Chapter 10: White Flame

Then the lock turned. He pushed the door open, and the flock of black birds shrieked and scattered before him. The dark spots swimming in his vision had yet to clear when Roche saw the familiar metal frame at the center of the altar. A blackened corpse lay curled up on it, thin wisps of smoke still rising from its body. Nearby, Jodie was swinging an axe at Drake.

The last raven perched on Roche’s shoulder and spoke in its hoarse voice.

“We warned you.”

Don’t open the door. Don’t return to reality. At least then you won’t have to face your own weakness and helplessness again.

Don’t. Stop.

He heard his own voice shaking. Jodie seemed not to hear him at all. He stared at Drake and laughed so hard his whole body trembled.

“How are you left with nothing? You still have your life, don’t you?”

Roche watched the axe come down. He wanted to close his eyes, to hide away again, where Nunnally was still alive and Drake had merely gone mad.

He couldn’t.

He still couldn’t do anything.

He couldn’t do anything at all.

Shadows. Shadows. Shadows. A colossal construct. An existence beyond comprehension. Pressure surged. Light bent. Space buckled. Invisible blades sliced through every inch of his skin. He welcomed it all with wild joy, crawling toward that immense construct, ready to embrace death and rebirth.

Then someone stepped in front of him. He caught a glimpse of ash-brown hair.

“You’re so loud,” Jodie snapped in annoyance. He came over with sharp, clicking footsteps and kicked Roche twice with his high heels. “Can’t you be quiet? This is my Lord’s altar—a sacred, solemn place. And you’re a grown man. Why are you crying?”

Oh. Only then did Roche realize he was sobbing.

Drake, who had just escaped death, showed no relief at all. He coughed up blood, then kept provoking Jodie.

“Still better than a dumbass who believes in gods so much he’s lost his brain.”

Jodie was furious. “You—!”

“You can’t even swear properly. How pathetic.” Drake looked at him contemptuously from beneath swollen eyelids.

“Forget it. Why should I argue with a dead man?” Jodie drew a deep breath and dragged his axe toward Drake again.

Seeing Drake’s blank expression, Roche formed a rough guess. Had his ability returned? Was he trying to provoke Jodie into killing him so he could burn Escher Manor to the ground?

The axe swung down. Drake watched the gleaming blade, his expression almost relieved.

Was that really the look of someone planning to turn the tables?

Roche realized something was wrong. He struggled desperately toward the tool wall. It was too late, a voice deep inside him sneered. Nothing you do now will matter. You can’t save him. You had your chance, but you let it slip away. Look at you. You’re useless.

Shut up! he shouted back at the voice. Shut up.

Of course he knew it was too late. He knew he’d made another terrible decision. When Jodie had come over, Roche should have kept him busy by any means necessary—tripped him, bitten him, anything. He shouldn’t have let Jodie walk away. But there was no point sitting there and blaming himself for what had already happened. He still had to do something.

He looked toward the little knife. Bracing himself against the wall, he struggled to his feet and reached for it. In the corner of his eye, the axe came down with a heavy blow. He heard a shrill clang of metal hitting stone.

Stone?

Roche grabbed the knife and began cutting his ropes, looking toward the spot where the two men had been. Jodie’s axe had missed. Its blade had struck the floor inches from Drake. The reason was the few faintly glowing, gelatinous tendrils wrapped around the handle. They stretched past Jodie’s face and disappeared outside the door.

Roche couldn’t see who was outside from where he stood. But so far, he’d only met one person who could control that substance.

The tendrils continued crawling up the axe handle, making a wet, revolting sound like slugs writhing in slime. Jodie shrieked like a little girl and dropped the axe. He stumbled backward several steps, then fell hard on his backside.

“Impossible! You can’t use your superpower! What—what the hell are you?”

He pointed a trembling finger at the doorway.

The black tendrils dragged the axe away, flowing across the floor like a tide as they retreated outside.

Roche couldn’t help wondering what Jodie had seen. Jodie’s face was deathly pale, his teeth chattering—but when footsteps sounded, the person who walked through the door was just Koin. He looked exactly as he had when he’d left that morning, not a hair out of place. The contrast with the two battered men was striking.

“Wait, don’t kill him yet. I’ve got a lot of questions for this kid.” Koin spotted the knife in Roche’s hand and hurried to speak.

“I—I wasn’t going to kill him that quickly.” Roche glanced at the charred corpse on the altar, forcing down his anger. He went over to Drake and began untying him. As he cut through the ropes, he asked, “How long has it been since we entered this house?”

“Less than a day.”

In Roche’s mind, five years had passed.

He fell silent for a moment, then spoke anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry for dragging you down. Sorry for losing myself in that illusion. Sorry for saying what I did—and sorry for the things I’d wanted in that illusion, for wanting you to die just so I could free myself.

“What’s there to be sorry for? It already happened. Instead of asking other people to forgive you so you can feel better, why don’t you think about how to keep this from happening again?”

That wasn’t the same as “It’s fine” or “Don’t worry about it.” It sounded more like Drake was telling Roche to swallow his apology.

Roche started to say something, then stopped. Drake sat up and flexed his fingers, which had turned bluish from lack of circulation. There were bandages around his wrists, too. When had he been injured? Roche had no memory of it. His guilt only grew heavier.

Drake glanced at him through his long hair. He sounded genuinely annoyed.

“Don’t tell me you’re slow dancing with your guilt.”

“…Yeah.”

Drake raised his chin slightly and looked down at Roche.

“You can apologize if you want. Whether I forgive you is up to me. What makes you think I have to accept your apology and pretend none of this ever happened? Weren’t you the one who dropped the ball when it mattered?”

“Don’t worry. No one’s going to say this is your fault. Everyone in that chain—from Human Resources to the Operations Department—had a part in this. You’re the only one who’s innocent, because they never should’ve sent someone who wasn’t ready to face any of this.”

Maybe he saw how lost Roche looked, because he added one last thing.

“Next time something happens, don’t just apologize. And don’t”—he paused—“suddenly start crying, okay?”

Roche felt like a new graduate on his first day at work, with no idea what to do with his hands.

“Hey, what’s going on? Don’t fight. I found out something interesting.” Koin came over and squeezed himself between them. “Have you heard of the White Flame?”

The White Flame was the code name of a cult that worshiped fire. The highest-ranking apostles in the group also called themselves White Flames. According to them, White Flames possessed souls unlike those of ordinary people—souls untouched by corruption. They were exceptionally perceptive, able to sense things beyond ordinary human perception and even reach the heavens to receive divine blessings. Some of the more favored White Flames could even wield part of their gods’ authority and power.

According to the cult’s records, White Flames were exceedingly rare—impossible to find on purpose. To change that, they had tried to cultivate them artificially. Some children were kept from birth in isolation chambers meant for people with immune disorders, cut off from all outside contact and germs. Others were isolated from society and other people, raised to adulthood in sealed environments and kept away from most of the things civilization had made.

“Looks like the Eschers went with the second approach,” Koin said, scratching his head. “I never thought the White Flame Cult could still be flopping around like a dead frog after all these years. Even a former PAA official in charge of arresting them became a follower. That’s a massive scandal.”

“Hey, how did your family’s experiment turn out? Why not show us the blessing your god gave you?”

He turned to Jodie.

Jodie had recovered from his fear and was glaring at Koin. “Disgusting, inferior creatures. PAA is rotten to the core. If you’re going to consort with Anomalies anyway, you might as well find a more promising path. It’s better than mixing with filth like you.”

“That makes sense!” Koin gave him a thumbs-up. “Look at us. Not one of the three of us is normal. Who would’ve thought PAA would turn strange itself while trying to fight Anomalies?”

“Your dad must’ve been the one repeating those lines at home,” Koin said, dragging over a chair and sitting down. “You’ve never even left the house. How would you know anything about this stuff? Which reminds me—are you going to show us your ability or not? Or did the Eschers’ White Flame breeding program end in tragic failure?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jodie answered quickly.

“Don’t be stupid. You couldn’t have built an altar like this all by yourself. Your parents were the ones behind it.”

“My parents had nothing to do with this!”

Koin shook his head, exasperated. “Would one of you mind handing me those pliers on the wall?”

Roche did as he asked. Koin took the pliers and fiddled with them for a moment.

“What do you usually use these for? Tightening the barbed wire around the people on that frame? Want to guess what else they’re good for? Say, interrogation?”

Jodie stiffened his neck and tried to look fearless, but his trembling legs gave him away.

“I thought you weren’t scared,” Koin taunted. “Didn’t you think about this day when you were torturing people? Like that bespectacled gentleman over there?”

Jodie stubbornly clung to his story. “Those were necessary sacrifices!”

“You’ve definitely been brainwashed by religion.”

Koin yanked off one of Jodie’s fingernails without hesitation. Pain shot through him. Clutching his hand, Jodie screamed, then scrambled toward the altar. Koin planted a foot on his back.

“Why the hurry? We’ve barely started.” He gave a mocking laugh and waved the bloodied pliers at Jodie.