Anywhooooooo~!
I give to you all the most recent version of Complications of a Killer, a novel (or novella, as is) that I've been trying to get the hang of for ages. I'll check back here frequently, and as long as I have at least one reader in this thread, I'll continue to put bits up. I hope you enjoy your read~.
Part 1
"Ew, gross..."
"Cease your complaints. We must move quickly."
"Prescott, I have A HAND hanging onto my shirt. Give me a moment, will you?"
"Remove it, and stay behind me. And do not use my name."
Cael, mouth muttering silently and nose wrinkled, tugged at the bloodied appendage clinging to his tunic. Fistfuls of the white fabric, red flame patterns lining its hem, were gripped in the dead fingers. Exasperated and impatient, he unsheathed the dagger from his waist and began sawing off the annoyance.
Ahead of him, Prescott wiped a faint glimmer of sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. His long ebony hair had been tied out of the way, but ice-colored eyes were barely visible beneath pitch bangs as they roamed about the dank corridor. He gazed apathetically at the gory horrors lining its stone floor and staining the granite. Nudging a body with the toe of his black boot, he turned it over. The warrior stared up at him with wide, glazed-over eyes, its mouth an "O" of surprise and fear.
With a final grunt of exertion, the hand was pried free, and Cael stumbled slightly over the corpse it had once been attached to. Turning to his partner, he grinned widely, smoothing back the shock of copper hair sprouting from his head in unruly spikes.
"Ta da!" he chirped, waving at Prescott with the limb.
Years with this choice of career had forced him to develop a rather morbid sense of humor, as one might guess.
Humorlessly, the other crouched over, plucking what looked like a masquerade mask from the ground. It was carefully made in the image of a blue and black snake, the eye holes narrowed and cruel. Tying it to his face and straightening the positioning of his wide-brimmed, plumed hat, he stood to his full and daunting height, waiting with an air of unfeeling patience, yet noiseless urgency.
"What a creep," Cael thought, chills clawing through his body as he gazed through the mask's eye holes into the infinite voids of cold, pale blue.
A smile remained plastered over his face even as his innards writhed with discomfort. It faced him now, The Snake, beckoning with a gloved hand for him to follow it farther into the dark hallway, its other hand resting delicately on one of two sabers that hung from its waist, glimmering faintly from distant torchlight.
"Come. The target is this way."
Cael hesitated before reaching into the crimson sash tied around his torso, producing a fiery cat mask from within its folds. Tying it over his face, he sank into the security of disguise, feeling somehow protected from the stares of his partner.
"Righto, Prescott," he replied briskly, darting forward over the bodies.
"I told you not to say my name."
"Sorry, friend. Force of habit."
"I am not your friend."
The duo moved quietly down the hallway, crouched low, peering into the dimly-lit space ahead of them cautiously. Naught was heard but the faint shuffling of The Snake's boots over the cobblestones. They moved like this for what seemed like hours, winding downward into the earth, the air growing colder with each step. Finally, they approached a short, yet thick mahogany door. A welcoming heat could be felt emanating from its smooth, wooden surface, and from inside the noise of snoring seeped.
The Snake gestured to the large, iron lock above the polished doorknob. Nodding, Cael stepped forward and leaned closer to it, his chocolate brown eyes narrowing in concentration.
Cael was the bane of locksmiths around the world. He proved them inadequate again and again with dexterous hands and common lockpicks, and he scoffed at the simplicity of this newest opponent. After wiggling his tools about in it with a few slight twitches of his hands, it sighed with a quiet click as if to say, "What's the point?...I should've taken that job keeping goats in their pens."
His partner rested its hand on the doorknob, nodding. Cael took in a breath through clenched teeth, holding his dagger before him once more. As one, they threw the door open, ducking through it and leaping into the room with their blades readily brandished. Within, an elderly man bolted upright in his gilded bed, panting wildly.
"What're y-" he began to ask, pointing shakily at the figures before him before The Snake tossed its sabers to the side and lashed out at him with the swiftness and accuracy befitting of his name.
The frail chest was crushed under the knees of its assailant, air rushing from shriveled lungs. Eyes bulging, the old man stared up at the attacker sitting upon him, lips flapping in streams of frightened gibberish and chin quivering. Cael sprang forward, pulling a small vial from his belt, and hooked a finger into the toothless mouth. He uncorked the bottle with his free hand, pouring in its opalescent contents. Within seconds, the body stiffened, then relaxed completely. Eyelids fluttered, one of them closed halfway; the elderly man lay sleepily atop his silken sheets.
The Snake climbed off of him, standing back like an ebony pillar.
"How do you feel?" Cael asked, sitting lightly on the edge of the victim's bed.
"Great... Better than I have... in a long time," the man whispered, a weak smile blossoming on his mouth. "Though the walls seem to be melting..."
"They're not melting. No worries."
"Could've sworn they were..."
Reaching up, Cael untied the mask from his face and let it fall to the silken sheets beneath him. Fondly and delicately, as if the withering old man were his dying grandmother, he took one of the man's papery, pale hands in his own.
He caressed it lightly, soothingly, a faint smile upon his lips as he began to inquire, "Your name is Robert, right? Robert Endenero? Listen, I need your help. My friend and I are looking for someone... Someone very important. We need to find Nathaniel Dalmonti."
A wide, gummy grin spreading over Robert's face as he repled weakly, but proudly, "Nathaniel... I used to teach Nathaniel, you know. I taught him art. I wrote down everything he did. And..."
The haze seemed to lift from the old man's eyes, his smile melting into that of a deep, troubled frown. His fingers tensed slightly, gripping Cael's hand.
"He was such a strange boy... I do not think I can help you... I do not think any man could help you..."
The sound of scraping drawers reached Cael's ears, shifting his attention as The Snake began wrenching open ancient desks lining the room, flipping through their files with quick fingers, scattering gems and gold coins as he swept the surfaces clean to read. Paper after paper was pulled from its place and dropped carelessly to the floor, the mercenary so intent on his purpose, a flurry of black and blue as he stalked about the room. He stopped only upon revealing a particularly vacant drawer, naught but a single file in its hold.
"This is it," he said in the voice of daggers, brandishing the file for Cael to view.
Robert whispered as the mercenaries glanced over the papers, visage glazed once more as his mind wandered. "His face was everyone's face... He had no hair... His clothes had no color... And his expression..."
Tear droplets through the crags of his wrinkles, withered hands shaking as he rambled on.
Fluidly, not the slightest hesitation to his arm, The Snake glided to the elder's bedside, unsheathed his saber, and slipped its edge along the drooping throat. Against his will, Cael winced as he watched crimson fluid ooze from the fresh cut, seeping into the rich velvet robes that hung so limply from Robert's body. There were only a few moments of pitiful writhing, helpless struggling, before the figure lay still, never to move again.
Cael gave silent thanks to the mask as brought it back to his face.
"I don't think he'd care if he saw the disgust on my face," he thought, tying the silken ribbon behind his head. "But... All the same."
"Cease your complaints. We must move quickly."
"Prescott, I have A HAND hanging onto my shirt. Give me a moment, will you?"
"Remove it, and stay behind me. And do not use my name."
Cael, mouth muttering silently and nose wrinkled, tugged at the bloodied appendage clinging to his tunic. Fistfuls of the white fabric, red flame patterns lining its hem, were gripped in the dead fingers. Exasperated and impatient, he unsheathed the dagger from his waist and began sawing off the annoyance.
Ahead of him, Prescott wiped a faint glimmer of sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. His long ebony hair had been tied out of the way, but ice-colored eyes were barely visible beneath pitch bangs as they roamed about the dank corridor. He gazed apathetically at the gory horrors lining its stone floor and staining the granite. Nudging a body with the toe of his black boot, he turned it over. The warrior stared up at him with wide, glazed-over eyes, its mouth an "O" of surprise and fear.
With a final grunt of exertion, the hand was pried free, and Cael stumbled slightly over the corpse it had once been attached to. Turning to his partner, he grinned widely, smoothing back the shock of copper hair sprouting from his head in unruly spikes.
"Ta da!" he chirped, waving at Prescott with the limb.
Years with this choice of career had forced him to develop a rather morbid sense of humor, as one might guess.
Humorlessly, the other crouched over, plucking what looked like a masquerade mask from the ground. It was carefully made in the image of a blue and black snake, the eye holes narrowed and cruel. Tying it to his face and straightening the positioning of his wide-brimmed, plumed hat, he stood to his full and daunting height, waiting with an air of unfeeling patience, yet noiseless urgency.
"What a creep," Cael thought, chills clawing through his body as he gazed through the mask's eye holes into the infinite voids of cold, pale blue.
A smile remained plastered over his face even as his innards writhed with discomfort. It faced him now, The Snake, beckoning with a gloved hand for him to follow it farther into the dark hallway, its other hand resting delicately on one of two sabers that hung from its waist, glimmering faintly from distant torchlight.
"Come. The target is this way."
Cael hesitated before reaching into the crimson sash tied around his torso, producing a fiery cat mask from within its folds. Tying it over his face, he sank into the security of disguise, feeling somehow protected from the stares of his partner.
"Righto, Prescott," he replied briskly, darting forward over the bodies.
"I told you not to say my name."
"Sorry, friend. Force of habit."
"I am not your friend."
The duo moved quietly down the hallway, crouched low, peering into the dimly-lit space ahead of them cautiously. Naught was heard but the faint shuffling of The Snake's boots over the cobblestones. They moved like this for what seemed like hours, winding downward into the earth, the air growing colder with each step. Finally, they approached a short, yet thick mahogany door. A welcoming heat could be felt emanating from its smooth, wooden surface, and from inside the noise of snoring seeped.
The Snake gestured to the large, iron lock above the polished doorknob. Nodding, Cael stepped forward and leaned closer to it, his chocolate brown eyes narrowing in concentration.
Cael was the bane of locksmiths around the world. He proved them inadequate again and again with dexterous hands and common lockpicks, and he scoffed at the simplicity of this newest opponent. After wiggling his tools about in it with a few slight twitches of his hands, it sighed with a quiet click as if to say, "What's the point?...I should've taken that job keeping goats in their pens."
His partner rested its hand on the doorknob, nodding. Cael took in a breath through clenched teeth, holding his dagger before him once more. As one, they threw the door open, ducking through it and leaping into the room with their blades readily brandished. Within, an elderly man bolted upright in his gilded bed, panting wildly.
"What're y-" he began to ask, pointing shakily at the figures before him before The Snake tossed its sabers to the side and lashed out at him with the swiftness and accuracy befitting of his name.
The frail chest was crushed under the knees of its assailant, air rushing from shriveled lungs. Eyes bulging, the old man stared up at the attacker sitting upon him, lips flapping in streams of frightened gibberish and chin quivering. Cael sprang forward, pulling a small vial from his belt, and hooked a finger into the toothless mouth. He uncorked the bottle with his free hand, pouring in its opalescent contents. Within seconds, the body stiffened, then relaxed completely. Eyelids fluttered, one of them closed halfway; the elderly man lay sleepily atop his silken sheets.
The Snake climbed off of him, standing back like an ebony pillar.
"How do you feel?" Cael asked, sitting lightly on the edge of the victim's bed.
"Great... Better than I have... in a long time," the man whispered, a weak smile blossoming on his mouth. "Though the walls seem to be melting..."
"They're not melting. No worries."
"Could've sworn they were..."
Reaching up, Cael untied the mask from his face and let it fall to the silken sheets beneath him. Fondly and delicately, as if the withering old man were his dying grandmother, he took one of the man's papery, pale hands in his own.
He caressed it lightly, soothingly, a faint smile upon his lips as he began to inquire, "Your name is Robert, right? Robert Endenero? Listen, I need your help. My friend and I are looking for someone... Someone very important. We need to find Nathaniel Dalmonti."
A wide, gummy grin spreading over Robert's face as he repled weakly, but proudly, "Nathaniel... I used to teach Nathaniel, you know. I taught him art. I wrote down everything he did. And..."
The haze seemed to lift from the old man's eyes, his smile melting into that of a deep, troubled frown. His fingers tensed slightly, gripping Cael's hand.
"He was such a strange boy... I do not think I can help you... I do not think any man could help you..."
The sound of scraping drawers reached Cael's ears, shifting his attention as The Snake began wrenching open ancient desks lining the room, flipping through their files with quick fingers, scattering gems and gold coins as he swept the surfaces clean to read. Paper after paper was pulled from its place and dropped carelessly to the floor, the mercenary so intent on his purpose, a flurry of black and blue as he stalked about the room. He stopped only upon revealing a particularly vacant drawer, naught but a single file in its hold.
"This is it," he said in the voice of daggers, brandishing the file for Cael to view.
Robert whispered as the mercenaries glanced over the papers, visage glazed once more as his mind wandered. "His face was everyone's face... He had no hair... His clothes had no color... And his expression..."
Tear droplets through the crags of his wrinkles, withered hands shaking as he rambled on.
Fluidly, not the slightest hesitation to his arm, The Snake glided to the elder's bedside, unsheathed his saber, and slipped its edge along the drooping throat. Against his will, Cael winced as he watched crimson fluid ooze from the fresh cut, seeping into the rich velvet robes that hung so limply from Robert's body. There were only a few moments of pitiful writhing, helpless struggling, before the figure lay still, never to move again.
Cael gave silent thanks to the mask as brought it back to his face.
"I don't think he'd care if he saw the disgust on my face," he thought, tying the silken ribbon behind his head. "But... All the same."
Comments and critique are not only permitted, but greatly, GREATLY appreciated. I'm starting a college course on writing fiction in September, and even the slightest edge would make me a happy girl.
