Chapter Nineteen: Vespertide, Phase 02
The sun set as Braig observed the tragedy from his perch atop a palace spire with callous interest. Over a hundred feet below, amid the sea of bodies obscuring the plaza, one-armed Aeleus trembled on his knees over the disfigured corpse that was once the bothersome Prince Ienzo.
The sniper sighed, amazed more than anything, and ran a hand through his faintly greying ebony hair. Never thought it'd end like this.
He didn't need to see anymore. He stood up, gathered his crossbow-rifle, and departed to deliver the news.
He descended through the city's waterways underground, sinking deeper and deeper into the obscurest nadirs of the city's diseased, guttural heart—far beyond the eyes of the law. He reached the trek's end a few hundred feet beneath the surface, far into the old industrial labyrinth that had become one with the cavernous sewer, and the sniper pulled a hidden switch, a lichenous wall slid aside, and he crossed a phosphorescent gateway instantly transporting him to the far end of a shadow-obscured alley between two dilapidated buildings—clearly back above-ground.
Braig smirked, satisfied the split-second voyage was a success, and walked confidently to the alley's mouth to reach the city thoroughfare. He allowed a moment to take it all in: the endless labyrinthine streets, the murky skyscrapers more akin to Victorian masonry than postmodern constructions, and the general architecture of the stygian realm were all dark and twisted—a perfect gothic nightmare—lit by the sulfuric essence of the warped and contorted street lamps. The sky overhead was a crushing abyss of darkness, its "clouds" the gaseous blood-red nebulae of this most malevolent corner of the unexplored galaxy. Heartless and dark-hearted Somebodies alike traversed the streets without fear of assault from one another, all assured of the others' mutual desire for this dark peace. This was the capital of all the heavenly bodies in the star system that only a relative few bearing the darkest of hearts knew of: Vesper's Vale.
Unlike Radiant Garden, not a speck of snow was to be found anywhere. This world was in its mid-autumn.
Braig produced a small bag from one of his belt pouches and removed something from inside: a small, eroded bone. The sharpshooter deftly flicked the digit of windswept collagen to between the fingers of his right hand and then snapped it in half with his thumb. The evaporating effect of the dust confirmed he'd done the small ritual correctly as he so often had. Now, there was only the wait…the mercifully brief wait.
Donkeys' hooves clopped and clamored across the cobblestone a short distance beyond his sight, and then a wooden coach emerged from the fog and halted just beside him. Braig casually waved to the red-coated driver as the horses settled, "Evenin', Barker."
The Coachman Barker, renowned by the Vesper's community for his work in Pleasure Island, greeted back with no small trace of contented malice in his schemer's voice, "And a g'd'evenin' to you, Braig. Didn't know you was comin' tonight."
The sniper shrugged and cast a crooked grin. "Need to get a message to my boss. Some wacked-out new developments goin' on back home."
The coachman smiled. "You're in luck. He's already in the back. On his way to the meetin', he is."
Braig was visibly impressed at the timing. He reached a hand for the door, "Much obliged, old-timer," and took his seat opposite the carriage's only other occupant. "Evenin', boss," the sniper greeted.
Even sat cross-legged in his royal suit of varying shades of azure and alabaster, reading an aged and impressively-sized novel. "Hello, Braig," the scientist monotoned back, seemingly disinterested. Eyes never leaving the text, he followed, "How fares the expedition?"
The aging brigadier-general shrugged. "It was mostly a disaster."
Even looked up from his novel, clearly expecting an explanation. "What do you mean? Who survived?"
Braig exhaled as he ran the numbers in his head. "Let's see…we still got gas-bag and rock-boy…five rookies…and that's about it."
Even wasn't pleased. "Then only one of our three targets was slain by the Heartless."
Braig sniggered. "Yeah, funny thing about that kid a' yours—he didn't die from any Heartless. There was a riot outside the palace. Dumb li'l shit tried going right through it and now he's roadkill."
The scientist's eyes had widened somewhat at the unexpected development, but narrowed again as he spoke, "Then Ienzo is dead." He scoffed. "That's at least one security concern taken care of." He returned his gaze to the book, deeply contemplating something other than its contents, then returned to his underling, "He knew about all this, Braig. Somehow, he found out—I just know it." He looked out the window, "But how did he do it…?"
The sniper shrugged. "Could be Evelyn wasn't bluffing. Maybe the kid did have some hidden power. But who cares anymore? Point is he's gone and there's no evidence that he ever told anybody. The brat took all he knows to the grave."
Even's gaze was still directed carelessly out the window, head propped by a hand and still constricting his focus to the mystery he never solved. "I can never truly rest until I know his source won't elucidate this knowledge to anyone else. I would've killed the boy sooner had I the opportunity—perhaps even tortured the information out of him." He cast a sidelong glance to Braig. "How did Aeleus and Dilan survive?"
The sniper released a long groan and rolled his eyes. "Sephiroth."
The scientist grimaced. "We should've expected this. And now they'll want some public statement for the massacre."
"That and whatever the riot was about. A prince died in it, after all." Then he remembered, "Oh, and there's the big Coalition summit tomorrow."
"I gave Ansem enough of the antidote for him to attend. I won't have to substitute for him this time. Even still, I'm going to be busy."
Braig motioned to the book, "Not too busy for a little pleasure readin', though."
"Hm? This?" Even closed the ancient tome and held it up for his henchman to read the cover: Loveless. "It's garbage. Just something Ienzo ordered that I intercepted over a year ago. Evelyn practically sang praises about this book, but I never got around to actually reading it until recently. It's just as horrid as I imagined." With that, he tossed it out the window, where it splashed into an overflowing gutter and was carried away into the sewage drain.
Braig laughed. "You bomb the kingdom, bring the Heartless, poison your king, kill your wife—your fourth one, for that matter—slaughter your soldiers, kill your son, and now you add vandalism to the list. If you ever lost that twisted heart of yours and turned into a Nobody…hell, that'd be an improvement. Heaven help whoever meets your Heartless."
Even smiled at that.
Coachman Barker called, "Now arriving at city hall!"
The carriage came to a halt soon after. Barker himself opened the door for the villainous pair. Even tipped him graciously before they parted ways.
Heartless crawled all over the majestically ominous building's façade, balusters, and spires, their shadowy forms over the darkened building casting the illusion of the structure itself being alive and moving. It was unsettling enough to make Braig's skin crawl every time he saw it.
They started up the wide steps and the sniper inquired, "So, I heard your big boys' club got a vacancy lately. Mind if I take it?"
"I'll bring it up in the meeting."
They reached the top step and crossed to the shaded overhang, far closer to the creeping Heartless than Braig cared for. A small cadre of filthy, malodorous pirates covered in rags and grime stood off mingling to the side, noting the two new arrivals and sharing unflattering remarks about them that weren't quite as discreet as they might've thought. A shorter pirate slapped his taller friend on the back, and the taller one's false eye popped out of its socket. Then, all laughs were directed at him as he scrambled to reclaim it.
Braig smirked. "Mid-rimmers. They're fun."
Even's expression was less one of amusement and more so one of derision. "If they're here, it must be important."
The centermost pair of double-doors opened before them. Standing in the entryway was a sickly-skinned four-foot-tall stump of a man bearing a large nose on his wart-pocked face and wearing a bicorn hat atop his flaming-red hair. A cape complemented his royal military attire. This was General Borghen: one of the most prominent leaders of the Palamecian army and the man who oversaw his greatest military defeat at the hands of the Calamity Soldiers that Even created and Braig unleashed in the Battle of Altair nearly a year ago. He never truly moved past this humiliation from the days before joining the Dark Seekers and he was never all that contented with Even and Braig now being on the same side as him, let alone with the former outranking him on the council.
Borghen sneered as the pair drew nearer. "You're late, doctor. Maleficent's already started the meeting."
Even smirked and taunted, "Hello, General Borghen, how's Altair this time of year?"
That earned an impressed chuckle from Braig and the visible scorn of the general.
"Just you watch, Even," Borghen spat, "you're gonna get what's yours someday soon."
"Perhaps," the scientist shrugged as he passed him, "but you won't live to see it."
With that, the three forms crossed from the stygian city and into the chambers of an abyss far darker than the innocents of the yet unconsumed worlds could ever dare to imagine.