Hangman Chapter 38

Chapter 38-

Pale sunlight trickled through the warehouse window, a pleasant surprise and uncharacteristic for a day down on the third Level of Hilltop.

Gruse Elthor looked up from her novel, studying the illumination. After a moment of quiet, she decided to flick off the gas-powered lantern which stood next to her seat on a stool.

There was a special quality to reading with natural light which she tried to cherish whenever possible, despite her tendency to hang in the dark. When one of the others would ask her why she tolerated these two opposing habits, she would say something like, “Reading is different! It’s a special activity, and I’d much rather do it alone!”

The novel in her lap was quickly becoming a new favorite of hers, a new horrific story of a young maiden who falls in love with a man, only to discover that he is a monster--

*BUZZ*

Gruse blinked, her focus broken. Without tilting her head, she scanned the room for the fly that was dancing around in the air. Taking a slow breath, she returned to her novel.

Everything is going well in the maiden’s life, a bonafide fairy-tale romance, until she learns that her lover is secretly a blood-sucking devil in human form. When she confronts him about it, he reveals that on their wedding night, he bit her neck and thus transformed her into--

*BUZZ*

Gruse’s head snapped upwards this time, staring down the petulant fly with contempt.

“It’s fine,” she thought. “I’m comfortable here, anyway; there’s no need to get up.”

She dove back into her novel. The twist, that the maiden has already been turned into a devil as well, was presented as being a horrific thing. She wails and bemoans her inevitable transformation in several artfully written scenes of despair, but Gruse couldn’t help but romanticize the idea. To be swept away by a handsome, suave aristocrat and turned into his unholy bride, to be blood-sucking horrors together in the night…

*BUZZ*

For the last time, Gruse was ripped away from her fantasy. She would have stood up from her chair, walked to the fly, and swatted it dead with her bare hand, had she not been so upset.

No, she wanted to kill this pest in the most satisfying way possible.

The fly’s flight pattern led it around the space in front of her, steadily growing closer with each lap.

“Closer… closer… Just get to within… Three feet…”

Her eyes were laser focused onto the insect as it passed back and forth, ever so slightly nearer.

“Hah!”

The instant it passed the threshold of three feet, the fly was obliterated. An object passed through it with the force of a locomotive, much too fast for the naked eye to see anything but a black blur of motion.

The insect slain, Gruse took a deep sigh of relief, closing her eyes to quickly reflect on the matter. A moment later, she was knee-deep back in her novel, flipping through the yellow parchment paper stained with ink.

She was a young woman, no more than twenty-seven or eight. Her dark hair was messy and stressed, parted from the center and tipped red. Draped around her shoulders and bound by a round purple gem over her chest she wore a dark silk shawl that usually obscured her arms, wrapped themselves in a fish-net lace. A lengthy pleated black skirt hung down to her shins. Her alabaster skin glowed softly in the light, her fingers flicked from page to page.

The scraping sound of the heavy metal backdoor stole her attention yet again. A twinge of annoyance cropped up in her chest before she looked up to see who had entered.

“N-Noire?!”

“Who else?” His hallmark smirk was obvious even through Advent’s mud-mask.

“You don’t like it?” he asked, smarmily.

“No, it’s not that,” she replied. “I guess I should have expected it, it’s just a bit of a surprise.”

“What do you think?” Advent had followed Noire through the door in tow, and leaned to the side, jutting out his hip and smiling like a child showing their parent a drawing.

“It’s a lot better than you used to be able to do,” she brought a finger to her chin and looked at the mask from several angles.

“I had to go off of photos for this one,” he disclaimed. “Good photos, mind you, but not as good as having a real reference.”

Advent peeked behind Gruse’s shoulder.

“Which is why I kind of wanted to at least compare it to the original.”

She turned around in her chair to follow his eyes.

“It was a quiet day,” she explained. “And there’s not much to do here.”

The three of them looked into a makeshift cell, where Taylor Holmes, chief New Hopeland ambassador to Andeidra, slept on a similarly makeshift bed.

“Hm,” Noire put his hands to his knees and leaned down just enough to get a better view of the man. “You couldn’t have given him a book or something?”

“A book!” she cried in exasperation. “I was trying to read my novel while this fly was bothering me, I couldn’t focus!”

“A fly?” Advent perked up. “I didn’t know they were down here.” There was a hint of suppressed excitement in his voice.

“Yeah, they come around,” she noted. “I killed it, though, thank God.”

Advent’s face somehow became paler than it already was.

“You killed it?!”

“Oh, really?” Gruse retorted, sarcastically. “I didn’t know that you were into flies as well…”

“I had a little jar of fruit flies I was keeping fed back home, I had to leave them behind when I came here!” Advent almost felt his left eye open while he ranted.

“I would have really liked to start a new collection of flies, if it was possible…!”

Gruse smirked, her eyebrow raising smugly.

“Well,” she assured him. “In that case, I’ve got a new trick I think you’ll like…”

Advent looked at Gruse naively, as she cupped her hand over her mouth, before removing it and sticking her tongue out. A small spider crawled out over it and settled on the tip.

“Eek!” Advent reeled back in shock.

“I don’t like spiders! I don’t like spiders!” he protested.

“Spiders eat bugs; bugs are the most beautiful creatures on this Earth!”

Noire butted in calmly.

“But you know, if there were no spiders, we’d be overrun by bugs.”

Advent looked indignant.

“If we could be overrun by bugs, that would be a wonderful thing!”

Gruse began giggling while he spouted off to nobody in particular.

“Bugs! Bugs! Only bugs deserve to inherit the Earth!”

Her giggling broke out into full-blown laughter that echoed throughout the warehouse. Advent’s lips trembled in anger and embarrassment, even Noire brought his curled fingers to his mouth and looked at the ground to stifle a laugh.

The ruckus only continued for less than a minute, when they heard a rustling from inside the cell. The three assassins abruptly snuffed their noise, eyes glued to the prisoner turning over in his sleep.

Once they were certain that he hadn’t awoken, Gruse took a breath of relief.

“Is he that much trouble when he’s awake?” Noire asked.

“This place is soundproofed,” she explained. “So he gave up trying to get help pretty quickly.” She paused for a moment and looked away.

“I just think that, if I’m going to hurt someone, I wouldn’t want to look at them afterwards.”

---

Gallow reached a hand out and offered Janna a glass of water. From her seat on the couch, she accepted the drink, and he sat down next to her, groaning. His muscles still ached from the fight that morning.

For a long while, they sat in silence. It occurred to him that he was incredibly fortunate to have gotten out of the whole ordeal without a serious wound, much less losing his life. Janna knew as well, that she should have died when Dion decided to kill her; it was only the miracle of Paper Moon and Bleech’s willingness to sacrifice himself that she was still there to see, to breathe, to consider this at all.

It was too uncomfortable to say aloud, but it was the only thing worth thinking about. The fight hadn’t even been Janna’s first brush with death, but each of those times before, she was at a distance, or it had been resolved before she even had time to realize what had been happening. In the meadow, however, she found herself acutely aware that her death was imminent.

Silence hung between them. She cast her head downwards.

I just want to feel like a human again.

The traveling party had come to the conclusion that it would be best to stay at the cabin until the next day. There was no telling what had been broken, sprained, or pulled and was just waiting until they were on the road, away from help, to rear its head.

“Bleech, can I talk to you for a moment?”

The boy was leaning in the shadow of the cabin, against the back wall, where there was a five foot gap separating it from the face of the mountain.

Melty was standing just before the other end of the wall, still standing in the afternoon sun.

“Talk?” He looked mildly surprised.

---

Gallow was taken aback.

“You want to-?”

Melty nodded in confirmation.

“The ability Bleech displayed earlier today was astounding,” her hands were placed firmly on her lap. “It’s not unheard of for a Vocation to evolve into a new form, but it’s often an extension of the original ability. To my eyes, Paper Moon was an entirely different kind of Vocation.”

Sonsee was slow to speak.

“And you’re… interested in this ability?”

Melty nodded.

“When he was torn in half, Paper Moon activated and suddenly, the damage was entirely reflected back to the attacker. It wasn’t that simple, though.” Her voice sounded urgent, the matter excited her.

“When his Vocation activated, he had never been attacked in the first place.”

Gallow’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

“What do you mean…?”

“I mean that Paper Moon… has some power over the flow of causality.”

“Causality?”

Sonsee sat up, she’d never heard that term before.

“Yes,” Melty explained. “The reason that one event follows another; why, if I hit a glass, it knocks over to the table.”

“You’re saying he could control that?”

“I think so, but that might only be the cusp of the ability. That’s why…” she paused before she could get the words out once more.

“Why I want him to stay here and study the abstract world with me.”

The three of them were silent around the table.

“I’ve made up my mind.”

Bleech was now standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“Bleech…” Sonsee looked at him with a well-intended concern.

The boy entered the room and sat in a chair between the three adults. Taking a deep breath, he explained himself.

“I came on this journey because I couldn’t just hang around and do nothing for the rest of my life. I really didn’t know what to do after the battle in Sigrit- I didn’t know what to do after my home burned down.”

His eyes were cast downwards at the table while he spoke, but now raised to meet theirs.

“I don’t know if this is the right choice for me, but it’s the one that I think I need to make.”

Gallow leaned back from his place on the couch.

“I’m not your parent, Bleech, but I do want what’s best for you.”

Sonsee nodded.

“I agree.”

“I won’t stop you from doing what you want with your life, but you have to make a promise to me.”

Bleech’s brow furrowed.

“All I’m asking,” he continued. “Is that you put your all into it.”

The boy looked from Gallow to Sonsee, who smiled kindly at him, then back again.

“You’ll let me…?”

“Of course,” Sonsee assured him. “That’s why I wanted you to come in the first place, after all.”

The next morning, when they were sure that everyone’s bodies had recovered from the battle, they stood in the meadow with their things.

“Well,” Gallow said somberly. “This is goodbye, I guess.”

Bleech, standing next to Melty, mustered a smile.

“If you think this is the last time we’ll see each other, you’re crazy.”

Morning dew sprinkled the petals of flowers, the sky was still gray as clouds rolled past them overhead.

“Goodbye, Bleech,” Janna had a feeling of sadness in her, like she was losing a friend she was just beginning to know. It was all she could do to prevent tears from welling up in her eyes.

Sonsee found the same strength.

“Hey, do you know how we say ‘goodbye’ in Atamape?”

“Hm?” he asked.

A grin broke out over her face.

“We tell someone, ‘Den mitza!’ It means ‘Until tomorrow!’”

“Why do you say that?” he wondered aloud.

“Because, I suppose, we don’t ever think of each other as being gone for more than a day’s time.”

He looked at her, not understanding.

“But… you’d be away for more than that, sometimes, right?”

“Of course,” she replied. “But the difference of a day is the furthest we can ever get from someone else, as long as their memory is with us.”

Bleech felt a terrible knot form in his stomach. Before he knew it, he could feel the tears squeezing out of his eyes. At that sight, Janna could no longer hold it back herself. Sonsee wrapped her arm around the girl, comforting her.

Gallow looked at the ground and chuckled.

“Well, we’ve got to get moving.”

“Good luck, everyone,” Melty offered, looking out into the sky, where the clouds broke to let the sun shine down.

Sonsee was the first to begin marching down the dirt path. Gallow and Janna followed, but before they had gone more than ten steps, they heard Bleech’s voice call to them.

“Den mitza!!”

They stopped and turned, each of them wearing pained smiles.

“Den mitza!!” Janna called back, waving.

Bleech stood still next to Melty, watching his friends leave.

“Why am I so sad?” he wondered aloud. “I haven’t even known them for that long…”

“It seems like it’s hard for people to say goodbye to anything,” Melty replied, giving her best answer. “But the fact that you’re sad means that it meant something to you, and that’s what’s important.” She paused for a second.

“What Sonsee said, about being near each other, it’s a lot closer to reality than you’d think.”

Janna sighed deeply, trying to ignore the sadness she felt. Gallow peered at her from the side.

“I know that it’s hard to say goodbye, Janna, but whatever you do, you need to keep moving forward.”

She turned her head to meet his gaze.

“You don’t know when the last time you see someone will be…” his voice got quiet. “So you have to make sure… that while you know them… you’re the best you can be to them…”

---

Myst Hitchcock was a frugal spender. As such, though he liked to remain well-dressed, he opted to wear heavy boots when a task might scuff up his favorite dress shoes. Those boots now tapped against the concrete sidewalk of Hilltop’s Braid Park. Behind him, Mello Drameda followed suit.

Sunshine beamed down through the trees that lined the streets. It was a holiday, so there wasn’t very much traffic to clog up the air with noise and smoke. Just ahead of them, an elevator station was closing its doors as the most recent crowd of passengers prepared to descend into the city’s lower levels.

“Psst,” Mello let out a breath between his teeth in annoyance.

“Don’t worry about it,” Myst advised him. “The next one will be here in no time.”

Myst had just turned thirty years old; he wore a black and white pinstriped suit and topped his short, dark hair with a homburg hat. While his dress wasn’t particularly showy, his presence was always known, as long as he wanted one to know, at least. Today, it was imperative that they keep a low profile, and so he made sure not to look at any one person with too much force.

Mello was a little older than his companion. His well-sculpted physique was noticeable beneath the bandages he kept tied around his arms, in addition to his tactical pants and dark blue vest. His lilac hair fell over red irises; a face that was well-chiseled, that didn’t betray a single thought.

There were two elevators at each station around the city; ideally, each one would be able to ascend and descend opposite each other to keep a steady flow of transportation up and down the city, but this was rarely the case. The second elevator had a large metal sign stood in front of it that read “OUT OF SERVICE.”

“The line for the next is going to fill up soon,” Mello looked around stoically, watching for anyone approaching.

“Is that a problem?”

“We could be down there already, if we weren’t surrounded by people.”

“I agree,” Myst turned halfways to face Mello. “But you’re the one who said it.”

“I know, Myst,” Mello returned his gaze and spoke gravely. “But that was then, and I’m here now.”

The dark haired man sighed. There was nothing that could be done about it now. He needed to follow him.

After making sure that no one was approaching too closely, Mello stepped forward to the broken elevator.

When something exists in this world, it follows a certain definition; when we agree with that definition ourselves, that is weakness.

He reached a hand out and touched the door; it felt cool on his fingertips.

If you agree with the past, that is a shackle. There is no future, I have not seen it. I can be so bold as to make that claim, because I no longer live in the past, but beyond the bleeding edge of the present.

Myst’s body tensed as he watched him.

Imagine we didn’t need to agree with the state of the world, what would you call that? If we could spite existence itself? Would it be called strength? Godliness? Perhaps some would… But I have called it…

“[SPACEBOY]...”

A being gifted with spirit sight would have seen the world flash gray for a split second, would have felt time and space itself quake and shudder in fear. Myst Hitchcock felt all of this, as he had before, and saw, tasted, smelled it as freshly as he had the first time.

Some mechanism behind the door whirred, and moments later the iron slabs parted as the car reached the top.

Myst made haste to follow Mello inside, it would have been trouble if someone was too perceptive.

The elevator sealed, and they began their descent into the depths. If the doors had been open for just a moment longer, one of the two passengers may have spotted a blond man in a white coat peeking out from behind the corner of a telephone station.

Angelique stepped out and paced pensively to the elevator. Inspecting a small panel at the right of the station, he found a blinking red light which denoted that the power had been cut off to that shaft for maintenance.

“This one… is definitely out of order…”

Minutes later, the elevator slowed to a crawl, a hissing noise audible from inside the car. Slowly, the doors opened once more, and the two were greeted by the dinge of Braid Park Level 3. Just as they’d entered, they stepped out quickly, past the “OUT OF ORDER SIGN” placed outside the station, and into the blend of afternoon light and gas bulbs that lit the city.

Mello knew where to go.

“Wasn’t that easier?” he asked Myst.

“It was risky,” came the reply. But, deep inside, Myst knew that there was nothing to worry about, not with Mello at his side. The walk to the warehouse was only a few minutes; they’d intentionally picked a spot on the very edge of The Chaff which was less likely to attract as much attention. They could walk about with covers as normal citizens, because in truth, most of them weren’t going to cause any trouble.

The hideout had a simple layout, with a second level that was mostly scaffolding that led to a few back rooms and offices.

Gurse, Noire, and Advent were waiting patiently when they heard the sound of someone entering. Advent was the first to look up from the game of cards they were playing.

“Myst!”

The others’ gazes followed; if Myst was here, they knew what that likely meant.

Myst held the door open as Mello stepped through. The instant he was inside, the air in the warehouse had shifted.

“Mello!” Noire and Gruse called out, jumping from their seats. The three of them sprinted to where he was standing, kicking up dust as they went.

“It’s good to know that you’re so excited to see me,” he responded to their enthusiasm. “But remember, we have a job to do.” His voice was cool, if he was happy to see them, he wouldn’t have let them known. It was another trait of his that added to his mystique.

Mello proceeded to the makeshift cell, keeping his eyes on the hostage. He walked with purpose, slowly and heavily, yet making no sound.

He raised a hand to his arm and grabbed the end of one of the bandages wrapped around them.

“Well,” he began. “I’m not planning on being too busy for the rest of the day, so there better be someplace I can sleep.”

Myst observed him undoing the bandages, letting them fall to the floor, revealing his bare arms. Sunlight streamed down from the frosted glass window onto his bulging, statuesque muscles. Knife scars covered every inch along his arms, and there were even more that were hidden by his vest and pants. The horrific amount of scars that colored his body resembled stripes, stripes that had earned him his code name.

The Tiger.