Friday October 17th 2014
Cesare claimed a seat on the school stairs while students concentrated into cliches around him. Everyone wanted to see if Cerberus or the Thagirion would take another shot at Alexandra. Far enough back to avoid being easy targets, they whispered greedy hunger and watched with needy eyes. Lone students with cruel eyes kept to the shadows of the trees. Unable to keep away from the feast of sadism, they eyed the stronger students as fear rode them hard. Lone meat made easy snacks for the hungry.
Minutes later, Alexandra walked through the doors of the school. Taking in the waiting kids, she shot Cesare a questioning look. With a shrug, Cesare admitted he was as lost as she was. Striding past him without a word of welcome, she reached the bottom of the stairs before Cesare got up to follow her.
Elder trees green with life shaded the walkway to the Vulpes, cooling the day with seared leaves. As cool shadows wrapped around Alexandra and her friends, the Thagirion stepped out of the greater darkness under the trees.
Abraxas walked down the path, blocking the way forward by simply being unwilling to let them pass. Blaez materialized from the undergrowth, his pack spread out and closing in with practiced skill. Anastasia held back on the other side, harem fanned out in a shield of flesh in front of her. Pantagruel came up behind Cesare, locking the group in the kill box.
Alexandra’s friends melted away, leaving her alone with the Thagirion. Cesare stepped up next to her, meeting her narrow-eyed look with a grin. They turned as one to face the tightening noose, her friends scurrying out of the trap without a backward look. This wasn’t about them; no, this was about breaking Alexandra.
Blaez gave a silent snarl, holding his shit by the thinnest of threads. The time when they settled up was down to days instead of weeks, both of them eyeing the other to see if today was it. Cesare standing with Alexandra was a complication, but the wolf was smart enough to know Alexandra was only using Cesare. She wouldn’t be there when the wolf came for him.
Anastasia looked resigned at Cesare’s move. In all their time together she’d only brought up Alexandra a few times, to feel him out. Considering her own experiences with him, she wasn’t surprised at his move. Even if he had everything to lose, it was the only choice he could live with. That they would be on separate sides didn’t worry him. Anastasia had made it clear she wasn’t his friend outside of training.
Abraxas held his hands out to his sides. “We’re not here to fight.”
“This is a lot of trouble just to ask me out on a date,” Cesare said with a smile. “My social calendar’s pretty full but I might fit you in this Friday. But you should know, I’m not a cheap date.”
Abraxas stayed focused on the vampire, only a hardening of his eyes betraying his irritation. “This is getting out of hand. Just this week I’ve had to blood five kids, all of them working on separate plans to kill you.” He let his words settle in the air. “Suicide by vampire. Your imaginary friend can’t be worth their lives. Or yours. All I’m asking for is discretion in how you worship. Before people die because you won’t bend.”
Cesare's step to the side drew the Thagirion’s eyes. “The 47 Ronin. The legendary tale of forty-seven samurai, they planned for a year to avenge their dead lord. Those who survived the battle committed seppuku because winning didn’t forgive the laws they broke. It's Japan’s culture, loyalty, sacrifice, stoicism, persistence, and—most of all—honor unto death. They succeeded but at the price of leaving their children fatherless, turning wives into widows. Yet no one says they should’ve stayed home. Alexandra’s Lord means as much to her.”
Abraxas shook his head. “Why do you do this?” His gesture took in the poised Thagirion, and the lethally balanced Alexandra. “You know this won’t go your way. You can’t win. Alexandra might survive, but you won’t. I’ll need an example to prove I’m still in control. You know this, so why?”
“A man with nothing to lose, can't have anything taken from him.” The dragon studied him, uncaring of the team that waited for his word.
“You can’t win.” It was the casual confidence of a god.
“I wouldn’t fight if I couldn’t win.” They weighed each other for a long minute, looking for the lie in the words, the twitch that meant weakness.
“I could kill you. I could surround this clearing in flame. Nothing but the strong would live, and you’ll never be that.” Alexandra shifted onto the balls of her feet at the dragon's words.
“You won't. The Thagirion aren’t gods that can kill for kicks. Punish yes, kill no. You could make me disappear, but killing me with Alexandra as witness would put you beside me in the ground,” Cesare said.
Abraxas had everything to lose. That’s what gave Cesare the edge. Abraxas would wait, unwilling to commit to an action that could burn his life down around him. He’d try to castrate Cesare without having to put skin in the game. But Cesare had nothing, every option was open to him. That’s the problem with holding power, it chained you, enslaved you to greed, until all you saw was what you could lose.
Abraxas broke the trap with a sharp pivot, the Thagirion falling in around him as he walked away. Anastasia gave Cesare a brief look before leaving with them. He was still looking after Anastasia when Alexandra spoke. “I'm your friend.”
They walked away from the direction the Thagirion had taken. “How many times have you watched them break me?” Cesare asked quietly. “How many times have you seen me cornered? How many times have you seen me come to class bleeding? When I'm no longer useful, I won’t matter. Because I don't fit in your world of holy wars, righteous Gods, and sin. Right here, right now, I have a use. That makes it seem like we’re friends, but when that need’s gone, so will that feeling.”
“You shame me.” Alexandra’s words stopped him.
“You shame yourself. A Christian protects the weak, they don’t bully others or turn their eyes away from injustice. You can stand for what's right and Christian, or you can stand for what’s wrong and worldly. There is no middle ground.”
“I thought you weren't Christian.” Alexandra's voice was soft.
“I'm not. I've seen a man cross the street to help a kid on the ground getting his teeth kicked in and watched thousands walk past the same kid begging in the snow for food. There are real people out there who need help. That pray every night for a meal, or a place to sleep. You know why people love Jesus, even the ones that aren't Christian? It’s not because he’s the son of god. It's because he fed the poor and never walked away from a man in need. Because where others saw a whore, he saw a woman. Where others cried about the suffering, he got up and did something about it. Yes, he was the son of god, but more than that, he was good. The good we all wish we were. The person we want to grow up to be. The one that helps others and the person who offers a hand instead of turning his back. That’s why people love Jesus. Because they can believe he loves them, even when they don’t love themselves.” Cesare cast the words over his shoulder as he walked away.
He had shit to do. It had taken him four days to lose the murderous rage that had consumed him. The fire had crystalized into a cold field of burning ice that ached with the glory of cruelty. Hot anger kills too quickly, and mercy was for the good.
Greg and his girl sat next to each other under a young oak tree. Laughing from where he leaned against the tree, Dan pushed off when he caught sight of Cesare coming. It could be that Cesare didn’t have his bag, or the hammer he carried, either way it was what Cesare wanted.
The moment gripped him, the past fell into darkness with the future shredded under the now’s need. Dan stalked into range, letting loose with a lazy jab as he felt for range. Moving around the punch, Cesare stepped into Dan’s space, slamming his fist into Dan’s face. Bone broke with a crunch, blood smearing the black boys face with red. The hook punch floated into the pocket, hammering Dan’s face.
Stumbling back, Dan shook his head clear, feet steadying under him. He’d gotten tagged twice while Cesare had yet to take a hit. And Cesare still held a hammer in his left hand. Coming in cautiously, Dan felt him out. Cesare closed the distance in a rush, ducking to the side, dancing around the wild punch Dan threw. Cesare’s knee surged up between Dan's legs, ramming into soft balls. The boy folded with a screech of pain, voice tortured with fear. Cesare's elbow split his face from forehead to nose, slamming Dan to the ground.
If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Knelling on the ground, Dan whimpered in pain. Bloody tears stained the grass, shudders of hell born pain wracking the boy's body. He rose in one flinching move, eyes soaked in hate, dark skin hardened, the human shell tearing under the monster’s rage. Cheek bones sharpened into razors of black glass, chin lengthening into a needle point. The black of his skin pulled a deeper darkness into itself, taking on a glossiness that captured the eye. His uniform parted along the joints, sliced open by a form birthed from darkness and razors.
An obsidian monster of edges and killing intent. He shred his shirt and jacket with a contemptuous shrug that left his upper body bare. Dan’s muscles were formed of angles, edges of black glass golden with cut light. He was a living blade of volcanic glass, carving the world with every breath.
“Let’s see what you got, fleshy.” High pitched, his voice raced along the human register of hearing, stabbing into Cesare’s ear.
Tossing the hammer into his right hand, Cesare drew Dan’s eyes to the strange weapon. Two hardened steel points were epoxied onto the head of the hammer. A savage grin cut across Cesare’s face, soaked in sadism, it was joyfully cruel.
“Dan ...” Dan whipped around at Greg’s warning.
“You've kept me sidelined long enough. We should’ve put him in his place the first day. But you wanted to see how it went. Now we do it my way.” Obsidian eyes burned black with hate.
Dan kept a wary eye on the hammer as he inched forward. There was no way Cesare could take the fight to him. Any punch would cost Cesare in blood with an unlucky strike claiming a finger. Blocking was suicide, obsidian moved through muscle and tendon with envious ease. He was crippling given life, any touch maimed, every contact inches from lethal.
Dan rushed him, hands scythes of death as they cut the air. Cesare weaved around the obsidian blades, backing away from the maiming edges of the boy's hands. Dan stabbed, stiffened fingers forming a spear. With a wrenching move, Cesare scrambled out of the way. Dan’s other hand came down in a clawing swipe that narrowly missed Cesare’s sudden snap to the side.
Dan grinned with confidence at Cesare’s frantic dodging. Charging forward, his body was a naked threat of blades and edges honed along a whetstone of hate. It was the moment Cesare had waited for when Dan tried for a grapple.
Cesare rolled to the side, slipping underneath the black blade cutting air where he’d been. A quick sidestep put him behind the obsidian monster. Cesare leapt up, body arched back, muscles extended along shoulders. An eternal moment of rage held the world before he snapped forward. The detonation rocked the air, the power of a body concentrated into a single hammer’s strike.
The scream quickly passed beyond hearing, becoming nothing but pressure on Cesare's ears. Jagged cracks raced from the point of impact, crackling and skittering over Dan's glassine skin. Cracks opened into canyons, thick blood burning scarlet under the sunlight washed over its skin of volcanic glass. Dan hit the ground, curling into a fetal position. Blood stained the grass a strange red too bright to be human.
“Stay out of my way, glass man. You don’t have the stones to play for keeps.” The words fell into the silence with the finality of death.
“Take him to the infirmary.” Greg's girl jumped into action at the boy's order.
Greg waited until the two had gone before he turned to Cesare. “You didn't have to do that.”
Cesare’s anger flared into incandescence at the drug dealer’s words. “Don't give me that shit. You could’ve stopped it a hell of a lot easier than me. You sold your friend to the butcher to see what I could do, don’t blame me for you being a shit friend.”
A hustler makes his money and keeps his skin by knowing. Which customers were flush with money and which were wastelands of used goods. The cops that took a little on the side and the ones looking for a promotion. How far he could cut the dope and still get his sales. He lived on information, it was the only currency worth bleeding for. As long as it wasn’t his blood on the grass.
“What do you want?” Greg asked.
“Who trashed Miss Raven's room?”
“How would I know?”
“I was there. There were footprints on the ground. That means gladiators.” Cesare’s voice lowered. “You got a choice, right here, right now. Between making an enemy of me or taking your chances on making an enemy of them.”
Greg looked at the pool of scarlet left from his bodyguard’s maiming. “I heard them in the locker room bragging about it. You’re right, they’re part of the Ludus Noctis.” The names spilled like poison from the boy’s lips, each one a member of Blaez’s pack.
“I need some high-quality bud and some baggies of meth.” Greg blinked, staring at him for a long minute before nodding wearily.
“Fine, but that's it,” Greg said, leaving down the same way his friends had gone. Cesare let him go without a word. This wasn’t the time to let Greg know who owned his ass, but that day would come.
Anastasia waited outside the corridor of thorns, she never stepped foot under its malicious needles without him going first. Whether it was Elizabeth's wards or that this place was his, he didn't know. Slipping into place behind him, she walked in his steps as he passed through the twilight corridor. The harm followed, silent shadows tied to one dark sun.
He turned his back while she changed, his words thrown over his shoulder. “We’re starting a new exercise. Tactical shooting. A calm shooter only needs one bullet; a scared man needs every bullet he can get his hands on.”
Cesare handed out the payload of his bag to the harem. The boys taking the guns as eager grins cut across their faces. “You’re telling me I bought those so you could shoot me with them?” Anastasia asked dryly.
He smiled as the last gun was handed over. “Let’s say I’d rather have you shot by a paintball than a real bullet. They’re slower, but they’ll give you a feel for moving tactically. We’ll start with three shooters taking cover behind the dummies. Your job’s to hit them while not getting tagged yourself.”
“Awesome.” She wasn’t worried about paintballs. She could take a hit to the face and shrug it off. No, as always, she feared only failure.
“A bullet or a blast can only go in a straight line. An inch is as good as a mile off. That's what I want you to focus on.” Anastasia’s eyes stayed with Cesare.
It was one of the reasons he trained her. She absorbed every word with a singlemindedness that was the twin to his own obsessiveness. She put everything she had into training, working until exhaustion covered her in sweat and stink. Great people aren’t born with great talent. Talent, no matter how large, is as common as sand, hard work as rare as diamonds. Small gains over days, months, years, and decades birth a mountain of achievement that dwarfs any and every talent.
Cesare stepped up behind her, hands fitting familiarly on her hips but never crossing the border. His voice dropped to a whisper as her hair caressed his face with feathery tendrils. “Did you think I’d let someone shoot at you without helping?” Anastasia’s tension melted away.
“I should’ve known better.” Anastasia half apologized.
His soft laughter ran across her neck, a slight tremble taking her body briefly. “Each time you hit those dummies, they’ll slam into your harem hiding behind them. Remember, they have to hit you with a one inch ball, while you just have to hit the dummy. And they’re far more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“So, I'm your shield?” The words tightened something deep inside Cesare.
“Never.” Anastasia’s body was liquid in his hands, supple and quick, relaxed and ready.
“Go.” The order sent the harem moving.
Even as they raised their weapons, Cesare whisper wove a world of velvet darkness around Anastasia. “Right side. Center mass. Now.”
Anastasia moved fluidly quick. Her body uncoiled, a hand coming up as she turned sideways at his direction, giving only a bladed profile to the harem. The blast of fire hit the dummy, rocking it backward. The bamboo man hammered the boy hiding behind it. “Fucking shit!”
Neither of them smiled as Cesare’s hands directed her with slight pressure down onto one knee. “Center mass.” The words were enough as she lit the target up with dazzling bursts of fire that sent another dummy blasting backwards. The boy behind it took the blow with a grunt as his weapon sent a stream of paintballs wide of them.
They were two bodies with one mind. With subtle pressure, he led as they danced. Anastasia slid a step forward and to the side, leaving just enough room to throw off the boy's aim. A stream of black flame hit the dummy, knocking the guy behind it down to one knee.
The boy surged to his feet, shooting from the hip. Now that they’d tasted getting hit by the dummies, they were more than willing to get payback. But they couldn’t compete with the duo’s unnaturally synchronized grace. Only Anastasia's complete trust made it work, her willingness to surrender control of her body to Cesare without question. The harem got a few hits in, but it wasn’t even close. Anastasia and Cesare wiped the floor with them.
Over an hour later, the two were laid out on the ground next to each other. Covered in mismatched paint, their chests trembled with gasping breaths of exhaustion. “Why … this?”
He leaned up on one arm to look at her. Glossy with sweat, she seemed more real, less the akatharton princess or the Lady of Ruin and more a person who might just give a damn about him. She met his eyes, something dangerous passing between them before Cesare slumped back down, breaking the contact.
“So far, you've fought close combat specialists. That won't last. Soon you’ll fight someone who can shoot. I want you ready for that,” Cesare said.
“You just like seeing me sweaty?” Anastasia said with a smirk.
“That too.”
“I’m starting to think you might have a sweat fetish,” she teased, trying to keep the moment light and playful.
He looked up at the sky, knowing he’d lose what little control he had if he looked at her. “No, I like touching you. Even if you were covered in dirt and blood, I’d still ache for you.” As soon as it slipped out, he wanted to take it back. Not because it was a lie, but because it was too true.
They were silent as they got up, neither wanting to talk about what he’d said. The game was racing to a close, each having too much on the line to pull out but neither able to see it end in anything but blood.