The Esoteric Design Read online

  ‘Ignition round,’ he calculated mentally.

  The bullet had broken and splashed against his shoulder and chest, burrowing tiny splinters of liquid shrapnel into his body. It would take weeks to push out the miniature pieces.

  A loud scream sounded from outside his room. James quickly turned his head toward the door, eyes wide. Listening carefully, he picked up another dissimilar shriek. He recognized it from the security feed from the 66th Intel Reconnaissance Base. Frantically, James tugged at the needle in his arm and the cords taking his vitals. Leaping from his bed, he pressed a finger against the bedside monitor, silencing the alarm before it even made a sound. He quickly reached into a small closet, pulling out his dress coat, and slid it over his body, gritting his teeth as he moved the wounded shoulder.

  Gunshots sounded, making the man jump. Breathing heavily, he watched as soldiers passed by the small window of his room’s door. There were some shouts. Gunfire echoed in the dead silence of the facility and then more terrified screams.

  James, looking carefully through the glass, saw a small grouping of soldiers standing in alert at the edge of the hall. One held up a fist, halting the other two. Cautiously, the soldier looked around the corner. In a flash, his head was removed, a large splatter of red splashing against the opposite wall. One of the nasty beasts followed around, clamping its jaws against another soldier’s neck. The third soldier opened fire, unaware of the Sorcēarian that rounded the corner.

  James gasped, pushing away from the door. As hard as he could, he elbowed the electronic mechanism for the door, locking it in place, and darted to the window. Tugging it open, he firmly planted his foot against the protective screen, breaking and pushing it outward.

  A scream close by alerted him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the glass on the door smear with crimson.

  James quickly grabbed onto the sides of the windowpane and slid onto the thin ledge outside. He could hear the door to his room burst open, the heavy item slamming against the floor. Grabbing onto a pipe secured to the outside wall, he pulled and spun to the left away from the open window. One of the creatures flew out, a claw swiping at his pant leg, and toppled over the side of the building, falling over one hundred meters toward the bottom of the city. Wobbling, James looked straight ahead, avoiding the sights of the fifty floors far beneath him.

  Automated rail systems carried thousands of vehicles around the city buildings, zipping by the President at unbelievable speeds. Slowly, he shuffled to the side, his bare feet curling around the edge of the stone ledge. His hands pressed against the wall’s surface, guiding him. If there was one creature, there was sure to be others. And he saw the Sorcēarian. There was no doubt he was the one leading the beasts.

  “Grayson, are you there?” James called out through his mental chip, slowly shimmying across the side of the building. Gusting winds threatened to pull him away from the surface, the breeze catching onto his jacket.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Quickly, as fast as you can, get to the upper level in your car.” James winced as blood began to ooze through his bandaging.

  “The car, sir?”

  “Don’t ask questions! Drive your car by the floor my room was located! I’m outside on the ledge!”

  “Coming, sir,” Grayson quickly replied.

  Clarke wobbled, feeling light-headed. Approaching another pipe along the wall, he gripped it firmly, narrowly avoiding a freefall off the side of the building.

  “Going somewhere?” Euclid’s voice called out.

  Gasping, James looked toward the window to his room with glassy eyes. The raven-haired man was sitting on the windowsill, leg dangling over the side. His elbow rested on a bent knee as he watched James with interest.

  “You stay back!” James ordered, his authoritative voice shuddering.

  “You don’t look so good,” Euclid said with a chuckle.

  James tried shuffling to the side again, momentarily letting go of the pipe. He quivered, quickly losing balance as his knees began to buckle. The arm to his wounded shoulder reached out, and he gripped the pipe once again as his feet slipped out from underneath. Crying out in pain, James’ free hand grabbed his hurt shoulder as he held on for dear life. Dark stains began dribbling through his bandages, the rich blood pouring down his chest and side.

  “Don’t mind me. I enjoy watching your distress. Looks like you’re going to do my job for me,” Euclid said with amusement.

  “Bastard!” James spat, growling as his hand slipped down the pipe.

  “Like a worm on a hook,” the Sorcēarian sneered. “This is so easy. Don’t know why Walten wasn’t man enough to do his own dirty work.” Euclid stared at the golden claws on his fingertips.

  “Walten?” James gasped for air. His knuckles were white as he struggled with both hands to lift himself back up toward the small ledge.

  “Oh, I said too much.” Euclid feigned a gasp. “It seems your boss wants to get rid of you with more than a pink slip.”

  “I knew it! Walten’s the cause of this! Why?” James asked, slowly sliding down the pipe.

  Euclid watched him cautiously. “Why not?” he simply replied.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Why not destroy the race that has forgotten about their God? Why care about a race that a God has forgotten?” the Sorcēarian scoffed. “It’s a pathetic cycle. You both are too selfish to truly appreciate one another. I don’t know why He would bother with your kind anyway.” Looking at James as he struggled with his grasp, Euclid jeered. “So weak!”

  “Says the man whose own race couldn’t keep itself alive!” James retorted, chuckling lowly. He locked eyes with Euclid. The Sorcēarian’s amused expression quickly fell. Starting to rise, Euclid halted. James’ hands slipped once more, and his own mocking smile faltered as he let go, falling.

  “Fool!” Euclid shouted, laughing. His hair spiraled in the harsh wind surrounding him.

  James dropped a couple floors, his body slamming onto the top of a car. He rolled and grabbed the open window in the roof as the vehicle pulled back into traffic and sped away. He then dropped inside, saluting Euclid with his middle finger.

  “Damn it!” Euclid snarled. His blue eyes darted from side to side as he tried to follow the single black vehicle that melded with the thousands far below. Standing, he prepared to leap after the President but cursed again as he couldn’t keep track, even as a Sorcēarian, of the ridiculous numbers.

  “Where to, sir?” Grayson asked.

  “Somewhere isolated and safe,” James replied, panting. He opened his jacket, looking at the blood-soaked bandages. “How’s your patching skills?”

  “Not as good as my bedside manner, sir,” Grayson replied dully, looking at the President through shaded glasses.

  Troy sat at the bar of the Pendant Hotel. Inhaling, he took a long drag on his cigarette, the blue embers shimmering against the gold-plated surfaces around him. He puffed out slowly, a small white cloud passing by his lips as he lifted his glass. Drinking, he eyeballed the vid screen over the bartender’s head. A banner scrolled across the display, mentioning the attack on the Underbelly of Fountains. Roma was taking the news lightly as they had bigger plans for the night, mostly highlighting the peace treaty between its city-state and Saray and the festivities currently being held. Another banner scrolled by, speaking of James Clarke’s disappearance.

  “Shit,” Troy muttered, taking another drag. “Aria’s going to flip out.”

  “I’m sure he is okay,” Dovian called out from behind the man.

  Troy’s body went rigid.

  “Is it okay if I join you for a while?” Dovian kindly asked. “There’s too much noise in the ballroom, and my room is strangely uncomfortable right now,” he said, remembering Caravaggio’s huge painting of ‘Judith Beheading Holofernes’ that was hanging up in his room. He unconsciously shuddered.

  “Not my bar,” Troy replied. He winced, noticing how dickish that sounded. “No, I don’t mind,” h
e corrected.

  Dovian took a seat beside the soldier, twisting as it rotated. He glanced at the screen and then looked toward Troy. The man looked back at the Sorcēarian.

  “Want one?” Troy asked, directing at his cigarette. Dovian stared at it. “It’s the pure stuff. Doesn’t have any of those nasties in it.”

  “Didn’t know you smoked,” Dovian replied, taking the cigarette that was offered.

  “Don’t do it often. If so, it’s gotta be this kind. Shit’s expensive, though. This pack took up about a quarter of a paycheck, but it’s worth it.” Troy shook his small box. “Has a nice taste to it, and it helps calm the nerves.”

  Dovian placed the stick between his lips and then mockingly patted his nonexistent pockets.

  “What are you doing?” Troy asked.

  “Lighter?” Dovian followed.

  Troy leaned forward and tugged on a small cap over the end of Dovian’s cig. The item sizzled and then lit up in a vibrant blue.

  “Don’t have to light them, man.” Troy gave the Sorcēarian a strange look.

  “I take it I don’t blend in very well,” Dovian stated, taking a quick puff as he talked.

  “No, not one bit,” Troy laughed quietly.

  “I’ll have to work on that,” he replied, cigarette squeezed between his teeth. After a pause, his eyes widened with amusement. “Oh, wait. How ‘bout this?” he asked.

  Reaching into his scarlet coat, he tugged out a beautiful porcelain mask. It was white with silver and red detailing, gold lining the eyeholes. With a crooked smile, Dovian placed the item on his face, the matching red and gold-flickered feathers on the right side wobbling as he did so. A chuckle vibrated in his chest as he blew out a puff of smoke.

  Troy snickered, relaxing a bit. He shook his head. “Still creepy. How about ditching the robes?”

  “Mm, mm,” Dovian mumbled, taking a drag. He breathed out slowly, holding the item between his fingers. “Robes gotta stay.”

  “Ah, that’s right. Makes you a chick magnet, right? Chicks dig the robes,” Troy said with amusement.

  Dovian frowned. He stared at the cigarette between his fingertips. “Troy, I’ve been meaning to speak with you,” he said in a serious tone.

  The russet-haired man grimaced. He knew where this conversation was going.

  “About Aria,” Dovian continued.

  “Listen, man, I don’t care about that, alright?” Troy said, swirling his liquor in his glass.

  “But I do. I shouldn’t have done what I did. There’s no excuse for it, I know, but I didn’t mean to cause any trouble between the two of you.”

  Dovian shook his head when the bartender asked if he wanted a drink. Troy signaled for a refill.

  “Between us? There’s nothing going on between us. We had a small fight, that’s all. It’s fine now. We’re cool.” Troy shrugged, avoiding Dovian’s stare.

  “So what happened between her and I had nothing to do with the fight you two had?” Dovian asked, doubt saturating his voice.

  ‘Damn it, he sounds like dad.’ Troy stared at the vid screen.

  “No,” Troy quickly replied. Looking to the side, he watched Dovian’s blue irises. Giving a growl, he continued, “Okay! Maybe a little, but it’s not necessarily because she slept with you!”

  “Then what is it?” Dovian asked, intrigued.

  “It’s because of your stupid religion!” he said a little too loud. Quickly fixing his mistake under Dovian’s scrutiny, Troy lifted his hands. “Not stupid, it’s not stupid. I’m just frustrated by it.”

  “What is it that frustrates you?” Dovian asked.

  ‘I really don’t want to talk about this right now,’ Troy mentally groaned.

  “I don’t know. It’s just…how are we supposed to believe it? I mean, there’s no proof!” The soldier’s teeth clenched tightly around his cigarette.

  “Have you read the book?” The silver-haired man puffed.

  “Well, no.”

  “You should read the book.”

  “I don’t own a book!”

  “Borrow it from Aria.”

  “She’s reading it.”

  “When she’s finished.”

  “But...I….” Troy tried looking for more excuses.

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you, Troy,” Dovian said, looking at the other man with an unreadable expression.

  “I’m freaked out, okay!” Troy ran his hands through his hair, messing it in all directions. He growled in frustration. “Your damn religion scares the hell out of me!”

  “As it should,” Dovian mumbled.

  “See? Then you reply with something like that. How am I supposed to feel?”

  “How about you change your way of thinking,” Dovian suggested.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t think of it as a religion. It’s not a religion. It’s a truth. Take it literally; don’t try to read between the lines. That’s where humanity struggles. They try to find loopholes and alternate understandings. Just believe in it.”

  “In what? That there is a God? That I may possibly die and go to Hell because I didn’t believe, because I didn’t have the tools to even learn about this stuff? That everyone I know, mom, dad, and Gavin could possibly be in Hell right now? That’s not comforting,” Troy said with a sarcastic tone.

  “Don’t worry about them. You’ve had the tools. There was a church lying right below your city. Aria’s got the best tool, and you just tried making excuses as to why you won’t educate yourself. That’s even worse, having some sort of knowledge and neglecting it in spite.”

  Troy quickly downed his second drink as soon as the bartender placed it before him. He reached into his box and pulled out a second cigarette, ripping off the tab in the front. He breathed in deeply.

  “You’re a good man, Troy. There’s no doubt about it, but that isn’t going to save you,” Dovian said. “You need to be strong, to believe. If anything, you better believe these monsters are more than just monsters. You make one bad move and it could be your last. Believe in the real threat. If not for you, then do it for Aria.”

  “For Aria?” Troy asked. His interest was piqued.

  “Hell is a separation, Troy. Can you imagine being in a faraway place separated from the ones you love the most? Imagine losing that one person you care about most in the world and never being able to see them again for all of eternity. Can you imagine that? Do you know that pain? Even the worst pain is unimaginable if it comes true. Is that a gamble you’re willing to bet on?” Dovian asked. His tone was not gentle. His expression was hard, making him appear more menacing behind the mask.

  Troy looked at the tall man beside him, feeling his throat constricting at just the mere possibility that he could be making the worst decision of refusing to only believe.

  ‘But, where’s the harm in believing?’ Troy thought, remembering Aria’s words from earlier that day.

  Could he imagine a fraction of the possibility? What would it be like to be separated from the ones he loved? Troy hadn’t really thought about it. He always assumed he was alone ever since his father died. His mother had passed when he was very young, and though he never knew her, he still missed her.

  “I’ve already lost Gavin,” Troy murmured. “That was one of the worst moments of my life.”

  Dovian watched Troy, listening intently to him speak.

  “And who knows what’s happened to Mr. Clarke. If he’s dead, I will be upset, but he’s not as close to me as he is to Aria. If he died, she would go ballistic. I’d be all she’d have left.” Troy looked down at his hands clasped around his glass. “She’s the only reason I got through Gavin’s death. As long as she was around, I was able to carry on.” He paused, lost in his thoughts, finally realizing an alternate point Dovian was trying to make. It was Aria. She was all he had left. Sure, there were acquaintances and his little black book of numbers, but none of those people knew him inside and out like Aria did.

  “It’s Aria,�
� he said finally. “If I lose Aria, I lose everything,” he muttered, his cigarette bouncing between his lips. “We grew up together, trained together, have been partners for as long as I can remember.” He chuckled to himself. “I was even there for her when her stupid, fat cat, Xena, went missing,” Troy laughed, shaking his head.

  He noticed Dovian’s interest on the subject and continued. “She had gotten it as a birthday present from Mr. Clarke when she was sixteen. It was black and had green eyes. He said it reminded him of her. Years later, when we were on a mission, we had to leave in a hurry, and I guess Aria left her window open. When we returned, Xena was gone. We never saw the cat again. Aria was so devastated by it; you’d think that her parents had died all over again. I think she was holding onto that cat, using it as a replacement for the loss she felt from seeing her parents die right in front of her.” He twirled his cigarette between his fingers, watching the blue embers create an illusionary circle.

  Dovian continued listening and allowed Troy to take the conversation to a different level, which the soldier was thankful for.

  “I was lucky, you know? My mom died when I was a baby. My dad died out on the field. I didn’t have to see their bodies. Apparently, Aria’s father had shielded her with his own body, taking the full brunt of the mortar that landed only a couple meters away. She was pinned beneath him and some debris for an hour before anyone found her. The only thing she could see the whole time was her mother reaching out for her, slowly bleeding out.”

  Dovian’s eyes narrowed as he watched Troy. The soldier closed his, frowning.

  “It’s so damn terrible, isn’t it? There really is no hope for humanity,” Troy grumbled. “And you want to know the sickest part of it all?” He lifted his gaze back toward the Sorcēarian. “That day, when Aria’s parents were killed, the mortar that was let off was fired by James Clarke’s own hands. He was given some bad coordinates, and the fire ended up landing in the area of the theatre where Aria and her parents were watching a play, a play that Aria had begged endlessly to be taken to. They took her there…for her birthday. Guess that’s why he feels so protective of her.”