City of Ruin

FIFTY-THREE

This was the first time in years there had been gang unification, of sorts. Beneath the official war had meanwhile run another. Turf brawls had become all-out combat to splice districts into enclaves of unofficial rule. Autonomous zones had been raided by others, new front lines coming and going by the hour, and it was only this morning that some kind of weird law had been laid down. Verbal treaties exchanged, confirmed with a sly handshake and a nod of the head. Things were made clear.

Malum went looking for the BanHe, but he was dead. Someone accused Malum of killing the creature – it wasn't true. They found what was left of Dannan's body in one of the underground strongholds. The room reeked. It seemed he had exploded from his throat and chest, and men gaped from behind their masks at the mess splattered on the surrounding walls. Someone pointed out that Dannan had died a few days ago, when the death count within the city reached a level where the scream-impotent BanHe had vomited bile for hours at a time, coughing and retching as the body count mounted up. He had crawled down here to try to avoid the escalating pain, and died alone.

Something had now happened that changed everything in the city.

Dark shapes in the sky, out of the sky, then a change in temperature. It was suggested that the enemy were suddenly weakened, that there were now few of them left, and that those remaining were unable to fight as efficiently as before. Malum didn't understand what these specific changes were all about, but he realized the final hunt was on.

Malum marched somewhere near the front of the mob. The Bloods had now aggregated with the other gangs again in a quest for all-out slaughter. They spread rapidly across Villiren like a virus. Somewhere on the way he'd succumbed to his primal instincts, and allowed his fangs to breach permanently. He had become utterly savage, and so had the others. Even battle-hardened soldiers looked upon their work with disgust.

Joining in behind the citizen militia, which in turn merged with several Dragoon regiments, more of a vicious mob than a disciplined army, they pushed westwards across the city, thousands of men and hundreds of women scooping up any kind of weapon out of the melting snow. Sunlight peeled back from behind clouds till the slick city glimmered.

Confident and violent, this mob-army came across small clusters of remaining Okun. Cornered in twos or threes, with nowhere to flee, the now seemingly confused invaders burst into the crowd of their assailants only to be hacked down with axe and mace and sword. Citizens took out their frustrations by ripping apart the shells and leaving little but pulp soon mashed into the snow. With confidence that the invasion was being reduced to nothing, and no more ships appearing on the horizon, the gangs took a manic pleasure in their work. They were in the grip of a death fetish.

Surprisingly, the red-skinned rumels were the more difficult to kill – they seemed more skilful in these embers of combat, more cunning in their methods of escape. Some even offered surrender, but no such bargaining was accepted. Tails were ripped off and stuffed into their screaming mouths; they were beaten into a bloody pulp or then stoned to death with rubble. Such savage methods appealed to Malum for some reason, and violence bred violence. Perhaps it was a confirmation of his own reason for existence.

This business continued for most of the day. What surprised Malum was that there was no definite end to this, no clear finale. Everything petered out. The city was too decimated for its people to understand that they had won this conflict. Though maybe 'won' wasn't quite the right word. It had more or less survived.

What next, though? The city needed rebuilding, reconstructing.

About an hour after the final killings, people began ambling around the city, cutting paths through the aftermath. Civilian soldiers sat on the remnants of shattered structures, utterly depleted. Even children began to emerge from hiding, gazing up at the red sun as if they'd never seen it before.

In his meanderings, Malum at one point came across a shattered mask lying on the ground. He took off his own and suddenly wondered why he always hid behind it. What benefit had it given to his life? And, now that the one woman who sustained his sense of normality with the world had walked away, what did he care for hiding any more?

Malum dropped his own mask in the rubble and walked away.

He was what he was, a vampyr, and he would now make himself king of the new city.

*

'But quit the Night Guard? That's your life… everything.' Beami lay on the bed next to him, her eyes aching with tiredness. 'It's what you do, it's who you are. You're a hero to the people, after you helped save so many lives.'

'This city isn't a place for heroes,' Lupus replied flatly.

All he had done, since they had returned, was stare at the ceiling. So it was over, and that was something. Yet it didn't really feel like an ending.

'There's so much death. That's all there is here. That's all this fucking world brings us, isn't it? You see these creatures invade our land, but that's what the Empire has been doing to other nations for centuries. We tread on them with no regard for their lives, or the way they already fit into the world. I've now seen it from the other side… I used to have a sense of pride in what I did, but there's no honour in any of this.' He paused, breathing deeply. 'I just want to step outside of it all. With you.'

'If you're sure,' Beami replied thoughtfully. 'You realize that if we ever come back it will be exactly the same moment in time as we leave?.'

'Skilled archers aren't all that useful in the construction business, and that's what this city needs now, builders and craftsmen or nurses. Afterwards, destroy your relic, if you want to. Or just hide it, whatever. I'll take my chances in that other place, and even if we can't communicate with anyone else, so be it. I don't bloody care. We've nothing here. Bring all your equipment, whatever you want, and let's make a new start – away from everything.'

*

Beami balanced the legs of the Heimr, twisting the ball at the top. It had been a while since she'd used it, and she felt a sudden inexplicable fear that she'd forgotten how it worked.

They had already gathered their belongings. Lupus didn't have that much, and he mocked Beami for bringing so much. Where was she going to put it all anyway? They had no home to look forward to, so how reckless were they being?

Holding each other tightly, his head on her shoulder, they stood in her desolate chamber in the Citadel. He was much recovered now, and he hugged her more gently than he'd ever done. Every touch was exploratory, as if he was deeply grateful to be holding anyone.

They heaped their possessions in a neat pile around the relic.

'This might be the most ridiculous decision we've ever made,' she observed.

'No, that was when I cleared off to the army. Now I'm leaving the army for you. Think about how we could have saved ourselves so much time and effort.'

She smiled. 'Well, now we've all the time we could want.'

One hand to the relic, one to him, and the Heimr began to pulse.

Time suddenly stretched o-u-t-