Intrigued by this latest development, Vain removed first his heavy fur-lined coat, followed by the two thick sweaters he wore beneath it, and sat under the stars in the snow bare-chested. No burning frost bit into his skin, rather he felt exactly the same as when he’d been wearing the heavy clothes.
Deciding to test this phenomenon further, Vain gingerly reached his right hand toward the flames, ready to pull it back at the first sensation of pain. When none came, he pushed it further into the blaze until his palm rested on the coals at the bottom of the fire. The flames licked and crawled over the skin of his arm, but no burning pain flowed from the intense heat. Gradually, Vain removed his arm from the flames and inspected it for damage. Not a single hair on his forearm had been singed, and the skin beneath remained completely unmarred.
Amazed by this event, Vain pulled his sweaters back on, more out of habit than necessity, and lay back down beside the fire. Closing his eyes, he felt the now familiar clawing at his mind and concentrated on pushing it away. It seemed stronger this time and took more focus for him to rid his brain of its horrible scrabbling across his thoughts.
Slowly, Vain realized this must be how the Glimloche worked. In exchange for its power, the user gradually gave control over to the amulet. If used too much, the Glimloche would eventually dominate Vain completely, much as it had Empeth. This fact both angered and intrigued the assassin. He silently made a vow not to use the amulet again unless absolutely necessary. But considering the foes he faced, Vain realized that every second in their presence, the power of the Glimloche might be required just to survive.
Shrugging away the problem in his usual fashion, the assassin cleared his thoughts and drifted off into the abysmal sleep of the damned.
Chapter Eleven
The Angel of Death
The young blond man awoke with no memory. Rising from the odorous floor of the murky alleyway, he analyzed his appearance and noticed without surprise or shame that he stood completely naked. His body was perfectly sculpted, and his long blond hair fell softly down to his shoulders. Rubbing clean the grimy surface of a nearby window, he studied his face in the shrouded reflection and gave himself a wry grin. Brilliantly blue eyes reflected from the glass as he analyzed the perfectly straight, white teeth flashing back from the handsome, hairless face in the window. Satisfied, he turned away and moved toward the noise coming from the end of the alley.
Reaching the main street, the young man looked around in wonder at the brilliant lights and colors that surrounded him. Across the street, a large building with a sign above the enormous entryway boasted: ‘The Late Show, with David Letterman’, in bright yellow lights which lit up the crowd waiting to go inside.
This ‘David Letterman’ must be a leader of some sort, thought the young man. Perhaps he is a prophet or the emperor of this land.
Instinctively knowing that he needed to avoid large crowds like the one outside the building, the young man turned in the opposite direction and moved calmly off down the street. The avenue was well populated, and gasps of shock turned quickly to hollers of abuse or screams of disgust as the young man strolled past them. In contrast, a sparse few looked him up and down in open admiration, beckoning to him with their eyes. He ignored them all.
A few hundred yards down the street, the young man decided he should stay out of sight for the time being and entered another alleyway, striding into the darkness. He hadn’t gone far before realizing he no longer walked alone, and soon felt a light tap on his shoulder.
Turning smoothly, the young man looked directly into the chest of an enormous beast of a man. Arms the size of tree trunks bulged from a sleeveless shirt that swelled again where his neck muscles fought to escape from the taut material. A head remarkably similar to a sidewalk slab with eyebrows frowned down at the young man while behind him stood four smaller versions of the giant, all grinning maliciously.
Smiling calmly up into the leader’s enormous ape-like features, the young man offered his hand in a show of friendship.
“Look, boys,” chuckled the ape-man, “the gay boy wants to be our friend.” His cronies sniggered mirthlessly.
“I seem to remember this is a way of greeting in this place,” said the young man melodiously. The group seemed transfixed by his voice.
Shaking his head viciously to clear it, the leader finally spoke, “Yeah, well, around here we have a different way.” With that he swung a bone shattering blow into the young man’s stomach with all of his strength. A loud crunching noise, like gravel being crushed beneath car tires, was cut off by a howl of pain that tore through the night air.
The young man stood unmarked and unmoved in the center of the alleyway, a bemused expression on his face. The four remaining thugs stood back in shock, watching their leader writhing in pain on the ground, clutching his wrist as shards materialized from the back of his arm right to the end of his hand. The bones from his elbow to his fingertips had shattered with such force that they had driven right through the giant man’s skin.
One of the thugs drew a large knife from beneath his long jacket. Another drew a switchblade while the man beside him pulled out a short metallic tube that shot out into a baton when he pressed a button on its side. The fourth stood back with his hand inside his jacket while the other three spread around the young man. “You’re gonna pay for what you just done to Gabriel!” snarled the one with the baton.
Something inside the young man’s mind clicked. “Gabriel? Why, my name is Gabriel also, and I didn’t do anything to your friend – he attacked me.”
The man on Gabriel’s left suddenly lunged forward, his knife plunging toward Gabriel’s unprotected ribs. Gabriel instinctively batted the weapon aside, and pushed the man away from him. The force of the blow was such that his assailant flew several feet through the air and collided solidly with the wall at the end of the alley, slumping to the ground unconscious.
The three remaining muggers hesitated briefly before the last drew a pistol from inside his jacket and fired point-blank into Gabriel’s face. The bullet connected with the side of the young man’s head and knocked it askew before flattening and dropping to the alley pavement.
Plink.
Unharmed, Gabriel slowly turned his head toward the gunman. A deep crimson began to burn within his eyes and he pronounced with soft power, “Get ye gone, infidel! Who are ye to stand before the will of God almighty?”
The three thugs sensed the force within the young man’s words and as one they turned and fled for their lives.
Gabriel chuckled softly. Although it had been an abuse of his earthborn powers, the altercation had been refreshing for his spirit. It felt good knowing the Angel of Death could still make men quiver in their shoes.
His memories trickling back, Gabriel turned his attention to the unconscious mugger still slumped against the alley wall. Ignoring the screaming leader, he concentrated on replicating the man’s clothing, and identical garb instantly cloaked his form. He then moved toward the crippled boss and reached out for his shattered arm. The thug tried to crawl away from Gabriel, but every movement sent howling shards through his entire body and he quickly submitted to the young man’s grasp.
An intense white light shot out as Gabriel placed his hands onto the mugger’s pulverized arm, momentarily illuminating the entire alleyway like a prolonged flashbulb. When the radiance receded, the mugger’s arm had been completely restored without even a hint of blood. Even the crimson that had splashed onto his grimy shirt had disappeared.
“W-what the hell are you, man?” stammered the mugger.
“I am a messenger,” said Gabriel softly. “And now I must go and deliver my message. Goodbye.”
The young man disappeared down the alleyway and the mugger rose unsteadily to his feet. “Boy, I’m glad that message isn’t coming to me,” he muttered, before moving tentatively toward his comrade and beginning the long chore of trying to rouse him from his unnatural slumber.
* * * *
Vain walked c
almly through the airport, looking neither left nor right, simply focusing on the floor directly ahead of him. This lessened his chance of attracting the attention of any curious passersby, while also allowing him more use of his peripheral vision. Sudden or unnatural movement was easier to detect at the edges of vision, a protective system from a more primitive time in human development. Vain managed to screen out the normal movement around him by doing this and still instinctively realize when he was being watched or followed.
Suddenly he noticed a change in the motion of the crowd to his right and subtly altered his direction away from the disturbance. The flight back to New York and his access through customs had proceeded without incident so far. He’d used a different identity again and left his weapons behind to minimize the chances of being caught, this time posing as a middle-aged Lebanese taxi driver from Queens returning from a much needed holiday. Dressed simply in a bright t-shirt with a thin gray jacket over top and loose blue jeans, on his head he wore a baseball cap turned backward, while several days’ stubble partially disguised his face.
The papers and passport had been difficult to obtain at first, and he had finally had to resort to dealing with a local Triad group in Beijing. Vain hated dealing with Asian gangs. Triads and Yakuza were all basically the same. Always promising their dealings were sealed with the honor of their ancestors, but at the first sign of profit elsewhere, they’d sell you out for two cents, they hated the round-eyes that much. He wished he had time to deal with them all in a manner more to his liking, but forced himself to smile and bow and very nearly kiss their asses in order to get the paperwork he had needed. Another time, perhaps.
Vain heard rapid footfalls behind him and readied himself for attack or flight. “Excuse me, sir,” beckoned a voice from behind him. Vain stopped and slowly turned toward the two security guards.
“Yees?” asked Vain with what he hoped passed for a thick Lebanese accent.
“Sir, could you please come with us?” asked one of the guards. The Dark Man raised his eyes as the second guard inched around to his left, his hand resting nervously on his belt near the grip of his gun.
“Why?” asked Vain.
“Sir, we have some questions regarding an incident that happened here a while ago,” the guard explained confidently.
Damn rent-a-cops, thought Vain. Too dumb to get into the police, they tried to push what little authority they had onto seemingly innocent citizens. Not that he was innocent, but chances were they didn’t really believe Vain was the suspect they were looking for; otherwise they would probably have been pissing their pants while trying to dial 911.
At another time, Vain would have probably humored them and complied with their request, talked them down and left in short order. But he already felt pressed for time and he couldn’t take the chance these two geniuses would discover his identity.
Vain dropped his bag gently to the ground and placed his hands onto the top of his baseball cap.
“I no illegal,” he pleaded in his fake Lebanese accent. “Please don’ lock me up policeman.”
Both guards relaxed at his display, and the one to his left moved his hand away from his pistol and laughed softly. “Hey don’t worry buddy,” said the second guard, “we’re not the police, we just have to go through some stuff with you.”
“Not policeman?” asked Vain. Both guards shook their heads and chuckled again. “Well in that case.... No!” He finished in his own cold voice, and the guards’ faces changed from amusement to shock.
Vain’s right hand shot forward, catching the first guard full in the throat, dropping him to the ground, gasping for breath. The second guard reached for his revolver as Vain spun on his heel and whipped off the baseball cap from his head. Swinging in a wide arc, Vain sliced through the tendons at the back of the second guard’s right hand with the brim of the cap. The thin blades of razor-sharp ceramic Vain had painstakingly sewn into the edging the night before leaving Beijing cut through skin and sinew like a surgeon’s scalpel.
Blood sprayed from the back of the guard’s hand and he fell to his knees beside his partner. Vain casually stepped over the pair, delivering a kick to the first guard’s head, dropping him to the cold tiles. The second guard fought frantically to release his sidearm from its holster while clutching his mangled right hand to his chest.
“That’s why you should always keep your gun in a cross holster,” said Vain, casually collecting the gun from the unconscious guard. “Too many of you idiots want to be John Wayne, and look where you end up. Kneeling on the floor with a full gun you can’t even reach. On another day I would have killed you by now but, luckily for you, I’m not that man today.”
The guard looked imploringly at the assassin; Vain cracked him in the skull with the butt of the gun. “But I’m not a nice man either.”
Collecting the second weapon and placing both into his bag, Vain casually strolled away thinking it would have probably been easier if he had just killed them both.
Somehow, though, he didn’t regret his decision. Originally he’d thought to do it simply to avoid unwanted attention, but now he wasn’t so sure. An image of Sebastian flickered in his mind and, once again vanishing into the crowd, his soul felt somehow lighter, the scrabbling from the Glimloche a little less intense.
Vain strode out of the airport and climbed into a waiting cab just as the gray light of dawn broached the horizon.
* * * *
Sebastian awoke disoriented and still drowsy. His last few attempts to escape from his white jail had severely taxed him. Physically, his exhaustion left him weak as a day-old calf, but mentally he had at least trebled in power. If only his body were strong enough, he could have torn this bleached cube to shreds. Unfortunately, Empeth had learned from his previous mistake and placed some sort of leaching hex into the cell. Whenever Sebastian awoke he seemed completely devoid of energy.
He’d made numerous attempts to re-enact his previous escape, only to fail each time, collapsing lifeless to the floor of the cube. Empeth had punished him severely when he’d discovered Sebastian’s actions, attempting to break his spirit. Once he had spent several hours draining the cube of oxygen, leaving Sebastian gasping for air until he almost suffocated, finally granting him the merest breath to fill his lungs. He took great pleasure in Sebastian’s suffering, and used several spells to ensure the Avun-Riah didn’t lose consciousness or die during the torture. The boy had wept for hours after the torment, and felt himself ready to give up.
Nearing his breaking point, suddenly a great cooling wave washed over him, easing his senses and refreshing his soul.
Be at peace, Avun-Riah, a golden voice pulsed in his mind. The one you call Vain will come for you soon.
Who are you? asked Sebastian mentally.
I am Gabriel, The Messenger, pulsed the voice.
What is your message? asked Sebastian.
It is not for you, Gifted One. You must keep trying to breach your cell. When the one called Vain arrives, you must have escaped your bonds; or else he will need to expend himself grievously in order to release you.
I can’t go on, pleaded Sebastian. I’m too weak and too scared of what will happen if I am caught again. Please help me.
I cannot help you, pulsed Gabriel. Already I have risked too much in order to speak to you. If I were to interfere further, it could destroy everything we have worked for.
What do you mean? pleaded the boy. Who is this we you’re talking about? And how did you breach the spells around the cell? For God’s sake who are you?
It is for God’s sake that I cannot tell you. I must go now, but remember what I have said. You must be free from your cell when the Dark Man arrives. Farewell, Avun-Riah, I know you will prevail.
Sebastian had once again found himself alone in the cell. Gabriel possessed enormous power; Sebastian had sensed it even along the tenuous thread they had communicated through. He wondered how Empeth had not felt the power also.
Sebastian had continuously endured th
e intensifying pain every time he attempted to escape, and he knew no matter what happened he would continue his efforts until he either broke free or died.
Sitting on the floor of the cell he pondered Gabriel’s words. It is for God’s sake that I cannot tell you. What did God have to do with all of this? It all seemed overwhelming. Crumbling within himself again, he felt he had nothing left to give. Everyone wanted something from him.
Until he remembered Gabriel’s other words: Vain was coming for him. He had to escape for the assassin’s sake or Vain would surely perish, perhaps worse. Summoning what little energy he could muster, Sebastian knelt on the white floor and began focusing his power once more.
Free or dead….
* * * *
Vain awoke in a musty room of a cheap motel that asked no questions from those who paid up-front. His guns slid smoothly into his hands when he heard the soft knocking on the front door. Gliding silently across the floor, Vain glanced quickly into the peephole situated in the center of the door.
On the other side of the entry stood a man around twenty years of age with shoulder-length blond hair, surrounding a face that struck him as bewilderingly beautiful. Not just beautiful in the sense of physical beauty, rather his face seemed to radiate peace and spiritual harmony. Even the cold heart of the assassin wasn’t left untouched by the power of the young man’s gaze; his azure eyes seemingly stared straight through the door and into Vain’s soul. The assassin briefly felt something akin to shame, almost as if his sins had been laid bare before him for this stranger to view.
Shaking himself from this strange mood, Vain rasped through the door, “What do you want?”
“I bring a message, Dark Man,” responded the young man in a musical voice. “I hope you are prepared to hear it.”
9 More Killer Thrillers Page 114