章 73: Solvens ligaturam-LXXIII
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DATE:2nd of August, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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The next morning, I rose early, paid for another week at the hotel, and left most of the equipment behind, taking only the smart gun with me. My first task: retrieve the burner phone Mike had buried.
I bought a pair of gloves at a convenience store and then made my way to a hardware store to pick up a shovel. Unfortunately, being inside the city meant no nearby options, so the journey was longer than I'd anticipated. Walking back to the bus with a shovel in hand earned me more than a few curious stares, but I ignored them.
As I passed through an alley to avoid a group of heroes patrolling the main street, some low-level gangsters decided to press their luck. They thought cornering me with the shovel made for an easy target—until I drew the pistol. The sight of the weapon sent them scattering without a word. It wasn't even worth the effort to chase them.
I bought a set of earpieces for Emily along the way. She had been quiet, likely still recovering from the events at Deus' facility. Once I handed over control of the earpiece to her, she murmured softly in my ear. "Ready when you are."
The phone was buried in an unassuming park in the suburbs. A quiet place, the kind where the biggest excitement was a squirrel stealing a child's sandwich. I pulled my hood low, covering my face as I arrived at the location Mike had described. Hidden beneath a fake bush was an uneven patch of dirt, starkly out of place against the meticulously manicured lawn surrounding it.
I began digging, my gloved hands working quickly. The ground was softer than I'd expected, and within a few minutes, the burner phone was unearthed, sealed in a watertight bag.
I disposed of the shovel in a nearby trash can and hopped onto the next bus. While waiting for Mike to respond to the activation of the burner, I stopped by a café to kill some time.
The tea they served was store-grade and barely passable. It was clear their focus was on sugar-laden pastries, not beverages. I regretted ordering it, but the mistake had already been made. A group of girls at the next table eyed me curiously, one of them asking, "What college do you go to?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I stood and left, realizing for the first time I was still wearing the doctor's sweater. In the middle of summer. It reeked faintly of antiseptic and sweat, a reminder of the chaos I'd just escaped.
I made my way to a department store, purchasing a plain black shirt and jeans, then found a secluded spot to burn the bloodstained coat. Watching the fabric curl and blacken in the fire was strangely satisfying, like shedding a layer of skin.
By 3 p.m., Mike finally called. His tone was sharp, hurried. "Mall, not the last one. Different place. Same precautions."
I made my way to the location, the burner phone secure in my pocket and Emily quietly monitoring everything. "Time to move," I muttered to her.
"Always ready," she replied, her voice regaining a bit of its usual confidence.
I found Mike sitting at a table in the far corner of the mall's food court, a mostly untouched tray of fries in front of him. He looked rough—his face pale, bandages visible under his jacket—but compared to me, he was practically thriving.
"Good to see you're in one piece," I said, sliding into the chair across from him.
"Barely," he replied, his tone dry. He tapped a finger against the table. "But yeah, I managed. Turns out, I'm better with the teleportation watch than I thought. Got out by the skin of my teeth."
I raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
Mike shrugged. "I know, I'm still breathing, unfortunately. I grabbed some goodies before I bailed. Stronger weapons, supplies. Enough to give us an edge if we keep going with the base destruction."
"Convenient," I said, my tone neutral.
He leaned forward, voice lowering. "Look, we've got momentum. If we hit them hard enough, fast enough, we can cripple their operations. It's the only way to buy time and keep them off our backs."
Just as I was about to respond, Emily's voice broke through in my earpiece. "You've got a call."
I stiffened slightly. "From who?"
"John," she said after a pause. "One of your old numbers. I might've preserved them."
I sighed. Of course she had. Emily was efficient to a fault. "Do you ignore calls from Sarah too?"
"Always," she replied, her tone light. "But this one seemed urgent."
Reluctantly, I gestured for her to patch him through.
John's voice came through, strained and desperate. "I know you've given up on the hero work, but I've got no one else."
"That's not my problem," I started, but he cut me off.
"The Comedian has taken the central hospital. He's got everyone inside—staff, patients, visitors. It's a mess."
I frowned. "Why hasn't SuperiorWoman dealt with it already?"
"She can't," John said, frustration bleeding into his voice. "Too many hostages. And the bastard's power—he's touched half the damn hospital supplies. Every box, every piece of equipment, it's all primed to blow. We can't even tell what's safe anymore."
I leaned back in my chair, processing. The Comedian's ability to turn anything he touched into a potential explosive was bad enough, but the longer the contact, the more destructive the blast. That hospital was a death trap.
"Then why call me?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Hēisè tried," John admitted, and his voice broke slightly. "He is an independent, you know.... He didn't listen to SuperiorWoman and went in through a warehouse entrance, but the moment he moved, the Comedian detonated the entire section. Thirty workers died. Thirty."
I glanced at Mike. He was staring off into the distance, looking tired. "We're not heroes," he muttered, shaking his head. "Not our problem."
The words sparked something in me. I leaned closer and asked, loud enough for him to hear, " What would your wife think about that opinion?"
Mike flinched. He didn't say another word, his silence heavy.
Returning my attention to John, I sighed. "We'll come."
There was a pause on the other end. "We?"
"Me and a… friend," I said, shooting a glance at Mike.
John hesitated, but he didn't question it. "Thank you."
As the line went dead, I stood, Mike still seated. "You don't have to come," I told him.
He stared at me for a moment before shaking his head. "No. I'm in."
I nodded once. Time to see what kind of mess we'd just signed up for.
Mike's secondhand pickup rattled as it sped through the streets, his hands gripping the wheel tighter than necessary. Determination was written all over his face, though the silence in the cabin spoke volumes. He barely glanced at me as I reminded him about my gear.
With a heavy sigh, he turned the truck around, grumbling under his breath, and drove us back to the hotel.
Inside, I wasted no time. The flak armor and exoskeleton felt heavier than usual, but the weight was a comfort. It was a second skin, something that made sense in a world that had long stopped making any. I stared at the white mask on the desk, the word Aionis etched in ancient Ventian across its surface. It felt like a cruel joke, a name carrying more weight than it deserved. Still, I put it on.
When I came back down, Mike leaned against the truck, tapping his foot impatiently. "Finally," he muttered, climbing into the driver's seat.
Next stop was his hideout. The moment he opened the concealed compartment in the garage, I raised an eyebrow. A Normandian Special Forces set—flawless condition. He slipped into it with practiced ease, the movements far too natural.
"Black market?" I asked, though my tone made it clear I wasn't expecting an answer.
He shot me a glance that said, don't ask.
By the time we hit the road again, the traffic had turned into an unyielding mess. Cars crawled forward like snails, horns blaring in frustration. I stared at the gridlock ahead, already feeling the seconds slipping away.
"This isn't going to work," I muttered, pulling out my phone.
I called John, cutting through his hurried greeting. "Traffic's impossible. If you want us there, you'll have to figure something out."
Not even ten minutes passed before reality itself split open in front of us.
The air shimmered and warped, tearing like paper until a rift appeared. A woman stepped out, her hair a cascade of violet astral strands, glowing faintly in the dim light. She looked old—well, older than most active heroes. Her eyes swept over us, an expression of expectation quickly souring into disappointment.
"You don't know who I am, do you?" she asked, folding her arms.
I shrugged, not particularly interested in her explanation. She launched into it anyway, but I didn't listen. It was very long. Anyway, something about being a retired hero only stepping in because a hospital was involved.
Mike leaned closer and muttered, "What's her deal?"
"Does it matter?" I replied, already moving toward the rift.
The space beyond was… indescribable. Cosmic, chaotic, and entirely too much for the mind to process. It was a void filled with swirling galaxies, collapsing stars, and strange whispers I couldn't place. Every step felt wrong, like walking on air and sinking into water simultaneously.
"How does she not lose her mind doing this?" I muttered to myself.
Finally, we emerged on the other side, stepping into the hospital perimeter where John waited.
Lifeweaver's suit was a pristine white, glowing faintly in the fading sunlight. If it weren't for the urgency in his posture, you wouldn't guess there was a black man beneath the costume. His mask was seamless, showing no trace of his features.
He moved to speak, his voice sharp and urgent, but I cut him off.
"Emily," I said. "What's the plan?"
Her voice crackled in my ear. "Pulling blueprints now. Mike's already got a copy—sending you overlays."
I glanced at Mike, who was pouring over the tablet, examining every detail of the hospital's layout. Beside John, we looked like ghosts from a battlefield—armored, prepared for war.
John's pristine spandex suit only highlighted the contrast. We didn't belong here, not with the civil militia stationed around the hospital, not in the middle of a hero's crisis.
And yet, here we were.
The hospital's camera system was still online. It didn't take Emily long to seize control; the Combine gang lacked anyone remotely skilled in hacking.
As her voice crackled in my earpiece, she laid out the situation. "Ten visible grunts throughout the hospital, but keep in mind—some might be disguised as civilians. And… you're not going to like this. Damos is sitting on a throne made of patients."
Her tone turned sharp with disdain. "Corny, right? Guess some people never grow up."
I clenched my fist, gripping the stock of my rifle. Damos, *The Comedian*, had always been an overgrown child playing with lives for his amusement. But this? Bombing a hospital had no real strategic value. If anything, it only served to rally more sympathizers to the state's cause. A selfish tantrum disguised as a calculated terror act.
Still, it didn't make him any less dangerous. As long as Damos was alive, the entire hospital was a powder keg waiting to explode.
Emily continued, detailing his location. "Central operating room. He's had the walls taken down to turn it into a giant 'throne room.' The space is modular, so it can be split into eight smaller operating rooms if needed, but right now, it's just one open chamber. He's flanked by two grunts—another six are scattered throughout the hospital, keeping an eye on the exits."
The situation called for precision. No wasted movements. No unnecessary risks.
"Priority is taking out Damos," Emily said firmly. "Without him, the grunts lose coordination, and there's no chance of detonation. I'll sync your watch with Mike's. You'll both teleport behind him. One clean shot from you takes him down while Mike handles the guards. Once Damos is neutralized, I'll get you to the other grunts before they can react."
I nodded, glancing at Mike, who was adjusting the strap of his rifle. "You ready for this?"
He smirked faintly, his usual gruffness returning. "I'm not the one wearing a mask, *Aionis*."
Emily's voice cut in again. "Coordinates locked. Teleporting in three… two… one."
The air shimmered around us, and the world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of light. Then, just as quickly, it reassembled. We stood in the shadowy corner of the operating room, the faint hum of fluorescent lights above us.
Damos sat at the center, his so-called throne towering over the room, a grotesque mix of twisted ego and cruelty. His back was turned, his hands gesturing wildly as he barked orders at his guards.
Mike moved to my left, rifle raised, his eyes locked on the two grunts flanking Damos. I steadied my own weapon, lining up the shot.
*One pull of the trigger.* That's all it would take.
We took out Damos and his two grunts with relative ease, their overconfidence costing them dearly. The shot I placed into Damos' chest should have been enough to end it. Mike dispatched the guards quickly, a flurry of precision and violence. For a moment, it almost felt too simple.
I was about to remark on that when the room exploded.
The force threw us apart, shattering what little semblance of victory we'd claimed. Emily acted quickly, splitting us up as planned to take on the remaining grunts. I barely had time to process what had just happened before I was teleported into another part of the hospital.
But one thing was clear.
Damos wasn't dead.
The intercom crackled to life, and a deep, chilling voice echoed through the hospital. "You didn't even try to negotiate."
It was him. His tone was cold, deliberate. There was no sign of the theatrical arrogance he usually displayed.
I clenched my teeth, my mind racing. He wasn't supposed to survive that.
Emily whispered in my ear. "This is bad. That explosion wasn't random. He must have prepared this as a fallback in case something went wrong."
Damos continued. "Ten million Zols. That was all I asked for. A small price to ensure this hospital remained intact. But you—"
His voice dripped with disdain. "You decided their lives weren't worth the cost. Now, this building will be their coffin."
How very edgy, I thought.
The truth was, there had been no intention to pay him. John had mentioned earlier that the hospital's private security—answering directly to the Royal Governor—flatly refused any negotiation.
"They'd rather let the hospital blow up as long as he dies with it," John had said.
At the time, it sounded ruthless, but now, it felt outright reckless.
Emily chimed in, breaking my thoughts. "From what I gathered, the hospital is heavily insured. If it gets destroyed, the governor gets a fat payout and a chance to rebuild. They probably don't care much about the patients—this place only serves the 'serfs,' after all."
She wasn't wrong. Despite being renovated, the central hospital wasn't where the wealthy or influential sought care. It was a remnant of the city's past under the former count, who had made healthcare free for all citizens in this hospital alone.
When the Unified Kingdom conquered the region, they left the rule in place—likely because the appointed Royal Governor couldn't be bothered to change it.
But for a city of millions, the hospital was painfully inadequate. Overcrowded, overstaffed, and stretched to its limits. It wasn't hard to see why the governor thought of it as expendable.
Still, Damos' voice pulled me back to the present. "You've made your choice. Now, suffer the consequences."
The intercom cut off with a harsh buzz.
Mike's voice came through my earpiece. "He's stalling. You know that, right?"
"Obviously," I muttered. Damos didn't want us dead yet. He wanted to play.
Emily spoke up again, her tone grim. "We need to move fast. He's likely rigged more explosives throughout the hospital, and we still have grunts to deal with."
"Understood." I steadied myself. One way or another, this was going to end.
I ordered Emily to locate Damos.
"What you killed was probably a body double," she said, her tone uneasy.
"You didn't see this coming?" I asked sharply, irritation rising in my voice.
She hesitated. "No, I… I didn't expect him to pull something like that."
"A dozen people died from underestimating him," I reminded her coldly. Silence followed. Just yesterday she was berating me for stealing from a high end clothing store. Such hypocrisy.
I forced myself to focus. "Keep looking. Where is he?"
"Not in the hospital, as far as the cameras can tell," she replied. "He could be in the security room or some stairwell out of sight."
"If he's on the intercom, odds are he's in the security room."
Emily teleported me there. The room was tense and eerily quiet, with security guards bound and gagged on the floor, their wide eyes pleading for help. But there was no sign of Damos.
"Wait," Emily exclaimed. "I see him—walking through the hospital! He must've left right after his message."
"Get me behind him."
In an instant, I appeared in a shadowy corridor, my gun raised, the target in my sights. He was close enough to hear my breath. I didn't fire. Something was strange about him.
"Teleport me in front," I ordered.
"What? But—"
"Now!"
The air warped again, and I was suddenly facing him. His head tilted toward me.
And I froze.
His face was grotesque, stitched together as if torn from someone else's skull. His eyes were lifeless, and the stench of decay hit me like a wave.
Before he could react, I fired a slug into his head. His body jerked backward and collapsed.
But then, slowly, impossibly, he rose again. This confirmed it. He was an undead.
His laughter came, low and chilling, but I didn't let him finish. I fired again. And again. Slug after slug slammed into his skull until my smart gun clicked, empty.
A laugh echoed from his broken frame.
I yanked a grenade from my belt and threw it into his gaping mouth. The explosion tore through him, splattering blood and gore across the walls.
It didn't make sense for him to do this out of his own volition... But what if someone controlled him? He had plenty of time to detonate the whole hospital while I was killing him, so then why not do just that?
This was a warning.
I crumpled to the floor, my body shaking uncontrollably. It wasn't fear—it couldn't be. But some primal part of me recoiled at what I'd seen.
Dumas's words clawed at my mind:"You are not alive."
But I wasn't like Damos. I couldn't be.
I didn't rot. I didn't smell of death.
I for one couldn't shrug off bullets.
And yet, as I stared at the carnage, my hands trembled. We were both undead. That much was true.
But what kind? And why?
Why was I shaking?
My mind raced, but my body felt alien—shuddering uncontrollably as if rejecting everything I had just seen. Emily's voice came through, but her words blurred into incoherence. I forced myself to stand, muscles straining against the weight of my own trembling limbs.
I stumbled toward the hospital's entrance, my vision swimming, as though the world itself had lost focus. A chill ran down my spine. Something was near. Something was following me.
What was it?
The flood of citizens evacuating the hospital surged forward, and before I could steady myself, I was pushed aside. I lost my balance, collapsing onto the cold floor.
A firm hand gripped my arm, lifting me up. I heard a voice, deep and authoritative, say, "Leave Aionis alone."
I blinked, struggling to make sense of the rugged face before me. It was sharp, almost otherworldly, and his eyes glinted like a predator's—slitted and feline. The man wore a bluemarine coat adorned with golden buttons, the fabric pristine even amidst the chaos.
And then—he was gone.
My vision snapped back into focus. I shot my hand up to call after him, but it was too late. He had blended seamlessly into the crowd, vanishing as if he were never there. He was the killer from that dream not too long ago. Was he the one following me?
The remaining citizens finally noticed me, murmurs swelling into cheers. They began chanting my name.
"Aionis! Aionis!"
I raised a weak hand to silence them, gesturing for space. Their noise was suffocating, but I staggered past them, heading toward the security vans.
Mike was there, alongside John. As soon as he saw me, Mike grabbed my shoulders, shaking me. His face was frantic. "What the hell is going on with you?"
"I… I don't know," I admitted, my voice hoarse. "I saw someone. Someone dangerous. He wasn't with the Combine gang…"
Mike interrupted, gripping my arm tighter. "Stop. You need to rest."
Before I could respond, my name was called again—this time softly, almost cautiously. I turned my head and locked eyes with Alice and her team.
Her gaze pierced through me, and a shiver coursed down my spine.
"Emily," I rasped. "Get us out of here!"
A moment later, the world shifted, and we were teleported to a parking lot a few blocks away.
That was close. Too close.-*-*-*-*-*
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