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Zacharie did not like to be kept waiting on the best of days, but when on this particular day he was stuck within the bowels of a foul-smelling sugar factory in a barely up-to-code monorail car, the experience became all the more unpleasant. Of all the places to be stood up, he thought, absently kicking an empty bottle into the shadows of the opposite seat. Why did it have to be Vesper?
Admittedly, he was unaccustomed to the atmosphere of zone 3. Usually it was easy enough to navigate the other zones, but this one in particular stood out as odd. It wasn’t so much the smell – he was becoming desensitised to that all too quickly – or the constant high-pitched whining of the machinery; and while the lightly sticky oil-and-sugar paste coating every inch of the floor was certainly unpleasant to walk on, it wasn’t unbearable.
No, it was undeniably the behaviour of the local Elsen. At first he hadn’t noticed, but now that he’d picked up on it he was uncomfortably aware of their vacant smiles, blank eyes and laboured, shuddering breaths. That, and the constant twitching, was certainly enough to unnerve him.
He sighed and leant forward in his seat, resting his chin on an open palm. For now, he was filling in the much-needed role of Pablo (although to most he was known as the Judge), and while it was a little fun to flaunt the title and mess with the Batter, it was all ultimately hollow. Lately the dull, colourless existence he’d been forced to endure had robbed him of all ability to find it in him to care about such things. He hadn’t even felt anything about Valerie’s death. In the end, it was simply too easy to give in to the all-consuming apathy this bizarre world instilled in him.
A loud thud of someone hitting the floor heavily jarred Zacharie from his thoughts, and instinctively he sat up straight, retail voice at the ready. He listened, and it wasn’t long before he was rewarded with the steady sound of approaching footsteps; and there was only one living creature in zone 3 with a stride like that.
Although the painful hollowness in his heart did not alleviate, it was momentarily lessened at the thought of seeing him again. Zacharie checked the strings on his mask, making sure they were done tight, and made to dash for the door, but realised what he was doing and caught himself.
Just play it cool, he told himself, taking a deep breath to calm himself. You’ve done this a thousand times.
“I’m here, I’m here!” he announced, leaping out the door with such enthusiasm that he collided with the Batter and sent him stumbling backwards into the opposite wall. The Batter, graceful as always, managed to recover himself with little effort, but although his expression did not change (it never did, really), Zacharie imagined that he was glaring daggers at him from under his baseball cap.
The merchant sheepishly cleared his throat and addressed the presence that lay somewhere behind the Batter, a mysterious being that, while existing in a plane invisible to the senses, was still vaguely perceptible from time to time.
“Welcome, Puppeteer,” Zacharie said cheerfully, trying to ignore the look the Batter was no doubt giving him. As always, it was up to him to break the ice, which was not such an easy task when his audience was an uncommunicative nonhuman and a multidimensional being of unknown origin. “Uhm,” he began, trying to gather his thoughts, “You’re here in the sugar ovens of Vesper, the northern part of zone 3.”
“I know, that’s already been explained to me,” the Batter said, swiftly cutting short his explanation.
“… Ah.” Zacharie sucked his lip. This was definitely not going the way he’d imagined it. There was a long silence between them as his mind raced to find a way to save the situation. “All the better, all the better,” he managed eventually. “That certainly buys us some time.”
The Batter pushed himself off the wall he had fallen against and drew himself up to his full height, which was substantial. “I must purify this zone’s guardian,” he declared, clearly done with the pleasantries.
Zacharie laughed softly, grateful for the Batter’s one track-mind. Sometimes it was nice to be around someone who didn’t think too much. “Of course, of course. That’s what I thought.” He rummaged in his pocket. “I have an Access Card for the monorail,” he announced, waving the card for his companion to see. “Let’s hurry to area 4 to meet that mysterious director.”
The masked man turned and led the way into the car, taking a seat on one of the less unstable-looking benches and swinging his legs back and forth like a hyperactive child. He wasn’t really that enthused, but he knew it would annoy the Batter, so he did it anyway. The Batter followed, expressionless as always, and simply stood in the middle of the carriage without reaching for a handhold.
Zacharie budged slightly to one side of the seat and patted the space next to him, indicating that he should sit. The Batter just stared at him, not making a sound but still somehow managing to give the impression of disapproval. “Suit yourself,” Zacharie shrugged. “But do be careful, the monorail system down here can be a bit–” He was cut off by a deafening metallic clang as the entire car jolted violently, sending the Batter crashing into a wall for the second time in minutes.
“… Bumpy,” he finished, unable to resist a chuckle. Defeated, the man just lay with his back against the wall as the subway shudderingly pulled away from the station.
Silence fell between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It seemed the Puppeteer had vanished again for the time being, leaving the two of them alone for the first time in a while. Zacharie inspected a map plastered to the opposite wall, trying to pinpoint their location.
“There’s a fair distance yet to our destination,” he reported. “I’d estimate maybe another hour or so.” The Batter appeared to consider this information, but didn’t respond. He often didn’t, unless it was absolutely necessary. Zacharie continued, “I suppose it won’t be much longer before you purify this zone, too.” He nodded at the slightly chipped, bloodstained bat that seemingly never left the other man’s hand. “How’s your weapon faring?”
The Batter rose to his feet in a manner so smooth and effortless that it looked almost unnatural and turned it over in his hands, inspecting it closely. Then, without warning, he viciously swung it through the enclosed space and would have likely bludgeoned his unsuspecting companion to death had he not reflexively ducked. He experimentally twirled the bat over in his hands, seemingly oblivious to Zacharie’s outraged spluttering. “It’s okay,” he said after a moment.
When his heart had slowed and it looked as though it was safe to sit upright, Zacharie coughed and brushed off his sweater. “Ahem. Indeed. Well, I’ll keep an eye out for a replacement until then.” He fervently wished he’d have stocked up before coming to zone 3, but the business with Pablo had caught him off guard, and it was a tough job to juggle the role of advisor and obligatory in-game merchant at the same time. It would’ve been nice to have had a gift ready. Well, a costly gift, but a gift nonetheless.
The Batter didn’t respond, instead taking a few steps back to the other side of the carriage. Zacharie supposed he was fine with that; he was content enough with just enjoying the other man’s presence. Still, it was strange knowing so little about him. Sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder about where he had come from. It was almost as though he had just walked into existence one day, fully grown and brandishing a bat.
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The Batter strode up and down length of the carriage in the exact same manner as he had been for the past hour, dragging his weapon along the uneven floor so that it scraped away grime wherever it touched. It almost looked as though he was cleaning it up, until the fresh blood and tar-like substance coating his bat dripped along the newly cleansed surface and defiled it once more.
The merchant was not the type to involve himself in violent encounters, but he could guess that the sticky black oil came from the corrupted, sugar-addicted Burnt that roamed the halls of the factory. He resisted the urge to gag at the sickeningly sweet odour.
The Batter continued to pace across the cramped space, occasionally swinging the bat through the air and scattering droplets across the walls. “Stop fidgeting,” Zacharie chided, vainly trying to rub the fresh stains from his previously clean white sweater. “We’re almost there.”
He might as well have been speaking to a brick wall for all the reaction he received, and the masked man let out a sigh. There was no denying that he loved the Batter, but at times like these…
Well, he mused, it’s not like I have anyone else to talk to in this desolate place.
The relative silence between them was broken once more as the Batter delivered a swift blow to the metal wall of the carriage, sending a painfully loud boom echoing through the space. Zacharie instinctively clapped his hands over his ears and winced. Of all the times to be restless, he thought, irritably adjusting his mask.
Suddenly the subway let out a deafening screech and braked hard, flinging Zacharie sideways in his seat and sending the Batter stumbling a few paces before he grabbed a safety rail. After a few seconds of rattling so violent that it felt as though they would be shaken to pieces, it came to a complete stop.
Zacharie sat up shakily and looked out the window. There was nothing outside but the darkness of the tunnel walls. They weren’t at the station, that was for sure, but they were definitely stopped.
“Attention. Attention.” As if in response to his confusion, a robotic, static-filled voice fizzled to life over the speakers. “Obstacle detected. Vehicle is unable to move forward.”
Zacharie pressed his face as close to the glass as his mask allowed and tried to get a glimpse of the way ahead, but it was hopeless. The viewing angle was impossible, and even if it wasn’t, it would likely be too dark to see anything that wasn’t within a few meters of the carriage. He turned to look at the Batter again, noticing that the Puppeteer’s short absence was over and it was back to hovering somewhere beyond the realm of sight. As always, the Batter’s features gave nothing away.
“It seems that there’s a slight problem,” Zacharie said, almost laughing at how much of an understatement it was. He paused, considering what to do. In all the time he’d spent navigating the zones by monorail, this was something new to him. Usually the transition between areas was smooth and forgettable, almost instantaneous.
The Batter stared back at him unblinkingly, waiting to hear his plan of action. Abnormally determined though he was, it seemed that sometimes the Batter needed clear instructions to be laid out to him in order to function. Zacharie supposed it was why he had become attached to a being like the Puppeteer.
“So…” he began, casually jerking a finger the open door beside him. He allowed himself a cheeky grin, knowing that although the Batter wouldn’t see it, he would hear it in his voice. “Weren’t you about to take a look outside while I keep watch?”
Without another word, the Batter stepped out of the monorail and into the darkness of the tunnel. Although he had come to expect as much, Zacharie couldn’t help but feel a little miffed at the suddenness of his departure. “I’m not that uninteresting, am I?” he muttered, following his companion to the door and peering out after him.
The tunnel stretched endlessly into the distance, and the pathetically dim bulbs of the subway car did very little to illuminate the tracks before them. Beyond that, the darkness was absolute. It was impossible to tell what was blocking their path, as it seemed to lie just beyond their short range of vision.
Seemingly undeterred, the Batter advanced with the same self-assurance he’d always had, guided perhaps by the Puppeteer’s superior senses. Zacharie didn’t fancy the idea of going out after him, and wondered if he should’ve warned him not to wander too far; after all, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine him walking the rest of the way to Area 4 on his own.
Zacharie was just opening his mouth to call out when the Batter stopped dead of his own accord. He appeared to be watching something approach, and Zacharie apprehensively stepped a little way out of the car to get a better look.
Although it was on the border of being completely engulfed by shadows, it was obvious just by looking that the figure was an Elsen. Somehow, the little creature had wandered onto the tracks, and was now shambling, zombie-like, aimlessly back and forth across the tunnel.
As it blindly staggered through the space, the pale form collided with the wall and stumbled back, sluggishly swinging its arms to regain its balance. It paused for a moment, then began dragging its long white fingers over the brick, as though searching for something. Zacharie couldn’t tell if it was merely disorientated, or if the extreme sugar withdrawal had robbed it of its eyesight.
The Batter slowly approached the Elsen and it reacted to the noise, turning its head towards him. It didn’t move or make a sound; it just stood perfectly still, waiting.
“What are you doing in the middle of the track?” he asked, his voice echoing strangely through the enclosed space.
The Elsen let out a soft sigh and took a slow step towards him, raising its arms like a child searching for its mother. It drew a deep, rattling breath into its lungs, and the agonised sound sent a chill down Zacharie’s spine. Elsen often had airway troubles, resulting in the gasping breaths that were unique to its species, but this… this was like nothing he’d ever heard before.
Its next few steps brought it out of the shadows and into full view. There could be no doubt now that this poor creature was in very bad shape. Looking at its eyes alone could’ve told him that: they were thrown open wide, wider than they ever should’ve been, and steadily leaked gooey black tar. Its pale, half-melted and sweat-covered skin was webbed with throbbing grey veins, and its mouth gaped unnaturally, like the muscles in its jaw had simply given out. For a moment he caught a glimpse of grey gums and teeth, but they were quickly obscured as the black liquid bubbled up from the back of its throat and dripped down its chin.
“Hhh…” The creature struggled to suck in air past the overflowing black liquid, but it only succeeded in drawing the substance back into its lungs, smothering them completely. It gargled for a moment, weakly clawing at its own throat and convulsing rapidly in obvious agony. Then, all of a sudden, the liquid violently sprayed forth from its mouth, splattering the floor at its feet where it bubbled furiously like acid. It didn’t stop there; the liquid began to leak out of every pore, steaming and hissing and staining every surface black, consuming the creature completely in a writhing mass.
In the blink of an eye, the Elsen’s head was completely gone, leaving an ever-shifting mass of black in its place, a mass that dripped and sprayed and warped and stretched, growing and growing to at least twice its original size and sending out tendrils splattering across the tunnel’s ceiling, where it dripped back down steadily, like rain. The newly-born Burnt staggered under the weight of its own head as two glowing lamp-like eyes emerged from the dripping liquid, blank and milky as a corpse.
The Burnt towered over the Batter, threatening to engulf him completely in its immense form. As always, he betrayed no reaction whatsoever, not even flinching as the corrosive ooze pooled around his shoulders and boots. Even as it opened its mouth wide, wide enough to swallow him in a single movement, he didn’t budge. Did he not understand the danger he was in?
“Hhhhh….hhh…nn...”
The monster sucked in another wheezing, shuddering breath and retched, splattering the tracks with yet more black fluid. Its entire body shook with the effort, and it struck Zacharie then that it wasn’t attacking simply because it couldn’t. Despite its horrific appearance, the creature before them was wracked with pain and completely unable to move, save for the action of breathing – and even that was costly.
The Burnt’s blank eyes were wide and pleading as stared back at the Batter, searching for consolation, compassion, any kind of relief from its suffering. It raised one dripping arm and gently stretched its fingers towards him, as though to touch his cheek. The gesture was unmistakeable; a sick, wounded soul seeking salvation.
“Hhh.. hhhuh.. hhel….”
CRACK.
Before he could blink, there was a whistle and an air-rending snap of bat on bone, and the Burnt was sent sprawling into the tunnel wall. It lay where it had fallen, shuddering and convulsing, gasping for air. Its dull, unseeing eyes turned towards the Batter as he advanced, black boots falling almost soundlessly against the floor in a perfectly even stride. The creature cowered and struggled vainly to back away, sensing the danger.
“Huhh.. heghhh.. hhelp…!”
CRACK.
The desperate plea was punctuated with yet another wince-inducing blow from the bat, this time puncturing a luminous eye and splattering the wall with a thick, grey jelly. The Burnt’s mouth flew open in an agonised scream and its arms twitched spasmodically, and the bat swished through the air once more to silence the cry.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
The baseball bat was brought down on the helpless creature’s head again and again, bludgeoning it into a pulp and staining the tunnel wall with black blood. Despite the brutality of the assault, the entire time the Batter’s expression remained completely unchanged. He looked no different now, delivering blow after terrible blow to this defenceless creature, than he had a few moments ago as he had ridden the monorail alongside Zacharie.
The Burnt had long since stopped resisting and now simply lay there, its only movement being the occasional twitch. The Batter noticed this and paused, calmly assessing the damage. What remained of his adversary barely resembled its original form: in its blind panic, it seemed to have lost control of the ability to hold itself together, now laying in a distorted, shapeless mass against the wall.
The tunnel suddenly felt deafeningly quiet, and he realised that the weak, laboured breaths of the dying creature had stopped. The only sound that remained was the soft drip-drip of blood from the ceiling.
Zacharie ducked back inside the carriage, too shaken to fully process what he had just seen. As a travelling merchant, he was no stranger to harrowing sights. He had watched over the years as the guardians succumbed to despair and spread corruption through the zones they were sworn to protect. He had witnessed the slow unravelling of the Elsen as the pressures of existence became too much for them, forcing them to turn to the transient pleasures of sugar to survive. He had even stood by as that same addiction ate away at the mind and body of his dear friend, Sucre, leaving her with nothing but her sweet, hollow dreams. This world was corrupt beyond saving. He knew that.
Before now, he had always been sure that the only way to save this world was to destroy it. Existence was impure, their mission was to purify it. Putting it in those words made it seem so easy. Purifying the world. Such a noble goal. How could it be wrong?
He’d been so certain that he believed in the Batter’s goals, but seeing this… Nothing about it felt right. Even in his own head he couldn’t justify it. That poor creature was looking for help that perhaps they could’ve given, and now it was little more than a stain on the tunnel wall. What was more, no one knew what the Burnt were, not really. However small, there was a possibility that they could be cured and returned to normal.
He couldn’t even be sure that it was dead. It had been pulverised beyond recognition, yes, but with what limited knowledge they had about these creatures, there was also a chance that it had retained a sliver of consciousness: not enough to move, but certainly enough to feel. He imagined what it would be like to lay there, paralysed with pain from its wounds and slowly being dissolved by that black liquid, unable to move, or even cry out into the endless dark.
Zacharie suddenly felt cold, and he gripped his arms tightly to suppress a shiver. For the first time in his life, he dreaded the endpoint of their journey. Never before had he been afraid to die, but here and now, deep underground, with the Burnt corpse lying just out of sight, he could feel that fear in the very core of his being.
The carriage rattled slightly and a moment later the Batter was climbing inside, as nonchalant as a man who’d just come back from a short walk. He paused, lightly tapping his bat against the doorway to dislodge the slime, then turned to look at Zacharie with an odd look on his face. Zacharie looked away, unsure of how to react.
It seemed as though his companion was expecting some kind of response. Maybe he, too, was beginning to have doubts about his mission and wanted some kind of reassurance that he was on the right path. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that they could still turn back if he spoke up now. Together they could fix what was left of this miserable world, build up something better in its place.
Then Zacharie met his gaze and realised that all of that was just wishful thinking. He saw the same cold determination in his friend’s eyes as ever, and knew instantly that he had already decided his role. He was this world’s saviour and its executioner, and that was all there was to it.
Something about this notion filled him with a new, grim resolve. Maybe this wasn’t the right thing to do. He couldn’t be sure anymore. But the one thing he did know, in his heart, was that there was no one, not even the Queen, that could turn the Batter from his goal. This impure world was as good as dead, and the greatest kindness a simple merchant like him could do was to ensure that its death was a swift one.
Well, then. If all we have left in this world are our assigned roles, he thought, straightening his mask, then I will play mine to the last.
Zacharie felt his old grin creeping back across his face, and despite himself, he leant back in his chair and let out a heartfelt chuckle. “So,” he began, in his best imitation of Pablo’s voice, “what’s blocking the path?”