III
It had been just a few days since his sudden departure from all he knew. The Nameless sat alone in the bleak caverns just outside of the nearest town of Illardi. He spent days away from civilization despite it only being a mile or two away. His face was still tear-stained from all the sleepless nights.
Just one night ago he realized what the news story meant to him. His family died, fourteen years ago. He was just a young boy, Locke Dièmestès—eighteen years of age. They were going to Talla’weh to see his grandparents. He himself could not go because he had fencing lessons every day that week. A pitiful excuse now… but if not for that, he’d be dead… along with his family.
He spent this day in mourning for his former self, fourteen years ago. He was still the Nameless. He wasn’t ready to go back to that life, not yet anyway.
He had already retired his present arsenal of weapons, the pistol, the hunting knives, and the broad sword. He finally knew what their names had meant. His mother, his younger twin sisters, and his father—all felled by one incident. Perhaps this… God-fellow… had something in mind in not allowing Locke Dièmestès to die as well.
He had decided that tonight would be his last night in hiding, but he would not return to his friends in Liedwein just yet. He still needed answers, and hoped to find them in Illardi.
The Nameless took one last glance at the memorials—each weapon penetrating the earth just enough to stand up. He had etched the respected names—Mary, Lu, Bei, and Cliff, in the sands below, hopefully to be seen and remembered by all travelers who ventured this cavern. He pulled his sou’wester hat down over his face, and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.
The rain began to fall, heavier and faster, but that couldn’t keep the Nameless awake.
____________________
“you are now in the sixth chamber, soul-less child…” spoke the familiar demonic voice.
“Just two more trials to go…” Locke said to himself as he gazed around the cavernous chapter.
“you must choose, soul-less child,” hissed the voice, “you must choose…”
“Choose between what,” Locke asked.
Before Locke could look around even further, three chests appeared before him. They were all a gouty gold color, with jewels encrusted upon each one.
“you must choose, soul-less child,” once more the voice hissed.
“How do I know what’s inside?” Locke asked nervously.
“what you really want is in one chest… what not you want is in the other two,” the voice exclaimed, “let your mind lead you…”
Locke took a deep sigh, closing his eyes. He thought long and hard towards the three chests. Which one contained eternity? He was afraid of what would happen if he chose the wrong chest. Blindingly, Locke pulled himself to the left-most chest, and dared open it. There was nothing inside.
“Did I pick the wrong one?” he asked.
“come hither,” the voice finished.
The door to the final chamber opened up, and Locke wandered to it. Not knowing it, perhaps he did choose the wrong chest?
____________________
The Nameless opened up his eyes. Tomorrow had come, but the sun was not out. Shielded by the clouds, the Nameless peered outside the cavern. No rainfall just yet, but he could tell that it had rained over the nightfall.
The Nameless stepped out of the cave, and started his trek to Illardi. Illardi was a vast town, known best for its high trade routes—the Nameless had visited there before. It was a wealthier city than Ela’net or Liedwein, but not as well off as Mela’beh. There hasn’t been a city that the Nameless has been to better off than Mela’beh.
Upon entering the small city, the Nameless had a strange feeling encompass him—it was a feeling of trust; of familiarity. There was something about Illardi that he hadn’t noticed the first time he was here, but the Nameless couldn’t quite put a finger on it.
The cloaked mercenary began to wander through the town, looking for something to arouse his interests, for something to just jump out at him. He eventually stumbled upon an older, abandoned home at the south end of the city. Boards covered the broken windows; shattered glass littered the deck. Cautiously, the Nameless peered inside.
The home wasn’t all abandoned, at least. There was some beaten up furniture sprawled haphazardly, torn to shreds, it seemed. It was almost as if the previous resident was angry, and didn’t have anything else to take it out on.
The Nameless crept up the battered staircase. With each sequential step, a loud squeaking noise followed. Nothing in this house was taken care of—not for a few years, it seemed. The Nameless looked at all the pictures; they were all torn and lopsided as they hung on the wall.
With each new step, the Nameless felt a burning sensation in his heart. What was going on? Where was he? Questions only answered by the Nameless pressing onward. He had to know the truth, and this house seemed to have it.
Top of the stairs, the Nameless went the only way he could that wasn’t blocked by debris. He walked to the right side of the house where just one doorway greeted him. Cautiously, he opened the door, and stepped inside.
The Nameless closed his eyes and he saw—he saw a young child… he saw the young child Locke Dièmestès.
Locke sat in his room, emotionless. He didn’t want to believe what just happened. The television remained on, even though he wasn’t watching it. Could they really be gone? No, of course not. Profane, Locke wished the day away. He grabbed a bottle of unknown liquid, and took several swigs just before slamming it to the ground below. The glass shattered into several shards.
Opening his eyes, the dream was gone. All that was in front of him was the present. Looking the room up and down, he saw everything of his former life. He saw the shattered liquor bottles provide a river of glass shards; he saw the mattress that he used to sleep on, stained and crusted; he saw the dreams he had fourteen years ago... vanished without a trace. Was he himself the soul-less child Locke Dièmestès?
The Nameless stood there without emotion. Even after all this… he still felt nothing. It was getting late—the sun had already fallen into the abyss, replaced by it the crescent moon. The Nameless sat down idly on the unmade mattress. The stale air polluted his surroundings. The Nameless began to piece together the mystery.
When his family died, Locke Dièmestès found comfort to alcohol and drugs. There were nights that he went pillaging form his old friends, his neighbors, just to survive. Fearing death, he dreamt of a way to live forever. He made a deal with the devil… exchanging his soul for eternity.
But he still didn’t know everything.
The Nameless drifted once again into the dismal sleep. This sleep was much different from the others, however. He slept the entire night away, not bothered by memories of the past. He slept the entire night away, no bothered by dreams of yesteryear. He slept through the night, and part of the tomorrow.
The sun shined bright through the broken window, a cool breeze swam through to greet the Nameless’ pale white skin. Groggily, the cloaked mercenary awoke. Wasting no time, the Nameless grabbed his things and exited the dated wooden home.
As his boots hit the pavement below, he was greeted by an older fellow, about early-thirties. The burly man bore a small fuzzy mustache, and wore a navy blue uniform, “You there…”
“Hm?”
“They say that you’re the Nameless,” the uniformed man called out, “is that true?”
“People call me that, yes…”
“My name is Agent Smallsdael,” said the agent, “the Control has a mission for you.”
“A mission?”
“Yes, follow me.”
“I… I can’t,” the Nameless started, “I don’t have any weapons with me…”
“It’s no matter, we have something for you…”
“Very well.”
Smallsdael led the Nameless out of the poor district, and into the main chapter of Illardi. Right next to the City Hall resided a rather large, brick building. It was well over four stories high. A sign over the door read, “ILLARDI POLICE CONTROL”.
“What kind of… weapon… is this…” the Nameless mused, holding what appeared to be a simple chamber in his right hand.
“That there sir, is the Gunblade MKII,” informed the Control’s head weapons technician, Agent Leroy, “its prototype was one of the Control’s best weapons, erm… until it exploded.”
“Exploded?”
“R-right… but we have that problem taken care of,” Agent Leroy added, trying to ease away from the subject of the previous model, “it’s a small cannon as well as a sword all in one…”
“You’re telling me that this is an ‘all-in-one’ weapon, Leroy,” the Nameless said skeptically, perusing the cold metal chamber in his hand.
“Correct—press the red button at the top end of the chamber, sir,” Agent Leroy advised.
The Nameless examined the Gunblade until he found the said red button. Depressing it with his index finger, a sharp blade drew quickly from the chamber, “Hm… interesting…” The blade was a good three feet long, leaving the Nameless to wonder how it fit in such a small space. Further analysis told him that the blade had several depressions—allowing the blade to retract within itself, thus permitting it to fit in the chamber.
“Good, good,” said Agent Leroy, “now press it once more.”
Doing as the agent said, the Nameless once more pressed down the small red button on top of the chamber. In doing so, the blade instantly retracted.
“Very good—now the green button on the other side,” Agent Leroy said, “make sure to aim it at that target over there—“ Leroy pointed to a large bull’s eye target on the far left wall of the room. “Now press that green button.”
The Nameless held the chamber up, perpendicular to the target in front of him. Taking a moment, he held his thumb over the green button, and pressed it down slightly. A loud bang was heard; not expecting such a loud noise from such a small device, the Nameless was sent back a few steps.
The smoke lifted from the barrel at the other end. The Nameless peered at the target, seeing a small bullet hole in the dead center. His aim was precise.
“Good show, sir,” said Agent Smallsdael.
“Illardi Intelligence has been working on this weapon for years,” started Agent Leroy, “it’s good to see it working.”
“I see…” the Nameless replied, “now what about this mission?”
Agent Smallsdael led the Nameless into the Control’s war room. The wall was covered with monitors of various sizes and shapes. A cherry wood desk sat in the center of the room with mountains of paperwork sitting idly by.
At the end of the room stood a tall, silver-haired man. He had glasses wrapped around his eyes, and was wearing a maroon uniform rather than the navy blue the others were wearing.
“Nameless, this is Captain Zen’husholtz,” Smallsdael introduced.
“Zen’husholtz?” the Nameless queried.
“Yes—he was the one who sent for you.”
“I see.”
“You must be the Nameless,” said Zen’husholtz as he extended his right hand to the cloaked mercenary.
“People call me that, yes,” the Nameless replied, shaking the hand of the man in front of him, up and down, up and down.
“I’ve heard good things about you, Nameless,” Zen’husholtz supposed, “that’s why I sent for you.”
“What is the mission?”
“This mission is very important,” informed the captain, “that is why we are prepared to offer you fifteen hundred, as well as your own Gunblade MKII.”
“Again… what is the mission, Captain Zen’husholtz?”
“Straight to the point, eh,” Zen’husholtz humored, “I like that.”
Captain Zen’husholtz explained to the Nameless the very important mission in his office behind the war room.
“One question though,” the Nameless pondered.
“Shoot.”
“Why me?”
“We’ve heard of your work in Liedwein, Nameless,” the captain explained, “we heard that you single-handedly took down the entire organization of the Grudge. We need someone of your caliber.”
“Very well,” said the Nameless, “I will accept your mission.”
The Nameless wandered just outside of the city with his new weapon attached to his belt. The captain informed him of an abandoned military base just outside of town where there were experiments performed, not only on animals, but humans as well. Something got out of hand, causing the experiment ZeroX1 to get loose. Because it was so ghastly, the experiment ended up killing every one of the persons inside of the base.
Captain Zen’husholtz only explained that the creature was atrocious, nothing more, so the Nameless knew not of what to expect. He just hoped that the Gunblade supplied was weapon enough to defeat the leviathan.
Not even an hour passed before the Nameless reached the abandoned military foundation. The base was tired, ruined. The inside was drunken with the stink of the dead. Blood stained the stainless steel walls; several tears and scratch marks every which way. The Nameless continued through the lifeless halls looking for the massive leviathan.
The foul odor swam throughout the abandoned base, getting worse with each sequential step. The Nameless entered the final hall, opening the large metal door leading to the barren elevator shaft. Figuring only eight or nine feet from the bottom, the Nameless let himself fall to the basement floor.
The foul stench become even worse as the Nameless stepped into the basement of the foundation. He looked to the far end of the chamber, spotting the massive leviathan, feasting on a long-dead corpse.
“Behemoth,” the Nameless cried out, “by order of the Control, I shall eliminate you.”
The beast snarled loud, turning to face his antagonist. As the Nameless glared into the eyes of the massive furry beast, he looked back to another fight—
Before Locke could delve further into the matter, the doorway leading to the next chamber opened up, revealing a large furred beast, indescribable by any means whatsoever. The behemoth roared a loud roar, causing the grounds to shake. Knowing not what to do, Locke quickly drew his long blade, and gripped it tight.
The Nameless drew his weapon, and gripped the chamber tight. Depressing the red button, the sharp metal blade extracted. The furred leviathan growled as it stomped on the ground, trying to sound intimidating. The Nameless wasn’t intimidated.
Locke swung the sword left and right in attempts to intimidate the hell leviathan. The only thing he managed to do was enrage the beast. Lunging forward, the behemoth let out a loud, high-pitched noise. With his quick thinking, Locke quickly ducked out of the way, causing the behemoth to overshoot, swerving close to the mountainous wall.
The Nameless swung the blade left and right, to get a feel for the new weapon. Feeling confident, he dared the beast to lunge forward. Enraged, the massive leviathan rushed the cloaked mercenary. Just barely ducking out of the way, the large beast overshot, ramming into the concrete wall of the basement.
Once more, the behemoth growled, throwing himself into Locke. The young man was trampled by the large furry beast, pressing as hard as he could upwards to get the leviathan off of his chest. Pushing up just barely enough, Locke managed to roll away from his foul opponent. Just before the behemoth could turn around, Locke plunged his long sword into the back of the creature, letting out a painful scream.
Letting out all its strength, the beast once more lunged at the Nameless. Not knowing what to expect, the Nameless was trounced by the furred leviathan. The beast’s unclean breathe was like poison, as its sticky saliva landed against the Nameless’ forehead. He could feel the beast’s claws ripping into his flesh.
Using all the energy he had, the Nameless threw the beast off of him. The leviathan screeched as it slammed against a cement pylon. Just like the last fight with a behemoth, the Nameless plunged the Gunblade into the beast’s hide as soon as he had a free moment. Unlike the last fight with a behemoth, the beast only let out a loud shrill, not dead, just angered.
Carefully, the Nameless pulled his weapon from the beast, and dove out of the way as it tried to swipe at him with its claws. Closing his eyes, the Nameless retracted his blade into the chamber, and held it high against the beast.
His right hand trembled violently as he held the weapon up high, thumb hovering over the green button. He silently whispered, “By order of the Control, I shall eliminate you.”
Suddenly, his violent shaking was no more as he rapidly depressed the green button over and over, unloading an unusual beret of explosive bullets to his enemy. He fired until he could no longer hear the loud banging noise.
The massive behemoth yelped in pain, perhaps falling down for always. The Nameless opened his eyes and glanced one last time at experiment ZeroX1, no longer dangerous, for it was slain.
The Nameless looked down at himself. Blood seeped through his battered black shirt with no signs of stopping. He pulled off his long black trench, and ripped apart his shirt. With the solitaire pieces now dangling on the floor, the Nameless wrapped it tightly over his torso, as to temporarily stop the bleeding. He grabbed his coat and draped it over his shoulders and headed back to the outside world.
As soon as he stepped outside of the abandoned facility, the Nameless collapsed from exhaustion.
____________________
Locke Dièmestès stepped into the final room of the Neverend. The voice that followed him was no longer just a voice, now a figure.
“i welcome you… soul-less child… to the neverend…” said the figure that stood before him.
“Are you… are you Ba’al?” Locke questioned.
“indeed, soul-less child… i am… ba’al… the angelus… corpus…”
“Angelus… corpus… the Fallen Angel…” Locke said to himself, “Then you can help me achieve my goal, yes?” Locke pondered.
“yes, soul-less child…” Ba’al replied in the same menacing voice that guided Locke through the Neverend, “i can bring you… to a place… where not even yahweh… can save you…”
“Yahweh… God?”
“yes… soul-less child… yes…”
“I… I… I don’t care,” Locke stuttered, “I just want no longer to fear death… I want to be alive for always…”
“then eternity… i shall give unto thee…”
Ba’al stepped away from his golden thrown, down the small rock staircase to meet Locke Dièmestès eye to eye. Locke took a look at his temporary savior—the angelus corpus was tall, but human-like. Not like all the fables portrayed. Ba’al stood with a long red cape flowing behind him. He was winged, but they were long frayed, burnt and blackened, hardly useful at all. At his right side laid the great hell sword, Ragnarok.
“i give unto thee… two gifts…” said Ba’al, withdrawing his blade, “i give unto thee… the gift of eternal life…”
Locke’s heart began to beat, faster and faster it went—until it came to a sudden halt, unexplained, “Wh-what’s happening?” He trembled.
“i give unto thee… the last wound that will ever heal…”
Locke closed his eyes as Ba’al quickly thrust the Ragnarok upwards, slashing at his left eye. The blood that trickled down his face was temporary, as the wound was instantly scarred, colorless. As Locke drifted into death, he heard these final words,
“now you are at a place where not even yahweh can save you…”
… and that was the last time he had ever heard the voice of Ba’al, the Angelus Corpus.
____________________
The Nameless shot awake. The sweat poured down his face as he contemplated what had just happened. Where was he? Without second thought, the Nameless pulled his sun shades away from his face, revealing his two eyes—one blue like the cerulean seas, the other dead. He placed his ungloved hand upon the colorless scar, and felt it up and down. The final piece of the puzzle was in place.
And now… the Nameless could figure out his mystery.
He was indeed Locke Dièmestès, slain by the devil on that day, February 16th, 280F. He wasn’t granted eternal life… he was just never sentence to hell. But why?
The Nameless had apparently spent four days comatose in the infirmary in Illardi. Several members of the Control found him passed out at the floor of the abandoned military base, so they dragged him here. Still lying in his hospital bed, the Nameless closed his eyes once more.
It was the fifth morning since the Nameless had been hospitalized. Captain Zen’husholtz stood at his bedside along with Agent Smallsdael. The Nameless opened his eyes to greet the world around him.
“We went to the military base,” said Smallsdael, “luckily for us… that creature, that thing… was killed…”
“You did a good thing, Nameless,” the captain congratulated.
The first words in almost a week, the Nameless replied, “Thank-you, Captain Zen’husholtz, Agent Smallsdael.”
“As promised,” said Zen’husholtz, “here is your penance for defeating the leviathan.”
“Because of you, Nameless,” Smallsdael started, “we can now reclaim the military base—for good intentions, of course.”
“That’s good… to know…” the Nameless coughed.
A few days had passed, and the Nameless had finally brought himself back to Liedwein. He was welcomed with open arms as Lisa, Lance, and Xiophyn waited at the town’s end for him; Lisa apparently waited every night there for his return.
“What happened to your companions?” Lance asked.
“I retired them,” the Nameless replied, “they’re monuments to my family.”
“You have family?” Lisa questioned innocently.
“Had family.” The Nameless stressed the word ‘had’ with an unclean frown upon his face.
“Oh… I see…” she said in an apologetic tone.
During the next few days, the Nameless told the three about his adventures in Illardi—the Gunblade MKII, which Lance was eager to peruse, the behemoth, the dreams he had been having as of late, and his family.
“I still have one last destination,” said the Nameless.
“You plan to leave me… us… again?” Lisa questioned with sadness in her voice.
“Yes—to Talla’weh,” he advised, “my grandparents live there. I want to know if they are alive.”
“I see…” she said, “When do you plan on leaving?”
“Not for awhile,” the Nameless replied, “I need rest.”
Much to her comfort, Lisa laughed with glee. Still with feelings for the cloaked mercenary, she hoped she could finally get him to love her in the same way that she did him.
The Nameless walked the streets of Liedwein late that night, gazing at the cathedral. He pondered a few minutes before deciding finally to head inside. Xiophyn was still inside, kneeling over the altar for a few minutes.
“You’re… praying?” asked the Nameless.
“Heh… yeah… this religion crap seems to grow on me…” Xiophyn explained.
The Nameless turned his humor aside, and became even more serious than usual, “I need to talk to you, Xiophyn.”
“What about?” he asked.
“Fourteen years ago, I finally know the truth,” the Nameless started, “you see, after my family was killed, I succumbed to drugs and alcohol a lot, and eventually began to hear a voice as each night let on.”
“I see…”
“The voice was menacing… it was cold and dark,” the Nameless explained, “he asked me to follow him to the Neverend… and I did…”
The preacher man was without words.
“I sold my soul to the devil, Xiophyn,” he started, “I sold my soul for eternal life. But Ba’al, the devil… he… he…”
Xiophyn listened to the story as the Nameless told it.
Struggling to form the right words, the Nameless went out with it, “I am a dead man, Xiophyn… I was killed on February 16th, 280L—four years after my family.”
Trying desperately to believe the words that the Nameless was telling him, Xiophyn spoke up, “H-how is it possible… that you still walk this earth?”
“I… do not know,” the Nameless replied, “I do not know why I walk this earth… I do not know why I was never sentenced to perpetuity in hell…”
Xiophyn took a step back and a deep sigh, “This is some heavy stuff, man…”
“I know…”
“Sounds like you got another mystery to solve there, Nameless…”
“Indeed…”
The Nameless returned to his dwelling, lying down peacefully on the beat-up sofa below him. Just before finally drifting away into the peaceful siesta, he was greeted with an angelic, child-like voice.
“Hello, Locke,” said the peaceful voice.
“Wh-whose there,” the Nameless looked around and saw no one.
“I know what one thing you lack, Locke,” said the voice, “I have the one thing you truly want…”
Frightened, the Nameless questions once more, “Who are you?”
“I am your last client, Locke,” the voice claimed, “I will end your suffering.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Meet me… at the Thirteen-Month Stair,” the angelic voice proclaimed, “then you will know…”
Those were the last words of the childish voice. The Nameless was no longer plagued with them. The room was quiet as he finally fell into slumber.
The young lass woke up and looked to the living area. The Nameless was gathering his things, readying a sudden departure.
“I thought you weren’t leaving for awhile,” she said to him.
“I’m not going to Talla’weh, Lisa,” he replied, “I have one last client that wants me at the Thirteen-Month Stair…”
“H-how long will you be gone,” she asked him, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I… do not know…”
Just as the Nameless exited the front door, Lisa called out to him, “Just… just try not to let another ten years pass before I see you again…”
The Nameless turned to her and nodded, tipping his sou’wester hat as he turned away.
He managed to reach the end of town before he heard her voice screaming unto him, “Wait!”
He turned to see the adolescent girl bolting towards him, open arms. The Nameless accepted the girl’s hard embrace as she buried her face into his chest, “Please… please don’t go…”
“I’m sorry… I must…” he said to her, cold, harsh.
Lisa’s heart began to beat, faster and faster, racing against nothingness. She only had one shot. The young girl placed her hand behind the Nameless’ neck, and pulled him down once more allowing their lips to meet. The kiss was much longer than their first, and yet… the Nameless still had to break away.
“I… I’m sorry… I cannot…” he said to her.
The tears chased one another down the young girl’s face, it felt as if her heart was split in two. She watched as the man she loved turned away from her once more, and pressed onwards.
Trying to forgive herself, she wanted him to leave on a high note. She called for him once more.
“But sir,” questioned the young lass as she faced the cloaked figure, “what name shall I give?”
“Hm?”
“What name should I give the people when I tell them of you?”
The cloaked figure halted, turning to face her—“Young lass,” he replied, with a robust voice, “give them the name, Locke Dièmestès.”
Lisa smiled as she finally learned the name of the cloaked mercenary. Her face tear-stained, she returned home.
The Nameless wandered over to the cave that stood just outside of Illardi, where he had lived for nearly a week. He peered inside, seeing the monuments still in place.
“Mother… Father… Sisters…” he said to no one but himself, “I will be with you again one day…”
Those final words, the sun that once set high in the sky blazing had now drifted down into the abyss whilst the bright crescent moon took its place.
© Copyright 2005 The End of Ages (FictionPress ID:347625). All rights reserved. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of The End of Ages.