by Max Jager
The second thought was the fear that he would have to deal with the beast himself.
So it was.
Ajax put his back against a pillar of concrete and waited minutes that felt like days before he heard footsteps. He wanted to believe they were Darr's, but they were more nimble and he was not, they slapped the floor rather knocked it. He stopped his breathing at the realization. Everything was quiet and silence felt like another enemy to Ajax. A draft blew. Tarp slapped the trucks they strapped to. The top of the concrete pillar was full of what looked like small hairs of metal. The wind whistled.
He waited. Until he could hear a screech, until he could feel the beast's breath next to him he waited. This was the worst part, his hand in his jacket and his eyes peering out at the edge of his cover to a sudden nothing. Nothing was there. His eyes widened. His breathing started again like a high pressure vault at the bottom of the sea sucking in all matter. He exhaled and released all his intensity off the side of the concrete pillar. It was a high vault outwards.
The pillar collapsed into a storm of shrapnel that shot out every which way, that blew dust like a mushroom cloud up in the air and towards Ajax who could not see much in the warring mist.
The pike was coming for him, straight to his rapid beating heart. He had no time to move. No, he did not move his legs. Ajax dragged his hands out of his coat and there was a sudden clank of steel that shot out sparks. The momentum broke, halted. The dust settled on their bodies. Their shadow figures defined behind the mist and spark like a Hellenian vase, with the silhouette of their bodies in tandem. A sword and a spear. Out before the beast was the long pike attached to its very long arm like a black line had been drawn straight through the horizon. Stopping it was the slab. A hunk of metal that Ajax had drawn from his coat, larger than himself, larger than any man, four feet wide and rusted all along its body. You could not see a reflection past its worn metal. It had no hand guard, it had no sharp edge, it was hard to call it a blade or a claymore. It was just steel and handle like a piece of metal had been chipped and broken off of Vulcan's anvil.
Its tip was in the ground and as Ajax removed it from its cemented scabbard. The beast watched with an expanded yellow iris. He was far away from Ajax, wondering if the tall blade would ever have an end. When it was out, at last, the creature looked up as the long swing arced and rested on Ajax's shoulder. A missile, a mountain top. All along its rusted body were the cracks and creases that spilled dirt from their crevices, a shattered, dull, slab of silver and steel barely held together. Yet there was nothing more frightening to the beast than that bludgeoning tool. It was better to describe it as a jagged cleaver. Horribly large, horribly hard to manage.
Yet manage Ajax tried. As swift as he could and whatever speed lacked was made up for in its strength. One swing is all it took to split the air into a shrill cry and drag dust across the wide slash like a vortex. Everything seemed to break, whether work of man or God, under the blade as he chased after the demon. They went at it in the complex. The poles shattered. The wood turned to saw dust. The floors were beginning to collapse. It was hard to tell if Ajax was hitting, only that he was too afraid to stop and think about much of anything. Under prepared, under pressure, Ajax could not manage to collect his thought. The beast smelled it, that frightened sweat.
The intimidation of the blade was starting to wear as they dragged their fight back out, towards the unfinished pillars and trailers and pickup trucks that pushed out with each messy blow.
It was beginning to end up terribly for Ajax. For between each thrust of his own blade out came five thrusts back. It was no dance of death as the poets would say of war and battle. It was the butchering of a chicken, the chase, and the dissection.
And Ajax was getting cut. He retreated. He stuck the sword back down like a worn white flag. The beast was not appeased and Ajax hid behind the wide metal. Ajax felt his elbows gashed as they stuck out from the metal shield. He put his shoulder against the blade to help hold it together as the pike hammered down. Ajax looked out and almost had his eye plucked. He could not gauge a good read on the slender fighter, he could not tell what was arm and what was pike. He only knew the beast had as much range as him and his was much more efficient.
He tried removing the blade, tried swinging. But Ajax was kicked. He flew, blade and all, onto wheel barrel holding brick. It made him turn sharp. He fell on pallets and felt the shards of wood stab his back like deadly acupuncture. The creature ran. The red steam was coming off Ajax's back as his body rejected the wooden daggers. The splinters fell, the cuts receded. But not quick enough. The beast rushed him and he struck his blade into the floor once again. His body was not healing fast enough and he felt the air growing hotter. He wanted to run.
"Move." Ajax heard through his mask.
There was a noise. A pop at first, then the sound of metal scratching.
At the sound, he immediately kicked his blade up, back to his shoulders. He jumped backward and watched the dirt cover them like murk. It would have fallen on him had he not moved and he could feel the strength of it as it pushed the air down and blew his hair back.
It was the crane that fell. High and mighty, collapsing onto the beast and leveling the floor. Ajax landed on a metal container and watched. He looked up, Darr was resting his smoking gun. He looked down and was paralyzed at the image. The beast was ripping its limbs trapped beneath the crane. He was pulling himself from the indentation, limb from limb. It could not wait to stand, it bit at itself like a starved cannibal. It would have stood, Ajax thought. It would continue endlessly, a program of evil running indefinitely. The thought brought something to life in Ajax. He put the sword to his side and watched each crack inside his metal ruffle and deepen its vein into the blade, he saw the dry cracks fill like rivers of hellfire. It was a long wait, but he had time to wait. He spun. One, two, three, four. He counted. And on five, threw his sword out. It flew straight, landed inside of the creature and all the world could see afterward was the large explosion like a pillar of the earths core shooting up.
The whole city saw the explosion and the smoke that jetted up. The police were hesitant to go inside, opting to watch from afar for the fire to settle. It was perfect. Ajax dragged his legs through the heavy camouflage and picked apart the body like a hungry crow. The burning remains of the demon lay charred and from its chest and belly out came the stone. A red, philosophers stone at the heart of it all. Fuel for any Veron. Ajax took it, put it in his coat. He picked up his blade that felt lighter. Metal shavings were coming off of his weapon and it made him bite his lips and groan. Then came the torpor. His whole body scraped the hot floor as he tripped. His eyes closed though he begged them not to. Whatever effort was in him he spent on the last leap, across the crane now on fire and sticking out of the floor like a harpoon into the white, ashy earth.
The police saw the masked figure but did not shoot for they were afraid. The fire dragged at Ajax's heels and spread all around as he scaled up the black brick walls.
"Monster." One of the officers said. So it was.
1:15 AM
He reached into his pocket for the red stone that pulsed. It felt rough in his hands and chalky as he bit into it. It got easier and his appetite became for voracious as he nearly ate his hand. He felt the drool on his palms and how it went down his arm. His legs that felt pruned, empty. He had hooks for feet, the way they dragged at the floor with their tiredness. And now they rose. His chest that took in hundreds of small breaths now relaxed to a proper pace. He could not say he recovered after all his stomach was still cut up, his back still bled and spilled onto his white shirt. At he was healing and more important than that, he was calm. He heard footsteps near him but did not bother to reach for his blade now half inside his jacket and half outside, like a magicians trick undone. The only crowd to laugh at him was distant, it was the helicopters cutting wind and the police and firefighters now drowning the flames.
"Are you alright?" The voice said. Ajax hung by the edge
of the building and started to lift himself. Darr grabbed him by the arm to help.
"I don't need it." He gave him a weak push.
"I guess I just can't touch anyone today." Darr said. He took his mask off and put it inside his coat.
"We're not home free yet." Ajax said.
"We're close. I don't think we'll be getting caught soon. Just as long as we properly come down from the roof." He said. Ajax agreed though reluctantly put his mask back in. He let Darr go the way first and followed his clanking down the metal stairs on the side of the building. Ajax wanted his back just in case he did fall, better to do it on him than on the floor five stories below.
"What'd you do? That was a big explosion. Hit a gas line?" He asked.
"No. It's nothing you have to worry about."
"We're fighting together. Of course, I have to worry about it."
"The only thing you need to worry about is that impatience of yours. What the fuck was that?" Ajax gripped the hand rail to his rear and heard it bend into a sharp cry as he nearly dislodged it. He was breathing fast again. Darr looked at him.
"What do you mean? That guy needed help and I helped him. What kind of man would I be if I just let him die there and then?"
"A smart man."
"I'd rather be stupid and moral than smart."
"You're neither smart or moral. You're just stupid." Ajax said. "You didn't think at all. Besides the fact that I could have died - We could have died. Did you ever stop to think what would happen afterwards? You think that thing would just stop at us and that stooge running out of the fucking building? Of course not. He'd go on and on. And then the problem wouldn't be just one or three dumbasses dying."
"Four. There was another man that I saved. That's what we do, save people. Remember?" Darr looked proper in his stance, with his chest primed with courage and his head high up above. Ajax was two feet further, up the stairs and yet he looked so small. So he evened him out. He grabbed Darr by the coat and put him against the ledge.
"You listen up, Superman. I thought I told already that we aren't heroes. But I guess the words became lost in your empty skull. Or are you deaf? Or stupid. Or both." Ajax said. "Whatever you think you are, you should stop. It'll get us killed. And unlike you, I'm not a warrior. I don't care for the security of idiots, I don't care to fight fair. I'm a hunter. I track, I plan, I execute. I don't do anything but the steps that guarantee success. And you should too. Because failure is much more frightening than you think you know."
He let go of his coat and Darr pushed him back. Ajax fell down on the stairs and left his head to hang, his eyes fell to the floor.
"Striking a weak man. At least you're learning." He said. "But you haven't learned enough. You don't know what cost failure is. That's why you strut around with the fucking finger on the trigger, shooting just because you can. Acting high, just because you can. Keep feeding that fucking ego, buddy. You'll find out what the price. When you've got so many fucking bodies on top of each that you can't even see the sun rise, you'll see what playing gung-ho gets you."
"You're sick in the head," Darr shouted. He no longer cared being hidden from the spotlight of police. His voice echoed in the narrow passage they were coming down to. "You're reprimanding me for saving two people? So what. I shot early, so what. It ended up alright and that's all that matters right? The end game, whatever the cost. We killed it, we saved more people and we did it my way. That would be good enough for anyone. But not you. Oh no, not you." He walked down as fast as he could. He sounded like a storm with the drumming he did. "You'll call me the narcissist when I help others, but here you are demanding everything be done this way and that. Calm. Cool. Heartless." When he had the chance, Darr jumped on to the floor. "That won't sate God's tribunal. I promise you that."
"Oh, you're so selfless, Darr. So. Fucking. Selfless. Was it a selfless laugh then? That I heard when the bullets started flying." Ajax stood.
"So fucking selfless, with your boner as you beat the shit out of each other. A real Gandhi type of guy." He was shouting down the alley to Darr who turned the corner. "You're a modern day John fucking Lennon, aren't you. You god damn violent retard." He was talking to no one now. No one but a man in the corner of his eyes, opening a door and throwing a bag of trash onto the floor. He stared up to Ajax, not as much afraid as he was confused.
"Fuck off." Ajax said. The man gave him the middle finger and walked back inside and Ajax climbed down the ladder, walking out into the streets as he finally caught a second wind of energy. His exhaustion was at least not debilitating anymore.
He looked to the streets, a few cars would come by now and then but the sirens were low and the smoke was far off. It was a distant chaos that raged on in the city, like a shake of the earth slowly growing into a seismic raze. But it shook. Everyone moved, head to toe. Ajax could feel it. The Priest could feel it. Sophie could feel it. And so did Aleistar.
He had left to his office after the murder and had spent the last few hours in his study. He looked out to the small spinning dots of light. They were clear even in the cloudy night. His arms were shaking on his chest and he had to sit for he felt his legs were getting weak. It was the first time he felt afraid of leaving out at night. He would sleep in. He looked around to the bookshelves and desks and small figures for something to entertain him as a fidgeting body infected him. He closed the window. He shut the curtains, the chill was inside. A strange, summer cold. He sat down on the sofa and looked up to the ceiling. He wanted to send the message to his son to stay in tonight but could not move. The cold was too strong and his body was turning stiff and long like an antenna. He heard a voice. He turned, something was speaking into his ear. It felt like every cell in him stopped their process like paralysis, like death. He felt the grip on his neck. It was his master's hand and finally, the words became clear.
"You've failed me again, haven't you?"
And Aleistar froze.
Episode 2 - July 17, 2017
Sophie's feet dragged on the floor as she was taken to the principal's office. The accusation was simple, a boy with a bloody mouth crying to his mother in the nurse's office. She had been reminded of this all the way there and how she should pity him, and how she would feel if she was there with the bloody nose instead of him. When they told her this she had looked at them, with her bruised cheeks and said "If I was him? Well, I wouldn't be crying that's for sure."
They didn't ask her much after that and were glad when they sat her down in the soft, large chair. She was too small for it and it was too low to the floor and she had to stand to see past the horizon of the dark-wood desk. She looked around at all the memorabilia stuck along the walls, trophies, and pictures, vignettes and declarations of achievements. A panorama of the schools' success the principal had adopted over the years. Her eyes came to the window and the shadow there. A little figure, her friend Pip.
The judge was not here, she noticed. It was cold and quiet and Pip began to shout at her.
"Sophie." He said. She turned away. "Sooo-phie."
"So-so-sophie." His front teeth were missing and he spat with each s. "Psst, psst. Sophie."
Finally, she threw a pencil at him and hit the window pane.
"What?" She said.
"Thanks."
"You shouldn't be thanking me. You should be depressed. You can't even defend yourself and you're supposed to be a boy."
"I know. But he was fat and big, I got scared." His voice quivered.
"I know you did. Wanna know how I know you did? Because I'm here with my hurt face."
"I'm sorry." He said.
She adjusted her lips into a neutral position, somewhere between resentment and pride.
"Do me a favor." She nodded her head. "Make yourself useful, start selling. I'm losing business because of you."
"At how much a bar?" He asked.
"The same price we always have."
He scratched his head. "How much is that?"
"Two-fifty you dunce."
&
nbsp; "Okay. Where do I get the candy from?"
"What do you mean? What happened to your stock." She walked to the window with her backpack. Her eyes were beginning to narrow. He knelt and look small under her gaze.
"I lost it."
She wanted to drag him up to her to eat him, a horror-movie monster. She scratched at the wood frame and looked up to give herself room to breathe. She undid the zipper on her backpack after reflecting - It was her fault, she shouldn't have trusted him - and she dumped three pounds worth of chocolate on his forehead. She shut the window, tired of hearing his moaning and heard the door behind her open.
"Trying to escape, I see." The Principal said.
"What? No. I was just." She bit her cheek. "Just looking outside at the kids."
"Sure you were." The Principal fell atop his chair. "I can't keep one eye off of you without you wandering off and doing god knows what. You're like a damn imp, girl."
