by Leon Logos
Cackle surveyed the room, then the Councilmen. He was quickly realizing the situation; he had them cornered. All of them in one room. He was capable of finishing the job easily. Serenity stepped in immediately.
“Don’t do it, there’s no need,” she said.
“If I merk them here, Viktor might compensate me fairly,” Cackle said thoughtfully. “He might increase our share or the spoils.”
“Don’t be like him!” she groaned. “You’re going to kill just for money? To get rich?! Come on, not even you’re that low.”
“Nah, I’m worse than Viktor,” Cackle grinned.
“Who the hell is this?” said Sixto, looking at Cackle loathingly.
“Who am I?” Cackle sneered. “Who’re you?”
“A resident of this place,” Sixto said acidly. “You’re an intruder.”
“Well, we’re the new owners,” Cackle shrugged. “You can die with that knowledge stuck in your head. Bye!”
“If you kill him, you’ll have to kill me too,” Serenity warned.
Cackle howled with laughter.
“You’re not brave enough to make that sacrifice,” he sniggered. “And you know, I’d have no problem shooting you too.”
“I say otherwise,” she said confidently. “You’re not going to kill me after going through all this trouble. Someone sent you here to watch me, right? To protect me? Was it Garen? Agno?”
“Okay, get out of my way,” Cackle said, visibly irritated.
“Guess I was right,” Serenity couldn’t help smirking.
“I don’t need to shoot you to make you move,” said Cackle. “Really? What’re you going to do, then?” she provoked.
Cackle didn’t hesitate. He pistol-whipped her, hurling her to the floor. She yelled in agony, the pain from the blow augmented by her already-present injuries. She had already taken a beating to the face.
In the blink of an eye, Sixto tackled Cackle, who fired the gun wildly. The bullet ricocheted off the ceiling and hit a wall. She recovered as quickly as she could, watching the fight play out. Sixto had managed to disarm Cackle, the pistol now two meters from them. At first, she was sure Sixto was winning the fight. On top of him, he pummeled Cackle relentlessly, each punch connecting. Some of the Councilmen in the back cheered Sixto on, encouraging him to kill. But the tables were promptly turned.
Cackle managed to grab Sixto’s shoulders with both of his hands, pulling him closer down to him. Within his reach, Cackle then headbutted. Sixto yelped, no longer on the offensive. Cackle seized the opportunity. He seized Sixto by his torso, simultaneously rising with his abdominal strength. Within seconds, Cackle was the one on top. This was where it got bad. Cackle wasn’t raining down punches. He was slamming Sixto’s head repeatedly against the hard floor, with the pure intent to murder.
Serenity darted for the pistol, picking it up, and firing one shot near them. Cackle ceased, looking at her. Sixto’s eyes were half-open. He was on the precipice of losing consciousness. Blood trickled down his forehead and the back of his head. She couldn’t tell what the extent of the damage was.
But it didn’t look favorable.
“ENOUGH!” she shouted. “GET OFF OF HIM!”
Cackle snickered, obeying. With the gun in hand, she was the one in control. He looked down at the defeated Sixto, with a domineering gaze.
“He attacked me first, idiot,” Cackle jeered at her.
“I’m not going to let you kill him,” she said steadfastly. “Or anybody else. Now, I’m warning you; leave now, or else.”
“You think I’m scared of you?” said Cackle, in wonder.
“You should be,” she said fiercely.
“Well, I’m not leaving,” Cackle said, unperturbed. “Fine, you win; your little pals can live. For now. But I ain’t budging.”
She fired a warning shot, right between his legs. Cackle didn’t even flinch. He looked down at the bullet hole, letting out a whistle.
“I’m impressed,” he said. “Your aim has gotten better!”
“I wasn’t trying to hit you,” she said matter-of-factly.
“No shit,” he said condescendingly. “I’m saying I’m surprised your aim was good enough to even hit a warning shot.”
Incensed by his lack of fear and his unyielding inclination to belittle her, she fired another warning shot. This time, next to his toe. Her hands began trembling in rage. Cackle looked slightly wary now.
“Careful now,” he said caustically. “Those unsteady hands won’t help with warning shots. You’ll end up shooting me for real.”
“Fine!” she said bitterly. “I don’t care!”
“I bet you’re too chicken to even fire another shot,” Cackle said smugly. “The loud noises scare you, Serenity?”
“SHUT UP!” she shrieked, firing once again.
“Oh, that was luck!” Cackle provoked. “Won’t happen again!”
She fired again.
“Stop playing, I know you can’t shoot me!” Cackle goaded.
“YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?!” she cried, firing once more.
“For God’s sake, just shoot the bastard!” Wilkens yelled.
“Do it!” another Councilman hollered.
“I COMMAND YOU!” another screamed.
Out of pressure, she pulled the trigger without thinking. For a split-second her heart skipped a beat, horrified at what she had done. But nothing happened. The gun clicked but did not fire. The pistol was out of bullets. She didn’t know if the gun was even properly aimed at him.
“You are so gullible,” Cackle scoffed. “Fell right into my trap. What’re you gonna do now? Shooting me isn’t an option anymore.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, angry at herself for falling for his trick. She launched the pistol across the room out of annoyance. “You can’t use it either now. Nobody’s dying today. Not here.”
“He is,” Cackle pointed at Sixto.
“No, he isn’t—”
Cackle began kicking Sixto in the stomach repeatedly. Every bone shattering, solid blow landed. In alarm, she charged at Cackle. He shifted to the side swiftly, sweeping her legs. Foolishly, Serenity tripped and tumbled to the floor. Even as she was down, Cackle continued. This time, on her second attempt, she was successful in tackling him. And for the first time, she managed to force him down. But only for a second. Cackle pushed her off of him, but not before hitting her with a left jab. She blacked out for a second, falling flat onto her back.
Three Councilmen rushed to Sixto’s aid. Instinctively, Cackle pulled out a knife from his belt. The three men halted, intimidated by the weapon.
“Try anything, and I’ll shank you,” Cackle warned.
“Young man, I assume you’re a Carlisle?” Dorian asked, stepping forward. “Your eyes are pervasive with bloodlust, rage, and misplaced odium. Tell me, did Gunther corrupt you with such hate?”
“Shut up!” Cackle snapped. “Shut it!”
“This perennial animosity is a precursor to your inevitable doom,” Dorian continued. “Keep living like this, child, and you will fall.”
“Keep running your mouth, and someone will fall all right,” said Cackle vitriolically, not intrigued at what Dorian had to say.
“It is starkly egregious,” Dorian sighed. “Gunther raising his children to be like him. I daresay, he did not raise you all like children—but like minions. Tractable slaves to do his bidding and fulfill his will.”
Cackle didn’t respond this time. “Does it please you? Knowing that you Carlisles are harbingers of murder? One could logically assume someone is going to die when they see you. Your presence can be attributed by assassination. It is your vocation.”
“Why the hell do you speak like that?” Cackle asked, baffled. “I barely understand what you’re trying to say.”
“Oh, but you do,” Dorian confuted. “Don’t pretend you’re incapable of comprehending my words. You hide under this pretense that you’re some fearsome, authoritative alpha-male; that your capacity to kill incessantly m
akes you cool. Your callous humor is merely a façade—a masquerade to conceal your true thoughts and emotions. But even outwardly, you know what I see? A confused, entitled, vacuous, frightened child who is unaware of his life’s purpose. Deprived of a leader, and your tenure as a follower, you wreak havoc simply because you do not know what else to do.”
“The hell you getting all this from?” Cackle raised his voice. “Dude, you don’t know anything about me! Stop pretending that you do!”
“You display cruelty to assert and perpetuate the semblance of a tough guy, presumably living in the shadow of your other brothers.”
Serenity was paying undivided attention to Dorian’s words, processing the meaning of them as they came out. There had to be a mistake. Was this all true? She had always believed Cackle to be incorrigibly and inherently an insensitive brat. Someone with an inveterate proclivity to violence. Dorian’s shrewdness and perspicacity had always been evident to her. She was unsure of whether Dorian was truthfully speaking his mind or intentionally attempting to rile Cackle up. If it was the latter, it was working.
“I presume your father is now out of the picture,” said Dorian. “Though, you’ve lacked proper parenting your whole life. Gunther scarcely counts. You’ve been raised incorrectly, and it may be too late to rectify your disposition to brutality. How unfortunate.”
“I don’t need parents,” Cackle affirmed forcefully. “And I don’t need any ‘leader.’ I can take care of myself and do whatever I want!”
“The both of us know that’s not true,” Dorian shook his head. “Some advice, now that I’m finished censuring and criticizing you: grow up.”
“How do you know so much about him…?” Serenity asked.
“Shut up, Serenity,” Cackle snapped. “He’s just gibbering.”
“I’m an astute judge of character,” Dorian replied. “That’s all there is to it. Which brings me to you, Serenity. I understand that you’ve genuinely enjoyed your time spent with us. But at the same time, your allegiance with us is wavering. There is a lack of resolute loyalty. You cannot stay with us. You are no true Aurelian, regardless of your parentage.”
“No,” she shook her head. “That can’t be!”
“We’ve waited too long to retrieve you,” said Dorian. “Over a decade spent with the Carlisles. It would’ve been easier molding you into an Aurelian if you were younger. But then again, Alistair had no intention of truly welcoming you into the family. I confess that.”
“He said he didn’t care about me…” she said slowly, recalling Alistair’s final words. “Is that really true…? What did he mean ‘bait’?”
“Ah, so he already revealed it,” Dorian chuckled. “Alistair hated your parents, as much as he hates Gunther for being the reason his wife is dead.”
“Why?” she asked earnestly. “Please tell me!”
“What will you do, Dorian?” Dyxus asked. “Tell her?”
“Don’t do it,” Wilkens warned. “Out of spite, keep her in the dark.”
“There’s no harm in divulging,” Dorian shook his head. “But I’ll encapsulate this history succinctly. Alistair never had a wholesome relationship with his brother—your father. They were fiercely competitive, and bitter rivals. Ever since they were boys. Now, Alistair hated your mother even more. They were friends as children, you know? Just as Gunther was.”
“Gunther knew my mother?” she asked, dazed.
“Of course! The Carlisles were an affiliate family of us Aurelians. Small but easy to manipulate, and useful. They used to coexist, in the Aurelian-dominated town of Folkware, located in Wales.”
Cackle made no attempt at stopping or interrupting the conversation. He was listening in on the conversation, not blinking an eye.
“Where?” she asked, unfamiliar with this town.
“Just a now-abandoned town where the original Aurelian residence was located,” Dorian said indifferently. “Forget about it. Anyway, your parents and Gunther knew each other well. But your father and Gunther, they despised each other; analogous to how Alistair and your father did. You see, Gunther and Sebastian were rivals in their own sense. They were competing. Courting your mother at the same time, trying to acquire her.”
“What?” she said, stunned. “Gunther and my mother?”
“To put it simply, Sebastian obviously was the one to obtain your mother’s love. And also, win her hand in marriage. Which was quite surprising, considering she initially seemed more attached to Gunther. It devastated Gunther. Which is an understatement. Consumed by vengeance and rage, in reprisal, he murdered the both of them one night.”
“There must be more to the story!” she said, in disbelief. “And if my father and Alistair hated each other, how come my father made Alistair my godfather? That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Oh, that was a blatant lie,” Dorian smiled. “Forget about that. Alistair isn’t your godfather.”
This didn’t astonish or offend her. She was past it. Alistair did not love her as a niece, or a family member. But what flummoxed her was Gunther. Was he even capable of loving a woman? Of loving, in general?
“Why take Serenity then…?” Cackle chimed in, absorbed in the story.
Evidently, he was just as curious about Gunther’s background than her. She thought she heard the door upstairs open. But she was too engrossed in this pivotal conversation to care or confirm.
“I have several theories concerning that,” said Dorian. “Some of those likewise to what we proposed to you on your first day. Gunther may have wanted to spite us, taking you and bringing you into his family. Weaponizing you to kill us, your own flesh and blood. Your true family. He wanted to stain your Aurelian lineage with the Carlisle name.”
“But you don’t believe that…” Serenity said perceptively. “Do you?”
“Some may alternatively believe something else…” said Dorian mysteriously. “That perhaps—just maybe—Gunther sought to take something that rightfully belonged to him. Take someone.”
“Why would I belong to him…?” she said rancorously, the recollection of Gunther Carlisle imbuing her with abhorrence. “My father won my mother’s heart. Not him. He’s just a sore loser, isn’t he? A pathetic guy!”
“The identity of your father is debatable,” Dorian declared. “A child belongs with his parents. And with one’s ostensible parent’s deceased? Who does the child rightfully belong to? Whose guardianship?”
“A relative’s,” she replied. “That would be my uncle! You guys.”
Were those footsteps?
“Well, Gunther must’ve taken it upon himself to decide to determine which relative would,” said Dorian. “Through coercive measures.”
“Dorian, wait up,” said Dyxus. “Are those—?”
“That’s just ridiculous,” Cackle said loudly. “Hell no.”
“I have an idea of what you’re implying…” said Serenity anxiously, apprehension and trepidation welling up inside her. “But I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. That—that can’t be right…”
“This is just a theory,” Dorian shrugged. “Not facts.”
“Then allow me to clarify,” said a striking gravelly voice. A voice starkly familiar to her. A voice that turned her blood to ice, made her whole body shiver, her face go rigid, and her heart stop in dread.
“Speak of the devil,” said Dorian uneasily.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
She couldn’t believe her eyes. Here, in the flesh, stood Gunther Carlisle by the entrance (also exit). Never before had Serenity been so disconcerted to see him, especially considering how clearly livid he was. The monstrosity of his appearance was reinforced by the condition of his face and body. His skin was charred and blackened, denoting that he had survived some scorching inferno of hell. His left eye was completely white, presumably of no use any further. It looked as if pieces of his tattered clothing were melted into his red, blistering, grotesque skin.
How Gunther had made it here through all the warfare, with his bo
dy in such appalling condition, was beyond any of them. An M4 carbine rifle was in his left hand, ready to fire and murder.
Serenity glanced to her left at Cackle, who appeared even more stunned than herself. His eyes were widened, rendered speechless. His nether lip was trembling uncontrollably. It truly appeared as if he had witnessed a ghost. Cackle’s face had turned pale, suffused with sheer disbelief.
“Is that you, Dorian?” Gunther asked, his voice huskier than usual.
“It is,” Dorian replied, remarkably maintaining a courteous tone.
“You were just a boy when I last saw you,” Gunther said. “What have you told them…? About my past? You bastard.”
“What does it matter to you?” Dorian asked, hands behind his back. “It seems your children have forsaken you.”
Gunther fixed his inflamed eye on Cackle, who stammered.
“W-what?” said Cackle. “H-how did you…?”
“You don’t look so pleased, Cackle,” Gunther said accusingly. “Though why would you? You were involved in the mutiny!”
“N-no, I wasn’t!” Cackle said defensively.
“YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!” Gunther snarled. “ALL OF YOU!”
Serenity gaped at Cackle, her mouth open. There was no way.
“Aside from that, you blatantly disobeyed me!” Gunther barked viciously, spit spewing from his mouth like a sprinkler.
“How are you alive?!” Cackle blurted out.
“Surprised?!” Gunther growled. “You wished me dead?!”
“NO—”
“Tell me, why have you returned?” Dorian interposed. “It’s a shame Alistair is gone. His plan worked after all. You did come to us. Again. And you appear to be very overwrought. I wonder why.”
“I had no choice,” Gunther said. “With all these brats here with you, I had no choice but to join this fracas. And teach them a final lesson!”
“No, I suspect you have some ulterior motive,” Dorian said skeptically. “How about you enlighten us with your tale? Finish it for us.”
“Gunther, you swine!” Wilkens glowered, in rancor.
“By the heavens, God helps us,” Dyxus moaned in terror.