Ascent: Second Book of the Nameless Chronicle

by M. T. Miller

  “Oh, I certainly will,” said the Nameless. “This place is far from perfect. The outside seems to be worse, though not by much. But if you plan on making it better… on making everything better, then it would be foolish of me to decline.”

  “Well put,” Snake said, extending his hand over the table.

  “When can I start?” the Nameless asked as shook it.

  “Once I’m finished rubbing it into the boss’ face,” Snake said, still smiling.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Why am I not surprised?

  Fully dressed and lying on the bed in his apartment, the Nameless stared at the ceiling. He extended his arm upward and contracted and released his fingers.

  So many lives gone, taken by this hand. All to ensure the survival of one individual. As a divine being, was he in the right?

  Everyone is wrong, he concluded as he made a fist. There was no greater good. Only survival, and actions that led to greater or lesser loss of life. Snake had offered him a way out of his personal Hell. Accepting it was no choice at all.

  Whether or not the Sun God would choose to cooperate would be an entirely different thing. If what was said about him was true, he was just waiting for an excuse to fight again. The Nameless would not give him one.

  But do I have what it takes? He recalled the lust for revenge that still burned within him. The all-consuming desire to get payback from someone. For the Underbelly. For Horace. For the slum girl and her father.

  The mocking image of Contrast flashed before his eyes.

  The Nameless relaxed his fingers, looking at the ceiling through an open palm. A moment later, he turned to the side and rose from his bed. There is but one way I can know.

  He walked up to a chair, took his coat and donned it. After checking that the revolver was still hidden inside, he pulled it out by the handle. Perhaps I should leave it here?

  For several seconds he stared at it like that, before deciding to put it back in his pocket. That done, he approached the door and grabbed the knob.

  Forgiveness is one thing. Stupidity is another.

  ***

  Standing in front of Lydia’s door, the Nameless raised his hand.

  Easy. He breathed in, trying to keep his thoughts clear. Do not explode once you see him. With stiff movements, he knocked thrice, and let his arm fall.

  The lock clicked, significantly quicker than he was used to. Predictably, the door slid in, this time revealing the lovely face of Lydia.

  “Oh,” she said, her expression undecipherable. Although most of her body could not be seen, it was apparent that she wore something made of black leather. “Didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “Is this a good surprise, then?” The Nameless said, forcing himself into a faint smile. “Or a bad one?”

  “It is a surprise, period,” she said, biting her lip. “What do you want, Horace?”

  “Merely some answers,” the Nameless said. “Your… help has wronged me. Robbed, stabbed, and left me for dead. Yet you are hiding him.”

  “Her,” Lydia insisted.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “She wants to be called Miss Merciless,” Lydia said.

  “And I want to have my revenge,” the Nameless said. “Yet I chose to lay it aside so we could speak. Not everyone gets what they want.”

  “She has told me of her past,” Lydia said. “I’ve accepted it. Chose to help. Miss Merciless is now a productive member of society.”

  “Contrast is merely an outlaw welcoming a chance to spread some pain,” the Nameless said. “He can say what he wants. I have seen the true him.”

  “And what if I disagree?” she said, looking over her shoulder. She opened the door further, letting the Nameless see what was inside. As always, the patrons squirmed and moaned, suspended and bound over disgusting torture devices. Above one of them stood the lanky, corset-clad figure of Contrast. He was holding a candle, and letting it drip somewhere around the man’s exposed nipples.

  “What if I say that this is the true her?” Lydia said.

  “Truth be told,” the Nameless said, trying his best to keep an even tone, “I do not see that much of a difference.”

  “Insult her and you insult me,” Lydia said. “After all, we’re in the same business. Had I been as unlucky, I might have done the same thing down there.”

  “I doubt that,” the Nameless said, remembering just how happy Contrast was swinging those blades around.

  “I guess we’ll never know, will we?” Lydia said.

  “Who is it, Mistress?” Contrast said, in a disturbingly soft voice. “I’ll be needing your help here soon!”

  “A moment, Merciless!” Lydia said. “I’m tying up some loose ends!”

  “Is that what I am?” said the Nameless. “A loose end?”

  “I don’t know,” Lydia said, turning back toward him. “Are you?”

  A good question. What am I to her? What is she to me? The Nameless’ gaze drifted somewhere into the distance, ignoring Contrast’s own. The short time he had spent with Lydia was something out of a dream. A good dream, unlike most he remembered.

  I want more of it, he concluded. Furthermore, he had come there to test himself. To see if he had what it took to rise beyond the Sun God’s expectations. If he did, so did everyone else.

  “I do not want to be,” he said, stepping forward. As he neared Lydia’s face, he let their eyes meet. Dark and green hovered but an inch away, and her lips parted as if they were about to kiss.

  A muffled sound followed. Despite its lack of kick, it caused the Nameless’ ears to ring violently. At the same time, the beautiful image of Lydia’s pouted lips turned into a mashed-up mess. Then, everything went red.

  Panicking, the Nameless stepped back immediately. He reached for his revolver while wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Other than an overwhelming urge to see, nothing went on in his head at all.

  A voice found its way through the ringing. Just barely discernable, it seemed to belong to a man.

  “Too bad. Pretty thing. Well, not anymore, but you know what I mean.”

  Swiftly, the Nameless swiped as much blood off his face as he could. As he forced himself into opening his eyes, a faint tremble was developing in his wrists.

  No!

  Lydia’s body lay prone on the floor, its head disfigured by several gunshot wounds. Barely in control of his actions, the Nameless’ gaze slowly rose up to the man beside it. He was thin, shaggy, and dressed in a brown suit. His eyes were concealed behind spectacles, and the grin he sported would look better on an animal than a man.

  “Compliments of the Management,” he said, letting the pistol drop from his hand. It was still smoking when it hit the ground. “I’m Coyote. So very nice to meet you.”

  Faster than the man could blink, the Nameless’ revolver was already pointed at his forehead. His right arm shaking, the Nameless had to reinforce his grip with both hands.

  “That’s right,” Coyote said, smiling as he raised his hands. “You and me both know what she meant to you. Finish it. Isn’t that righteous?”

  The Nameless’ vision was blurring, and it wasn’t due to the blood. Bit by bit, everything besides this… Coyote was turning black. Other than the doorway and his lanky silhouette, there was nothing at all.

  “Why?” the Nameless spat out.

  “Because I want to take from you,” Coyote said. “Because I want you to suffer. Because I hate blondes. Take your pick.”

  The Nameless’ finger started contracting by itself. Each second turned into a small eternity, and the sight of Coyote’s mocking grin made it all the more agonizing. He wanted… no, he needed to get rid of this trash. And it would be so, so easy.

  But… the Nameless let his gaze fall down on the body, and back to Coyote. Where is his gun? Did he drop it? As bits and pieces came together, so did his trigger finger slowly relax.

  He wants me to kill him.

  “What’s wrong?” Coyote said, his smile disappearing. “Did
n’t care for her? I know that’s not true.”

  “I am not doing your dirty work,” the Nameless said, his eyes full of raw, unbridled hate. “You want the Sun God dead, you do it yourself!”

  Coyote merely stared back. There were lines around the sides of his mouth, indicating that this was not an expression he wore often. A few seconds later, he tried saying something.

  The spray of blood that erupted from his chest put an end to that.

  What the—? As the bullet pierced the god’s heart, the Nameless leapt to the side. His left arm in front of his face, he lifted his revolver up to the doorway again.

  “Shithead!” someone shouted from inside.

  Grinning again, Coyote fell to his knees. A moment later his forehead exploded, spraying the floor with a mixture of bone and brain matter.

  “Fuckface!” The black-clad figure of Contrast stepped outside, the Coyote’s long-barreled pistol in his left hand. He squeezed the trigger once more, causing the already flimsy back of Coyote’s head to split horrifically. The body crashed down, covering its vicinity in several shades of disgusting.

  “Fucking… fucking… cunt!” Contrast let the pistol drop, a moment before falling to his knees himself. As blackened tears trickled down his cheeks, he turned to the ruined body of Lydia. Without a word, he crawled toward it, sobbing loudly.

  Every part of his body devoid of sensation, the Nameless’ vision blurred again. Reasoning that he had more blood in his eyes, he wiped them with a clean part of his sleeve. What rubbed off it was equal parts red and clear.

  “Bones!” A voice echoed from behind his back. He turned without a hint of hurry.

  “Freeze!” shouted Mark, standing at the far end of the walkway. He did not wear his mask, and his pistol-rifle-thing was in his hands. “Drop it. No one else needs to die.”

  “What—?“ The Nameless tried speaking, only to have the words stick in his throat. His heart was throbbing, and so were his temples. Taking deep breaths did not help at all.

  “Final warning!” Mark shouted.

  Was he listening in? the Nameless wondered. It was unlikely. If he had, he would not be reacting the way he was. No, this one had been ordered to follow him around, bring him in on first sign of something suspicious. And thanks to Coyote, that is exactly what he must do.

  As per his promise, Mark opened fire. A hail of bullets hit the walls around the Nameless. With no time for hesitation or evaluation, the Nameless raised his gun, aiming for Mark’s head as he pulled the trigger.

  His first shot made a hole in the ivory-white wall some two feet away from his target. As it did, a pulse of sharp, merciless pain burned through the side of his abdomen. He moved to the side, pulling the trigger once more. A piece of his left shoulder blew off of his body, causing the second blast to miss by a long shot.

  His left leg stumbled, no doubt due to the chunk torn out of it. Down on one knee, the Nameless closed one eye, hastily aligning the end of the barrel with Mark’s neck. He squeezed a moment before another wave of lead forced him to the floor.

  The sound of automatic fire could no longer be heard, instead replaced by a single dull thud.

  I…

  The Nameless tried lifting himself up, only to slam right back down again. His ears still buzzing, he was nevertheless certain that guards were well on their way. Just barely, he pulled himself to the side, letting his back rest against the nearest wall. I did not want to do that.

  Against his wishes, his gaze drifted to the doorway. Contrast was still holding Lydia in his arms and muttering something incomprehensible. The Nameless’ vision blurred again, and he forced himself to look away. Good riddance, Coyote. You have literally put my back against the wall.

  “Contrast,” he said, his voice shaky. “I need your help.”

  “Fuck you, dead man!” Contrast shouted.

  “The entire floor will be upon us in seconds,” the Nameless said. He tried moving his injured leg. It was still not fully functional. “If you do not do what I tell you, we will both die.”

  After the sound of what could only be a wet kiss, Contrast turned around with a bloodied face. “No helping you. Now hurry up and bleed to death.”

  A productive member of society. The Nameless lifted himself up some more, further exposing his slowly healing shoulder. “I will get better,” he said, “the way I did after you robbed me in the slums.”

  Contrast’s jaw dropped, causing some more blood to trickle down his chin. “What the…”

  “Freeze!” a guard shouted from the direction of Mark’s body.

  “Drop the gun! Drop it!” another one added.

  The blurriness disappeared from the Nameless’ vision. There was no time to keep persuading Contrast. His right hand was reinvigorated by the life had taken, and it immediately sprang into action.

  Like a pair of hot knives through butter, the guards’ bullets perforated his torso within a second. At the same time, both of them lifelessly collapsed on the floor. The Nameless turned toward Contrast again, seeing only a gloved hand sticking out of the doorway and holding a smoking gun.

  “G—good work,” he said, coughing up saliva mixed with blood. His lungs were on fire, but the pain kept getting more and more bearable with each subsequent breath.

  “How are you even talking?” Contrast said as he crept out the doorway. A cacophony of noises erupted from the inside, the patrons having apparently figured out that something was not right.

  “I recover,” the Nameless said, slowly lifting himself into a standing position. I hope I can recover from this too, he thought, still preventing himself from looking at Lydia’s body. “More will be here. We will need to re-arm ourselves.” He started walking toward the guards’ corpses, trying not to put too much weight on his bad leg.

  “But what then?” Contrast said as he walked beside him, wet heels tapping against the floor. “Where the fuck do we go?”

  “The elevators,” the Nameless said as he took a rifle from one of the bodies. He ejected the clip, put in a new one, and let the weapon hang from his shoulder. Finding three more, he put them inside his trench coat pockets, along with the empty revolver. His spiked chain slid down his shirt then, apparently having been broken by one of the gunshots, “Room Number One leads to the Penthouse.”

  “And do what? Try and take the Management hostage?” Contrast said as he took a rifle himself.

  “If need be,” the Nameless said, pressing his back against the wall. More guards were coming, and he needed to be ready.

  But I am hoping to reason with them instead.

  ***

  Tarantula’s senses burned.

  Her additional eyes forced wide open, she screamed for a full minute. The tapestry of fate, visible to her alone, was torn once again. Where there once was a weaving, sublime in its majesty, now stood a gaping, bleeding hole.

  She gasped for breath, and her lungs almost exploded. Coyote was dead. That was as much as she registered before everything went black. She extended her hand forward, wishing to soothe the tapestry’s pain. She did this knowing it was impossible, as she had every time before.

  The wound kept getting wider. She did not see anymore, neither with mundane nor divine eyes. With a disaster of this magnitude, it would take days before she became capable again.

  Arm still extended, she collapsed, slamming her head against the floor. She twitched, unable even to lift herself up. The void was everywhere.

  “I don’t see,” she said, her voice barely audible. She certainly did not hear it.

  ***

  A series or crunching sounds came from around a corner, accompanied by gunfire.

  Several misshapen bullets fell out from the Nameless’ ripped shirt, apparently rejected by his whole-again body. Rifle in hand, he leaned against a wall, signaling for Contrast to do the same.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, bitch.”

  “Go and get killed, then,” the Nameless said. “I could use a distraction.”

  Instead
of saying anything, Contrast took cover.

  The Nameless lifted his weapon up and snuck to the edge of the wall. Making as little noise as possible, he tried to take a peek. The body that flew an inch away from his face prevented that. Whatever it was that he said in response was drowned out by the sound it made when it crashed against the wall.

  “The fuck?” Contrast shouted.

  The Nameless chose to capitalize on the opportunity. Instead of giving whoever it was time, he would strike while they were still reeling from the throw. Rifle forward, he ran out of his cover, ready to fire at the slightest provocation.

  “Wha—Bones?” Rush said, holding another guard by the collar. The man’s legs were limp and his head was dangling to his side.

  Figures. The Nameless scanned her surroundings. A total of five guards lay around, beaten into either unconsciousness or death. “What are you doing out here, Rush?”

  “Checked to see what all the fuss was about,” she said after letting the man drop like a rag. “They held me at gunpoint. I don’t like that.” She kicked the man’s stomach, drawing no reaction at all. “What the hell is going on, Bones?”

  “We are being hunted,” the Nameless said as he took some ammunition from the bodies. “I suggest that you hide out. If you are lucky, we may get blamed for all this as well.”

  “We?” Rush said.

  “He likes to get friendly,“ Contrast said as he came from his side of the corner. “I don’t.”

  “I’d like to come out of this alive,” the Nameless said before Rush could say anything about his appearance.

  “Sorry, Bones,” she said. “If you’re raising hell, I’m in.”

  “Arm yourself, then,” the Nameless said, pointing to the guards. “We are going to the elevator hub. It is likely to have a fresh shipment of these.”

  “I don’t know how to use guns,” Rush said as she slowly picked one up.

  “With your reflexes, your main problem will be not breaking the trigger,” the Nameless said, turning back to Contrast. “I am going in first. Show her how to work the safety. Please.”