Chapter 51-
Morning’s light poured through the office of Hilltop’s Chief of Police, Bill Heinsen. Of course, Chief Heinsen was on duty at the President’s speech, so Deputy Brinks was on the job.
“Just my luck,” he mused, filtering through a pile of incomplete paperwork. Brinks had worked for years to gain recognition in the force, and the day of his promotion was one of his proudest accomplishments.
“You’re a hardworking guy,” he’d been told over and over again. “You’re reliable.”
At first, it only inflated his ego, but as time went on, he realized that being “hardworking” and “reliable” meant that every menial paperwork job and sick-leave vacancy went to him.
“You’re the best man to take over while the force is out,” Chief Heinsen had assured him. “You’re a reliable guy, Brinks.”
He finished signing off a report and realized that his body was full of tension. Brinks leaned back in his chair, breathing the stress out slowly and lazily, massaging his hand, cramped from writing.
“At least I can listen to the speech from here,” he reasoned. “Hey, it’s almost four, isn’t it?” he squinted at the clock above the door and turned to the radio at the desk. He fiddled with the frequency knob for a moment before landing on the right channel. At first, he didn’t realize it, however, because the sound of the crowd’s cheers was uncannily close to the garbled static. It wasn’t long before the President’s voice cut all other sounds in two, and Brinks leaned back again, getting comfortable and cracking his knuckles.
President Cartwright spoke for less than twenty seconds before the door of the office swung open.
“Ah, what is it now?” Brinks moaned. His frustration vanished when he saw who it was: officer James, the color drained from his face and his posture frantic.
“James?” he asked confusedly, barely able to get out the word before James cried out.
“Gerald is on the ground outside!!” he yelled, pointing down the hall in the direction of the station’s front doors.
“What?”
“I heard a noise outside, and I walked out and- and-”
“James, out with it!” Brinks commanded.
“G-Gerald is dead!” James cried. “It looks like he fell!”
“Fell?” Brinks’ face was painted with confusion.
“From high up!” James insisted. “Come out! See!”
---
Five minutes earlier, officer Gerald was on shift outside of the high-security wing, when he heard a loud, crumbling noise, as if large rocks were tumbling down form inside one of the cells.
Alarmed, Gerald opened the door and drew his gun. There was only one prisoner currently in this station’s high-security custody, and he was absent from his cell. In Eroh’s place was a man-sized hole that looked like it was smashed directly through the wall. Gerald’s brow furrowed, his mouth creased.
“What the…” he muttered to himself. Sunlight and wind drafted through the hole, the sky was a brilliant shade of blue. The cell door appeared untouched, prompting Gerald to grab his keys and cycle through them until he found the right one, and jam it into the lock. The moment he inserted it, however, the door simply swung open on its own.
“It’s like… Is the lock destroyed??” his thoughts began to race. “It just opened from the force of me pushing on it!”
Gerald stepped foot into the cell, looking around for clues as to what had happened.
“Did the prisoner get ahold of some kind of explosive? No, that wouldn’t make any sense… Why would he destroy the lock and blow the wall? The explosion would kill him too… Just what-”
He wasn’t able to finish his thought before he heard a voice from behind.
“[LULLABY]...”
A stream of acid cut through Gerald’s skull, burning a hole through his brain no larger in diameter than a rod of pencil graphite, killing him instantly.
Gerald’s lifeless body fell to the ground, his gun slipping from his hand and hitting the floor.
From the opposite cell, Eroh stepped out of the shadows, smirking with satisfaction. Given as much time as he’d had, any material could be softened enough by his acid to be destroyed with a single of his powerful kicks. He’d broken the locks to both cells the night before, and all that had to be done was smash the wall and wait for a fly to enter his web.
Gerald’s body had fallen hanging halfway out of the hole; Eroh planted his foot on the corpse’s back and kicked him out, sending him tumbling down the three story building. He’d turned away by the time the body hit the ground, but the meaty *splat* was enough to tell him he’d done a good job.
Eyeing the gun on the ground, his eyebrows raised.
“Well,” he thought aloud. “That’s useful.”
Eroh kicked his legs out, sitting down and picking up the firearm. He rotated it around in his hands, feeling the coldness of its metal body. This innocent inspection was cut short by the sound of voices from below.
“Dear God!” one of them cried.
“Look!” commanded another. “Up there!”
Eroh couldn’t see them from his seat on the ground, but he stared out the gaping wall and into the sky.
“It really is a wonderful shade of blue today…”
Giving it about forty-five seconds, he proceeded to roll up off of his seat and step towards the hole. Eroh tipped off the edge and swung downwards, gun clenched between his teeth. Only a few feet below, a flag pole extended from the wall of the station; he grabbed at its mast and swung himself through a second-story window. A flurry of glass swept through the hall, striking an unfortunate officer who happened to be passing by. The officer recoiled in pain, staggering backwards and closing his eyes to protect them from the sharp debris that was flying at him. The glass wouldn’t kill him, but the black void behind his eyelids would be the last thing he’d ever see.
The door to the high-security wing was already open when Brinks and James reached it; the sight made their stomachs drop.
“James, get a squad out to search the area!” Brinks ordered, stepping into the wing and motioning James away. “I’ll investigate here,” he looked back at his inferior. “Get to it!”
“Y-yes sir!” James saluted and turned tail, scurrying down the steps to the second floor. As he burst into the hallway, his heart nearly stopped.
Lying dead on the floor were two of his coworkers.
“W-what the hell-?” he stammered, running over to one of the bodies and kneeling down. They both had deep, ugly slash wounds on their necks, as if some sort of wild animal had mauled them.
“This doesn’t make any sense…” he thought, noticing something peculiar about the wounds. There was a thin trail of smoke waving off of the gore, like it was burning.
Violently shaking his head, James hardened his feelings and stood up once again.
“Why is the window shattered?” he wondered, finally able to process his surroundings.
Brinks was inspecting the hole in the cell wall when he heard James call to him from down the hall.
“Deputy! Get down here now!!”
The two remaining officers ran through the halls of the station and down flights of stairs, past evidence of shocking violence.
“This looks like a warzone!” Brinks thought, leaping over a body in the hall. “This is the kind of body count that only a full team of trained soldiers should be able to rack up-- Is this really one man??”
As their shoes hit the first floor, they both scrambled for the corner, around which was the line to the other stations, as well as the front door and the Chief’s office. Sunlight poured through the door’s front window, bathing the whole hall in warmth that was blinding. That blinding light obscured a certain shadow until the last moment.
*BANG*
Brinks ground his feet into the floor to bring himself to a stop; he barely had enough time to see James fall to the floor, a bullet lodged in his skull.
“Damn,” Eroh gloated from down the hall. “Pretty good for a missed shot, though.”
Brinks wasn’t able to react before Eroh had already cocked the pistol again and launched a bullet that flew past his shoulder and struck the wall behind him. The concrete crumbled like paper maché and revealed a pipe behind it; by this time, Brinks had taken cover around the corner of the stairwell.
Eroh cocked the gun one more time, he didn’t quite trust his marksmanship skills for this last step, but it would have to do. Cracking his neck, he sidestepped a bullet shot by Brinks from cover and pointed straight down the hall. In a moment, it was filled with fire, cataclysmic sounds of snapping and shattering drenched the air. Eroh stepped out of the blast zone and into the Chief of police’s office. Grabbing the radio and throwing it out the window, he leapt into the outside world, feet first. Behind him, flames billowed from the windows of the police station, and the foundation was visibly shaking.
Picking the radio up once more, Eroh walked away from the building as it slowly collapsed under the structural compromise. He held the speaker to his ear, just barely able to make out what was being said over the chaos behind him.
“Cartwright… bzzt… been shot by some… bzzt… Live updates…”
“Ahhhh,” he exclaimed, relieved. “Good to know everything is as it should be.”
---
For a moment, the air was as hollow as the hole in Cartwright’s chest. Most of the onlookers couldn’t understand what was going on, and the few that did were unable to process it. The body seemed to stand up like a marionette without strings, before the legs failed and Cartwright’s corpse collapsed to the ground. The instant he hit the cement, the scene erupted into bedlam.
In a heartbeat, Gideon had flashed feet forward; his saber drawn so quickly that all that could be seen of it was the glint of light off of the blade. Myst turned, as if he knew what was coming, and threw his leg out in a low, powerful kick. Gideon felt the boot slam into his stomach before his saber could reach Myst’s body, and he fell backwards.
Every police officer at the stage drew their weapons and aimed at Myst with intent to kill. In the heat of the moment, the only thing they were focused on was taking down the man who’d just slain the president; what they didn’t expect, nor notice, was the smaller woman who had edged her way to the side of the stage.
Gruse leapt upwards, her shawl flapping in the wind, casting a shadow over several of the officers before they could fire.
“[JOIN HANDS]!!”
As Gruse descended, a split second after activating her Vocation, a flurry of lashing shapes stormed around her. Instantly, every policeman within five feet of her was rocked with force, shattering most of their bones on impact. Gruse danced forward, and every security personnel on the stage was taken out in seconds.
The crowd scattered, leaving only a select few individuals. Gallow, Sonsee, and Isaiah remained. Gallow drew his pistol, there was no need to worry about causing a scene anymore. Sonsee drew her spear beside him, and Isaiah threw off the heavy jacket he was wearing to reveal two rifles strapped to his back.
“This is over,” Gallow thought, watching Gideon get to his feet and retrieve his saber. From behind, he could hear the sounds of the police marching down the street, having left their positions in the neighboring buildings. “There’s no way that two people can get out of this, even if they’re Vocation users.”
The reinforcements arrived and aimed their weapons at Myst, still on the ground, and Gruse, who was on the stage. In all, there had to be at least forty policemen lined up. The street was a straight shot, there was no escape.
From side-stage, a cry was heard.
“[MONOPHOBIA - DIX INFERNAL]!!!”
Since the moment Cartwright had begun speaking, Noire was preparing himself, preparing all of the spiritual energy he could render, focusing it inside of him; he imagined it as compactly as possible. He thought of the task before them, he thought of his companions, he thought of the people who had rejected him in his childhood, he thought of Advent.
In a split second, the world changed. Every building for half a block was encased in ice, flash-frozen by the gargantuan absorption of heat into Noire’s body, released from both of his outstretched hands as ten spirals of flame, bursting from his fingertips. The pillars of fire blossomed in size as he cast them, growing to five feet in diameter.
Gallow and Sonsee barely had enough time to react; the trajectory of the spirals meant that Myst and Gideon, who were closer to the stage and more towards its center, were safe from their direct path, but those in the street were at immediate risk. Sonsee whipped to Gallow’s direction without thinking.
“[VANISHING POINT]!!”
Before the ability activated, she felt his hand grip her arm, and before either of them knew it, they had landed squarely into a wall of ice. For a second, they were both confused, until they connected the pieces. Sonsee had tried to use Vanishing Point to send Gallow to safety, and he had grabbed her to do the same. When he pulled her, likely using Navigator as well, they were both sent through Vanishing Point’s axis. Wordlessly, they exchanged some gratitude with each other, and turned back to the street.
Isaiah had ducked to the ground, sliding across to avoid the spirals, but the officers weren’t so lucky. Most of them were incinerated in an instant, leaving only ashes and a few charred bones. Those fortunate enough to be missed by the attack were left with perhaps an even grimmer fate: to sort out this mess.
Gideon’s blade flashed through the air, his artful strokes touching naught but the edge of Gruse’s zone of death. Every swing just barely made it within the five-foot range of Join Hands, only to be parried back by some force that was too fast to see.
“No-” he thought. “Is it that I can’t see it?”
Myst had stepped back to join Noire. Dome-C harnessed Myst’s spiritual force to create a single atom of pure energy in his fingernail, which was then shot forth at light speeds. His “light bullet” could disintegrate virtually anything it touched, and with potentially infinite range, but it released a significant amount of energy, and had a forty-eight hour cooldown period before it could be shot again safely. The last time he was forced to use it before the cooldown was up, it had only been twenty-six hours, and left him with the permanent scar on his right hand.
As for Noire, his energy was exhausted by the special version of Monophobia he’d conjured, and he would need a moment to recover. As such, Myst stayed by him. The presence of an ally sent warm rays into Noire’s heart, despite the carnage of the street.
“Let’s go,” Myst commanded.
“But Gruse-!” Noire looked to her, still dancing around Gideon’s attacks. She maneuvered closer to where they were positioned on the side, leaping over Gideon’s head and sending an attack his way.
The hair on the back of Gideon’s neck shot up. His blade moved before he could think, and he intercepted the invisible blow before it could reach him. His sword was flung from his hand, and he jumped backwards to pick it up off the ground. While her opponent was preoccupied, Gruse spun back to face the city hall. Kicking off from the ground, she advanced towards its tall doors.
Noire’s fear of leaving her behind were quelled, until he felt a forced gripping him.
“What-?”
The world grew dark, and before he knew what was happening, he was on the ground level beside Myst.
Everything had transpired over the course of only a few seconds, and by the time Sonsee and Gallow were back on their feet, she already knew what to do. These were not only the people who had hunted them for months, they had traumatized Janna and Bleech, and caused untold suffering. The existence of the Fang Team was something very wrong in the world, and she was going to right it.
The first thing Noire saw upon exiting Vanishing Point was the point of a spear flying like a missile toward his face. He fell back on the ice, slowly melting from the heat of the flames, and narrowly avoided the attack. Taking the opportunity, he kicked out Sonsee’s legs and sent her to the ground as well.
Gallow slid back, pulling his trigger, and with a crack of gunfire, sent a bullet into Myst’s chest.
“Myst!!!” Noire shrieked from the ground. Gruse’s attention was stolen away from the escape and towards what had happened; the sound of the gunshot sent needles through her heart.
“M-Myst…” her lip trembled.
Gideon landed on the ground in front of her, flashing his blade.
“You aren’t going anywhere!!” he hollered, charging her saber-first.
Gruse gritted her teeth so hard it felt like they would grind to dust.
“[JOIN HANDS]!!!!!”
In a split-second, her Vocation was activated. Small portals opened around her, like rips in space, and from them sprouted long, crimson red arms that punched and slashed with such force that a single blow was like being struck by a car traveling at seventy miles-per-hour, a single chop was like a knife through paper. Gideon’s saber was torn to shreds from the force, prompting him to step back in fear.
“Good job, Captain,” she sneered, hate clinging to her words. “Relying on a weapon like that? Do you think you’re cool when you use that?!” Her anger escalated as she spoke. “I’ll kill you!!!” she shrieked, lunging forward. “[JOIN HA-”
A second gunshot rang out, and Gruse stopped dead in her tracks. Her black shawl was soaked in red.
“W-what…?” Her whole body trembled; she looked to her shoulder, where a bullet had planted itself in her flesh. From the other end of the stage, smoke trailed off the barrel of Isaiah Herron’s rifle. A clean shot, passing right through her line of defense, a shot only the legendary God of the Gun could make.
“The weapon isn’t what’s important,” Gideon spat. “If I wanted to, I could kill you with my bare hands, I just don’t always have backup like this.”
Myst staggered backwards, clutching his chest.
“I-” he sputtered. “I-” Blood splashed his teeth from the back of his throat.
Noire tried to get to his feet, but he found Sonsee’s spear at his throat.
“Don’t move,” she warned.
Helplessly, he watched Myst stagger backwards, both hands over the wound.
“Myst…” he moaned in his mind. “Myst… Please don’t… Please don’t die…”
Gallow kept the gun pointed at him, watching for any sudden movements; he found it unsavory to shoot someone again in that kind of state, so he kept his eyes steeled for any tricks.
Myst spread his stance out, his eyelids drooped. Both hands were cupped over his chest, left over right. For a moment, he was still, until he tilted backwards and fell to the ground.
Gallow and Sonsee were relieved the instant they saw him lose his balance, until his cupped hands unfolded, and they saw the white fire on his fingernail.
“My last moment will not be in doubt!!”
Myst’s eyes were wild with the passion of a dead man, as he commanded:
“[DOME C]!”
An explosion rocked his body as the light bullet shot forth. The world was bathed in its glow, a fantastic final spark that missed them by a foot each, soaring to the heavens.
Myst’s body hit the ground, and Noire heard a second gunshot. It was not aimed at him, which confused him for a second, until he heard Gruse’s scream of pain. From the stage, she was gripping her arm and writhing in pain.
“This is it,” he thought. “This is the way that everything falls apart…” He realized at that instant that he was still wearing the face of Taylor Holmes. Anger boiled inside of him.
While Sonsee was distracted by the Myst’s shot, Noire grabbed the body of the spear and sucked the heat from it, freezing Sonsee’s hand to it and causing an intense, burning pain as her nerves were shocked by cold. Seizing the moment, he sent a blast of flame at Gallow’s chest, sending him reeling. Noire leapt up and did not turn to escape.
The fire was not enough to burn him, but as soon as Gallow had his bearings, he pulled his pistol again and aimed it.
Noire reached for the mud mask and dug his long fingernails into it. With one motion, he ripped it off, pieces of mud returning to their natural, earthy color as they fell to the ground. For the first time in some time, Noire’s true face saw the light of day. Gallow stopped for a moment, he didn’t pull the trigger again; he was in awe at what he was seeing. There was some quality about the way that Noire stood there, bearing his form to him, that was otherworldly. It was a kind of gusto, of sheer abandon that one was not liable to see often in life, because it was clear that Noire knew that this was the end of his.
The Final Stand Of What I Am.
“[NAVIGATOR]...”
The bullet was inside of Noire’s heart before the shot could be heard, but his soul was pushed out by Navigator before even that. In some way, Gallow couldn’t shoot him; in some way, he felt that maybe he could preserve that horribly harrowing man for just a second longer by separating the soul from the body.
Inevitably, as Noire’s body hit the ground, his spirit returned to him; body and mind were too close, or, perhaps, image and soul. Lying on the ground, his thoughts wandered.
“I really messed things up, didn’t I?”
By taking off the mask, he’d ruined the false flag; now, the idea was gone that Taylor Holmes, New Hopeland ambassador to Andeidra, had helped in the assassination of President Cartwright.
Dreadful guilt entered his heart as he lay on the floor, the ice he’d created was so cold, so cold…
“I’m sorry, Gruse, I’m sorry Myst, I’m sorry Mello…” he thought, hoping his prayers would ease his pain in some way.
“I’m sorry Advent…” A tear squeezed its way out of his eye; it felt warm against his cheek.
“It’s so cold here… It’s so cold… Is this how… Advent died? No… I don’t want to die here… I don’t want to die alone… I don’t want to die alone… I don’t want to die…”
With his dying breaths, he activated his Vocation, sucking the heat from around him. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to bring some warmth to his body.
Gallow and Sonsee didn’t know what to feel as they watched the air above his skin crackle and freeze into tiny needles of ice. The needles wrapped around his body, attaching to him as they formed a kind of shell.
It was there that Noire Swift died, in a cradle of ice.
Gallow and Sonsee stood there in front of Noire’s lifeless body.
“What just happened?” Sonsee asked cautiously.
“I don’t know…” Gallow replied with the same confusion. “But I think it’s over.” He looked up to where Gruse had fallen to the stage.
---
From the rooftop high above where Gallow and Sonsee stood, Mello perched silently. He had seen everything.
“No,” he whispered. “This is not over.”
He knew in his heart that the operation was a failure. The country would be in turmoil for a time, but eventually they would stabilize and this would become nothing but a portion of a chapter in a history textbook. The international conflict would not be sparked, and his team was as good as dead.
“As good as dead…” He thought. “No… Not as long as I draw breath.”
His fist clenched.
“Gallow… Everywhere you travel, you invite calamity. You’re a curse, a blight on the world.
Gallow… This is not over…”
Mello stood up and fell down, down off the roof and towards the street.
“Gallow… You’re in the palm of my hand…”