Another bang sounded against the collapsed security gate. Jacques and Martin paused on the walkway a moment as they listened to the muffled voices outside. After a few more bangs, the sound of voices gave way. Then a single voice began to chant in the old tongue.

  “We need to move,” Jacques said, grabbing Martin by the arm and pulling him with him toward the back escape hatch. The chanting got louder and louder. Martin couldn’t understand a word, but he could feel it, as if bits of energy in his body were slowly being pulled out of him towards the source of the chant. They reached the ladder and began climbing toward the ceiling. As they reached the halfway point, the chanting reached its crescendo, and with a final word from the chanter, a ray of light burst through the security gate, burning a huge hole through the gate and stretching far enough to take scattered pieces out of the far side of the warehouse.

  “Don’t stop,” Jacques called down softly to Martin, finally reaching the ceiling and pushing open the cover, “don’t look back.”

  Martin heeded his warning and kept his eyes locked on the hole in the ceiling, climbing quickly up through it and allowing Jacques to close it softly behind him. He could just hear the sound of men running into the warehouse below. Jacques led him to the corner of the roof where a prepared rope lay tied to some metal piping.

  “Follow me.” Jacques tossed the rope down and began to descend quickly. Martin waited a moment to give Jacques some space and then clambered down after him. His delay was unnecessary as Jacques descended with the naturalness of a squirrel. Even though his rebirth as a Faceless had put him in peak condition, Martin could feel his arms burning after just thirty seconds. When he arrived at the ground, Jacques had already been waiting for some precious seconds, a knife held in his right hand, ready to be sent flying at the slightest disturbance.

  “You left your sword,” Martin observed, out of breath.

  “That was part of the show, remember? It wasn’t just for the benefit of the Beautiful Goddess. Now let’s go before those Inquisitors realize we left through the ceiling.”

  Jacques led Martin through a section of fence where a loose board could be lifted to allow a man to squeeze through, and then into an unlocked shed with a tunnel bored into the next property. Martin could tell this was clearly a well-rehearsed escape route. They emerged from another shed, and Jacques held his arm out to stop Martin. He stood like that for a moment, eyes closed as if listening for something, or trying to sense something on a level completely imperceptible to mortals.

  “We might be okay. Follow me.”

  The two walked in silence deeper into a more residential part of the city. They saw few people about, between the late hour and the rising fears of serial killers stalking the streets, only those without a place to go or with business that they did not want to be seen by others were out, and they gave the two men a wide berth. Eventually, they arrived at an inconspicuous house. Jacques gave a peculiar series of knocks, and after a moment, they were let in by an equally inconspicuous man.

  “You’re alive, sir.”

  “That I am. Barely this time. Hurry and let us in, and fetch a med kit.”

  The man stepped aside and let Jacques and Martin in, giving Martin a quick bow of welcome. Martin returned it with a nod but didn’t say much, turning behind him to take one last look at the street on the off chance they had been followed on their circuitous trip here.

  The man led them into a room on the first floor where a wood stove was burning. He left them there, returning only to bring a first-aid kit along with a bottle of wine and some glasses. Martin went to help Jacques, but he was waved away. “Don’t mind me, pour the wine.”

  Martin did so, leaving a glass on the table by Jacques, and sat back to watch Jacques bandage his side. When finished, Jacques stood up to stretch and finally allowed his face to change. Martin watched as the relatively young face of the servant of the Devourer Jacques had been wearing morphed back to the half-scarred face to which he was accustomed. It was his first time seeing the change actually happen in front of him, but he forced himself to watch on, knowing that was the same grotesque mutation that had happened to him the night he killed the real Martin. Jacques gingerly touched his side, which was already turning purple from the bruising.

  “Bitch got my good side. I think she broke a rib.”

  “You’re lucky that’s all she broke. If that fist caught your skull, we’d both still be lying on that warehouse floor.”

  “I doubt it. She’d likely string us up by our feet and use us for punching bags. Quite the sensation we’d make in the papers the next day, what was left of us anyway.”

  Jacques passed Martin the first aid kit and picked up his own glass of wine, settling heavily in a chair close to the woodstove.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  “You should bandage that hand of yours, and be thinking of your alibi for tomorrow.”

  “Do you think Boudica would go for prostitute?” Martin asked, pulling out a vial of alcohol and undoing the stopper.

  “From what you’ve told me of her, telling her that would lead to a messier end than that monster back in the warehouse.”

  Martin swore as the alcohol poured out onto the wounds. When the pain receded and he was able to begin wrapping the wound with linen, he asked, “What was that monster?”

  “That was a human,” Jacques said, taking another sip of wine. “The Beautiful Goddess is, as her name implies, obsessed with the idea of beauty. Now, you and I are made in the True Creator’s image, but the Cosmics come from a time and space far from here, where there are no humans or human ideas of beauty. What their true form really is, I cannot say, and it’s better not to know, as even a glimpse of their true self has brought far stronger men than you or I to insanity.

  Now that the Cosmics are in our world, they’ve developed a certain taste for our aesthetics. This manifests in different ways. For the Devourer, it’s only increased his appetite. For say, the Clockwork God, his fascination with our engineering has led him to even more horrifying inventions. For the Beautiful Goddess, it’s been an obsession with the human form. The Faceless God has the power of disguise. He could become you or me and pass unrecognizably through this world with just a thought. Imagine you’re a cosmic being, powerful beyond all imagination but unable to do the one thing you want most, to be the most beautiful existence in the world. How would you feel towards the entity capable of that feat?”

  “I imagine I’d feel pretty jealous.”

  “Don’t imagine yourself as a Cosmic, that only leads to corruption,” Jacques said with a laugh, pouring himself another glass of wine. “But you’re right. That’s the origin of the Beautiful Goddess’s obsession with the Faceless God. I’ve been told the two clashed some centuries ago, and the Faceless God barely escaped with his life. He’s scarcely been seen since then.

  The woman we battled was a follower of the Beautiful Goddess, but that was not her original body. Lacking the power of the Faceless God, the Beautiful Goddess can only crudely replicate what it is that we do. Through some arcane ritual, the soul was forced into the new body, but it was not a proper vessel for its new spirit. That’s why the body became so bloated and the smile so… unnatural.”

  “And what of your powers?”

  “My powers?”

  “Fire and lightning.”

  “Ah, the fire came from the Devourer. A few years ago, I clashed with one of his servants. Took his identity and that sword with me. It was imbued with his power and thus able to conjure some fire. I made a poor show of it, I’m afraid. If you had seen the things that old servant was capable of. I still see it sometimes, when I close my eyes. An entire village on fire…The lightning I showed you before. It was… a dying gift, from an old friend in the circus. I told you Faceless are not renowned for their fighting prowess. Even the Faceless God was no match in combat for the Beautiful Goddess. We have to make use of the tools we can to survive.”

  Jacques shifted in his chair and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. From it, he withdrew the woman’s revolver and a series of small objects on a chain. Martin reached for the mystery objects first. Strung along a small chain were a series of twelve disks. There were two sets of holes carved out of the disks, one right in the center of the disk and another just offset. Carved into the side of the disks were the 24 letters of the common alphabet. Attached to the chain were also two metal rods that looked about the size of the holes on the disks.

  “What is this?” Martin asked.

  “Some kind of cipher. The woman likely would have received a series of numbers or letters that told her how to put the disks together. If she had it on her at the end, it’s up in smoke now. I’ve had one of our agents go search her hotel room while she was occupied with us. We’ll have to wait and see what he turns up.”

  Martin continued to play with the wheels for a moment, but put them down to reach for the revolver instead. The woman had fired at him just once, so there were still five rounds loaded inside. He had never held one before. The real Martin had combat training and was an experienced sailor, but the Faceless Man hadn’t yet received any firearms training. He couldn’t even remember if he had held a toy revolver in his past life. He briefly imagined his darling Elicia running around a lawn, chasing the dog with a wooden toy. He smiled to himself before he remembered just what this was, a thing that nearly ended his quest for revenge.

  “Jacques, I’m.. I’m not strong enough, am I?”

  “You’re nothing but questions is what you are. Strong enough for what?”

  “Strong enough for this world. Strong enough to get my revenge.”

  “No,” Jacques said simply. “I’ve told you time and time again how small you are, but at least you seem to have been listening.”

  “You’ve taught me knife combat and fisticuffs, but neither of those will do me any good against another cosmic servant, let alone the church. Teach me how to use this.” Martin held the revolver out to Jacques. Jacques leaned forward to take it and then leaned back, letting his hand trace the cool metal of the revolver. He cracked open the wheel and dumped the bullets out onto the table.

  “You just heard me speak of the Devourer’s sword. Do you think I used a cosmic tool without cost? There is always a cost.” He placed the revolver down on the table, the barrel pointed directly at Martin.

  “You want to learn how to shoot? That can be arranged. You want more power? Believe me, friend, I understand. I know painfully well the hopelessness that comes with powerlessness, but do not forget, we are motes in the eye of those greater than us. Do not let your yearning for power lead you down a path you cannot come back from.”

  “I understand. And thank you, Jacques. For the advice and for saving my life tonight.”

  “Don’t mention it. And while I’m at it, you lost at dice.”

  “What?”

  Jacques pointed to the freshly bandaged wound on Martin’s hand. He really did have an answer for everything.