Leaning against a wall opposite the club but out of sight, she spotted a woman mingling with people she had met throughout the night, including Noel-Len.
Even, if the evening had turned to morning over half-an-hour ago, it had not persuaded the woman, who dawdled with her friends down the street, to head home straight away. This irritated Gothalia more than she would ever admit.
She was certain the woman had not even touched her drink throughout the night, but it was only an hour before Gothalia realised she was pretending she had. For what purpose? Gothalia needed to know.
She's not getting a taxi, Gothalia pondered, scanning the taxi ranks, then the nearby roofs. The trackers were hidden from view, but her eyes sharper than a human and made out their forms easily, hidden within the darkness.
It was the woman's poor acting that provided Gothalia with enough reason to linger behind and observe her impending exchanges a little more closely. She shouldn't have to pretend to be drunk.
Gothalia recalled overhearing a conversation in the bathroom by same group, which had sat beyond where the music could touch them earlier that night. However, it was not a conversation, it was more like the woman would speak to them when necessary and they would eagerly respond.
"Found the contact yet?" Danteus asked, sounding bored. Gothalia knew he was only tired and had failed to remove any trace of his weariness from his voice.
"Maybe, not sure yet."
Danteus did not say anything.
The brunette woman travelled from the twenty-four-hour shop, not too far from the bar, then parted with her group before wandering down a street.
Quickly, Gothalia followed the woman. After a few turns here and there, she finally heard the woman's voice and the catcalling of men. Gothalia chased after the woman only to stumble upon the men's bodies lying dead on the ground with their skin blue and cold. Yet no blood coated the grey tarmac alley.
Gothalia whistled into the darkness, before placing her fingers to her earpiece, gently feeling the smooth texture of the device.
"I found her. The Contact."
"Her?" Danteus replied, uncertain.
"Yes. Her." Gothalia rebutted, at his unwarranted surprise. "She left human bodies behind. I have informed the trackers. Tailing her now." She ran after the woman.
Her heels echoed against the concrete ground. She was grateful they were not too high.
"Stay on her," Danteus ordered.
Gothalia dug into her bag and pulled out a silver-black helmet. Tapping the sensor on the side, she pushed her hair back and put on the helmet. A screen slid over her face and provided a live video stream for Danteus.
"I'm trying, as you can see."
"Visuals good," he replied, ignoring her frustration. She rounded another corner then stopped, eyeing the bare and silent street she'd entered.
A few people she recognised from the club stumbled around the corner at the end of the street before disappearing into the shadows. Other than that, the road was empty and stagnant. Thinking quickly, she touched the side of the helmet, and it covered her eyes with a black screen.
"My lady," an artificial male voice replied.
"Kronos. Run thermo-printing analysis now." Within moments, footprints lined the ground before her.
She scrutinised the feet sizes and none matched.
She knew the woman was her height and her weight, so she proclaimed, "Narrow scan to seventy-eight kilograms and one hundred seventy-five centimetres."
The surrounding footprints that did not meet the requested range faded, leaving those within the parameters she was after. She glanced behind her; her lips thinned into a grimace at the trackers bent over the bodies in the alley.
They would assess the bodies, determined to remove the evidence if needed. The worst part about their job was making people disappear, especially when there would be people who would ask where they were.
With difficulty, she pulled her gaze away. She scrutinised the lingering footprints closely as they trailed away from the trackers, beneath her feet, and down the dark street in front of her. She followed the heeled imprints along the ground.
They guided her down a road that ended at the street. Her heels, loud against the concrete ground, irritated her.
Among the shadows of a nearby building, a man slithered out of the shadows, his gaze on her. It was not until she heard his thick tenor that she paused to take him in.
"Well, this is something you don't see every day."
"Kronos deactivate thermo-printing," she muttered, beneath her breath. With a level gaze, she observed the man and knew he'd have seen her protective gear. Furtively, she wished that the darkness had hidden it from his view, where the streetlights could not reach.
"What do you want?" she questioned when he approached, purposely, blocking her path. Her brows furrowed and her right hand gripped her bag tightly.
With his dark eyes on her, he said.
"Oh, nothing much. Just to talk."
Gothalia laughed an empty laugh before silence echoed through the street.
"I doubt men who hide in the shadows want just to talk."
"What, you think I'm going to harm you?" he teased, feigning hurt.
"I don't have time for your pointless games," she replied, irritated, and continued to walk ahead. She tensed when his thick hand wrapped around her wrist. He smiled at her immediate reaction, almost proud he had had such an effect and she scoffed.
Her angered eyes met his dark glare.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." She felt the threat behind his words; she slipped her hand out of his tight grip with ease and kicked him away.
"Now, you're going to regret that," he snarled and moved to her.
Gothalia dug into her bag and threw the round lip balm container. The already-loose lid slipped, erupting in an explosion of tear gas. Covering her mouth with a cloth, she rushed past the man.
Her eyes stung a little, but she continued after the footprints Kronos had provided.
A metal bar swung at her, and she rolled over her shoulder, avoiding the attack. Her dark eyes fixed on her attacker with spite. The woman dressed in blue was barely noticeable amongst the shadows until she ran towards Gothalia once more as she climbed to her feet.
A blond-haired woman, with thick curls travelling over her shoulders, clad in a blue mid-thigh evening dress, she glared at Gothalia with an intention to kill.
Gothalia disarmed the woman easily and kicked her away. Readying herself for another assault, Gothalia stopped when Danteus's voice cut through the sound of rushing blood pumping through her ears.
"Police. Get out of there," he warned in her ear. Gothalia ran from the unconscious woman as if a bomb had exploded, vanishing into the shadows of the street.
She gripped the retractable grapple hook she mounted on her wrist. Aiming it at a nearby building, she allowed it to propel her silently off the ground and against the wall. Pressing her feet against the wall. She bounced with the wire as it hauled her up the side of the building until she was level with the top of a neighbouring tree. Lightly, she climbed onto a branch before moving carefully to a nearby roof.
The police slowed when they recognised the unconscious woman on the ground. Their blue and red lights flashed in alarm.
"Well done, you drew attention," Danteus remarked sarcastically before adding, "This is not going to make it easy to find her now. Return to base."
"What? No! I must be close, otherwise why else would she and that man try and stop me? Or do you agree he's just some creep too?"
"The chances of you finding her when her guard is down is zero. What do you intend to do now, knowing that?"
"To find her. If I follow the trail, it'll lead us to her and whoever else she's meeting or wherever she's going. That's a lead is it not?" She knew if Danteus wanted, he could write up a report about her recklessness and recent encounters while adding they never found the person who threatened their existence, on top of it.
However, she took the chance to press the issue, knowing she would get on his bad side.
"Come on. You can't pull me from this—we're so close."
"Fine but no more than necessary. Understand?"
She knew even though it sounded like a question, it was not: it was an order. She was happy regardless.
"Got it."
"Good. You're lucky I'm here and not you-know-who . . ."
She had a gnawing feeling in her stomach at the thought of Anaphora in her ear. If she had witnessed this, Gothalia would be set back months. Her arduous work, ruined.
She knew Danteus was angry, but she knew he also had faith in her, even over the silence of the radio.
"Guess, I shouldn't let him down," She promised herself then was on the move.
It had not taken long until the footprints she followed led to a house a few streets over. Gothalia paused and observed her surroundings. She had not heard anything from Danteus and figured she was not going to hear anything from him, for a while.
Her shoulder burnt in sudden pain, knocking her to the ground.
In the darkness, she could not make out her attacker. She sought refuge beneath a truck.
"My lady, I wouldn't consider this to be a safe place!" Kronos proclaimed in her earpiece.
"Quiet, I'm trying to concentrate," she growled. "Activate thermo-seeker!"
Gothalia listened for any cars and any loud, sharp sounds that would alert her to danger. Immediately, she rolled out from beneath the truck and onto her knees and with a short dagger in hand. Her eyes scanned the area around her, seeking the heat signature of a living being, alien or otherwise.
Blood slid down her arm to the cold hilt of the short blade. If it were not for Kronos's immediate warning, Gothalia knew she would have felt the full brunt of that strike. The pain is bearable; just stay alive, she thought.
Quickly, her feet shuffled to avoid the random attacks while her dagger deflected unavoidable strikes. In the darkness, steel against steel echoed down the quiet street. The flash of metal in the darkness elicited a sharp shriek with each attack.
The enemy was fast, she noticed, clad in a dark leather jumpsuit that hid her core temperature well but not well enough.
Kronos automatically recalibrated, and the woman's form was strongly outlined, which helped Gothalia dodge and block the slashes of her enemy's dagger. With a backflip, she avoided the final attack, but it reinforced her fears—the target was not a human but an Excelian.
"You're quick," a female voice stated, a few feet in front of her.
Gothalia pulled herself up and stood ready to fight, regardless of how parched her throat was or how desperately her lungs cried for air.
"So, you're the Xzandian Contact?" Gothalia asked, seething with malice. "Show your face, traitor."
"You do not scare me, little princess. I wonder how much they've told you." The woman glowering at Gothalia. A deadly smile shadowed her face, hidden from the streetlights and accompanied by a knowing contemplation Gothalia did not like. "Heiress of the Valdis clan, yes? That is, if you were born first. But you were not . . . were you? So, you have no right to act all high and mighty. Rumour has it, you can't even control those flames Daddy gave you out of pity. Not to mention your curse. You really are a pathetic excuse for a Centurion. You don't deserve to be a part of the higher echelons. You don't deserve to be a part of Dragon Core."
Gothalia snapped,
"Enough of your insults!" Her grip tightened around the hilt of her short sword.
"Oh no, I'm just getting started, princess. So, my question remains: how much have they told you about me? Hmmm? That is . . . this was a mission, and you had to assassinate me. Did they ever tell you about your family, or me for that matter? Or rather, what happened to your mother?" Gothalia did not say anything but glared at the mention of her mother. Is she implying this is all connected? Gothalia wondered, but only observed the woman carefully.
The woman was pleased by Gothalia's puzzled yet irritated countenance. It gave her a thrill she had not felt in a long time.
"Do you know the reason?" The woman pulled out a weapon from behind her back; one Gothalia was utterly unfamiliar with at first until she peered closely at it.
Shock enveloped her.
"That's an Xzandian rifle," Gothalia uttered, eyeing the sharp silver lines and the light glow of its recharging battery as it hummed in silence.
"Good eye, little princess." she smiled. "Princess . . ." She enunciated deliberately, assessing the sound of the word on her tongue. "No, you're not a princess. You were never pampered nor sheltered but hated and cursed. You are more of a duchess . . . The Duchess of Execration. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
"As if I'd listen to anything you say."
"But you're still here, aren't you?" she questioned, her tone full of mockery. "Anyway, you probably want information before you kill me—yes? How about this to satisfy your curiosity . . . Humans soon will be benefiting greatly from the upcoming war by increasing their military arsenal with something a little more dangerous . . . where the ethics of war will not apply." The purr of her voice caused goose bumps to swiftly run along Gothalia's arms and back. She wanted to shrug her shoulders and rid herself of the feeling but did not.
"Like what?"
The woman smiled at her Gothalia, amused by the question.
"Like, the extermination of the Humans—your people are attempting to remove from this planet. But the Xzandians won't get their hands dirty. That's what Human greed is for."
"What do you mean 'my people'?" Gothalia spat. "You're not like the Xzandians, nor am I. You are an Excelian, or have you forgotten? You imply the Humans have known about the Xzandians for a while." The woman ignored her statement. Gothalia threw her blade forward, and fire extended beyond the blade, stretching over the street towards the woman.
To Gothalia's frustration, she avoided it.
"You think that's going to take me out?" she called through the shadows, the ground where the enemy once stood melted in the shape of her sword. "An attack like that wouldn't work. I'd know, that's how your father tried to take me out protecting your whore of a mother . . ." Her lips curled in anger. "The sight of you disgusts me."
Gothalia avoided her attacks. "You're right, why bother fighting? But last I checked; you still haven't touched me yet. You don't have enough élanocyte power to do so." Gothalia mocked, noticing the woman's attacks were driven by pure anger.
To Gothalia's surprise, the woman laughed.
"Yes and no. Humans seek power. Unlike them and you, I have it and will cleanse this world with it. Starting with your home!" A strong flare of light blinded Gothalia.
She felt the energy force her away like the winds of a vicious hurricane, but her feet remained rooted into the ground, desperately fighting against the current.
Fear gripped her, and she knew by the enemy's confidence, it was going to get worse. She could feel it. It would toss her across the road or obliterate her on the spot.
Suddenly she was forced out of the way. The trackers that trailed her and shared the mission with her stood before her.
She could make out the fire emblems on the trackers' backs and the swirl of the Valdis crest on their shoulders. She was protected by a ward they'd set up. "Maximus! Anton!" she screamed. They had all grown up together in the presence of L'Eiron and Anaphora.
Maximus glanced at Gothalia with a smile, his words haunting:
"Not everyone fears and hates you."
But when the energy retreated, and silence befell the street, Maximus and Anton were gone.
The once-sturdy houses ran with thick black cracks that fissured up the side of the buildings and along the ground and shattered glass windows. Screams of the residents echoed through the roads. Gothalia did not care about the street; she only stared at the two piles of white powder at her feet that fluttered away in the evening wind.
"Gothalia!" Danteus called. "What happened?"
"I'm fine. She was stronger than I thought and the others . . ." Gothalia began to sob. She did not care if she was a Centurion—she cared about losing her oldest friends. "It's all my fault."
The journey from the surface world back to her home was nothing but a blur. Upon arrival, Gothalia ascended the stairs robotically, insensitive to emotion now that she had cried her eyes out. She entered her austere chamber and clambered onto her bed, where she sat for the next few hours.
For her, however, it only seemed like minutes. Minutes that were not enough or could ever be enough.
Her feet curled beneath her body as her arms enveloped her knees, protecting her from the external world. Or rather, the memories she continued to relive, whether she opened her eyes or closed them. They were always there.
They were always there.
The memories of her other family member's stagnant bodies on the ground, their faces blank of any expression, then her parents disappearing and her brother . . . Now, her oldest friends. She had not known what to do and the worst part was her head—it felt messy like an unkempt bedroom, too challenging to re-organise.
"How am I going to face them now?" she whispered into the darkness of the room. It was her open windows that allowed the light of the artificial moon to permeate the room. Her damp face glistened beneath the glow of the moon, shadowing her upturned brows above her damp black lashes.
She recalled their words when she was a girl, just after Anton and Maximus's parents were slaughtered and her brother had disappeared. "Demon or not. We're family, and we'll always protect each other, no matter what." Unexpectedly, those words returned. Words she had thought she had forgotten.
When she was young, Gothalia had the ill fortune of catching the attention of two Peacekeepers, but these Peacekeepers were not good. They had abused the laws on a regular basis, but no one spoke about it. They would claim to abide by those laws when questioned, but everyone knew they lied. She had seen it firsthand, then run once they noticed her.
Being small, she was quick.
She ran through the Ember Market. As fast as her small legs could take her, she sprinted between crowds, over stalls and under them. Yet, they continued to pursue her, and she climbed one of the older buildings in the corner of the street before opening a window. No one was inside, so she kept low and out of sight, fearful of being caught.
The Peacekeepers ran down the street, and she watched them from where she hid. When they could not find her, they disappeared.
Gothalia climbed out and dropped onto the street—relieved to have lost them. Her relief was her biggest mistake. Without Gothalia hearing them approach, one man grabbed her throat and slammed her against the wall.
"What did you see, you little twerp?" Gothalia did not say anything at first. Instead, she glared at the man even as he threatened her with a knife.
"Monster," she spat, glaring at the man.
"I'm not the one who's cursed," he replied, with a dangerous smile.
The other man glanced over his shoulder, scanning the surroundings, "Stop. Someone will see, and she is of the Valdis clan. The remaining members will haunt us down and murder us if we harm her. It's bad enough you have her pinned by the throat."
At the time, she did not care about his tight grip; she just took in his face, every detail, and every word spoken. It would be another memory burned into her mind, one that could never be forgotten but one that would drive her future.
"Let that demon clan come, I'll take them all on."
When he uttered those words, Maximus picked up a nearby stone brick and threw it at the Peacekeepers. The attack stunned the Peacekeepers. Anton and Maximus attacked them by first taking out their legs before picking up the brick again, Maximus smashed the brick into the face of the Peacekeeper and the other man reached for Maximus while Anton, kicked him in the back of the legs forcing him to his knees. With another kick Anton kicked the man's jaw. The Peacekeeper collided with the ground as Maximus stopped smashing the brick into the face of the Peacekeeper and Gothalia knew it was by chance they had won. After the fighting ceased, Maximus extended his hand to her.
"There you are. Let us go before Lord L'Eiron, and Lady Anaphora find out we've snuck out."
Gothalia recalled the Peacekeepers words: "I'm not the one who's cursed."
"But I'm a demon. You should fear me. Not help me." Gothalia replied in a small voice, glancing away from Maximus. She did not want him to notice the tears she had readily shed. It was embarrassing enough she had to be saved. If she were as terrible as they said she was, surely, she would not need his help—but she did, and she was grateful.
Maximus and Anton shared a confused look.
"What are you talking about?" Maximus questioned. "Demon or not. We are family and we will always protect each other no matter what. Now, let's go before we get in trouble and don't get dessert tonight." She recalled their light laughter as they returned home that evening.
Now, within her room, the artificial moon hung silently, tranquilly, against the backdrop of a starry night, lighting her bare floor with black outlines of her window frames and the faint flicker of her curtains that caught the draft of her open window.
Stillness saturated the bare black marble floor, silencing the shadows further and encouraging her tears. Her dishevelled hair and black dress blended with the darkness, but her eyes were bright like the moon; unlike the moon, however, they held an emptiness none would find captivating.
In the silence, a knock thudded against the thick wooden door. Her toes curled and her arms tightened in anticipation.
"Gothalia, please open the door. I know you're in there."