Chapter 20 The Second Deal

Goliath leaned back in a dusty chair in his flat. A whole steaming chicken sat on his lap in a large cooking tray. Half of the bird was missing. The only entertainment in the small flat was an ancient TV that turned every colour purple. New wounds covered his body, some worse than others, but almost all of them had healed themselves, evident by the white lines they left behind.

A soft hand slapped his shaved head.

“Cheer up, moody,” Spike taunted, jumping and landing on a sofa to the side. Dust shot up in the air, illuminated by an orange glow coming through broken blinds.

“We failed… and fuckin’ Roach—”

“Who cares,” Spike huffed, lighting a cigarette. “We stood no chance. Maybe if the Administrators got off their fat fuckin’ arses the city wouldn’t be in such a state.” He inhaled deeply and blew a ring at the ceiling.

Goliath clenched his jaw and turned his attention to the television. On the screen, two presenters were sitting behind a desk with statistics and images of the Horde behind them.

“We are glad to announce that all undead have been purged from the city. The clean-up effort has been immense so far, and now the rebuilding of this great city starts. The estimated death toll has reached 250,000 and still counting. The king expects another 10,000 to be uncovered as the clean-up effort goes on.”

“Let us think of those who died; those who fought, those who cowered and those white of heart. The Horde that struck the city was Severity 7 with over half of the monsters mutated. Experts are still discussing whether the Horde was manipulated in any way since it was not expected for another five months.”

“On another note, it was the Unwanted’s first public appearance. If you look at these videos, you will see members with a very dark mist on their faces. These have been announced as the Elders, with lighter colours of grey being their subordinates. We have interviewed Vice Guild Master of New London Hunters about them. Please mind his language, this was taken a day after the Horde.”

The video feed switched to a man with his head wrapped in bandages clearing up rubble at the West Gate.

“They fought like fuck. I’ve never seen such ruthless and effective fighters. You know I train Hunters - how to kill monsters but these guys looked as if they were born to do it. I heard them shouting: If you can kill any monster, you can kill any man. We would have been done if it weren’t for them. You know, what I said about them before - yeah, I take that shit back.”

“You havin’ a tug?” Spike asked Goliath. “I know patriotism gets you goin’.”

Goliath sighed longingly. “At least it was positive.”

“I still like it when we didn’t wear masks in the Horde,” Spike complained. “Slags were all over me. Do you notice anything different about me?”

Goliath turned his attention to Spike; usually, he just ignored whatever the man had to say. “I do actually. You seem better.”

“No, dickhead—” he stretched open his mouth with his fingers, revealing three golden teeth. “Rubble knocked them out.”

“Cool,” Goliath said, raising his eyebrows and turning his attention towards the TV.

“Ain’t you a fucking darl,” Spike spat, putting the cigarette out on the sofa.

“There is a certain Unwanted who has managed to garner more attention than any other. People have been giving him the name: The Immortal. At the South Gate, where the main bulk of the Horde attacked, a lone Unwanted ran head-first into the Horde with only pistols and daggers. In these clips here, you can see a tattoo on his back of a large skull with thousands of tallies covering him.”

Goliath’s clubby hands gripped the side of the armchair as he sat up.

“After taking down what appears to be a Senior Black Yeti, he engaged the monsters further. That was until a wolf mauled him. Only a minute later, he reappears in this footage as if nothing happened to him. Social media has speculated that he can regenerate - he is also the one that guarded Elora Evergrand in the footage from when she was attacked.”

“Oh fuck,” Goliath grunted.

“Cheeky prick, getting all that spotlight,” Spike commented, watching from his bedroom.

“Roach doesn’t like the spotlight. That was Mercy’s work,” Goliath countered, “I heard them talking when we were below.”

“How is Baldy doing?” Spike wondered.

“Been in a coma from what I last heard from Boseman. He threw out his bones at the Alpha. Still wasn’t enough,” Goliath replied.

“I hope it humbled the cunt,” Spike remarked.

Goliath’s phone rang. He brought it out and looked at the number - it wasn’t Mercy’s. “Boseman,” he answered.

“We got that bastard - Elora Evergrand’s uncle. Names Sebastian Evergrand.”

Goliath placed the chicken on the floor and stood up. “He’s alive?”

“Yeah. No one’s touched him so far. Usually, I’m the one to get info out of him but I thought you’d like to instead. Plus, you’ve been requested.”

Spike was overhearing the conversation. “I’m in Boseman!” he shouted.

“Has he spoken?”

“No - bit ruffed up at the minute but nothing major. We’ve been given the green light by Lord Evergrand. He’s all yours.”

“I’ll get the team,” Goliath grunted, entering his bedroom. “What’s going on with Akira Weslen? And what did he steal?”

Boseman hesitated to answer. Eventually, he said, “I’m in the dark, mate. Shit is above my pay. Even Mercy doesn’t know - or he didn’t tell me. You didn’t hear this from me but the Administrators are freaking the fuck out. They’ve got every Fodder scanning the entire country. It’s madness here.”

“It freaked out Pointy too,” Goliath added, stroking his stubbly chin.

“I ain’t surprised given it raised undead from before the Great Merge.”

“Shit.”

“Oh yeah, the Underground is fucked. Imagine all those bodies buried down there during the Siege of London. I don’t want to talk about it too much, mate, given our code.”

“I understand.”

“Well, he’s in room 4 for when you get here. There’s a bunch of suits walking around - trying to help out with the search. Keep your cloak on.”

“Will do, mate, see you in thirty.”

Pointy was sitting down in a leather armchair next to a circular glass window. Through it, the sprawling Outers and Overground was in view. With furrowed eyebrows, he flicked through the remains of a burnt book. It was written in an ancient language that he hardly understood.

He knew what he was looking for, he remembered snippets of the item from when he was a child in his parents' grand library, long before he joined the Unwanted. It was an itch he couldn’t quite scratch - something unknown. Perhaps the item was known and it had been eradicated from the history books. Then why does he know of it, and only him?

His phone rang.

“Quinn?” June’s voice came through.

“Good day, June, how are you feeling?” he responded, closing the book carefully.

“Better than yesterday I suppose. How’s the injury? Sol told me about it.”

“Ah, no need to worry about me, June, but thank you anyway.”

“You sound annoyed - sorry, I can hear it in your tone.”

“Puzzling matters at work,” Pointy half-lied, setting the book down next to a dozen others in a similar condition. “No matter how hard I look I can’t seem to find anything on the matter.”

“Have you scoured the internet?”

“These things won’t be online I’m afraid,” Pointy sighed. “I need information that has been scrubbed from books and minds alike. I don’t mean to drag on about work; not knowing things gets to me, unfortunately.”

“Why don’t we grab a coffee or something? I heard First King’s Station was untouched by the Horde.”

His other phone rang.

“That sounds delightful, June, but I may have to delay it until I have solved my recent problem. I do apologise.”

“No worry at all, Quinn. If you need help with anything please let me know. I know I can tempt the Head Librarian to let me look in the non-public section.”

“That might be worth it. Anyway, work is calling, I must go. Please, take care of yourself, June.”

“And you, Quinn.”

Pointy ended the call and picked up the other. “Yes?”

“Elora Evergrand’s uncle - we have him.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“He’s not dead?”

“I guess not. Boseman said he’s a bit fucked up but that's it.”

“Brilliant,” Pointy said, fisting pumping the air. “I wish to pluck every bit of knowledge out of his brain - trying to get to the bottom of this is dragging my mind through barbed wire. I can’t but help feel it's all connected. Oh, and request a mind mage and an advanced healer.”

“Already done,” Goliath responded. “The rest of the team is coming too.”

“So you’ve spoken to Roach?”

“Kinda - he won’t tell me where he went. I just feel like an asshole for pushing it, you know? If he has a family or someone he needs to protect he should tell me. Has he told you anything?”

“Nothing. I would say that Roach is the true loyalist out of us - he wouldn’t disappear without a valid reason, Goliath. I don’t want to tell you to do anything, but I would suggest to politely dismiss it. The man likes his privacy. We all agreed after Stage 3.”

“I know, Pointy, I haven’t told any Elders yet. He can’t be doing this shit more than once.”

“I agree, Goliath. Anyway, I will be at base in twenty. What room?”

“Room 4. Boseman’s warned us that there are suits about, helping with the search for Akira Weslen. Keep your cloak on.”

“Understood, see you soon.”

Roach walked through the base with mist on his face and a cloak dragging on the floor behind him. Suits and Fodder were running through the vast corridors. It was chaotic. When he reached an intersection, he turned away from where he was meeting his team and towards an area labelled as the Medic Bay. It was equally chaotic, with healers dashing between rooms. Even two days later, the casualties were still coming in.

Towards the end, there was a door with two Guardian ranks standing at ease.

“Purpose for visit,” one asked him as he approached.

“Tell him Roach is here.”

Under the mist, one of them raised their eyebrows. “You’re the famous one, huh? The Immortal.”

“Sure, whatever,” Roach responded. “Can I see him?”

One of the Guardians opened the door and poked their head in. “Sir, Roach is here to see you.”

“Send him in,” Mercy replied with a raspy voice.

“He’s a bit mad at the minute,” one of the Guardians whispered as Roach walked by.

“Cheers for the heads up.”

Roach walked into the room to see Ozark sitting next to Mercy’s bed. Her face was still blackened from the Horde and tears streamed down her face. She looked worse off than Mercy who was lying down with a white blanket covering him. Still, however, a very dark mist was on his face.

“Hi Roach,” she sniffled.

“Ozark? Why are you here?”

Ozark ignored him. She turned to Mercy and sobbed, “Thank you, Mercy,” before attempting to hug him.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Mercy snapped. “Get out of here.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you again, sir,” Ozark wept, running past Roach for the door.

Roach closed the door behind her. “What was that about, sir?”

“She saved my life,” Mercy said plainly, sighing. “As one of my last wishes as Head Elder, I’ve given her full access to the Black Market and promoted her to Head Researcher in the new Animatronics sector.”

“Shit,” Roach sighed. “Wait, last wishes. sir?”

Mercy cracked a half-smile under his mist but didn’t say anything.

“Why, sir?”

Mercy grimaced under his mist and held up a floppy arm. “I’m not strong enough for the Head Elder position. The Wendigo tore me to shreds, Roach - had me pulling out my bones to survive. I will have to go through multiple regeneration sessions - I can’t lead like this.”

“But sir—”

“I’ve already made my mind up, Roach. And don’t worry about our deal, I have made arrangements.”

Roach breathed out. “Where are you going?”

Mercy stared at the ceiling and let off a single chuckle. “Combatant Elder duty. Someplace foreign.”

“Is that what you want, sir?”

“No, Roach, I care for this organisation no matter how terrible and cruel it is. Unlike you, I have no one else. This job is my child and I’m not fit to take care of it.”

Roach sat down on the same chair Ozark had. “I understand that, sir. If you need anything—”

“I don’t need anything. But thank you, Roach, you and your team propelled me to this rank. I rushed into it. I cannot believe I am talking to you about this.”

“It’s alright, sir, you’ve seen me at my lowest.”

“I suppose we’re even then.”

9 Years Ago

In one of many houses stacked on top of each other, Solomon and his two sisters sat around empty bowls. June had already fallen asleep with a full belly while Solomon and May patted theirs.

“Pork tastes so yummy,” May said with a smile, yawning after.

“I think it's time you get some sleep,” Solomon told her. He picked up the three bowls off the floor and placed them on the table in the other room.

“Are you not coming to bed?” May asked, stretching.

Solomon came back into the room and picked up June from the floor - she was fast asleep. He carefully laid her down on a creaky bed and wrapped two blankets around her. “I need to do some more work,” he finally replied.

May looked at his muddy and bloody feet. “You need to rest,” she told him, folding her arms.

“Not until we’re out of here. We’ll be leaving soon, I promise.”

May looked to the floor. “You said that last week.”

“I know I did. The Outers is more expensive than I realised,”

“You’ve been to the Outers?”

Solomon shook his head. “No, I just heard about it.”

May crawled over to her bed and wrapped herself in the blankets. “Don’t work so late,” she demanded of him.

“I’ll try,” Solomon said, smiling without his teeth. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Sol.”

Once she had snuggled into bed, he grabbed a key from a hidey hole in the rotten wood of the walls and quietly exited their small place. Squeezing through a small crevice between two shacks, he arrived at the maze of wooden supports that held up the stack of houses. Dropping down them, he arrived at the bottom where a small gap was. He crawled under it and stood up to switch a lamp on.

Illuminated by the orange glow were pictures and sketches of faces; over a third were crossed out. In the centre of all the pictures was a man of Asian descent. He was standing on a pile of bodies with a twisted smile on his face.

“Akira Weslen,” a voice said in a Slavic accent.

Solomon jumped from his skin and backed away into a corner. On the opposite side of the small room was a man with a misted face. Fear overcame him and he reached for a rusty knife on a beam.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the misted face calmly said.

“Who are you?” Solomon asked, pointing his knife.

“My Alias is Mercy, I am an Unwanted.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Solomon told him, his knife aimed loosely. “You’re all murderers! I won’t go down without a fight!” he shouted.

“But you don’t stay down, do you?”

Solomon breathed out his nose but didn’t reply.

Mercy brought out a piece of paper and began to read off it while pacing. “Thursday the 26th of May. Guard, Bentin Cook was brutally murdered in his sleep next to his wife. The stabs were wild like it was by an ill-trained civilian bent on revenge. When his wife woke up, she grabbed the shotgun under the bed and fired at a suspect who she believed to be a child. Guard attacks are taken very seriously in North of New London.”

“Are you here to take me in?” Solomon questioned, his body still shaking.

Mercy held up a gloved finger. “When the wife fired the shotgun, it split the suspect in half. She then ran over to her husband who was still alive and tried to stop the bleeding. A knife suddenly went through her back and she fell off the bed. She watched helplessly as her husband was wildly stabbed to death thereafter.” The misted face then folded the paper and stored it in their cloak. “That’s Bentin Cook, right? And why aren’t you split in half?”

Anxiety overcame him and Solomon lunged with the rusty knife. Mercy raised their palm and all of a sudden, he was frozen in place, as if all his bones had locked up.

“What’s your name?” Mercy questioned.

He felt pressure alleviate from his throat and head - Solomon did not answer.

“I don’t care about your name, my apologies,” Mercy told him, taking a step forward to look at the pictures. “This one, Laura Brown, once formerly a nun at the Three Moon Orphanage in Hrun Ray District. She left the orphanage and bought a new apartment in Mayfair a few months ago but was found dead in a chair with over eighty stab wounds. Her feet and hands were bound, her eyes scratched out with a blade and her teeth pulled out with a plier. Forensic pathologists said she was tortured for hours before she died of blood loss.”

“What do you want?” Solomon croaked.

“Going back to that guard, how did you survive?”

“It wasn’t me.”

“All these deaths were slashed and stabbed. Three victims were tortured, given they were alone when the attack happened. Revenge perhaps?”

Solomon held his head down. “I wanted to make them feel my pain and the pain they caused others.”

Mercy nodded his head. “Brothers of Unholy Balance and their acquaintances. All your victims are related to the massacre. Over 430 dead children have been recovered. Their records say that 474 were documented. Each of the children possessed a rare form of affinity or plentiful mana. There’s none of that for you, is there?”

Solomon began to hyperventilate. “What do you want?”

Mercy suddenly grabbed his jaw and pulled him close to the mist on his face. “How did you survive?”

“I made a deal.”

“A deal with who?”

“Yelia.”

“Yelia of Death, Doom and Destruction?” Mercy questioned with a scoff.

“Whatever she is,” Solomon sighed.

“A deal with a True God? What did this deal entail?” Mercy asked, believing it to be a sham.

“Fifty-two people. Fifty-two people who were responsible for what happened to me. I have to take their lives.”

“And what did she give you to complete this?” Mercy questioned, half-serious.

“Immortality.”

Mercy noticed a tally on the boy's chest and dragged the collar down with his finger. “By the Black Moon,” he muttered to himself, prying further. His eyes went wide in horror. However, he quickly composed himself. “Let us make a deal of our own.”

“I’m done with deals.”

“You will want to hear this one, I promise.”

“What?”

“You work for me, and I will give you access to all these people. The rest of the 32 on your list. I will give you tools, resources and access to hunt each one of them down. Oh, and those girls upstairs, they will be looked after in the meantime.”

“You’ll look after them?” Solomon questioned with hopeful eyes.

“I will buy a place for them in the Outers. It will be safe and each of them will attend school while you go through training. I’ll have someone watch them at all times—”

“How can I trust you?”

Mercy exhaled and leaned in close to his face. “Unfortunately you cannot. The mist of my face screams ‘Run!’. I am ruthless and efficient and do whatever it takes to complete my missions. All I have to go off is my word. I can promise you one thing, as long as you remain loyal to me, I will remain loyal to you.”

“But once my list is complete, I will be free to go,” Solomon bargained.

Mercy inhaled and took a step backwards. He outstretched an arm. “Deal.”

Solomon shook his hand.