The BETA Agency

by Maxwell Coffie

  I tightened my fists, loosened my neck, and took a deep breath. I walked into the temple.

  It was draughty inside. The light that streamed from the stained windows was weak, and there were a few more silver beams of moonlight that crisscrossed down from the patchy ceiling, but that was it. The air was left tinted a gloomy monochrome. It took my eyes a moment to adjust.

  I walked down the massive hall, between colossal intermittent pillars, and noticed that someone had moved all the pews aside to make room. I had a fair idea what for.

  As I drew nearer to the front of the hall, I made out the lean figure of a woman on the podium. She was sitting in the chair of the high priest, legs hanging askew on the armrest. Her eyes opened, and her golden orbs glowed down on me. She applauded.

  “Right on time, Miss Everglade,” she said. I could sense her smiling.

  “Where’s my sister?”

  “How rude. No pleasantries, no how-do-you-dos?”

  “Where is she?”

  She sighed, and pointed up. I lifted my eyes to see a small figure, tied up in ropes, and dangling upside down from a wooden support beam. It was a long fall.

  I could feel fury replacing my fear. “She’s a kid, you sick muck.”

  “So what? I can’t have nice things? And you’re the one who led me straight to her,” she snickered, as she rose out of her seat, and began walking out of the shadows. “That notebook has a tracing spell. I can find it anywhere on the five worlds. This is on you, big sister.”

  As she entered the light, my stomach roiled with sickness.

  The woman…the body…the corpse…was Fey Watters. She was almost naked, covered only by a bloody vest and a pair of drawers.

  “You like my new costume?” the Puppeteer said through Fey’s mouth. She laughed when I hunched over and fought back vomit. “I’ve been working on this one for such a long time now. I wanted it to be perfect, you know?” She ran a hand through her limp blond hair, and then over the faded, slimy skin of her own face. Even in death, she looked like me. “You think King will like it?” She laughed again, harder his time, waves wracking her skinny frame.

  “You’re, you’re disgusting,” was all I could manage.

  “Yes,” she sighed, blissfully. “Yes, I am.” She stretched out her hand, and a monster of a sword—the sword I had seen in Fey’s memories—flew out of the shadows and placed itself neatly into her palm. “And now, I’m going to kill King’s new sweetheart. That would be you, by the way. Because that’s another thing that I am, Miss Everglade: poetic.”

  She leapt into the air, and came down swinging. I rolled out of the way, fractions before the tiles were smashed to pieces. She recovered and, with inexplicable ease, twirled the humongous weapon over her head. Laughing, she lunged at me repeatedly. I jumped back, and threw a mana bolt; she swatted it away like a fly.

  She jumped at me again, and this time, I released an onslaught of bolts. I threw hard, roaring hysterically as I did. My bolts shattered tiles and stone, till she was completely shrouded in a cloud of dust. And even then, I didn’t stop. I didn’t stop till my nails were digging into my palms, and my arms felt like they would fall out of my socket. Till I was completely out of breath, I didn’t stop. Then, I panted and stared.

  There was quiet.

  Fey streaked out of the dust, and slammed her foot into my chest. I tumbled across the floor. But I didn’t stay down: I slid back up to my feet, and threw more bolts.

  She jumped out of the way, ricocheting against one pillar, and then another, and then another. Soon, she was a bouncing ray of brown and gold. I twisted and turned, trying to get an accurate shot. Before I knew it, she was kicking against one of the closer pillars, and flying right towards me.

  Her blade whistled over my head; I’d ducked just in time. I tried to deliver a punch laden with mana, but she blocked it with the flat of her sword, and spun around to meet her elbow with my face. The hit was solid; the pain, like an echo through my brain. I had barely regained my bearings when a spinning kick put me on the ground.

  “You’re not as good as Ms Watters,” she grumbled, as I crawled away, bleeding. “Come on, get up. I’m trying to have some fun here.”

  I spat, and forced myself up. “What do you expect? You’re cheating.”

  “What? The sword?” She stabbed the blade into the floor, and left it there. “Okay, now there’s no sword. Come at me.”

  I lifted my fists. My first few punches were parried. The next time I attacked, she caught me by the wrists. I headed her in the face, and she staggered back, surprised. She grinned.

  “There’s more where that came from, muck-face,” I snarled, and charged.

  Before I understood what was happening, I was being thrown into the air by the collar of my blouse. I yelped as my body hurtled to the support beams above. A hand caught me by the ankle, and I writhed a hundred feet in the air, terrified.

  “You’ve got to do better than that, Miss Everglade,” Fey said.

  As I dangled, I noticed Kattie a few feet away. She was alive, conscious, gagged. Her eyes were filled with an emotion I had never seen her display, or even fake: fear.

  “It’s going to be alright, Kattie,” I said.

  “That’s it,” Fey chuckled. “Lie to her. You should say goodbye to her.”

  “Go to muck,” I snapped.

  And she dropped me.

  The floor rushed up to meet me. I closed my eyes, braced myself for impact. But I landed in cold clammy arms, and when I opened my eyes, Fey was laughing over me, laughing at me. She tossed me to the ground.

  I tried to sit up, and look like I didn’t almost wet myself. “This is just a game to you, isn’t it?” I hissed, my voice quivering.

  She yanked out her blade, and sat on top of me. “Miss Everglade, if I wanted to kill you I could’ve done it the fraction you stepped through those doors.” She sighed. “But alas, I must wait for the guest of honour to arrive.”

  “Guest of honour? You mean King?” I stuttered.

  “Ten points for the detective. You didn’t think you were the only one who was invited to this party, did you?”

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked. “This can’t possibly serve any greater purpose other than hurting him.”

  “Miss Everglade,” she laughed, “Are you trying to get me to monologue? The evil assassin explains his evil plot; trite, no?”

  “No, I really want to know. What’s the point of all this? It can’t just be for fun. I refuse to believe that.”

  “And why can’t it just be for fun?” Her smile wilted. “I’m just a guy who wants to live a little, Miss Everglade. I died from cancer, in case you forgot.”

  “Actually you died from a dagger to the brain, but maybe I’m splitting hairs. Go on.”

  Her grin widened. “I think I like you, Miss Everglade. You may not be as strong as Ms Watters, but you’ve got spunk. If you absolutely must know, I’ve tried to make these corpses last longer. Especially this one. But of all the techniques I’ve developed, this had to be the one that failed.”

  “Perpetual reanimation,” I said, in realization. “You wanted to live forever.”

  “Twenty points. Ah, you’ve been reading my notebook. I was really hoping to make Fey’s body permanent. It’s so powerful, saturated with post-mortem mana. But a corpse is just a corpse, it seems. And I could simply decide to keep switching bodies for all eternity but, let’s be honest, that’s just no way to live now, is it?”

  “It does sound bothersome.”

  “So I asked myself: when in this long, exciting life were you at your absolute, undeniable happiest? And I was surprised at my own answer.”

  “You were happiest,” I said, “taking King’s happiness away.”

  “Thirty points! My, you are on fire, Miss Everglade.”

  “That’s why you want to kill me in front of him.” I was getting angry again.

  “The old Fey killing the new Fey. Tell me that’s not art. I can’t live forever. But like y
ou said back at the Rim, I can go out with a bang. So Miss Everglade,” Fey said, grabbing me by the neck, and lifting me to my feet. “Now that you understand my motives, do you hope to survive this? Do the answers to your questions somehow make your chances of living any better?”

  Spittle drooled from my lips. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.

  She grinned. “I didn’t think so.”

  “Put her down, Puppeteer.”

  Fey dropped me, and I fell to my knees, coughing. I looked to my left, and my heart leapt.

  Standing at the back of the temple was Sol King.

  “Ugh, finally,” Fey exclaimed. “Just when I thought you were standing me up. Now that you’re here, I can finally get this over with.”

  And with that, she lifted her sword above her head, and plunged it into my back.

  CHAPTER 69

  Blood.

  So much blood.

  It pooled beneath me. And when she stamped down on my back to wrench out her blade, it gushed out; crimson fountain.

  I thudded into my own gore, and fought for every breath. Warmth oozed up my throat. Tasted like iron.

  From my place on the floor, I could see King. He was close, but for some reason, unable to come any closer. He was banging desperately against something. An invisible wall. Or something. Maybe a force field; one of the Puppeteer’s tricks. Something.

  I was running out of energy to think.

  King was striking the unseeable wall with his sword now. It looked like he was screaming. I didn’t know. I couldn’t hear.

  I was definitely running out of energy to breathe.

  And now, I was feeling cold. Numbness spread out from my chest, to my fingers, to my toes. Sweet comfort.

  But I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to…

  I took one last shuddering breath. My eyelids fluttered. I sighed.

  I died.

  CHAPTER 70

  I was on fire.

  I was alive, on my feet, robed in angry, ice-blue flames. One moment I was drowning in darkness, the next: bathing in light. I could feel my chest closing up, scarring, healing. I looked at my hands, and there was rubriq—in my palms, and on my fingers, climbing up my wrists and past my elbows.

  I felt strong. My biceps tingled with mana. My calves felt like they were made of steel. My heart was racing. But it was not from fear.

  Fey looked thunderstruck.

  Before she could speak, I flashed up to her, and grabbed her by the arm. Then, with a war cry, I swung her over my head, legs and all, and smashed her into the floor. I whirled around, and tossed her high.

  I spared King one glance. “Save Kattie,” I said.

  Then, I was in the air, directly above Fey’s temporarily suspended body. I roared, and dug my fist into her midsection. She streaked back to the ground, in an explosion of dust and debris.

  Kicking against a pillar, I flipped back and landed on the tiles, most of which were now showing cracks. I loosened my neck, and marched towards Fey’s twitching body.

  I remembered this feeling: this feeling of giving up control. To the pain. To the anger. Like the first day in the Beta bunker. I felt unstoppable.

  I felt like I could kill the Puppeteer.

  Fey rose to her feet, and started to laugh. Her eyes, they bulged when she screamed, “Baby, where have you been all my life?”

  I flitted to her, and threw a mana-packed punch.

  She blocked it with a single hand, countering with a series of punches and kicks. I evaded, blocked, parried. Every impeded blow was accompanied with a trembling of the ground, a detonation of clashing mana. Suddenly, she was holding her sword again, and I was dodging the multiple swipes of sharp, weighty steel.

  She hooted, and thrust the blade into my face. I stopped it with a clap of my hands. Then, I swaddled my fingers with mana, and squeezed. The blade cracked.

  “Do you feel it?” I whispered. “Do you feel the fear?” I freed a hand, and blasted her off the hilt, so that she went skidding back. I broke the sword on my knee, tossed the halves aside.

  Fey’s fist flared with mana. Mine did the same. We lunged at each other, and punched. Our knuckles collided, and the displaced energy uprooted the surrounding tiles. Fey lost some footing; that was all I needed. I flitted at her, finding her neck within my grasp. The momentum sent us flying across the floor, till I’d crashed her into a pillar. Then, I delivered rapid mid-section punches with all my strength.

  Finally, I stopped to gasp for breath, my fist still buried in her stomach.

  There was viscous, green goo oozing from the corner of her mouth. She looked up at me, through her matted bangs, and beamed. Before I could draw back, she gripped my arm, and held fast.

  I tried to tug free.

  “Rise,” she commanded, “Ezenoirah.”

  I turned to see the two halves of her sword rising into the air, covered in lighted rubriq. That was when I realized that her blade wasn’t just a weapon; it was an instrument. The halves fused into a whole, orienting in my direction.

  I fought Fey’s grip. No use. The blade drew back, and came flying.

  I blinked, and King was in front of me. He swung Aiden, and Ezenoirah was deflected with a resounding clang.

  Fey wailed, “That’s cheating, King.”

  “You won’t kill him with blunt trauma attacks,” King said to me. “We have to be absolute.”

  The Puppeteer’s instrument was arching through the air, reorienting itself.

  “Look out,” I cried.

  But King was unfazed. His instrument melted into a stream of flames and, without even bothering to turn his head, he pointed his blade and shot a fireball.

  Explosion.

  After the wind, and smoke, and raining embers, Ezenoirah fell to the floor—a piece of charred, short-circuiting metal.

  “Absolute,” King repeated, lowering his sword. “Like that.”

  I looked at Fey. Her grip on my arm had weakened. “Game over, Mister Puppeteer,” I whispered.

  “I would cry, if this body had working tear ducts,” she said. “Before this day, this moment, I’d only dreamed of a battle like this.” She closed her eyes, and her smile was content. “But you’re not the only one here who can break a seal, Miss Everglade.”

  A barrel tore out of her throat, and sprayed me with a cold mist.

  I shoved myself free, and staggered towards King, coughing. A wave of nausea hit me, and I could see the rows of rubriq on my hands and arms disappearing. King caught me in his arms. I looked into his face…

  And blasted him away with a bolt.

  He was barely back on his feet, when I blasted him again. And again.

  “What are you doing?” he yelled, blocking my persistent mana-fire.

  “I don’t know,” I cried. “I can’t control my arm.” Realization hit me. “It’s the mist. He’s hit me with a neurotoxin.”

  He flitted out of the way of my bolts. “What do we do?”

  Now, my forearm was twisting, turning my palm to my own face. “You need to break my arm,” I yelled. “Now!”

  At once, he was in front of me. He stuffed his hand into my mouth, and gripped my left arm. “Sorry about this.”

  The pain was blinding. I screamed and bit hard into King’s fingers, as my left appendage fell lifeless and disfigured at my side. I forced back tears, tasted the salt of King’s blood.

  He hushed me. “You have to get out of here,” he said, as he took his fingers out of my mouth.

  “Kattie,” I croaked.

  “Safe. Outside. Go.”

  Before I left, I looked one last time at the Puppeteer.

  Fey was hunched over like a beast, spikes jutting out from her back and along her spine. The light in her eyes, and the flames licking at her flesh, were a dark, shimmering purple. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I thought I could see it: an aura in the semblance of a flaming skull.

  “He’s breaking his seal,” he said. “I can’t beat him without breaking mine.”
/>
  “I can still help,” I rasped.

  King’s smile was weak. “No. Trust me, you don’t want to be around for this. Go.”

  I hesitated, before turning around, and shuffling to the door. Behind me, I heard King’s last two words:

  “Aiden, Consume.”

  CHAPTER 71

  When I broke out into the moonlight, there was a hover carrier, whipping up wind and dust as it descended into the street. There was already a crowd of people building. I trudged through the iron gates to meet the carrier.

  Po leapt out before the carrier had even touched ground.

  “Where is he?” she demanded to know.

  “Still inside. He broke his seal.”

  “What?”

  Imp and Kay had jumped out too, and they looked just as disconcerted as Po at the information.

  “He’s not allowed to do that,” Po cried. “Why did you let him do it?”

  “The Puppeteer broke his and—” I said, faltering. “He’s using Fey’s body.”

  That stumped them.

  “That’s…cold,” Kay whispered. “Even for the Puppeteer.”

  “Why would he do that?” Po asked.

  I looked back at the temple. “So he can destroy King.”

  A cry echoed from the building. And then, the temple exploded.

  People screamed. The force of the explosion threw us back, together with the hover carrier. The carrier smashed through a shopping window, and the shock wave from the blast brought a torrent of broken glass pouring down on us.

  My broken arm protested with staggering waves of pain. The skin around my elbow joint had started to swell, and the shower of glass had left innumerable cuts and bruises on me. I fought the urge to pass out. Instead, I propped myself up with my working hand, and watched in disbelief, as the very stones of the temple disintegrated into ashes, and floated to the sky on the current of the wind.

  There was commotion in the streets. Pedestrians were running around like insects. Fire transporters whined in the distance.

  I heard a roar of anguish rise from the midst of the flames.