The church was forgotten and rotting. It was placed between two apartment complexes in a part of New Ashton that the locals playfully called Satan’s Basement. It was a nickname that had stuck around even after the devil was disproved and was given appropriately to match the darkness the community had felt here.
The sidewalk before it held only one streetlight which was coated in old missing person’s signs alongside flyers for church events. The back, however, was a sight to behold. It was small and boxed in by the surrounding buildings to hold a small cemetery which kept the bodies of those holy men. They had passed on after servicing this church for many, many years. And, the blooming grove of tombstones showed it; there were dozens.
“I didn’t think you would actually choose to come,” Sydney whispered as she prepared to enter the back door.
“I told you already, Order,” Ayres responded as she wrapped her fingers around the blade at her side. “There was no choice.”
The back door gave way with a single push, and creaked lowly as it opened to a dark hallway. Sydney could sense something was off and clutched the Arm in her left hand and her recently bent-back knife in her right. She motioned with her head for Ayres to follow, and Sydney headed into the darkness as she reluctantly followed. The floor was made of large stones to match the walls where wooden crosses with small statues of a thin, bleeding man hung. His bearded face held the exhaustion and lament of pure pain. From the halls opposite end, there was a light that pierced a small carved window in another entrance before them. The light moved and danced as if it were alive as it licked the dark around them while the pair continued a slow pace forward.
“Torches?” Sydney asked. “Possibly candles?”
“Definitely fire,” Ayres responded in a whisper, and the two pressed onward toward the door.
Then, Sydney pressed it open slowly.
The chapel’s interior was much larger and more open than expected with rows of pews and parallel stained-glass windows flanking a huge alter. The two exited silently into the main hall which was illuminated by the light of a hundred candles. They crept from the opening and found themselves behind the altar, where they stood silently like two preachers ready to spin the holy lies of a dead book to a naive congregation. Before them, like an audience, sat the well-dressed men and women who had become the typical guests of Scarab auctions, waiting on the next item to bid on. At the front of the altar’s stage stood the thin man with black hair who had a trembling nearly-nude boy tightly bound beside him, and with a firm grasp on his arm to his opposite side was an armor clad female.
“Six hundred thousand!” A man shouted in the front row, as another stood in the rear and followed with “Six-fifty!”
“Sold!” shouted Sydney as she fired her Arm in a burst of light toward the thin man.
Someone shouted, “Watch out!” just as the weapon fired. There was a flash, like a horizontal bolt of lightning that darted across the stage and pushed him away from the bullet of light as it passed by like a fleeing firefly. It flew passed and away from Carter then fizzled as it hit the ceilings peak. Where the bullet had supposed to have been, there was now a woman in brilliant armor holding a wide butcher-like blade: Pagiel.
“Remember me, you bitch?” Sydney sounded as she fired the weapon twice more at Paisley, the crowd gasped and stood up, their instincts pushing them to move away.
The bullets were swatted once more like glowing insects and Paisley glared at the two. “Afraid I do not,” was all she said as she stood ready for war.
These words stung Sydney and cut her more than that blade before her ever could. They broke a dam of emotion and all the bottled rage and sadness poured out, leaving her in a hollow state of disbelief. She clenched her weapons furiously but before she could act again, Paisley moved.
She moved as if she had all but vanished, nothing but a blur that flung toward Sydney before she could react. Luckily, Ayres did. There was a loud ring of clashing steel, as the two angelic blades collided with the force of a head-on collision. They stood before one another with blades trembling against one another and eyes locked. Behind them, Sydney paused, stepping back in amazement before she realigned herself and focused. Now was her chance, and she fired her gun once more at the angel.
Paisley was too fast and moved her head just in time for the bullet of light to spring past her and find a home in the chest of a suited man in the pews, who collapsed as his Dust released. Paisley leapt backward and held her blade up at the perfect moment to block a downward slash from Ayres but did not prepare for the knee that followed it and smashed into her ribcage. Ayres screamed as she felt a rib crack against her knee, and Pagiel fell back onto the alter, knocking down bronze candle holders and a golden chalice coated in cobwebs. Sydney, focused on the Ascendance battling before her, aimed to fire again just as two suited figures rushed her and threw her to the ground.
“Now, now,” Carter said as he paced at the front of the alter with an enormous grin, “I am afraid you ladies crashed a very important business meeting.”
Sydney raised the gun and fired at one of the men before her, but the light passed through him, and he smiled in a way that was frighteningly human. He reached down toward her, and she flung up her knife just as she had done to Ayres. The re-bent blade made contact with one of the man’s arms and as he cried out, he balled his other fist and crashed it down into Sydney’s jaw. The knife pulled out of his arm, and right as she thrusted it up again she was caught with another swift blow from stone knuckles that rattled her skull. Soon, the men began to pummel her as she desperately attempted to fight back with wild, inaccurate slashes of her knife. Sydney could feel her old, unhealed wounds throb and scream with every hit against them.
With a last attempt to break free of the attack, she outstretched her arm toward the grinning Carter and fired the light towards him.
Just as before, Paisley disengaged Ayres and shot toward him, despite her injuries and the pressure of Ayres, and deflected the bullet while her free hand clutched her ribs. Sydney took another fist to her cheek and the blood began to pool past her eyes and blur her vision. Still, from the blood-fog before her she could see Ayres approach, and watch as her blade’s swing cut the air and removed the head from the stabbed man’s body as if his neck were nothing but paper. Another man turned to face her and Sydney rose up, stumbling and growling in agony, and quickly plunged her knife carelessly into the side of his throat, pulling it out to a misting spurt of blood.
There was a slow clap, and there was Carter. He laughed at the carnage, from behind the safety of his own angel. “Well done, honestly I could not have done better myself! Splendid! What a show! And to think, here I assumed wrongfully that I was the host of this fiesta!”
His words were like a snake’s hiss, and his grin was a serpent’s smile.
Paisley removed a hand from her ribs and stood up straight; her wounds were already almost healed. “Now, Ayres I know very well,” she said as she lifted the blade and rested it back on her shoulder. “But I do not believe I know you at all. An Order I am guessing, and not a very good one at that.”
“How could you…” Sydney growled, pointing her weapon up at the pair before her. “I loved you… and you murdered me. You tried to sell my body–”
“Wouldn’t be the first,” Carter cut in.
“Sydney…” she replied, rubbing her finger on the trigger. “My name is-was Sydney.”
She fired the weapon once more, but was again deflected and this time it bounced off of the blade, then again off of the golden chalice on the floor and found its way into another audience member; they were already panicked and fleeing for the door but now their screams echoed in the church’s hall as they pushed over one another to fight against the boarded door. Carter smirked. Ayres approached her side, and placed a hand on the barrel, pushing it down and shaking her head at Sydney.
“Ah! Yes!” Paisley responded with excitement, “I remember you now! Well… the years have not been kind to you I
see, if that is you. But, as the Order I know that you don’t get to pick what you look like on the way back here.” She lowered her weapon and walked towards her slowly, with a cheerful expression and an arrogant stride. “It is a shame we killed you, you would have fetched a good price in your old body.” Sydney was quiet but shook in untamed rage. “So, you’re paired up with the my sister now I see, how funny. Be careful of that blade, it did kill an Order once, after all.”
“Back the fuck up!” Sydney shouted, ignoring her words as Ayres took her place in front of her, “Move! Ayres! Fucking move! I will kill her! I’ll fucking kill her!”
“You know, Ayres,” Paisley said, once again resting the blade on her shoulder as she stood before them. “I used to fuck this human behind you. Well, before she looked like that. Is that why you broke your oath and came here? Are you next in line?”
“I’m here to open your throat, traitor,” Ayres said calmly, and then as if she was carried by the wind itself she moved at a speed that almost made her fade from sight entirely. “You know you cannot win, Pagiel.”
“Actually, I prefer Paisley now,” and she leapt back, into a wide stance with her blade forward, ready for the oncoming attack.
Sydney scrambled toward her, knife in hand, while Paisley was distracted by Ayres, but as soon as she was in range Paisley whipped her leg out with a kick that slammed her in the stomach, and sent Sydney flying back onto the ground. She held her torso tightly and coughed up a spatter of blood that splashed onto her chin. Carter smirked and chuckled abrasively while Ayres slashed the blade toward Paisley’s head with a miss and followed with a closed-fist jab that caught Paisley square in the jaw. She countered with a slash of her own blade, barely missing Ayres neck. The two swung at one another with meteoric speed that made their bodies seem like nothing but splashes of color. Sydney could barely follow their fight at all as she writhed in her pain.
Carter did not miss a single moment.
He followed them with a glare like an owl watching a field mouse dart through the grass. It was then that he drew the handgun out from under his jacket and gave aim. He closed an eye, his tongue brushing against his upper lip as he did so, the gun’s tip followed the movement of the two battling warriors, and just as he gave a smirk he said, “It’ll slow you down, at least,” and fired. The bullet moved quickly, and as Ayres stepped back to balance herself for another strike it entered her thigh and she collapsed to her knee. Paisley did not miss the opportunity.
“You’re finished,” she smirked as she leapt toward her with her blade raised high. Then, swung down.
It stopped as it lodged into Sydney’s shoulder, who crawled over and pushed herself up with the only ounce of strength she had left.
“Order!” Ayres cried out as she watched her jump in front of the blade and take the hit where it burrowed deep and caused a slow stream of blood.
Sydney grabbed Paisley’s arm as she tried to pull the blade free, and she grunted as she held her tightly. “You… how could you…”
“Let go!” Paisley shouted, and shot a fist right into Sydney’s jaw as she yanked the blade free. Sydney held on tightly to her arm, even as her fingers grew weaker by the passing moments. “Get off of me you bitch!”
“I loved you… I trusted you…”
“I said get–”
Paisley was cut short, as her eyes opened wide and her lip quivered. Sydney could feel her strength weakening and watched her lose her grip on the blade. The angel’s eyes fell down and looked below to an ever-growing pool of blood that flowed beneath. The wide, angelic butcher blade was stuck into her side just below her ribs and cut in nearly past her belly button. She could make no words, or sounds, other than the gasping as she choked. Paisley let go of the blade and fell to her knees in a splash of crimson with the blade still sticking from her side. Her eyes met Ayres, who had used what little time Sydney could buy her to move beneath them for a final blow.
Ayres stood up, and the bullet hole began to close in her flesh, pushing the slug out which fell like a dropped coin to the wooden floor of the stage. She leaned down and pulled the blade free as Paisley fell to her back and shook in violent convulsions. Ayres stood above her, and gave her a final nod, “You’ll answer for the things you have done, Pagiel. In the North-Lane,” and she swung the blade down hard onto the fallen angel’s neck.
It was done, but as Ayres turned around her expression fell from stern to concerned, as Sydney lay on her back just behind Ayres, limply clutching the deep wound on her shoulder.
“Sydney!” She fell to the ground beside her and pressed her hands against the torrents of blood from the gaping wound. She could see the flesh and fibers attempt to heal from the gifts bestowed on her as the Order, but it was too slow and the bleeding flowing was much too fast. “Sydney, why?” She pleaded as the splashing red coated her hands. “Why did you interfere?”
The Order smiled with what little life she had left. She coughed, and her eyes opened and shut uncontrollably in a flutter of butterfly wings before resting closed again. Her breathing had become shallow, but she pushed through, “You got me my revenge,” she said softly. “If you had not come… I’d be… dead…” Her body began to go limp and then the breathing stopped. As Ayres bent her head down and clenched her teeth together, just as a single wet tear dripped from her eye. It rolled down her dark cheek, and fell onto the lifeless Order below her.
When she looked up, the large flicker of lights reflected in her glossy eyes. The church was a blaze as candles lay shattered and flaming on the ground around the pews which were now rows of pure fire. Wooden crosses burned on the walls and the long, old curtains carried the flames higher. Through the flames she could see Carter’s grin as he backed out of the front door and shut it.
Ayres laid Sydney back down on the altar’s stage, and gave her a single kiss on her cold forehead. The flames roared and crawled up the steps toward the altar, and the entire church had filled with smoke. Behind her, a beam of light shot through the ground in a loud explosion, and inside was Usra who offered a single hand out to Ayres.
“Come, Ayres. We must… speak… of the broken oath,” she said with a soft smile, empty eyes, and a ghastly, warm voice that echoed over the crackling church. “Our kind… must not interfere… in the work of the Order.”
Jackson stood silently before Ayres on the rooftop as she closed her eyes and the story came to a close. He could see her face change throughout the story, from her stern and stoic demeanor to an expression of sadness and loss. Jackson thought of the Ayres he knew, the entity that put him back together on his first case and the one who threw out her code just to save his life; he could see her as more than what she was. More than a guardian, or a warrior. He could see her as a person. A being who suffered as much as he has. He thought perhaps it could even be more.
“You see, Jackson?” she said as she realigned herself and turned to look over the dark city. “You are property to them, to Azazel. You were going to die on that last case, and that is why myself and the boy intervened. I could not watch it happen, not again. I have seen this all… too many times.”
Jackson smirked, and shook his head as he readjusted the hat on his head. “Didn’t know I meant so much,” he joked.
“Truthfully, you don’t,” she answered, then looked at him with a smirk of her own. “You also don’t mean so little.”
As they stared at one another, Jackson felt something calm within him. His untamed and alien anger that burrowed deep internally and ate at him was light, almost as if it were not there at all. He softened, and the man he used to be resurfaced just long enough to show Ayres the part of him that was tucked away. That part of him moved toward her and coiled his arms around her body tightly. His cheek, rough and aged, rested against her head as he embraced her; she held him in return. The moon and the stars rose overhead, the sky darkened, and New Ashton rushed below.
“Ayres,” the raspy voice whispered low beside her. “I… I am losing myself…”
<
br /> “I know,” she answered as they were wrapped together.
He pulled his arms off of her and stepped back, turning his head back over the edge and peering at the streets below them. “Do you think she is free now? Through the North-Lane?”
“Sydney?” Ayres asked softly, and Jackson nodded. “I hope so, Jackson. I hope they all are.”
“Maybe,” Jackson began, and turned back toward the door back down to the buildings interior. “Maybe I’ll find out soon.”
He walked away slowly, and she stood with the wind brushing up against her back from the cold, night air. She watched as his demeanor hardened, and the barrier built by his hate crept over him once again. He reached out and grasped the door handle, but paused for a moment.
“Ayres,” he said, and looked back over his shoulder. She met his eyes with her own. “Thank you, for everything.”
9
Scarabs II
Jackson stood outside the door of a warehouse not unlike the one he encountered the Scarabs in the first time.
It was raining and each drop glowed like small orbs of light as they crashed to the ground below. The wetness made the city shine as if it were coated by a glaze. A single light poked out of the stone wall above the doorway and it poorly lit the area surrounding him. This building was larger than the previous meeting sites that Jackson had taken down in the past and, unlike before, he could hear the gathering inside with ease. It was much louder, and the smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and sweat oozed out from beneath a bright red door, metal, that stood out like neon in the darkness. He looked around and thought of Ayres’s story. This was the far side of Satan’s Basement, and he could feel the rumble of the city’s dirty underbelly all around him.
“Gonna tell me how many we got inside?” Jackson said quietly.
“Eat shit,” a voice gurgled from the shadows behind him. The light was not bright enough to fully illuminate the just-out-of-sight figure who lay on the ground, bound by rope with a bloodied face.
Order of Dust Page 15
