“You know as well as I do that members of the Executioners are not allowed to have intimate relationships with others,” Christian said. “The only reason Samantha even tolerates your lewd behavior is because you’re not an Executioner, and you have no intention of settling down.”
“Hm, that is true,” Tristin admitted. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t at least have a little fun. All the other Executioners know how to have a good time. If you want, I could even introduce you to Alexandria. I’m sure you two would get along famously.”
“Not happening.” Christian gave the other man a flat stare.
Tristin sighed. “Ha, you are being stubborn about this as always. You do know that sex is allowed, right? Ever since we started recruiting people outside of the faith, the laws against sexual relations have been more or less abolished.”
“I would never debase myself by having sex with some random woman that I have no intention of marrying. Nor would I debase a woman by sleeping with her without having the intention of marrying her.”
“Fine, fine,” Tristin waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Suit yourself. Can’t say I didn’t try.”
“Whatever.” Christian ran a hand through his hair. “Did you come here for any reason other than to bother me?”
“Oh! Yes, I did, actually.” Tristin grinned at him. “You only have a little less than ten hours before you have to leave for your next mission. Now, I know that you’re really dedicated to doing the best you can on your missions, which is why you’re trying to learn how to use that long, hard, thick gun over there, but you should know that a couple days’ worth of training isn’t going to teach you how to become an ace sniper.”
That much had already become obvious to him. He didn’t need Tristin to tell him that.
“So what am I supposed to do, then?”
The grin that split Tristin’s face did not bode well for Christian. Not at all.
***
Standing beneath the shower head, his hands pressed against the wall as water coursed down his back and matted his hair to his forehead, Christian tried not to let his exhaustion get to him. The warm spray caused all of the muscles in his back to relax. It did a good job of soothing his aches and pains, but did little to soothe his frayed nerves.
Dealing with Tristin was always a chore. He didn’t know why the guy was always bothering him. It was as if the man got off on agitating him. Christian was sure that Tristin knew his antics annoyed him to no end, which just made everything the guy did all the more upsetting.
Closing his eyes, Christian tried to will away his thoughts and focus on getting clean.
A few minutes later, he turned off the water and walked out of the communal showers, a towel wrapped around his waist. He walked over to the sink, his feet pattering against the blue and white tiles.
Pressing his hands against the marble countertop, Christian studied himself in the mirror. Raven-dark hair stuck out at odd angles, as if he had just gotten out of bed. He brushed at the bangs that hid his heterochromatic eyes; one emerald green and the other crimson. A straight nose sat above thin lips and a sharp chin and jaw.
His skin was light, not quite pale, but not tan either. He spent too much time indoors or outside during the night for the sun’s rays to affect him. Scattered across his body were several scars, their pale pigmentation barely visible against his skin, only showing when the light hit them at a certain angle.
Those scars were reminders. Lessons that he took to heart. Each one had been earned early in his career, when he was still raw to the rigors of combat. All except one.
Christian traced a finger across one particular scar, the only scar that he had ever received outside of a mission. The scar that he had gained before becoming an Executioner. The last reminder of his past life. Of his unforgivable sin.
With a shake of his head, Christian dispelled those thoughts and moved away from the mirror. Thinking like that was dangerous, and it was not something that he should be doing. It was also unbecoming of an Executioner to lament over the past. It could not be changed. Only the future mattered.
It didn’t take long to reach his room. The communal showers located in the Warriors’ barracks were just a few minutes’ walk from his assigned quarters.
Much like a military, each caste had barracks of their own. They weren’t true barracks, because they were located underneath the cathedral that hid their base of operations. And while the Executioners all shared a single floor together, each caste was separated by wings. The Assassins' barracks was in west wing of the second basement, while the Warriors' barracks was in the eastern wing. The casteless, being the largest of their group, had the entire third basement to themselves. Meanwhile, the divisions within the Executioners—Science, Intelligence, and the Cleaners—lived outside of the Executioners headquarters.
Upon reaching the privacy of his room, Christian hung the towels on a rack, and put on a pair of boxer shorts. He climbed into bed and actually remembered to pull up the covers this time. He fell asleep soon after.
And in his sleep he dreamed of fire, of death, of salvation, and of sin.
Chapter 6
Corpses. They littered the street, the bodies of those who had died in the fires that consumed my town, laying strewn about like broken dolls that had been tossed aside and then trampled on by a giant. Mangled, charred corpses that looked like they’d been cooked for far too long in a furnace. Their forms were black and burnt beyond recognition. If it weren’t for how they were shaped in the general semblance of a human, I wouldn’t have believed that they were once people.
The stench of burning flesh filled my nose as I walked through the streets. I stumbled around more often than not.
My tears had long since dried up. Even if I could cry, the heat from the flames surrounding me would have evaporated them the moment they formed in my eyes.
I could scarcely feel anything anymore. I knew that I should be sad and angry and lost and helpless, but all I could dredge up was this deep-seated sense of emptiness. I felt nothing. I was nothing.
My strength began to wane. My legs gave out. I fell backward, and my head hit the charred pavement with a harsh crack. I didn’t feel it, however, as there was nothing left to feel. No pain. No emotions. Nothing. Just an endless void that had once been my heart.
I stared up at the sky, what sky I could see, at least. Most of it was blocked by the rising smoke from the fire. My ears picked up the sounds of explosions in the distance, and I thought I heard laughter as well, but couldn’t be sure. Everything was beginning to get hazy.
Is this the end?
Was I going to die in this place? Alone and helpless?
I don’t want to die…
A flicker of feeling came back. I didn’t want to leave this world. What existed after death but nothing? Death was the end, and when you were dead, there was nothing left. That was it. It was over. I didn’t want it to be over.
Please… somebody… help me…
I prayed. I had never done it before, but in that moment, I prayed for a miracle.
***
Jerking his head up, Christian looked around, scanning his surroundings, even as he reached for his gun. It was only after fully waking up that he realized where he was and what he was doing.
He was on the train heading for Seal Beach. The jolt that had startled him awake must have been the train passing over a rough spot on the tracks. There was no fire; despair wasn’t clinging to him like a bad lover; he was safe.
He relaxed. His hand moved away from his gun—where it would have been, he corrected himself. It wasn’t there right now. His guns and swords were locked up in their case, where they would remain except in case of an emergency. This mission wasn’t one that he could accomplish while carrying guns around, especially not a pair of customs like his. It wasn’t a covert operation in the dead of night, and he didn’t want people asking too many questions.
Turning his head to look out of the window, he was greeted by the
sight of a city. He wondered which, though. A glance at his watch revealed that thirty minutes had passed since the train began moving. It took forty minutes to reach Seal Beach by train, meaning he was ten minutes from reaching his destination. That meant he must at least be in Anaheim.
Christian turned from the window and took a gander at the compartment that he was sitting in. One of the many benefits of being a member of the XIII was definitely how they had their own private quarters when traveling. The compartment was nice, and the seats comfortable. They were colored a deep red, almost crimson, which complimented the dark wood used for the compartment walls. A light embedded into the curved white ceiling provided him with illumination, the bulb flickering occasionally.
Situated in a small alcove above his head was his weapons case. Christian thought about getting it down and double-checking his equipment, but decided not to. He might have a modicum of privacy in this compartment, but he was still on a train, and there was no telling when someone would come by to check on him.
Instead of looking at the equipment that he’d taken with him for this mission, he reached for the much smaller traveling case located at his feet. Its silver surface gleamed slightly in the sunlight.
With a few deft clicks, he undid the locks and opened the case to reveal his tablet. It was a sleek device, black and glossy, and it was his most treasured possession—his only possession, really.
With an almost reverent air, Christian lifted the tablet from the soft, velvety cushion that it rested on. He set the case back down, and then turned the tablet on. It didn’t take long for the screen to load up, and it took even less time to type in his password. After that, it was just a matter of selecting the application that he wanted to use, in this case his KLReader.
As a large scroll of text appeared on the screen, Christian allowed himself a smile. He soon lost himself within the pages. The sound of the train speeding over the tracks accompanied him as he read about a young man who was forced to confront his dark past.
***
Samantha marched through the corridors of the St. Basil Catholic Church with a determined stride. She ignored the people passing by, even when they stopped to greet her. Unlike members of the clergy, especially those not involved in the darker aspects of the Church, she had neither the time nor the patience for inane pleasantries.
It wasn’t long before she passed through a single door and arrived in a small office that was much less Spartan than hers. Decorating the walls were expensive-looking paintings, the kind that she expected to see in a museum, not a church. She had no doubt that they were copies, as the originals cost millions, but even copies were expensive, and her nose almost wrinkled at the opulence.
Masking her features so as not to show any of the distaste she felt, Samantha walked up to the desk, where a nondescript man of indeterminate age was seated. His hair was gray, and wrinkles lined his eyes and mouth. A bulbous nose protruded from his face, shadowing his large lips. Tristin had once called them fish lips, she recalled. The term was surprisingly accurate. His outfit consisted of stately white robes with purple trimming; the robes of a Bishop.
“Ah, Samantha,” the man greeted her, his voice amiable. Samantha was not fooled by his pleasant demeanor, not for a second. “I hope God has blessed your day so far?”
“That would depend on what you consider blessed, Bishop Vertrou.” Samantha spoke in a calm, controlled voice. “I was hoping we could forgo the formalities. I want to know why you gave me orders to send my subordinate on that mission.”
“You never were one for pleasantries, were you?” The Bishop’s sigh held trace amounts of annoyance. Old men like him loved to banter for reasons that were beyond her. Samantha had no desire to play his games, so she said nothing. She merely waited for him to continue. “You are referring to our choice in sending Christian on that quest to slay the succubus, yes?”
“Of course I am.” Samantha tried not to let her emotions slip, but something must have shown on her face, because Vertrou gave her a disapproving look. She quickly mastered herself and schooled her features. “There is a good reason we do not send men on missions to slay succubi.”
“I am well aware of that,” Vertrou replied dryly.
“Then why did you have me send him?”
“A test.”
Samantha almost blinked. “A test? You sent him on a mission so you could test him?”
“Yes.”
Samantha stared at the Bishop in shock for but a moment. It only took her a few seconds for her to process his words and come to the correct conclusion. This man wanted Christian dead. It was the only reasonable explanation for sending a man to do a woman's job, though for what reason Bishop Vertrou wanted him dead was beyond her.
Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned as she fought the urge to scowl. “What exactly are you testing him on? If this is a test of loyalty, then I can assure you that Christian is the most loyal member under my command. Out of all the Executioners in the California Region, he is the only one who truly follows God’s teachings.”
“That remains to be seen,” Bishop Vertrou said. Samantha’s mouth opened almost immediately to let loose a snappish reply. She probably would have, too, had the bishop not spoken first. “While I am aware of his loyalty to the Executioners, the Church has grown… concerned that he may stray from the path of God.”
“You can’t possibly believe that.” Samantha didn’t bother hiding her scowl this time. “Christian is one of the few Executioners who reads from the Bible daily. He prays religiously, asking God to forgive him for the sins he’s committed while on mission, and he is the only person that I know who knows the Bible inside and out. How could you possibly say that he isn’t a true follower of the Church?”
“Easily,” the Bishop sniffed. “There are things about that man that you do not know. Things that would make you question everything you’ve ever thought about him.”
“What kind of things?”
“I am afraid that I cannot tell you.” As Bishop Vertrou smiled at her, Samantha felt an almost overwhelming desire to strangle him. She knew that he was getting some form of twisted amusement out of toying with her like this. “You do not have the clearance necessary to know that information.”
“Christian is one of my subordinates,” Samantha argued. “As someone under my command, it is my right to know everything that pertains to him.”
“Your right?” The Bishop raised an eyebrow. “Young lady, I do believe you are gravely mistaken in this matter. While you may be in charge of the Executioners for this Region, do not forget that it is the Bishopric who ultimately makes all the decisions regarding yourself… and those under you. Now, if that is all, I would like you to leave. I am a rather busy man.”
Samantha gritted her teeth and made every effort she could not to glare at the man. For a second, just one second, she thought about giving him a piece of her mind. Then common sense kicked in, and she decided not to push her luck.
Doing a quick about-face, she left the room, her dark hair whipping about behind her. She walked back down the hall, through the cathedral, and then out of the building entirely. She did not look back.
As she closed her car door and started the engine, Samantha felt a sense of foreboding. She didn’t know what was going on, and she didn’t know what kind of information the Church had on her subordinate, but she sincerely hoped that Christian would not be made to suffer for it.
***
After exiting the train station, Christian made his way to the hotel where reservations had been placed for him in advance, courtesy of the Catholic Church. He could have hailed a taxi, or even taken a bus, but it was a nice day out, and he wanted to familiarize himself with the city’s layout. It would be important for him to know his way around, just in case things went south while on this mission.
Seal Beach was located in the westernmost corner of Orange County. Like many coastal cities in California, it consisted of various architectural styles. Because it wasn’t a
large city, containing a population of roughly twenty-thousand people, there were no large skyscrapers or particularly massive buildings. The biggest attractions the city had to offer, aside from its beaches, were the Naval Weapons Station military base and the pier, which was the second longest wooden pier in California.
Christian spent almost two hours wandering the streets, checking his surroundings and enjoying the weather, before finding his way to the hotel. A number of shops he passed looked interesting, and though the city didn’t possess a large population, a good many people walked along the sidewalks—tourists, judging by the clothes.
By the time he arrived at his lodgings, the sun was setting. He glanced at the large hotel, which spread out instead of up. It consisted of three stories, topped with a mostly flat roof. The walls, constructed from a combination of brick and concrete, contained a noticeable shift between the two materials, blending them in such a way that it appeared as if they'd decided to change materials halfway through construction, but were too lazy to tear down the original structure. Spires jutted from the building’s four cornerstones, giving a grand visage to what would have been an otherwise unremarkable building.
Checking into the hotel was easy. The clerk at the front desk, a young woman with a nice smile, efficiently checked him in. He soon stood inside the room that would be his base of operations for the foreseeable future.
Off-white walls and a ceiling of the same color surrounded him. Light beige carpeting shifted under his feet as he closed the door behind him. A glance to his left revealed a flat-screen television on a wide dresser. Opposite the dresser sat a wide twin bed with red covers and white sheets. A door on his immediate right led to what was most likely a restroom. In front of him, on the opposite side of the room, a window revealed the city’s splendor during a sunset.
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