《The Horned God》


 Prologue - A Sensation of Falling

    A Sensation of Falling


    Collateral always knew she was going to die. Everyone else would. But then, bursting at the seams with love wasn''t how she thought she''d go.


    Her erratic footsteps echoed in the empty expanse of the warehouse. In the gloom, only vague shapes existed, details smoothed out and faded into the soft linen surfaces of cloth thrown over silent indistinct mounds. The sharp aroma of wood paint anddamp molds clung to Collateral''s torn jacket, and the used-to-be-long blonde hair sheared off cleanly half an inch from the nape of her neck.


    Her heart was beating ten thousand miles an hour, pumping contaminated blood across swelling veins, filling her head with whispers she couldn''t quite fight.


    It''s almost impossible to suppress one''s true nature.


    The very first lesson she ever had, and the same one that killed her Master twenty-one years, four months and five days ago, after which she put a pillow over every single impulses she ever had and pressed down--hate, lust, greed, jealousy, kindness. Even fear. They would not Inflate her weakness, because she had none.


    Except fucking love.


    How far had she gone? The lift had been right ahead, past the main floor, down a cabinet hallway, behind a fake panel. Not exactly a safehouse, but might be enough of a breather for one last desperate attempt.


    Collateral stumbled over an unseen obstacle, right herself and pushed forward. The laboring of breaths and the hammering in her chest screamed. Then why was she not running? Every step left patches of sweat sizzling in the darkness behind.


    They said Deific Whispers had an angelic hymn to the rhythm, a deep resonation of that otherworldly sensation beneath a Church Altar, but dialed to seventeen so your bones vibrate with a pleasure so intense nothing could ever compare again.


    They lied, of course. Words couldn''t come close to describe the climax of having a God''s love running throughyourveins.


    How was she holding on?


    A freezing surface rushed up against her palm, or rather, she fell against it. A door. Collateral fumbled for the key in her jacket, turning the screeching lock with grunting heaves, leaning against it as much to keep herself upright as to fight the rusted hole.


    A flash of light. In her head, outside. The high windows of the warehouse trailed white beams, sweeping from wall to wall. Underneath her eyelids, golden halos bloomed.


    Love. Unconditional, pure. Selfless.


    Love, and be loved in return. You don''t have to give in, or change, or fear. You are not required to submit. Just...smile.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Voices echoed. Metal wailed as the warehouse''s gate at the other end was dragged open.


    Collateral''s lips twitched, trembled, frowned. Eventually, slowly, the barest hint of a corner lifting widened against the cold cement floor beneath her cheek. Just down this hallway, to the right. More sand for her emptying hourglass.


    Flashlight punched through the swirling sawdust, searching, closing in. Empty faces followed empty footsteps, shouting hollow calls.


    Collateral''s nails dug into the concrete floor, finding little purchase. Closer, closer.


    Pain is a part of life. You are in pain. It is noted, and valued, and shared. Share your pain with me, Amna.


    Behind the blinding flashlights circling her pitiful progress, silent robed forms watched. They wore autumn-red with a crest of StagAntlers below their right collars. Even dying, Collateral noted the alien design of these Apostles. The twelve Churches would not tolerate more Holistic Entrances into the city, under the threat of paganistic cleansing.


    Three steps more. She could see the panels. The Apostles did not stop her, only observed with faint interest. They were waiting. For what?


    Of course.


    Rise beyond your body. We are one, Amna.


    Even if her body wasn''t spasming from the intense pleasure, the cardiac arrest alone would never allow her to make it.


    There was a conspiracy here. Collateral could laugh out loud, if she had the strength. Underneath all of their bitching and wailing, the Churches were going to be skewered by...


    Thoughts slipped away. The dampness of the floor under her was distant, like a candle burning low.


    It is not required of you to sacrifice, only to love.


    If everything she had ever been was a flame, then she was falling through a golden inferno.


    Fuck the flame. Fuck the poetry. Fuck sentiment, the Second Church, her bastard of an uncle Bishop. And fuck love.


    The flame of everything she had ever been winked out. A momentary vacuum formed, only for a brief second.


    In the absence of faith and soul, the Constant of Death takes a single breath of life, putting a finger through the crack in the Gods'' veil to keep Him away.


    Collateral fell upwards; the world lurched perpendicular until she was horizontal--on her feet. Glass shattered all around--windows, flashlights, bulbs, panels and eyes. Sixteen faces opened their mouths at once, unleashing a choir that braided together like chains. Walls crumbled, plaster blown outwards, metal screeched and ripped itself free from hinges.


    The cacophony ground the space Collateral had stood on to a crater as the spine of one Apostle slipped from her hand. Her blood from a ruptured heart spilt from jaws opened impossible wide, drenching three singing robed forms. Theirvoices had only begun to shift into screams when the rest Phased out. Collateral caught two mid-Phase, one with each hand, and they took her arms with them, albeit stuck deep between ribs.


    Flesh melted and red robes blew apart into tatters, merging mid-air. Antlers made of teeth protruded from the forming mass, fingers blinking red eyes.


    The body that had been Collateral stared into the face of a Pagan God. Through her, a Constant set its unknowable attention on spaces unraveling, breathing through the opening into life.


    I love you.


    The Stag''s lips of thighs did not move, but the words were clear.


    Death''s crack snapped shut. The mangled body dropped to the floor, motionless.The flesh projection remained for only a moment longer before wavering. It flowed downward, towards the female body, encapsulating it like a cocoon.


    Then followed silence--the screaming, violent silence of something ripped to nothing.


    And when Collateral emerged at the heart of evened ground for miles beyond, she was whole.


    The Twelve Altars of New Gothernburg crashed and churned, waking the sleepless city for something more than a sleepless night.


    The Thirteenth had arrived.

 01 - The Specialist

    01 ¨C The Specialist


    Matthias liked sunshine and rainbows. They made the abandonment of the cemetery seem deliberate.


    Overgrown weed hid the base of the headstone, eating up the shriveled roses and rain-soaked tokens several months old. The name would have been obscured or eaten away, if there had been one there. Out of all the shades from the rows of pines, she got the dampest.


    Not that she¡¯d complain. It was an empty grave.


    Matthias had a lily in his hand. He liked lilies. She would have liked them, too.


    There was a proper way to do it, he was sure, but setting the floweron top of the headstone was good enough.


    There was supposed to be something, wasn¡¯t there? A pang of hurt, or regret, or bittersweet memories? But all he could think about was that the beautiful day was being wasted, and that the velvet of his suit didn¡¯t do well in the drab.


    Once a year, Matthias S?derberg tried to be human. But the sun was out, the sky clear after a light rain, and a sweet scent drifted on the wind.


    His phone rang. The voice had an edge to it, barely concealed. ¡°There¡¯s a job for you,¡± said Sin.


    ¡°I¡¯m off today.¡± It was barely nine in the morning, and he was already done. The sun held a promise.


    ¡°No, you¡¯re not. Be at 342 NorthGhana in thirty¡ª¡±


    Matthias hung up. He got one day of the year off to grieve. It was basic human rights. He was thinking ice cream, then maybe seafood for lunch. Might even skip practice for the day. Fuck it. He was grieving. It''d be bad luck, getting your hands dirty on the anniversary of your daughter¡¯s passing.


    The ringtone cut through the quiet, shrill and insistent. Matthias turned without looking back, followingthe overgrown path leading out of the cemetery. The ringing persisted.


    There was an envelope waiting for him at the front desk of the front mortuary. The receptionist jolted awake at the loud noise of the phone, scowled and put a hat over his head.


    Clouds were gathering beneath the blue, only loose strands yet, but the western sky about ten miles off above the Siccili lake was crowding over. There might be more rain after noon. The seafood would have to be scrapped. Hot soup was more appropriate to watch the rain to. All the while, his favourite jazz song played.


    He made it all the way to the curb in front of the bus station before answering, three notes before the end.


    ¡°You had thirty. Now it¡¯s fifteen.¡± He didn¡¯t need to see Sin¡¯s face to imagine her fuming.


    ¡°Find Martin. He¡¯s free, and he works for pennies.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    The road was deserted, ghost-houses haunting a slum. Ever since the Outbreak three years before, real estate around the fringe districts had plummeted without a sign of recovering. That¡¯s why he had found this phantom of a town to be a good resting place for Lily. It was peaceful, for one.


    ¡°Martin¡¯s dead,¡± Sin answered.


    Matthias paused. That was a good thing. Less competition in a less-than-competitive profession. But more work. Everything had its downsides, as usual. Still, a man needed to have principles. ¡°Call me back tomorrow.¡±


    His finger was a hairsbreadth fromending the call when Sin hissed, ¡°An Apostle picked you by name!¡±


    Fuck.


    From across the street, a honk dragged his attetion up. An ugly, brown, flat-top car, the kind mass-churned-out during the rubber industry crash from the last century, flashed its headlights twice where it was parked by the road. Moron. It was a bright day, and the honking was already sufficient.


    ¡°I charge triple, today,¡± Matthias muttered.


    ¡°Fuck off. Get here,¡± Sin said.


    Another ear-piercing honk. It wasn¡¯t her in the car, just some muscle.


    ¡°Triple.¡±


    Whatever patience she had left was evaporating quickly. ¡°Do you want me to go down there and pull you off myself?¡±


    Matthias couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°Tempting, but that¡¯d be unprofessional, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±


    A long silence on the other side. Faintly, in the distance, tense whispers broke through. Then a new voice took Sin¡¯s place.


    ¡°Mr. S?derberg. Get in the car.¡±


    Male, mid to late thirty, North-eastern. Emotionless. The words resonated, not only with the booming depth of the vocal, but something else.


    Get in the car.


    The smile died on Matthias¡¯ face. He jerked the speaker away from his ear. Something trailed through the motion¡ªtiny specks of gold glinting, indiscernible sparks blinking out. The phone clattered to the pavement a moment before he stomped on it, hard. The dry sound resembled fingerbone snapping.


    The Apostle.


    The brown car had pulled to the curb in front of him. The driver, a stocky boy¡ªyears too young to be the hardened criminal he clearly thought he was¡ªsmiled at Matthias with crooked teeth. ¡°For you, Mr. Macabre.¡± He held out a phone, already dialled.


    Sin sounded less unhappy than before, but no less stern. ¡°I didn¡¯t him want to do that.¡±


    ¡°Neither did I.¡± Couldn¡¯t get a break. He was looking forward to that ice cream. ¡°But I wasn¡¯t being coy. My rate is tripled, plus overhead and out-of-scope. It¡¯s under article Seven in my contract with the Church.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Typical. She never bothered to read the Contracting Agreement, just like how she never bothered to look beyond her blind faith during the two years they were together. She didn¡¯t even remember what day it was.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter.¡± And just like with everything else, she pushed on without much care for any agenda other than her own. ¡°Get here,now.¡±


    ¡°I still need to pick up the case.¡±


    ¡°Already did.¡±


    It was then that he noticed the black leather case half the size of the car¡¯s trunk, sitting in the back of it. They already took the liberty. Or maybe she kept the key still.


    ¡°Why the hurry?"he asked."Who¡¯s on the table?¡±


    There was a deep breath before her answer came. ¡°A God, Mat.¡± Then Sin hung up.


    The driverhad a smirk he no doubt thought was intimidating. ¡°Nice suit. Why indigo? Shouldn¡¯t you wear red?¡±


    ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°You know, in case they bleed on ya.¡±


    ¡°They never do.¡±


    Matthias S?derberg stepped off the sidewalk, and Macabre entered the car.

 02 - Condor

    02 ¨CCondor


    Midtown on a Tuesday was a cesspit¡ªand not a particularly calm one. The only smell more oppressive than mud was burnt plastic and diesel from the sixteen million automotive crammed into roads the width of train tracks. The rain had flooded sinkholes and sewers, streaking cheap paint and crumbling mortars down along road-side government buildings, pattering over curtains in front of shop fronts.


    Dour faces on shivering forms flowed in dense streams through sidewalks.


    The radio played a blues croon, but the front right speaker was blown. The floor shook from the rumbling engine¡ªa tremor that travelled up Matthias¡¯ legs to buzz behind his eyes.


    The car¡¯s interior smelled of overused disinfectant and new sweat, making the choice of whether to keep the windows up a serious dilemma. The backseat¡¯s cushion had the toughness of being pack tight around years of dust.


    Shame. He wore his favorite suit for the anniversary.


    The envelope from the mortuary was light, weighted to one side. He tore a corner off and poured seven glass beads into his palm. Each was little more than a grain of sand, but heavy for their size. They rolled round and round, pooled together at the center of his palm, pinpricks of ice humming.


    The gaze of the driver through the rear-view mirror held on him, palpable like a touch. ¡°They say things about you.¡±


    There was the prodding. The boy feinted disinterest in his voice, but his staring eyes didn¡¯t blink.


    Matthias poured the beads back into the envelope, folded and tucked it into an inner pocket. ¡°Like what?¡±


    The car inched forward steps at a time. Even through the thick glass of the windows, an endless wave of impatient rumbling and honking penetrated the cracks with ease.


    ¡°Like you¡¯re the toughest person in town, when the other guy¡¯s strapped to a table with a rag in his mouth.¡±


    Matthias chuckled, lifting his head to meet the driver¡¯s eyes through the mirror. The boy, of course, didn¡¯t look away.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s not me, man.¡± The driver¡¯s tone was anything but defensive. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re terrifying with your scalpels and your bone saws.¡±


    Hedid go through the case, then. Matthias would have changed the lock, but deep down, there was always that tiny, unacknowledged, idiotic hope that one day he would come home, the door¡¯d be ajar, and she would be on the couch, with her legs tucked up and her head under her arms, like how she used to¡ª


    ¡°Shut the fuck the up and drive,¡± Matthias muttered.


    The driver looked like he would blow for a second¡ªnostrils flaring and eyes dilating in that rush so familiar,readyingforsomething.


    But that was it. He cracked his knuckles on the steering wheel, ground his teeth and kept his lips pressed together so tight it must have hurt.


    Only small-time thugs and assholes picked a fight with a man like Matthias. He was nobody. The only way he would come up in a conversation between people who mattered was through complaints about expenses, or contractual re-evaluation every three years¡ªan area more suited for executives than Priests. Who put the most tight-fisted dipshits in charge of financials?


    But an Apostle had called for him by name. Was that a good sign?


    Eventually, even the most stubborn clog had to drain. Traffic trickled off near Fifth street down the blue-collar districts south, while they veered up towards properly-paved roads by Contanza Square. The car rocked over bumps, crawling up the hill.


    ¡°This is not Headquarters,¡± Matthias observed.


    The driver ignored him. It wasn¡¯t long until they pulled up against a war barricade.


    The gates rose eight ten feet off the ground, attached to massive hinges melted to thick slabs of stone, fortifying equally-high walls. A detail manned the guardhouse¡ªmen in Kevlar and fiber, rifles a finger-flick from full-auto and faces hidden behind full-masks¡ªand that was only what Matthias could see. Every single one had apair of wings embroidered underneath their collars, the same symbol carved to the bars of the gates. Faithguards.


    Beyond, over an open ground crawling with cars and people, a 17th-century manor loomed, stretching further into the fields with three massive wings, the walls of which only a shade lighter, telling of the half century between them and the main complex.


    Matthias licked his dry lips. In the six years contracted with the twelve Churches of New Gothernburg, he had only been to the Chapels of each sect a handful of times, and to the Chapel of the Condor twice. One did not,harboringfaithlessness, entered the vicinity of a Holistic Altar without extensive protective measures against contamination. Faith was a disease easily caught.


    Was it an ultimatum of sort, or a trap? No, they wouldn''t waste this much resources, especially for putting on a show for someone like him. And Sin wouldn¡¯t let it happen. She still cared that much. Right?


    "Final stop," grumbled the driver. Matthias didn''t even know the boy''s name. He didn''t have the smell of a faithful. There was still hope yet. Maybe someone else can come along and save him.


    Matthias exited the car. Even averted, the presence of the rifles pressed down on him like palpable weights, as heavy as hooded eyes hidden behind featureless masks, hooked to the tanks carried on their backs. It''d been a long time since he saw those. Three years, five months, sixteen days, to be exact. Since the outbreak.


    They were expecting a large-scaled assault from another Church. A beautiful day for things to go to shit, wasn''t it?


    A guard patted him down, another popping the leather case. They took his wallet and pen, only to scowl at the case¡¯s content. The Advisor¡ªmarked by the blue strip running up the left sleeve of his uniform¡ªcalled in through comms and let him through after listening intensely for a minute.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The sight of a fancy-suited man carrying a case half his size didn¡¯t quite mash well into the scenery.


    The briefest glint on the roof revealed sniper, and only because he was looking for it. Behind cracked backdoors of vans lining the grass, he caught glimpses of barrels¡ªheavy ones.


    Matthias¡¯ skin crawled from countless unseen eyes tracking his progress down the pebbled path, and up the flight of stairs to the main entrance.


    ¡°You¡¯re late.¡± Sin didn¡¯t look up from the notebook on her laps she was flipping through. Her dark hair had grown since they last saw each other, falling past her shoulder, something she would never have allowed unless something else forced it. Her nose was a puckered red and scraped raw, one nostril stuffed with a napkin. She had broken it again.


    Matthias frowned. ¡°What happened to your chair?¡± Her wheelchair was plain, paintless, not one of the mechanicals custom-mades the Church had.


    ¡°The fuck do you care?¡± She sounded more exhausted than pissed. When she looked at him, her green eyes were dilated and bloodshot. ¡°Come on.¡± And Sin wheeled through the entrance into the manor.


    Matthias¡¯ finger twitched, feet jerking half a step forward reflexively. But in the end, he let her lead the way.


    To the controlled chaos of the courtyard, the house was nearly empty by comparison. Instead of armed guards, disciples in tight fiber vests¡ªchains wrapped around their wrists¡ªwere posted at intersections. The main staircase to the upper floors were barricaded with steel plates, leaving a single opening one-person-wide.


    Sin¡¯s chair made no noise on the smooth tiled floor. Her feet were bare, sickly pale. She used to hate having any part of her legs vulnerable, always hiding them behind a blanket or long dress. The way her grips trembled on the push rings betrayed something much stronger than caffeine. Not fear, of course. Devotion left no room for fear.


    Opioid, then. He should say something.


    The small clicking from inside his case hummed through the quiet hallways.


    They veered into the left wing, stopping inside the intersecting foyer. The ceiling was high¡ªall the way to the roof; a sun entrance filtered brilliant sunlight through rose-tinted glass.


    Three steps away, a heavy-oaked door claimed half of the wall, reinforced with steel plates and blast walls on both sides. Sin tapped the pager on her hip.


    ¡°You look terrible,¡± Matthias said.


    Even with her face turned away, he could hear her sneer. ¡°And you look great. Like a peacock strutting through a zoo.¡±


    Matthias straightened his jacket unconsciously, clearing his throat. ¡°Dressed for the occasion. It¡¯s not everyday that you¡¯re presenting me to your boss.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not my boss.¡±


    ¡°He?¡±


    That cut down the list by half. That impatience, that temper, the disdain and entitlement and arrogance in that simple sentence from their exchange on the phone. That left only a few names.


    A distant clicking of shoes on hard stone penetrated the door in front of them, drawing closer. Two sets, one light and perfectly rhythmic, the other heavy, purposeful. A hiss came from the lock, like air escaping. The oak door swung open soundlessly.


    Two men walked out of the bulb-lit staircase into the sunlight of the foyer.


    Viggo Andersson, Apostle of the Church of Condor, wore a buttoned-up navy-blue coat and his priest collar¡ªa strip of white ringing the black hugging his throat, like a halo sown into the cloth. The Condor¡¯s Wings were tattooed above his Adam¡¯s apple, feathers stretched wide and disappearing behind the shoulder-length blonde hair at the back of his head.


    A stepbehind was a Faithguard, wrapped in fiber and armed to the teeth just like his brothers on the ground. The only distinction wasimmediately apparent, as unlike the featureless masks of the common guard, his was shaped to the Condor¡¯s vicious beak. Cold blue eyes peered out from under hooded openings.


    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± Viggo rumbled. His attention settled on Matthias for only a moment before slipping away. Without another word, the man turned and disappeared back down the stairs.


    Matthias was just close enough to hear Sin muttering under her breath. Then she gestured at the silent masked figure. ¡°This is Noel, our Chapel security head. He¡¯ll be observing the procedure.¡±


    ¡°Procedure?¡± Matthias didn¡¯t offer his hand, and Noel didn¡¯t seem to notice. ¡°You brought me just for a procedure? It¡¯s in the fucking contract that I getoversight on planning. If you want some monkey with a knife, call Martin, he¡¯d be perfectly happy to¡ª"


    ¡°We just brought Martin up in a bag, two hours ago.¡± Noel¡¯s voice was emotionless, not the chill of disinterest but a practice veiling of emotions, like a meditation rehearsed endlessly until your mind was stripped blank.


    Matthias fell silent. So, there was a reason Sin hadn¡¯t looked at him directly since he arrived. That was a relief, wasn¡¯t it¡ªthat her resentment wasn''t terminal.


    The day had dimmed. Heavy clouds drifted in from the north, hiding the sun above their heads.


    ¡°Come.¡± Noel gestured.


    Sin wheeled herself to the doorway. Noel took hold of the handles and began to ease her down a ramp they had built into the side of the stairs. The massive door shut itself with barely a sound as soon as Matthias had passed the threshold, moved by mechanical hinges and bolted by heavy steel bars.


    The stairs curved slightly, wounding around itself, evening out into corridors in places and rising temporarily in others. Caged lightbulbs buzzed softly, casting a tinted glow down the descent. There were no railings, and the stone walls along their sides were damp to the touch, freezing under Matthias¡¯ fingers. As if his clothes weren¡¯t ruined already.


    Carvings lined the top of the walls, trailing up across the ceiling to the other side. Most of the ridges had eroded away or filled in by grime, but vague shapes could still be discerned.


    Matthias¡¯ step faltered, his eyes whipping to Sin ahead, now facing him going backwards. ¡°The Altar is down there?¡±


    ¡°Was,¡± she replied calmly. ¡°We moved it. Decontaminated the chamber as well. Don¡¯t worry, we don¡¯t want another shithead in our ranks.¡±


    Matthias thought he heard a low chuckle from Noel, through it could have been a grunt. ¡°I appreciate that a lot,¡± he said dryly.


    A darkness cut off the distance¡ªanother massive door. Noel let go of Sin¡¯s chair to punch a code into the keypads on a patch of wall, and they were through.


    The space beyond was less a chamber than a cavern. Dark stone, even underfoot and dripped to stalactites far above, seemed to press down on them.


    Natural rock columns had been cleared out in favor of concrete ones, pale white marred streaked black by moisture. At the center of the cavern, a quarantined camp had been set up, ringed by enormous industrial lights blasting the gloom into day. Translucent canvases fell from support poles and were drilled into the ground; tube corridors snaking between three main structures¡ªtwo to the sides and one at the center.


    A small army of Faithguards and half as many personnel surrounded the camp, every single one hidden from head to toe in hazardous suits. But none of them was across the white-paint circle containing the complex. Except one.


    Viggo Andersson stood motionless, fingers at his back tapping impatiently, staring into the center structure.


    The small crowd parted as Noel and Sin went forward. He stayed to talk to someone; she passed into the white circle without much hesitation, and Matthias followed with plenty. The two of them joined Viggo where he stood.


    ¡°Quite excessive,¡± Matthias noted.


    ¡°Insufficient, actually.¡± Viggo had a sour look on his face. ¡°My faith brothers and sisters are away. I¡¯d have liked all of them to be here, but instead, it¡¯s just me.¡±


    That was reassuring indeed.


    Matthias sighed. ¡°You said a God. Which one?¡±


    Viggo raised an eyebrow, and Sin scowled. ¡°That wasn¡¯t exactly right. But I can¡¯t find another word for it.¡±


    Noel joined them with a file in his hand, which he offered Matthias.


    ¡°Her name is Amna Dahl. She calls herself Collateral.¡±

 03 - The Paradox

    03 - The Paradox


    Matthias flipped through the five pages in the thin folder Noel handed him. ¡°Where¡¯s the rest of it?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s everything,¡± Sin replied.


    One document of entry into the city, another for a hotel reservation. Matthias knew the place; it was a run-down four-stars that hadn¡¯t been renovated since the 90s, surviving off scamming tourists and hosting underground events. The subject wasn¡¯t a local, and either had no connection or no time to find a proper place to stay.


    ¡°She came on the 104 bus. That¡¯s through Basilisk territory. They got anything?¡±


    Viggo chuckled. ¡°Do you think we¡¯d have her if the Snakes caught her scent?¡±


    That made Matthias scowl. He looked back to the excessive containment facility, around to the numerous faces hidden behind protection masks and the uneasy shifting of their postures. ¡°All of this¡ª¡± he gestured to the entire cavern, ¡°¡ªand they didn¡¯t? How did you find her?¡±


    ¡°Glowing like a small sun.¡± Viggo sneered. ¡°Just strolling down Main Street. It was a clear declaration of war, if there ever was one. But she didn¡¯t resist when I went for her.¡±


    The other papers in the file were a picture and a general health evaluation report. She looked thin in the picture, nearly malnourished with her ribs straining against her skin and gaunt cheeks. But her sky-blue eyes weren¡¯t sunken, instead bright and intelligent. She looked thoughtful in the photo, as if wondering why they had stripped her naked and strapped her to a steel table.


    ¡°Are we getting invaded?¡± Matthias asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯re here to find out,¡± said Sin. Her expression didn¡¯t change, but the slight twitch of her right little finger had always been a tell.


    There hadn¡¯t been an attempt by a foreign Church to enter New Gothernburg since the 50s, ever since the Big Twelve saturated the market and divided the populace among themselves. There were no more rooms for a Thirteen, a fact the Twelve made abundantly clear with upwards of fifty-five Missionaries, Apostles, Bishops, Inquisitors or otherwise, sent home per year, until the rest of the country got the message.


    Not that New Gothernburg had ever been a prize. There had been plenty of speculations about why the Churches clamped onto the city so tightly all these years. But it didn¡¯t matter, at least for his job.


    Were they going to send this girl¡¯s head back in a box as well?


    ¡°What happened to Martin?¡± Matthias asked. The man had never been particularly pleasant to be around, or the most devout follower of fairplay when it came to competition, but to be leave the table in a bag was the worst nightmare of anyone in their profession. Asshole or not, he did die so Matthias wouldn¡¯t have to.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°No idea,¡± said Noel.


    Matthias¡¯ eyebrows shot up. ¡°What?¡±


    A tiny lift of the shoulder was all the man had for an answer.


    Sin sighed. ¡°We were here. He went in alone, masked and in protective gear.¡±


    ¡°I gave him a guarding Sigil,¡± Viggo continued when she fell silent. ¡°Not a second life, but should have been enough to hold so I could react. Everything went quiet.¡±


    ¡°Thirty minutes later, we sent someone in to check.¡± Sin had that deathly pale look on her face. ¡°There were pieces. Stacked neatly in a pile.¡±


    Noel handed him a printed paper. The shot was taken from a bodycam, grained and streaked through like under exposure to radiation. And there was Martin the totem pole. No blood, it looked like, just pale flesh.


    Matthias squinted at the image. ¡°Is that a deer?¡±


    ¡°Could also be an ugly fucked-up goat.¡± Sin¡¯s smile had no humor in it. Matthias looked to Viggo, but the Apostle gave no possible explanation, only staring forward.


    Fantastic. Maybe by the end, he¡¯d share an anniversary with Lily. Who¡¯d wear fancy clothes, put flowers on his grave and celebrate with ice cream? Sin wouldn¡¯t. She hated ice cream.


    Despite their urgent tone dragging him here, none of the three around him was pushing now. He had faded to the background even if he was standing right there. The subject demanded absolute attention.


    The upside to the day was its hour. If he finished early, there would still be time for dinner, perhaps.


    ¡°Whose brilliant idea was it to skip the civility straight to a procedure?¡± This was the reason Matthias had oversight written into his contract. A donkey could make people bleed. Pain was never the point; it was barely a means to an end.


    ¡°I gave her a choice,¡± Viggo grumbled.


    Of course. It took devotion to be an Apostle, not brain.


    Matthias¡¯ arm was getting tired. He would place the case down, but who knew how soaked these cavern floors had been with diseases, regardless of decontamination? Holistic Altars were plague sites.


    ¡°How¡¯s the radiation level? I only have level 2 protective gear.¡±


    ¡°Zero,¡± Noel said. ¡°She¡¯s not emitting anything. If she was, we might get something out analysis, and you wouldn¡¯t be here.¡±


    Matthias¡¯ lips curled. ¡°And I thought you missed me.¡±


    None of the others thought that was particularly funny, nor did he after a few breaths of quiet.


    ¡°How long will the procedure take?¡± Viggo asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m not doing a procedure,¡± Matthias said.


    Sin frowned at him like she would a child, and Noel¡¯s cold blue eyes regarded him with irritation.


    Viggo¡¯s gaze lifted from the distant camp a distant away and settled on him. ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯re here for, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Matthias shook his head. ¡°See how well that worked out for poor Martin. We don¡¯t know anything about her, or even what she is. There¡¯s no point working under human assumptions.¡±


    ¡°What are you going to do?¡±


    ¡°The Judge.¡±


    Whatever expression Noel had was hidden behind the Condor. Sin, however, had that grimace like she was reliving a bad memory. And she was.


    It wasn¡¯t easy to fall in love with someone, only to find him underneath that mask. Matthias hadn¡¯t meant to do it. He simply hadn¡¯t learned to turn off the conman back then.


    Viggo still stared, betraying no emotion. Matthias shook his head and turned toward the tent.


    ¡°Trust me. I¡¯m a Specialist.¡±