I had just gotten back from the wars with Highland, and I was planning on retiring into a quiet life. It seems as if Stratos had other plans." Another pause. The Hell-Hunter, once a maniacal machine bent on savagery and destruction, combed her long golden hair out of her eyes and swallowed.

"…That's terrible," she whispered. Gilbert snorted.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Anyway, I sort of went out of control, and… ahh, avenged her, I suppose. Anyway, I've been on the run ever since, and… well, here I am." He crossed his arms, keeping that famous poker face of his steady as he waited for the woman's verdict. The Hell-Hunter, normally a vicious and merciless woman, let out a sigh and looked at the situation in a new light.

"…So are you telling me that you're really just another one of his victims?"

"I suppose I am," shrugged the mercenary. "I never wanted any of this. I just wanted to live the rest of my life with those that I cared for. Now, I'm a fugitive. There'll be no safe place I can turn to, no city I'll be able to avoid. I'll never see my son again either."

"Ugh, was he killed too?"

"No, I just put him in the care of foster parents. I pray to God that he's safe, but as for me, I'm pretty much a dead man." Another pause filled the air, and the Hell-Hunter quietly contemplated this new turn of events. It was true that she was a devilish woman, and that she killed for pleasure and for cash, but behind all that ice and fire laid a small but gentle heart, one that secretly longed for justice in the world.

The Hell-Hunter let out another sigh, removed her gauntlets, and bowed her head.

"I didn't know," she murmured softly. "If I had known about this, then I never would have attacked you. I was just told that you killed a man. I didn't know it was the boss, and I didn't know that you only ended his life because he ended your wife's."

"Little good that'll do," snorted Gilbert. "I'll bet it doesn't change a thing between us."

"You might be surprised," said the Hunter with a smirk. "I might be one of Stratos' elite assassins, but it's not like I'm in love with the guy. If you wanna know the truth, I was really only working for him because he pays the most, and nobody else liked the way I handled things. Believe me, mister…"

"Gilbert."

"…Right, Gilbert. Anyway, believe me: I would not have went after you if I had known he did such a terrible thing."

"…So, you'll leave me alone then?" he asked. The Hunter chuckled softly and shook her head.

"Oh no, not by a long shot. You see, this is the first job I've backed out of, and if I don't bring your head in to the other bosses, I'll become a fugitive as well. I can't kill you now, because that'd be too cruel and cold for my taste, so unless you feel like doing anything very illegal, it looks like we'll be running together."

"Together?" blurted Gilbert. He shook his head to make sure he wasn't hearing things. Did this hellish woman just suggest that they work together? Wasn't she bent on killing him just a few seconds ago? And now she was telling him that she would be accompanying him? This was too strange!

Yet… Gilbert had to admit that the woman seemed genuine, and the almost-gentle look on her rough face told him that she really was sorry about his loss. Besides, knowing Stratos' organization, they probably would have gone after the Hell-Hunter if she returned empty-handed. She would become a fugitive as well, so there really was no point in running from the mob solo.

"…You mean… you and I?" said Gilbert. The woman nodded her head.

"I don't see anyone else here," she said. Gilbert sighed, shook his head, and decided to take her offer. Even if this had been a trap, as he expected, he could at least keep a close watch on his would-be executioner, until some measure of safety presented itself. So the two mercenaries shook hands on the deal, and from that day forward, they would be partners in evading the mob. The could not hide forever, even with their combined skills, but since they would be cooperating, the burden would seem much easier to bear.

"By the way," said the woman as they left the ruined building, "my name is Helga. Helga the Hell-Hunter."

"You don't have a last name?" he asked.

"That's all you need to know," she shrugged. "Just watch my back, and I'll watch yours."

"Can do," he said, as they walked away into the horizon together.

The End