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  “What if I fail?” he asked. Lem’s advice was solid and correct, but it lacked one thing: ingenuity. There was but one way to consistently be victorious, and that was to have an ace up one’s sleeve. As reliable as tried-and-true tactics were, they were also predictable.

  “Then either you make up something on the spot,” Lem said, “or we all die. Or something in between, I guess.”

  Another correct statement, the Nameless thought. He had mixed opinions on its usefulness.

  Chapter Seven

  The Nameless spent the rest of that day combing the fringes of the Circle. He, Rush, and some fifty policemen scoured alleys, interrogated passers-by, and even invaded some homes—all to find some opening, some missing link that may have presented a security hazard. They found none.

  Neither Rush nor the hounds found traces of gunpowder, he thought while he dragged his fingers through the dirt behind a diminutive house. A friendly-looking old woman lived there, but he hadn’t hesitated in asking her several questions. An almost-helpless, elderly person, living this far from the safety of their community? Suspicious at best.

  To the Nameless’ relief (or perhaps disappointment), he hadn’t learned anything important from the old woman. She stated a wish to live out her days free from the noise and crowd, and everything about her confirmed that story.

  Clear. Deciding to call it a day, the Nameless clapped his hands to get rid of the dirt on his gloves. He rose and stepped out of the old woman’s yard. The night light in her room was still on, but he chose not to bother her any further. This was more than enough.

  Rush should be up north, he thought as he followed the trail back into the Circle. This far off, there were no concrete paths, only semi-beaten walkways and the guiding lights of the city itself.

  Even though he wanted to, the Nameless decided not to confront David and SIM on the matter of Lem’s condition. After all, they had given the man all the medical care he needed. There was nothing to gain by telling them that he was aware of their willingness to withhold information. If anything, it might make them more careful in the future.

  No, the Nameless thought. I will just have to be more vigilant.

  “Sheriff,” a pair of guards saluted as they returned from their own trip into the outskirts.

  “Anything to report?” asked the Nameless.

  “Nothing, sir,” one of them said, “from us, or squads five, eleven, or eighteen. No findings on this side.”

  Should I be pleased or worried? The Nameless gestured for them to go on with their business, which they did.

  It took almost an hour for him to find Rush. Having presumably finished with her part of the job, she was sitting on the roof of a house, her feet dangling and rocking against the wall. She leant back with her hands against the tiles, her back straight.

  “Let me guess,” the Nameless said while looking up at her, “nothing on your end either?”

  Rush didn’t look down. Instead, she leapt from the rooftop, landing some six feet away from him. She’d cushioned her fall flawlessly, and rose without a hint of discomfort.

  “Oh, I found something, alright,” she said as she shook the dust off her palms. “Quiet, dirt, and a whole lot of boredom. You?”

  “Likewise,” said the Nameless. “I reckon you were done a while ago. Why didn’t you join me out east?”

  “Ah, y’know…” She turned aside slightly, in a not-so-subtle attempt at preventing the Nameless from seeing her eyes. “Felt like being alone for a while.”

  “I thought you were bored.” The Nameless stepped before her. “Amusement and solitude are seldom found together.”

  “Alright, alright,” she said with frustration. “I had to work something out.”

  The Nameless stepped forward. There was no reason to beat around the bush. Problems should be nipped in the bud. “You are avoiding me because of last night.”

  “No,” she said, her expression a triumph of over-acting. “Well, maybe. A bit.”

  “Why?” the Nameless asked. He now stood less than a foot away from her. “I thought we were over this. Whatever it is.”

  “We are,” she said, looking away. “I know we are. I’m just…” she wrestled with her words for several seconds. “I guess you can call me embarrassed.”

  “What for?”

  “I dunno!” she practically shouted as she faced him again. “I’m not used to this, y’know?” She made an icky gesture with both hands. “This whole touchy-feely ‘we can do it’ thing. I’ve done a lot of shit, but this is new for me.”

  “As it is for me,” said the Nameless. However much he wished it were different, his track record in romance was not exactly enviable.

  “Yeah.” Rush took half a step forward. She let both palms rest on the Nameless’ shoulders. “I guess I’m just being dumb. Sorry.”

  “Nothing to excuse,” the Nameless said as he grabbed her by the waist.

  “Now.” Rush stared right into the Nameless’ eyes. “How ‘bout we get dirty in our own home for a change?”

  The Nameless’ reply came in the form of a kiss.

  ***

  They were halfway home when Rush started acting up.

  “Fuck me!” she shouted, a moment before she turned away from the Nameless and disappeared around the nearest corner.

  I’d rather wait until we got home. The Nameless clenched his jaw and ran after her. Unlike before, this wasn’t an emotional outburst. Something was happening in their city. And the sooner he caught up, the better their chances at avoiding it, or at least minimizing casualties.

  The Nameless accelerated, turned, and picked up his pace, but Rush was still nowhere in sight. He almost thought he’d lost her trail when he heard what caused her to run off in the first place. Men shouting and rooting. Punches and kicks. Flesh colliding with flesh. A street fight.

  He loosened one of his holsters as he neared the final intersection. He hoped he wouldn’t need the pistol, but one never knew.

  Whatever the crowd was doing before the Nameless set foot into that street was over by the time he got there, and it was about to disperse. The reason was obvious: in the center of the group, Rush had tackled one of the combatants and was now holding him down against the ground.

  Good job. The Nameless started closing the distance with hurried steps, his eyes darting between everyone present. He would handle this matter quickly and efficiently. Everyone would get arrested. The system could do whatever it wanted with the whole lot, but they would remain in custody for the duration of the envoys’ visit. I do not need any additional headaches.

  The plan fell apart over the course of one second. While the crowd was cooperative, the other, unrestrained combatant wasn’t. Instead of staying in place, he circled Rush and her captive, apparently looking for a chance to end the fight permanently.

  The Nameless ran. He reached for his pistol, only stopping when he noticed the identity of the man. Emile. He locked the holster and proceeded forward at full speed. Shooting the Movement’s leader, regardless of circumstance, was not smart.

  Visibly intoxicated, Emile didn’t have the faintest idea what hit him. Smashing into the priest head-on, the Nameless grabbed him and they both hit the ground. They rolled and rolled and rolled again, only stopping after another hapless, boozed-up onlooker fell on top of them.

  The air blown out of his lungs, the Nameless found it hard to speak. However, his panting seemed to have been understood; while the onlooker didn’t exactly get off him, he did roll to the side enough for the Nameless to hobble up to his feet.

  “Emile,” he muttered, but stopped upon realizing that the black priest wasn’t moving. There was no crack. He felt Emile’s pulse, then checked his neck. Besides a lack of consciousness, everything seemed to be in order.

  “He in one piece?” Rush asked. The Nameless turned toward her. She was on her feet as well, which could not be said of her arrestee.

  “Yes,” the Nameless said, his attention now on the drunken onlooker who ha
d fallen on him. The man had rolled onto his stomach and was slowly about to rise. “Stay where you are,” the Nameless told him.

  “That goes for all of ya!” Rush screamed as loud as her lungs allowed. “Anyone tries to move or sneak away, they answer to me! Got that?”

  The Nameless rose.

  “We bag all of ‘em?” Rush asked. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

  “Not this time,” the Nameless said.

  Rush raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “This is Emile,” said the Nameless. “We have seen the shape he is in. In all likelihood, he provoked that man.” He pointed at Rush’s prisoner.

  Rush sighed in disappointment. “So no mass bust?”

  “Not this time,” the Nameless said. He got down on one knee and put one of Emile’s arms over his shoulder. “The rest of you disperse. I want this street vacant within three minutes.” He turned to the prone onlooker. “You too, if you can walk.”

  The way the man rose didn’t inspire confidence about the state of his body, but he could move. Just in case, another onlooker approached to offer aid.

  By the time the Nameless had lifted Emile, the street was almost empty. At the moment he and Rush set off toward the jail, there was barely any trace of the fight.

  Chapter Eight

  As he had so often before, the Nameless stood alone. He was in the same, familiar hallway, facing the same choice of right or left. Forward or backward. Fight or flight.

  What little he could see in the thick darkness wasn’t promising. From the look of things, he’d have to walk for hours before he’d find an exit. Assuming one existed.

  His heart kept thumping as fast as it could, another familiar piece of an unknown puzzle. The blood all but froze in his veins when he realized what it meant: the thing was on the move again.

  Sounds echoed from both sides of the tunnel. Footsteps, hurried and precise. And something like… muffled breathing? Whatever it was, the Nameless was not interested in seeing it. He picked a side at random, tensed every muscle in his body, and prepared to run.

  The way the ground before him moved discouraged that course of action.

  Opposite way! He turned around, ready to push his legs to their limit. They went completely limp when he realized that whatever was coming for him, was coming from both sides of the cave.

  The Nameless closed his eyes. He knew it wouldn’t help, but did so regardless.

  ***

  The next day, the Nameless once again rose early. Besides coffee and a quick snack, he didn’t waste any time. He set out toward the prison immediately.

  It was not a large structure, at least in comparison to the now-decommissioned dungeon in the pyramid. Keeping that old behemoth manned and functional was no longer cost-effective.

  The Nameless greeted the guards at the door and entered. Inside, he paid no attention to the hallway, or the side-doors that led to the administration and security offices. Instead, he kept going forward, straight into the prisoners’ wing.

  “Is he awake?” the Nameless asked one of the two guards by the reinforced door.

  “He was, sir,” the guard said. “At least back when we checked on him.”

  If he is resting, I will cut it short. The Nameless opened the door and stepped inside.

  From what he could see, no more than five cells were occupied. Two prisoners were sleeping. Emile was not one of those. The Nameless took a stool from his side and came up to the priest’s cell. The jail was always quiet when the sheriff was in. This time, that would be different.

  “How are you doing?” the Nameless asked as he sat on his chair.

  Emile sat as well, on a bunk with his back against the wall. His expression was one of existential torment. “Perfect. Can’t be better. In fact, I think I might be cured. Can I go now?”

  “Maybe,” the Nameless said. “It depends.”

  Emile rolled his eyes. “On what? No one got hurt. You can’t hold me for long. Not unless you plan on breaking the law you claim to enforce.”

  “Do you remember what you did last night?” the Nameless asked callously.

  The muscles in Emile’s face tightened. “No one got hurt!”

  You ignore my question, I ignore your comment. “After Rush tackled your opponent,” the Nameless pointed to a remote cell, “you refused to stand down. Instead, you circled around her while she held him down. Looking for an opportunity to end his life, from what I could see.” He leaned in. “That is attempted murder.”

  Emile didn’t say a word.

  “Additionally,” the Nameless continued, “in the state you were in, you likely couldn’t have performed that kick accurately. That is endangering an officer’s life.”

  “From what I heard, she can survive an explosion.”

  “Hearsay,” said the Nameless. “The law is clear. On these charges alone, I can keep you here for a good while.”

  Emile sighed. He was still tense, but a good part of his defiance evaporated. “You want something. Otherwise you wouldn’t have wasted time telling me this.”

  “I do,” the Nameless said.

  “Well? What is it?”

  “First, some answers. Then I will get to the point.”

  “Ask away.” Emile tried to get more comfortable. Judging from his expression, he failed.

  “Have the guards not done as they were told? Are they still following you?” the Nameless asked. “It’s only been days, yes, but you should have noticed a difference by now.”

  “They’ve eased up,” Emile hesitantly said. “Our places of worship are now mostly avoided by the police.”

  The Nameless clasped his fingers together. “Why do this, then? Why get drunk? Why cause an unnecessary fight?” His forehead wrinkled. “Why try to execute a man for basically nothing?”

  Emile smiled, albeit bitterly. “You just don’t get it, do you, Nameless? Living or undead, you are basically a god. I can tell you what it’s like to be powerless…” Underneath his blanket, he seemed to have moved his arms. “… to be useless, and you’ll say you understand. But you don’t.”

  “You know me,” the Nameless said, “but not that well. I have been there, Emile. More than once. It passed each and every time. Had I given up, it wouldn’t have.”

  “Oh, come on,” Emile said. He rocked his head back, slightly hitting it against the wall. He didn’t show any discomfort. “We’ve been over this. I’ve lost my mojo! What can I possibly be useful for?”

  Time to play my card. “Envoys are due to arrive from the White City within several days. I will be there to make certain they are controlled, as will Rush.” He paused, gauging Emile’s reaction. There wasn’t any. “You were instrumental in their defeat. If you were present, you’d make a great reminder of our power.”

  “Why are they coming?” Emile asked. His expression didn’t change, but the tone of his voice bled resentment.

  “Perhaps they are in need of trade,” said the Nameless. “Or maybe want a general end of hostilities. I do not know.”

  “And you’d talk to them?” Emile asked. “After everything they caused, after all the suffering, death, and loss, you’d let them into this city and treat them like friends?”

  “Not like friends,” the Nameless said. “Like someone in possession of assets we could possibly use. You must remember, there are oil fields to the west, previously held by the Skulls. No one has claimed those; the Church lacked power, and it was too risky for us. A cease in hostility would allow us to exploit this oil in relative peace, and to the benefit of all.

  “And that is not even counting the potential benefits of more manpower, experts, and plain transparency. After the war, the White City effectively closed itself to the world. If we do not hear them out now, we risk losing that opportunity for years to come. Within a decade or so, this might cause more conflict.”

  “They’ve cost me everything!” Emile shouted, hitting the wall with his hand in frustration. “Tens of thousands of people, mostly civilians, lost to their
insanity! My power, evaporated! My connection to the Baron, and with him, possibly the one true God, severed!” He growled, showing the Nameless his now-imperfect teeth. “All due to them!”

  Exactly what I want to see. “Good. Use that fire, Emile. Hone it. Keep it going.” He took some papers out from his jacket, rose, and stood before the cell. “Use it to get better. Let our old enemies see exactly who it was that enabled me to deliver the killing blow. Or would you rather languish here? Alone, powerless, and—as you say, useless?”

  Emile seemed to consider his words. “What is that?”

  “Letters to some associates of mine.” The Nameless displayed the papers. “A doctor. A dentist. A tailor. They are all waiting for your agreement to work for me on this. Should you be willing, these people will help you get back on your feet and into shape.

  “I need you at your best, both physically and mentally. And while your addiction will not go away overnight, the doctor will make certain that it is handled as well as possible. Our people need you, Emile—both yours and mine. The display we give to these envoys will determine what their masters will hear. And if I could choose, I would send a message that communicates strength.”

  “So in short,” Emile said, “you’re blackmailing me into helping you look tough.”

  “Shades of meaning are lost when you put it like that,” the Nameless said. “But yes, that is not far off.” A not-so-subtle smirk appeared on his face. “So? How does it sound?”

  “Bad,” Emile said, staring at his feet. He rose slowly, visibly fighting the hangover. “But it’s something. And something is better than nothing.”

  “Exactly,” the Nameless said as he reached for the keys.

  Part Two:

  They Who Hunt Monsters

  Chapter Nine

  “There they are!” the spotter shouted from atop the highest of the outskirts’ rooftops. That wasn’t close by, but the clarity and strength of his voice made it easy to hear and understand.