Angelos Odyssey

by J. B. M. Patrick

  “I’m sorry…”

  “We didn’t need him.” Aaliyah shrugged. “His mental illness, whatever it was, made him into a different person, so mom eventually pushed him out. But once mom got sick…” She paused. “Yeah, shit was hard, Tavon. I relate to you.”

  “Nobody’s perfect.” The assassin smirked.

  “Still…” Aaliyah seemed to ignore his remark altogether. “It eventually all fell back on me. It’s why I’m starting to look like an old woman.” She chuckled.

  “You’re not at all. Is your sister still around?”

  “Tallah.” She said. “Her name’s Tallah, and…”

  Aaliyah grew quiet.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She cried. Tavon hugged her tighter, but the detective had become inconsolable. “Tallah was hurt, Tavon… somebody hurt her really bad.”

  “Tell me who.”

  “It’s not like that.” She responded resolutely. “Tallah. Some man came on to her. She was polite—everyone says she was polite about it.”

  Aaliyah looked forlorn. “My sister turned him down, and he stalked her when she’d thought he’d given up long ago. That fucking bastard…”

  “What’s stopping us from serving him justice?”

  “I said it’s not like that,” She groaned. “No matter what you do, Tallah’s still in the goddamn hospital because a psycho decided to toss acid in her face before he… took her fucking legs from her.” The detective barely managed to utter beneath her sobs. “She was always quiet and kept to herself. I was the partier; the one who went out of her way to get to know everybody—and what he did to that girl… I just wish it would’ve been me.”

  “Don’t say that; no one deserves that fate.”

  “But don’t you see? It’s my fault—you’re just not understanding.” She sighed in frustration. “I teased her about not going out enough when she turned twenty; she was a shut in, but she’s such a great person, Tavon.”

  Tavon felt himself shed a tear.

  I… can feel what she’s feeling?! She gave me back my empathy. I thought it was gone.

  “What can I do to help?” he asked.

  Aaliyah reacted by hugging him. “For now?”

  “Yeah.”

  She smiled. “Finish the story; I want to hear the end.”

  “Well,” he said nonchalantly while scratching his head, “I guess we are coming to the end of it, aren’t we? Are you sure you want to hear the rest of this… it’s a little bleak, Aaliyah.”

  “If it’s about you,” she said, “then yes.”

  25

  Please Stay

  “YOU’RE JUST GOING TO LEAVE US?” He said. “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?”

  She shouted, “All you ever think about is yourself, Brock! How about letting me do something for me for ONCE, huh?”

  “You mean sleeping with other men and doing drugs up in strange apartments you got no business being in?”

  Kalina snarled. “I should slap you for what you just said—”

  “Go ahead—that’s what you’re known for, isn’t it?”

  “Excuse me?” She approached him while wild-eyed.

  “That’s right.” He nodded confidently. “You hit me and then turn the tables on me, Kalina! You say I’m abusive, but I’ve never touched you!”

  “You put fear in me. I fear for my life, Brock!” Kalina screamed and slapped him.

  He remained indifferent and continued with his face now reddened. “Are you serious right now? I put your life in danger?! How?”

  “Fuck you, Brock; quite frankly, I don’t even trust you around Lina!” She slapped him once more. “You’re a pussy, a failed soldier who can’t even do his job as a medic correctly—do you know how embarrassing it is to be married to someone so ignorant, do you Brock?”

  He let out a slow sigh. “Listen.” Brock calmed himself. “If this is what you want… I won’t stop you—”

  She punched him this time and stepped closer while screaming, “And you better fucking not, bitch!”

  Brock stood his ground while struggling to control his burning anger.

  Kalina shoved him before jabbing him in the mouth and yelling, “What’s wrong, pussy? Why don’t you hit me like you’ve always wanted to!”

  “Kalina! Stop!”

  “Bitch!”

  She swung at him again and again, giving everything she had to provoke a man who’d just returned home from a warzone.

  “Hit me!” She screamed while clawing his chest aggressively.

  His anger swelled…

  Brock—

  26

  You Won’t Fail

  --

  Tavon

  --

  AFTER HAVING PROVEN MYSELF to Elder Nagao, I was officially inducted into their syndicate; however, Rokshasa’s actions, regardless of how noble he wanted to appear, had made me disillusioned. After spending what had been close to a year with the Nagao, his actions still had me second-guessing how I felt about their “family.”

  I’d thought that maybe I could become like a son; it’s all I really wanted: to belong. But to think that my value lay only in how well I could take lives for them…

  --

  It was during one afternoon that I’d noticed Elder Nagao had come down from his shrine earlier than usual and seemed frustrated. He’d been speaking with Naizo, who also held back his indignation at something I hadn’t yet discovered.

  While I’d been assisting Beatrice in our daily grounds keeping, the Elder angrily called for Rokshasa’s presence several times and betrayed he’s normally calm demeanor.

  “ROKSHASA!” He bellowed. “To me!”

  Rokshasa, not known for being the smartest tool at the Nagao’s disposal, had taken extra time to suit himself within his body army before hurrying the clan’s leader. Already drenched in sweat and out of breath, he called “Moving!” as he unnecessarily sprinted toward the Elder.

  Elder Nagao sighed and waited until Rokshasa had arrived before him to ask, “W-why are you dressed for combat, Rokshasa?”

  “Your voice…” Rokshasa gasped. “It sounded aggressive, milord!”

  The Elder looked to his son. “It seems as though the fate of the Nagao may be bleak, after all…”

  “Idiot!” Naizo shouted. “Elder Nagao called because he desires to brief this clan’s protectors!”

  “Do not speak for me, Naizo.” The Elder glared at him. “This is an urgent matter… I’ve been given an update on a situation out of our control, Rokshasa. We need you.”

  Rokshasa, despite his stupid entrance, nodded while ever displaying his sincere desire to help the syndicate. Without saying another word, Naizo and the Elder began walking so as to move away from the public eye; Rokshasa called to us: “Pray to Bishamonten!”

  --

  I still didn’t understand the belief system followed by the Nagao.

  They’d been reluctant to teach me any history before I’d shown I was capable of hurting their best warrior. But now that they’d placed more trust in me, the syndicate had been tenser than ever considering their precarious position within the Fourth Quadrant. I wouldn’t understand the entirety of the situation until Rokshasa spoke to us later, but Beatrice made an effort to take my mind off everything I’d endured while with their clan.

  We were at the height of the shrine, and Beatrice sat peacefully with her legs crossed before taking my hand in hers.

  There were a select few in Nagao who fervently believed in Bishamonten, an ancient warrior god Rokshasa often obsessed over more than he did the Elder. Only the Elder and the young samurai appeared to share a strong belief in their god, however; others didn’t seem to care to such a degree, and Beatrice merely enjoyed the aesthetic of their practices.

  “This gives me peace.” She said, her demeanor sanguine.

  “I… I still don’t get it,” I replied. My hand was beginning to sweat, and I was afraid she’d feel it.

  Beatrice chuckled. “My god, Tavo
n.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing… —It’s just sometimes I can’t tell if you’re just slow or fucking with all of us…”

  “Why would I be fucking with all of you?”

  “You’re weird, you know that?” She looked at me seriously. “Like the oddest person I’ve ever met.”

  Even though I’d grown up under the care of Eze, I was emotionally stunted; it was hard for me to comprehend how I should respond to Beatrice’s comments.

  … But she recognized this. She understood.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.” Pity hung clearly in her tone. “I just meant that you almost defeated Nagao’s greatest warrior—and he’s three times your size, Tavon! How the hell did you even do that?!”

  I blushed, not anticipating the compliment. “I used to be a good fighter. At least I thought so.”

  “You’re a fantastic fighter—no one’s ever come close to pushing him back like that! The Elder doesn’t understand that Rokshasa’s been training to be a soldier near since he was born—but you, you’re some kid who showed him up with just his fists? What?” She started laughing. “The story’s so absurd that the Elder warned everyone not to spread it. Shit… I mean, what would the clan think if they heard some kid off the streets beat one of our own guys using just his hands?”

  “I guess… you’ve got a point.”

  “Like I said, Tavon,” she sighed, “I can’t tell if you’re an idiot or just playing around. Do you have parents? A family?”

  “No.” I said. “Do you?”

  Her smiled faded before she looked away. “No.”

  “But you’re one of the families, aren’t you?”

  “Listen, I’m sorry I even asked…”

  Beatrice ended up ignoring me the rest of the time we spent at the shrine; I didn’t know what I’d said to offend her, but being ignored was a reaction I’d grown used to after living in the Citadel.

  She made it seem as though she’d entered a deep meditation. Yet another concept I couldn’t grasp, but I understood that there must be something wonderful about relinquishing your own attachments to the world. The more fervent believers meditated more frequently, proceeding into a state capable of organizing and anchoring their psyches.

  After some time had passed with the two of us in silence, Beatrice said simply, “I lied… I do have family.”

  Rokshasa arrived with the Elder and gestured for us to leave the shrine before he caught up to me and Beatrice later.

  “What’s going on?” Beatrice didn’t hesitate to ask.

  “They’ve become more conniving.” He said. “Advanced their methods.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, Rok.” Beatrice said. “What did they advance?”

  Rokshasa spoke in short, rapid breaths. He’d aged considerably more than someone his age due to undergoing a very stressful existence under the Elder.

  “Mendo has killed Ovo, claiming a good section of the First Quadrant for the Meiziki—but it’s not just that, Beatrice… there’s something going on with our enemies.”

  “What, lug head?”

  “They seek these… machines. Small machines. Ones capable of appearing as tiny insects; they get inside of you.”

  “And what?” I asked.

  “Elder Nagao says they change the way the people outside think. They invade a sacred place and transform you into one of the depraved.”

  “Depraved?”

  “Rok’s fancy word for drug addicts.” Beatrice rolled her eyes.

  One of Meiziki’s best intelligence officers was an Alandran native, who’d journeyed to Alandra to investigate rumors surrounding the manufacturing of a new type of artificial intelligence.

  An engineering company in Alandra—now a thriving corporation—developed nanobots intended for use in the medical field in the case of more invasive procedures. The syndicate, however, retained close connections to the small family owning the manufacturing branch. As a result, their leader had succeeded in negotiating the delivery of several nanobots that remained, as of yet, unprogrammed. Meiziki’s intelligence cell intended on repurposing these bots to manipulate chemical receptors in a regular human’s brain. If done correctly, they could influence more of the general population to become pools of revenue as addiction grew within the Lower-City. The nanobots, however, were mostly experimental and not necessarily guaranteed to produce a junkie out of just any citizen.

  With word of Meiziki’s ambitions spreading, Nagao felt pressured to retaliate by seeking out their own method to overcome their rival’s newfound strength. The enemy was evolving faster than the world could contain them, and Elder Nagao was known for his often overbearing anxiety on any matter pertaining to his people.

  The Nagao Syndicate, opting out of more wicked practices, had sustained its operations solely on substance and weapons deals throughout the Citadel. Although Meiziki was considered the experts’ choice when it came to arms dealing, Nagao had managed to conscript a rather talented gunsmith belonging to a family the Elder considered lesser.

  The Shikon. A family who’d fooled everyone around them.

  --

  In the following days after we’d been given the news, I’d found myself growing closer to Beatrice. She’d been the most patient of anyone I’d met, and her kindness curbed an anger resting dormant inside of me. Beatrice was an excellent markswoman and generally only believed in using handguns to settle any issues.

  But her father, who’d she’d pretended not to have, was Uban Kai. He’d earned the favor of the Elder after having gunned down many while sustaining bullet wounds in a war waged against the Uesugi years ago. Her mother supposedly was once engaged to the Elder but chose Uban over the clan leader. Elder Nagao felt little contempt, however, as Uban had allowed combat to warp himself permanently.

  One morning, I met with Beatrice near a willow tree.

  Her face looked battered, clothes torn over deep bruises. The outer rim of Beatrice’s eyes had gone black, and the samurai peered down sullenly.

  “Beatrice?” I moved toward her. “Who did this to y—”

  “Be quiet, Tavon.” She cut me off and stood there in silence.

  We’d planned yesterday on going to meet the Shikon heir, but something was wrong…

  “Tavon.” She said.

  “Yes?”

  Beatrice allowed herself to fall to a knee before waving me off as I tried to help. She paused before looking up and stating, “I don’t think… I should go today—but,” Her eyes widened. “You do need to meet him, Tavon! He’ll be one of your battle-mates, after all.”

  “But I can’t leav—”

  She embraced me as her features softened. “It’s all right, Tavon; I’m just going to pray—but after you’re done meeting the Shikons, I want to talk to you again, okay?”

  “How should I introduce myself?” I’d been a ward of the Nagao for over a year now and had yet to ever meet the third family.

  She smirked underneath the pain she felt. “I don’t think there’s any real way to do it, Tavon…

  “They’re not one of us, that’s all I can honestly say…”

  --

  Of the assorted reasons the Shikons had remained a mysterious family was the fact that they’d constructed a modernized castle for themselves, which was held together by both a timber frame and stone foundation. It was a castle hidden away on an edge overlooking a blended texture of open plains and shallow mountain peaks looming before an ocean belonging to the World Below.

  The outer rim of the Lower-City happened to be a colossally thick plate of titanium home to what was synthetic agriculture before the Quadrants emerged. At its edge, part of the overall foundation of the City in the Sky exposed itself. The Shikons were privy to a spectacular view of what had become Earth following centuries of devastation. Much of the land had resumed normal patterns of growth, revealing what was—to me—a beautiful world I was more than ready to explore. I’d been bound to the Citadel because of my poverty, and all I want
ed was to get out of the country.

  The Shikon family reminded me of that desire, as their strange keep stood far above a group of wide shacks constructed from hay and thatch. Their home seemed oddly abandoned, and the surrounding atmosphere was eerily quiet. I didn’t know exactly how to proceed with no one around to even acknowledge my presence. All I could do was begin an ascent to a long, narrow platform outstretched before an electronically-triggered metallic entryway—

  —But there was already a great giant waiting to greet me.

  A humanoid frame dwarfing anyone I’d ever encountered. A figure surreal and horrifying in stature as it concealed its true form behind a full suit of armor and mask melted and sculpted into the image of a demonic entity snarling as it bared its elongated teeth.

  Without a word, the giant began to charge at me with a cleaver larger than my entire body. Knowing I didn’t stand a chance against this beast, I shouted: “I’m not your enemy! Please! Stop!”

  It continued charging, swiftly drawing closer.

  “I SERVE ELDER NAGAO!!!” It was my last effort to plead for my life.

  —And like that, the figure came to a halt while also standing in a fashion that clearly displayed its own bewilderment.

  “The Shikon,” echoed its booming tone, “were advised by the old one to strike if any were to come to the Edge! Human, swear you are not of the Meiziki!”

  “I swear!”

  Human.

  I thought I’d stopped his advance, but the giant figure began calmly walking toward me; its cleaver became even more intimidating in size as he drew closer, and I felt something shudder uncomfortably within my mind.

  A cloud of despair began to encircle me…

  This giant… he was from a different world.

  I felt my memory dominate conscious thought, and it was as if something was compelling me to look back in time. I needed to soothe or destroy a deep kind of pain, and, what I later learned was a demon, guided me toward that against my will. Some demons are known for having a profound psychological effect upon being viewed at all, and so I found myself collapsing to the ground and paralyzed as a dark, throaty laugh resonated before me.