VOLUME II

  SECTION I: Scarlet Party

  Veiled in darkness, time became a paradox of unknowns. Numbers waiting to be spoken.

  The ghost of invisible clocks ticked, a whisper of wind that promised the passing days. Ian's head drooped low to the dust-coated floors, thickened by musk. A trickle ran in the drainage, insects scattering across the cold ground.

  How long had it been since he'd been strapped to metal and bound by cloth?

  Twice a day, a liquid IV was pressed into his skin, reminiscent of his youth. Needles plunging into his veins, a dull dizziness that buzzed in his ears.

  He felt sluggish, everything limp and unresponsive. But he didn't have time to care.

  William. What happened to William?

  His body jerked pathetically, twitching as he rapidly blinked. All he remembered was that boiling, that climbing heat that bubbled beneath his skin, festering in an unbearable anger—

  —and William's whispered apology in his ear.

  All he remembered was that blinding white light that stole everything away.

  Footsteps thudded outside the door, measured and demanding, and Ian's attention jerked back to reality. He gasped, swallowing air as his pupils trembled. A heavy clack unlocked the door, and it swung wide with a resonant groan.

  Light eagerly rolled inside, scorching his vision.

  His pupils flickered wildly, pained by the harsh white luminance. He squinted, adjusting, as a figure emerged, cloaked in both shadows and light, with a hand in his pocket.

  The man's coat fell around him in dark tumbles, and Ian couldn't discern where it ended and the darkness began. He furrowed his eyebrows. Even in his lack of vision, he'd long learned the weight of those steps, arrogant and otherworldly, not a care in the world.

  He'd recognize the pattern of that man's breath, that once slept at his back.

  All that time in the illusion. That terrible curse.

  "Congratulations." The Esper's voice came silky and mocking. "You've proved your talents to reach the Center without my help."

  Ian's throat was embedded in shards, like grating his larynx through a shredder. He coughed, rasping bitterly. "Where's William?

  The man tilted his head. "You're no fool, Guide."

  But even the wisest men had truths they didn't want to believe. Things not proven true until another confirmed them.

  Ian fell into a still, like a lake without life, its surface untouched. Then, he thrashed suddenly, and the chair screeched against the ground, nearly toppling.

  The Esper caught it and waited.

  Ian bent at his stomach, hands bound to his skin. It was hot. Suffocating. He could hardly breathe, bundled in all this cloth, this restriction.

  William.

  All the time in the darkness left him time to think.

  And thoughts were such a dangerous thing. A tormenting, agonizing thing.

  He remembered, clinging to it with a pathetic desperation, although he'd long learned loss. But very few times had Ian been willing to let his walls down, to allow another to peek over the barriers he built, and so many times had he lost them.

  William.

  That young, smiling, and gentle man who held a secret rebellious side, bordering on silliness. A mischievousness to him that matched his lover, often disguised by a facade of maturity.

  That fiercely loyal Esper that treated him warily, but couldn't smother his fondness.

  William, whom he'd hardly known.

  William, one of the few people to have known Ian at all.

  Victor's shadow loomed, darker than black. He bent, his voice a murmur against Ian's ears. "That Esper is dead. He's been dead for seventy-two days, and there's not a piece of him remaining, thanks to your performance."

  Ian's throat rolled heavily, and Victor's hand rested on his shoulder, lightly tracing down.

  The man's fingers grasped around empty cloth—an emptiness where a limb should have been. Immediately, Ian grew impossibly tense. He'd felt it, a throbbing pain buried by his despair, all caught inside his head.

  Of the two sleeves binding his arm, one remained empty.

  A stump. But he didn't have time to mourn the loss of his arm when William had lost his life.

  The price of his vengeance and the consequence of the path he'd embarked on. The result of his agreement with a man with unknown intentions, and nothing more than a pair of cold eyes.

  Victor survived that boiling heat, and somehow, so had Ian.

  Perhaps Victor protected him, caught in his mysterious whims Ian couldn't predict, but William had followed them. And Ian didn't know what happened in that Rift, but he knew his anger.

  Somehow, with something, he'd been the fuel to that burning.

  Ian coldly lifted his dark gaze. "Get me out."

  Victor drew away with a thin smile. "Do you consider me to be so capable?"

  "I think you'd start a slaughter before admitting to your incapabilities," sneered Ian as another cough ripped out of him.

  Victor shrugged, turning away. "Times up, Guide."

  "I made it, you bastard. Why else am I locked here?"

  "They're debating what to do with you," mused the other, drifting in slow circles, a presence brushing against Ian's back. The door swung closed, sealing away the light.

  Victor stopped, both everywhere and nowhere.

  He hummed thoughtfully, as if he cared. Ian knew better than to believe he did. "Become a Guide worth contracting with, I'd said. Not one the Center wishes dead."

  Ian gnawed on his lip until it bled, and if he had hands—or even a single one would've done to strangle this bastard to silence. "Give me an extension."

  "You're in the Center, Guide. I have no more promises to fulfill."

  An insect skittered across the ground, and a low crunch told of Victor's merciless heel, grinding down. Lives easily snuffed under the man's boot. Both in a position of neutrality, while an enemy and ally to all sides.

  There was something fundamentally wrong with Victor. An alien to reality.

  And yet, Ian clung to him like he knew nothing else.

  "The plan's changed—I want them dead. Every damn bastard involved in my sister's death." He was no longer chasing an invisible thread. His sister's end had been a murder, and it'd involved more than a few. "You can find them."

  Victor laughed, wryly. "They far exceed your status."

  "Then watch me reach them," hissed Ian, his throat straining as veins ticked along his skin. He jerked again and toppled to the floor with a heavy thud. Waste. Pathetic. Yet he set his jaw and strained against his restraints. "Watch me crawl up there and fall from it."

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The fire in his gaze always remained alight, burning. Scathing.

  "I might have been a project in the Base's underground, but now, it won't be a single Rift burning. It won't be just one dead. It'll be every single person that dared to graze her, and I don't care what protects them."

  A promise. An oath.

  No longer could he turn back and pretend otherwise, no longer indulging in the fantasy of simplicity. Of another life, sweeter and kind. The stars no longer decorated the skies, and with their absence, his dreams faded.

  His sister was murdered.

  William died in his path to vengeance—and he would not be the last.

  Victor's pale eyes dipped, and a slow smile spread across his face. He bent low, and twisted a key into the locks that bound Ian. A click, and the jacket was slowly pulled away, revealing a stump.

  Ian didn't move, like a pliant and obedient doll. He needed Victor.

  He needed this Esper.

  The man removed a glove, prying it off his pronounced fingers. Then, they traced against Ian's skin, sparking energy with every whisper. Ian's body twitched, and Victor's hands dug into the stump with merciless pressure.

  "Don't scream," muttered Victor. "Or do. This won't be pleasant."

  Ian furrowed his brows, confused as he lifted his uncertain gaze.

  The energy came in waves, a pulsing, steady wave of pain that rushed opposing his bloodstream.

  Then it erupted. A million fireworks tearing every artery and muscle apart, ripping every sense to shreds. Cracking filled the air, along with the terrible squish of flesh and blood.

  Bone burst from his flesh, skin tearing as a scream wrangled from his throat, an animalistic howl. Something snaked along his back, like a burning embedded in his skin, but all the pain blurred into a mass of agony.

  Ian screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

  ——+++——

  Before a panel of individuals seated at a rectangular table, an Esper and Guide duo stood. The dim white lights strained the eyes in a long strip that ran along the pristine walls.

  The Guide, dressed in loose, white fabrics and dangling iron chains, kept his head lowered next to the Esper, who stood languidly with a smile curled at his lips.

  His left hand toyed with the chain, lightly tugging.

  A well-built young man folded his hands on the table in the center, his face obscured by a military hat. Brown hair curled underneath, adding shadows to his solemn lips. Beside him, a middle-aged man and woman sat.

  The woman flipped through a thick wad of papers, sighing as she tapped her bright red lips. "Esper Victor. You have removed the Guide from the specialized prison without permission. Speak your defense."

  "I have none," hummed Victor pleasantly, to the disdain of those watching. He spread his arms. "Is it a sin to miss my dear Guide after 72 days?"

  "There is no partner registered under your name."

  "I have been considerably shy to share him with the world," smiled Victor through curved, cold eyes. He lifted the chain and pressed a kiss to the cold metal. The Guide behind him rattled, glaring through overgrown raven hair, hanging like silk curtains over a narrow face.

  "Nonsense!" The middle-aged man slapped the table, anger resounding against the walls. He jabbed his finger. "The matching program has not found any compatible with you, and must I remind you of those who have attempted to guide you? You're up to something!"

  The woman raised a hand, her nails round and long. "Silence. Remember where we are, and who we sit with. However, Esper Victor, the Guide you claim is unsuitable. Guides in the facility are tested without fault regularly, and his records do not match yours."

  The middle-aged man slumped back, sneering. "Whatever happened in the Rift proves that this Guide is a danger we cannot allow free. He must be medicated and observed!"

  Ian stood, listening to the clamor as he watched the thin chains sway, looping around Victor's gloved fingers. His two hands hung before him, and he wriggled his fingers in a daze. Anger ticked in his jaw, but he swallowed his loathing, as he was so good at doing.

  A pain continued to stab his joints, distant and dull. But vivid.

  Vivid enough to creep into his dreams and become haunting.

  He didn't remember when he passed out the last night, writhing on cold, dusty floors with bone snapping in his ears. He didn't have time to question Victor in the morning, awake in a soft bed, and dragged to his feet.

  What did Victor do?

  High-ranking Espers possessed multiple abilities, but one of that caliber should have competed for dominance with his ice manipulation. Considering the instability of Victor's energy, it was a possibility.

  Dominant abilities came with fewer restrictions and consequences—but the regeneration of a limb with his ease shouldn't have come without a price.

  Who paid that price?

  Victor tugged him closer, leaning in with a whisper. "Don't fall asleep, Guide." He swung around, gesturing as if presenting a prize. "I have control over this Guide, and will continue to hold responsibility over him."

  "Control?" scoffed the middle-aged man, scratching his stubble. "Right. If you can show evidence of this so-called—"

  Victor's smile stretched, and a chill whistled through the air. Ice climbed the table in harmless spikes. Both man and woman shuffled uncomfortably, pressed into their seats.

  The woman cleared her throat. "If you can prove this, we will allow the Guide to remain with you. However, he must be tested again to be claimed as your Partner."

  Victor smiled, gazing fixedly on the young man in the center who hadn't spoken. Then, he spun around and unlocked Ian's handcuffs.

  His voice lowered to a murmur, snaking in Ian's ear. "Don't be too surprised."

  Ian frowned, but before he could speak, electricity shot up his left arm. The arm that had been regenerated. He snapped his head up with bewildered, wide eyes, and Victor simply crooked his finger up.

  This damned bastard.

  Ian's arm moved to the sway of Victor's finger, like a conductor demanding a song.

  He couldn't control it, seized by a coil that detached his arm. It was his and not his, the sensation of wind rushing up his flopping sleeve, and yet his muscles refused to obey.

  Victor dropped his hand, and Ian's arm followed. He turned back to the panel, leaving the Guide staring dazedly at the floor.

  "Will that do?"

  The woman's face warped, her lips flattened in a thin line. She swallowed audibly and hastily gathered the papers. "Make sure to apply for a test, and submit any new abilities to your profile. That will be all."

  The other man trembled, gasping. "W-wait! Commander, there is something amiss, I know of it—"

  A needle shot passed his face, piercing his skin. The ice embedded in the wall before melting, seeping onto the ground. The man flung his hand to his cheeks, gaping like a fish.

  Victor hummed, toying with a long needle in his palm. "I believe I've shown enough obedience. Do you agree, little Commander?"

  Ian's eyes shook, and his bowed head felt like lead.

  Anger boiled in his blood, churning and rising to his face, but a tap against his arm revealed Victor's cold eyes. It would be a fool's errand to expose himself now, to reveal blood lust when he'd yet to become anything.

  The young man in the center lifted his head, but still his face carried a veil.

  "You may leave, Esper Victor." His voice was low and soft, but the two at his side straightened their spines. He sat at the end of the long room, holding all attention. "You will remain monitored if any issues arise. Remember your duties... for the sake of the base."

  A breath, and the voice continued briefly, "If you have claimed ownership of that Guide... then make sure to treat him well."

  The two others exchanged an odd glance before dismissing them.

  Victor said nothing and led Ian back, grabbing his hands. The Esper's hands were frighteningly cold, made colder by ice. Yet the chill chased the heat from Ian's head and gave him clarity.

  Ian remained obedient until they left the facility, entering a familiar high-rise apartment. He pulled away when they'd returned to Victor's room and seethed. "What the hell did you do to me?"

  "You requested my help," reminded Victor, grabbing a tall glass of water. He handed it to Ian. "And I've given it."

  Ian slapped it away, watching it thud against the carpeted floor. Water splashed, but he didn't care. "I didn't ask for your screwed-up control over me."

  Victor picked it up, placing it against a table. He turned, walking closer, until he stood face to face with the Guide, and pale blue eyes met ebony.

  "Death contract," he murmured, slipping around and pressing his hands to Ian's shoulders. "I can revive things, and they become mine. Body parts, humans, and animals."

  The cold hands trailed down Ian's spine, and he stiffened. Victor moved past and sat on the edge of his bed, one leg crossed.

  He smiled. "If you prefer, I can take it away too."

  A rumble shifted under Ian's skin, as if his muscles and bones were rearranging themselves, and Ian slapped his hand over in horror. "Stop! Dammit, you madman!" The discomfort eased, and Ian muttered a dozen curses. "I'm taking a shower."

  He retreated to the bathroom, standing under the pressurized water that scorched against his skin. Drops rolled into his eye, stinging, but he didn't move.

  How far was he willing to drown for this vengeance?

  That question continued to taunt his mind. Victor, like a seduction, coaxed him to damnation. Ian squeezed his eyes shut, dragging his fingers through his damp hair.

  When he opened them, the black returned to steady pools.

  He returned to the room with a towel over his shoulders and a bathrobe tied firmly around his waist. Victor shuffled a stack of papers in his hands. "Tomorrow night, there's a party. An important Esper of yours will be there."

  Ian walked over with wet hair, dripping down his collarbone, and hanging over his drooping eyes that captured misery.

  "A Guide of your sister's caliber wouldn't have been sacrificed without another's involvement. I'm sure you've reached that conclusion yourself." Victor tapped the papers, but his eyes traced the running water drops to the hollows they collected in.

  Outside the glass window, the city lights flickered among towering buildings.

  Ian crooked a knee between Victor's legs, bending to peer down at the papers. A drop sank into the white. "You're irritably fast."

  "Should I move more slowly?"

  "Will it take death for you to get over purposely antagonizing people? Or is that a side effect of being a young brat with too much power?" Ian scoffed. "What's her involvement?"

  Victor stared at the swaying pieces of hair, and then past them. "Your sister was involved with Project 311. It led to the decline of her health, and this is the woman who recommended her."

  Ian sneered. "Reason?"

  "My investigations are limited, Guide," mused Victor. "Even for you."

  Ian clicked his tongue and moved away, but a hand grabbed him and yanked him onto the impossibly soft duvets, a luxury for only the most privileged. Victor bent over Ian's body and pressed his forehead to Ian's neck.

  Ian stiffened and then relaxed. He decided to play this game, and he would play it to ruins. He hooked his leg and wrapped his arms around the Esper's neck.

  Victor lifted his head, his breath hot. "Playing a minx?"

  "Try 'being a Guide,'" scowled Ian, his wet hair fanned over the pillows. "And only if you shut up and give me some peace."

  Victor blinked, and a laugh scraped from his throat, abrupt and unexpected. It was unlike the ones Ian had heard before, and his ears twitched with a ticklish sensation.

  He gnawed on his gums irritably and opened his mouth.