Abolisher

“Now.”

As soon as the word silently slid Faolin Wisflave’s mouth, slaves streamed out of the building’s doors like ants, and flowed into the vast courtyard.

Faolin stood at the rooftop of the museum, overseeing it all, as they hurtled forward silently—not pushing one another, just as they’d been instructed strictly.

Even as Faolin could see them running weakly—a few very energetic, excited for the free life ahead—no one else around them could. Everyone saw silent, frosty courtyard.

Faolin was cloaked and hooded and masked in all black, armed to teeth. Only her lilac eyes and dark skin betrayed any identity.

Levsenn—who was not glamoured—was walking calmly along the pavement of the courtyard, in a sentry’s uniform, just in case any guard turned out cleverer than they’d anticipated. The siren was the definition of nonchalance: hands in her jeans, shoulders relaxed. She was whistling. Even so, Faolin didn’t think the savage gleam in her sapphire eyes was a mere trick of light.

Levsenn could see the slaves, knew just where they were headed. Other sentries, however, remained clueless.

“They’re here,” Vur whispered behind her.

Faolin didn’t have to turn to know he stood by the rooftop’s closed doors, his back pasted against the wall, as if he would melt in it.

“Three …” he counted. “Two …”

Slaves were just at the gates when Levsenn’s eyes slid up to Faolin, and winked.

“Lin.”

Faolin whirled—just in time to catch Vur disappearing into the thin air, as if he’d indeed melted into the white wall. Hidden beneath his own mejest.

The rooftop’s doors flung open.

Slaves burst in, panting hard.

And just like Vur, they disappeared, revealing armed and furious sentries behind themselves.

Faolin imagined Vur grinning where he stood hidden against the wall—satisfied at his art. Sketched well enough that all these sentries had fallen for it, and tailed a mere mirage of slaves, when the real ones had already bolted through the front gates.

Their eyes went wide, confused, when the mirage vanished. And when those lively eyes found Faolin, fear sparked in them.

And oh, Faolin adored that look more so than any other.

Surely, a glance was enough for them to recognize the Moon Sadist. The Slayer of Twilight. The Steelier Weapon. Surely, her lilac eyes and a glimpse of her moon-white hair beneath the hood were enough to make the sentries want to slam to their knees.

And indeed, a few legs buckled.

Faolin couldn’t help her crooked grin. “Hello, there,” she crooned. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but none of you will be seeing the other side of that door ever again.” As the words left her mouth, Vur—still hidden—shut the iron doors behind the sentries.

The sentries threw wary looks at one another. Then, as one, they drew their weapons and charged for her, even when their fear was strong enough to make her mejest prickle.

Faolin’s daggers were already in her hands, pleasure cleaving its way through her chest. For each time they’d freed slaves this past year, this stage gave her the thrill she needed to feel alive. It was like a very dangerous drug—only she wasn’t the one getting killed by it.

The first sentry went down most easily. Rife with fear, Faolin only had to swipe and slice, and his blood was on her hand before he tumbled to the floor, gagging.

Then they came as a cluster. And Faolin laughed as she whirled and ducked and stabbed and relished in each second. In each sweep of the cold air grazing her blood-smeared hands and face. She was dancing to the music of her heart, to the rhythm heard by no one else.

There was a satisfaction in pain—in suffering. It made you alive. It forced you to live, if only in an attempt to bolt past it.

For Faolin, pain needn’t be hers.

Pain needed to be for these men who abused other humans like a torn toy found on street. Who misused their power, their position. Faolin loathed them all. And she wouldn’t spend a single second ruing the blood coating her hands, soaking her leathers.

Minutes later, guards lay before her, bleeding from everywhere. That was easy—she was hardly panting. She sheathed her daggers, threw her hood back from her head as she began kicking the bodies lightly.

Twelve … Thirteen … Fourteen—fourteen.

Faolin’s daggers were out the next heartbeat.

Fifteen men had entered the rooftop.

She looked to the iron doors—where she knew Vur stood watching from behind the drape of his mejest. She shook her head at him. No—not now. Stay hidden.

She looked around the rooftop bathed in blood. It wasn’t vast but … it couldn’t have been difficult to find a hiding place with all these walls. It was built like a child’s maze, this rooftop—with a few walls connecting with the guardrail—

That was when she heard a low, suppressed whimper.

Her gaze followed it to the wall beside her. Faolin smirked.

She didn’t bother with stealth, and stepped around the wall.

He cried out loud when she appeared before him—wailed, really.

But Faolin had stilled with surprise. The man wasn’t wearing a sentry’s uniform. He was trembling like a boy—a boy no more than seventeen. But he was sure as Saqa older than twenty.

He wasn’t a sentry—not someone trained to fight at all.

Faolin didn’t care. No one was going to leave this rooftop alive. She lifted her dagger, but—

“Please,” he whimpered. “I have a sister—we’re poor, she’s merely ten—” She couldn’t make out the words after that.

Faolin gracefully crouched before him, watched as his tears slid to his jaw, his chin. She tilted her head. “Who are you?”

“I have a sister,” he repeated. “I—I …”

Faolin felt the Dark cornering her eyes as her finger traced her dagger’s blade. “Would you prefer I rather open your throat and see what words are stuck there?”

It took the man a moment to reply. “My boss—he—he’s hired me to steal that infamous painting on exhibition. He’d pay generously—”

Faolin’s dagger was in his neck before he could complete.

The man gagged, writhed, his eyes rolled back. And then he fell to his side.

Silence.

“Too bad your boss couldn’t give you a better timing.”

The Dark cornering Faolin’s eyes grew, until she was seeing through a haze. There was a slight tremor in her hand, and she curled her fingers in a tight fist.

She lifted to her feet and turned.

Vur had dropped his mejest, stood horror-struck a few steps from her, eyes wide as they remained at the felled man. Lips slightly parted in disbelief more than shock. He met her gaze. Then gritted, “We weren’t killing innocents.”

Faolin idly waved a hand as she looked down as the blood reaching her feet. “Oh, buckle up.” She was no stranger to Vur’s judgement, his disdain about this whole mission. “You say that like those sentries were any less innocent than this one.”

Vur’s expression turned to disgust. “His sister—”

“I’m in no mood to listen to your moralities,” she snapped. “What, you don’t think these sentries had families, children? You hear this one’s story and you grow pity?” she spat.

“But he didn’t even pose a threat—”

Faolin snickered. “You think he would have kept his mouth shut about our intrusion here? Did you not see the fear?”

Vur’s lips thinned. But wisely, he said nothing. The haze coating Faolin’s eyes cleared a bit as her chest stung. But then, Undesin burst into the rooftop.

Faolin’s focus on that sting slipped. Darkness returned.

Undesin was panting. But as he opened his mouth, a sharp noise pierced the night.

“That!” he exclaimed through his heavy breaths.

Someone had sounded the alarm.

“Go!” Faolin told the two men.

Vur was watching the one behind Faolin, as if the noise wasn’t gushing his ears. Faolin rolled her eyes. She stepped towards him, and gripped his arm, snapping him back to attention. “Go,” she hissed.

Undesin was already hurtling down the stairs—that little one had gotten used to all the bodies. And knew better than to complain.

“You need to come now, too,” Vur said, his blue eyes wary.

Faolin shook her head. “I need to do this—”

“Faolin—” Those eyes grew warier, unsure of just what Faolin needed to do every time after killing someone. And why was he not allowed to watch.

“Go,” she snarled.

He hesitated for a moment. And she knew just how many questions were tangling up in his mind. But he only threw one look at Faolin before rushing out.

She felt the Darkness grinning as soon as Vur’s steps declined. Faolin cringed.

She turned to the bodies.

The Darkness soared up, up, up, and swelled inside her like a bird opening its wings. She felt as her name dwindled from her mind, as this dark horror encircled her mind, her heart, her soul. She felt as her limbs turned foreign—someone else’s to command, to control. The veins beneath her skin turned dark, her blood turned darker than the night.

The haze in her sight turned to a black coat, and the world disappeared.

✰✰✰✰✰

Faolin awoke after—she knew—exact fifteen minutes.

She felt the cold blood beneath herself first, as she sat up amid the bodies—more in number than they had been.

Head spinning, she lifted to her feet—faltered—but steadied herself. It felt like waking up after drinking too much alcohol the previous night. Worse. Frankly, it felt like a babe instantly learning how to command its body right after being born.

She knew—before she looked down at the bodies—just what she would find. But her stomach still turned, and bile still rose to her throat.

The skin of their faces had been burned through to their skull, and there was only red mass spilling out.

She knew if she looked down at herself—if only she dared to face it—Faolin would find that same thick liquid on her fingers, dripping to the ground.

She didn’t—couldn’t.

Wasn’t that the point? She couldn’t face whatever lived in her veins now, couldn’t dare confront it. Every time the thought of fighting it grazed her mind, she found herself shrinking from that very thought. Found herself shaking and trembling with terror.

Coward—she’d become a coward. How did one’s bravery grew alongside their cowardice?

Faolin didn’t think over it, and, along the shadows, stalked out of the rooftop.

✰✰✰✰✰

“Where were you all night?”

Vur jumped and slammed into the door as soon as he shut it, letting out a shocked gasp.

Faolin turned on the lights of the living room. She leaned against the wall beside her bedroom, across from the apartment’s door, arms crossed. She’d awoken an hour ago, when Levsenn had returned after helping the slaves out of the city, and spending hours in water in her aquakin form.

The siren had asked for Vur the first thing—her endeavor to hide the concern too palpable. Vur hadn’t been in his bedroom.

“Must be on the rooftop—today was a long day,” the siren had yawned. And then retired to her own bedroom.

But Faolin had known he wasn’t on the rooftop—knew exactly where he could have gone. So she’d been waiting for his return.

Vur threw the keys on the round table. “What, are you keeping a watch on me now?”

Irritation prickled at Faolin. “I have to, if you’re going to jeopardize this whole mission because of your sentiments.” She practically spat the word.

Vur walked into the kitchen, and filled himself a glass of water. “What mission, exactly, Faolin? We were supposed to be looking for my cousin—”

“I wonder what else have we been doing this past Abyss-damned year.”

“Killing innocents?” Vur snapped. “Robbing children of their families?” His grip was tight on the glass—enough that his knuckles had turned white.

“Where were you?” Faolin repeated, calmly.

She waited as he gulped down water. Then, his voice softened. “I went to see to that man’s sister.” He met her gaze—daring her to oppose him, shout at him. “It didn’t take long to find his boss—who didn’t take much to spill about that man’s family.”

Faolin waited.

“He hadn’t lied—about being poor. Or about his sister. He was an innocent man—”

“No man is innocent.”

“—he’d only wanted to feed his family—”

“Good thing he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Vur paused. Blinked. Then, slowly, disbelief and naked disgust took over his face. He laughed a mirthless laugh, a sound she wasn’t used to.

Not from Vur. Anyone but Vur.

But the words he spoke—those were the poisonous needles Faolin couldn’t bear. Her blood went cold.

“Aazem died—died—trying to save those innocents, because he’d wanted nothing more than to protect the helpless.” Vur looked her dead in the eyes as he said, “If he could see you today—the monster you’ve become—he would want to protect those same helpless from you.”

The blow landed, slammed into her with the weight of a thousand mountains.

It took a few moments for her to reel herself back. To force herself to breathe.

Long enough for regret to darken the miragist’s eyes. “I didn’t—”

“And what did his generosity bring him except pain and death?”

Any regret ebbed from Vur’s beautiful features. His lips curled, but he said nothing.

Faolin peeled off the wall, and stepped inside her bedroom. But—

She looked over her shoulder. “Aazem died because he believed in a better world—he died because he thought he could help shape that better world. He died because he failed to realize there will always be darkness—even in that better world of his. There will always be more cruelty—never less.”

She added after a beat of silence, “Next time you try to bring his name up to prove a point, you will find that glass in your throat rather than in your hand.”

Faolin slammed the door shut.