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11.  The Serendipitous

Vance and Winslow faced each other within the cave, auras aflame. Behind Vance, Eden calmly watched the two, while Cliff readied his broken shotgun.

Slowly, Winslow reached into the pockets of his frock coat and withdrew two small, silver sickles. With a cruel smile, he sent both flying out at an incredible speed.

Vance had never been in a real fight, but from the moment he discovered he could use otherworldly energy, he immediately felt empowered. It felt special, like the heroes in comics and video games he’d grown up with. For the first time since his mother left him, he felt like he mattered. But when the two sickles came flying straight for him, he felt genuinely scared.

The weapons flew right over Vance’s head as he ducked in the nick of time. A chilling breeze shot down the back of his neck, and Winslow's smile did not falter.

Vance arched an eyebrow. "That's all you got?"

Winslow's grin widened, and Vance heard Cliff's voice. "Behind you, stupid!"

Vance whipped his head around to face the south end of the cave, just in time to see the two sickles racing back toward him. He jumped to the side, but the right sickle's blade sliced cleanly across his shoulder. Grunting in pain, Vance glared back to Winslow.

"I'm sure you know what a magnet is," Winslow gloated. "Well, I can turn my body into one."

Winslow kept his eyes on Vance as the sickles flew back to him. With trained precision, the Dark Zodiac stuck his arms out and caught the weapons by their chipped wooden handles.

"Look at you...you don’t even have a weapon," Winslow laughed. "I guess your genius teacher over there didn't tell you that one's psynergy can be greatly amplified when infused into objects containing volatile elements...such as these metals here."

Cliff could only sigh. "I told you, you aren't ready."

Vance's eyes narrowed, and his determination heightened. "I don't need any of that to beat an asshole like you."

"And you call me cocky?" Winslow mused, twirling the sickles around his hands with psynergy-protected fingers.

With a grunt of rage, Vance dashed forward, concentrating psynergy into his right hand. He swung it at Winslow's face, but Winslow brought the two sickles up sideways to block the blow. Vance pushed, and his opponent pushed harder. Soon, Vance was thrown to the ground, his wounded shoulder burning all the while.

"What a waste of time," Winslow scoffed. "You're pathetic."

Cliff moved to jump in, but Vance held his hand out. "Don't even think about it, cowboy!"

"He's going to kill you, Vance! Don't you see that?!"

Cliff’s pleas were stifled as Winslow brought down the sickle fast, aiming it straight at Vance's throat in order to make a clean kill. He had done it so many times before that preying on men such as this had ceased to be any sort of exercise – now, it was simply an act of self-indulgence.

It all began when he was six years old, many years away from his debut at the Psynergy Research Institute. His parents were out often, attending important political meetings and schmoozing with the elites they so wished to be. He’d been eating dinner – roasted chicken, which he was unable to cut with his inferior kiddie fork. As a small child, he found out by accident that he was able to call certain things toward himself just by concentrating hard enough. Where he came from, psynergy was something every man needed to possess in order to live a truly successful life, so his parents had applauded him at his early discovery.

Therefore, when he needed to cut his steak and called a kitchen knife toward himself, accidentally impaling his nanny straight through her heart and killing her in a matter of seconds, he did not feel repulsed or disgusted by the act. In fact, when he looked at the shiny blood on the knife, and then to the grown woman collapsed on the floor...he felt proud. He too had a right to crush people, just like the elites crushed the peasants beneath them. Winslow didn’t want to humble himself and butter up elite men like he always saw his father do – he wanted to teach people that he was the superior one.

Winslow did not achieve this with his latest victim. Before the sickle could get anywhere near Vance’s throat, Eden’s hands were on it, glowing with citrus psynergy.

"Don’t hurt my friend," she said, her body crackling with power yet again.

"Bitch!" Winslow growled, letting his own aura rage. As he yanked his blades back, a shockwave burst out, knocking Eden to the side of the cave.

Cliff ran immediately to her aid. Meanwhile, the boy from Earth hopped to his feet. As he watched Winslow's face grow beet red, Vance's laughter escalated, changing into a sound that was not so different from Winslow's own.

Irate, the Dark Zodiac swirled around and tossed his sickles once again. Vance anticipated this, and swerved through both of Winslow's blades. Concentrating psynergy in his legs, Vance twirled around to Winslow's rear and grabbed his arms. The two began to grapple, and Vance pulled Winslow’s arms back farther.

"Let's see how those blades work on you!" Vance beamed at his own genius, glancing aside to make sure Cliff was watching.

The sickles swirled around and came back in a straight line, each one heading for one of Winslow's lungs. The Dark Zodiac said nothing, showing no signs of resistance. The sickles closed in, and then, as if someone had shut off the imaginary force propelling them, they stopped and fell lifelessly to the ground.

Vance gaped.

"You really are a complete and utter fool." Winslow shook his head. "You think that I, a Dark Zodiac, would use such dangerous implements without being able to fully control them? The first time someone tried that on me was when I was 12: my own teacher, trying to restrain me before I killed him."

The sickles slowly rose up from the ground and revolved around Vance, who paled as he witnessed the scope of Winslow's power. Rather than weapons, the sickles seemed almost sentient, like sentry robots guarding their tyrant master. They moved quickly and hooked on to Vance, pulling him from Winslow's body and ripping bloody gashes in his arms as he fell.

"Vance!" Cliff screamed, as he helped Eden to her feet. "Enough already! Get back over here!"

"The choice is yours, Knight," Winslow called out. "I could kill him in a split second, or let him go with a few missing extremities. Which would you prefer? And don't think for a moment that I won't be able to sense you trying to attack me from behind. Now..." He leaned in toward Vance. "Admit your inferiority, and I will let you live. Be quick about it, though. I have things to do, because I am a very powerful man – something you will never be."

Vance gritted his teeth in rage, but he was stuck. The sickles continued to revolve around him, and he knew he had no way of catching them. Alright, this was a bad idea. If I stay here, these things are gonna rip me to pieces. If I get up...they're also gonna rip me to pieces.

"Ten seconds have passed," Winslow crooned. "That'll cost you a finger."

The sickles moved closer, like sharks sizing up their prey. Then, a voice sounded.

"Rooster."

Vance craned his neck up to find the owner of the new voice. A man with long, black hair and pale skin had somehow appeared behind Winslow and grabbed his shoulder with a long pale arm. Winslow turned to look, only to see a flat, stony face staring back at him. Vance was so enthralled that he didn't notice the sickles quiver down to the ground.

"A, Averyl." Winslow shivered. "I thought you went to deliver the clock..."

"Yes. I did, Rooster..." The man called Averyl smiled. His eyeballs looked utterly black, as if his dark pupils had devoured everything else around them. Ink-black hair trailed down to his waist, matching his dark robe, and in his free hand, he held a half-eaten pear. "But you’ve been wasting time here...so now I’ve been tasked with delivering you."

"Oh." Winslow stumbled back sheepishly. "So...where’s the portal?"

"A few meters down that hallway. It should remain open for the next few minutes or so...I suggest you use it while I clean up this little situation here."

"No, don't worry about it," Winslow insisted, regaining his composure and turning back to Vance. "This little maggot initiated the battle with me – I should be the one who sends him to hell!"

"Winslow..." Averyl's grip on the Rooster’s body tightened. "Go..."

Winslow stared back at Vance once more, rage flickering in his eyes as he walked away. He drew the sickles back toward him and they obediently hid themselves within his coat. Finally, he disappeared into the blackness.

This is bad...Vance shivered. If even Winslow’s scared of this guy...

"You are very lucky..." Averyl spoke whimsically, sitting next to Vance. "Mr. Bandeaux is the most inexperienced member of our little gang...in fact, it was his first official mission as our new Rooster...he still has yet to comprehend how things work in our little...family. You are lucky that his mind was clouded and unable to focus on his real task, which I have already completed. And do not pursue us. Because, if you, my friend..." he said, pointing a long, bony finger out to Vance, "were to engage in a battle with a true Dark Zodiac – you would not last more than a second."

The words sunk in with Vance, and he didn't doubt them. Cliff and Eden also listened in silence.

"I do not intend to harm you, because there is no reason for me to do so. And besides..." He leaned down toward Vance, their faces a few inches apart. "You intrigue me. What is your name?"

"Vance Darcouver..." As Vance opened his mouth and obediently answered, the exact same words came out from Averyl's.

Vance stared in shock, and the dark man took a large bite from his pear. "We will keep in touch..." he winked, before twirling his cloak and walking back down the hallway. He raised his hand, but did not turn his head, and whistled in an unsettlingly gentle pitch as he disappeared into the abyss.

The three remaining people in the cavern let out huge sighs of relief. Vance did not move from his position on the dirty ground, letting the sense of fear slowly evaporate from his soul. His wounds continued to bleed...but what hurt more than anything was his pride.

*

A long time ago, Frank Arazia heard someone say that a criminal is merely someone with predatory instincts who lacked enough capital and experience to start his own corporation. Initially he’d written it off as a trite, pessimistic joke, but lately, it had been popping back into his mind. Frank stared out the window of the 11th floor of the Zexaron Corporation headquarters in the vast oil fields of Bakersfield, California. Just a few miles out stood the crux of Zexaron, a mess of machinery, pipes, and electricity fused with a desolate field where oil mining supposedly took place.

Frank wrinkled his brow. He knew deep down that oil mining wasn't the ultimate mission of Zexaron, a company that had appeared out of nowhere 20 years ago. When Frank joined the company as a construction supervisor, he hadn't been aware of what horrible circumstances were on the rise. Victoria Vance had been the Vice-President of the company, second only to Sasuke Fukunaga, a brilliant businessman who had started the Zexaron Project with Victoria years before. Frank's father, Chuck had been an engineer, so Frank had learned all the basic skills necessary to follow in his footsteps. His goal was never to work on site, though. Frank had always wanted to be a chief supervisor, and that dream had finally been fulfilled when he met Victoria during his interview.

He still remembered talking to her for the first time – she possessed otherworldly beauty, but was also incredibly intelligent and kind. He’d wondered if she was taken at the time, but soon learned that she had gotten married to one of the on-site engineers years before Frank came along. He eventually met the guy when he was stationed in Pittsburgh: a tall, handsome man by the name of Edward Darcouver. Frank remembered Edward being a steadfast, forward-thinking man, but when Victoria died, something changed. Edward grew morose...even morbid at times. Since then, Frank had always blamed Edward for Victoria's death, a subject that had been very hard for him to deal with himself. Victoria had been not just a source of support for Frank, but something like an anchor: always caring and never harsh, even when his mistakes seemed so foolish. Frank marked her death as the true beginning of the Zexaron Corporation’s demise.

It was a total shock to the company. One day she was at her desk, smiling, greeting people, and the next...she was gone. Edward was absent for two weeks, and Frank made sure he confronted the man as soon as he returned.

"She's gone." Edward's words still echoed in Frank’s head, along with the man's baggy, crazed eyes – shadows of a ruined man. "They didn't find any trace of her, not even a goddamn hair. She's gone."

That day, Frank realized that the old Edward Darcouver had also vanished. Frank worked hard to keep Edward in his position after the tragedy, if only because he felt it'd do the man some good. He pitied his friend, but at the same time, Frank wondered if Edward would ever actually stop grieving.

Edward's son was also a complete horror. Frank had first met the kid when Victoria was still alive, and he had been a shy, yet happy young boy. He had her eyes, her light skin and dark hair, with the strong masculine chin of his father. When Frank went to Victoria's funeral, however, that cute image had been utterly destroyed. The teenager’s face was a pure visage of spite and anger. Vance's monochrome eyes looked like bullets, and his cheekbones had hollowed out like a skeleton’s. Victoria’s death had no doubt taken a toll on the boy, but Frank felt something else lurking beneath that made his hair stand on end.

If only Victoria was still here. There wasn't a thought in his mind that came up more frequently. Frank loved his wife, but the love he felt for his old boss was platonic and special. Sasuke had been a great man as well, but he had retired from his post years ago.

After Sasuke’s departure, it was decided that F. Douglas McCarthy, an outsider, would be brought in as the new CEO in order to give the company’s finances the jolt they sorely needed. That was where things really started getting weird. 

McCarthy was a quiet man, a far cry from the sociable, yet shrewd Sasuke. In recent years, McCarthy was only ever seen with Grayson Lee, a tall man with long blond hair. After Victoria disappeared, McCarthy had instated Grayson Lee as his vice – a man who, according to Frank, had the smuggest grin in the entire universe.

Grayson socialized with everyone but a select group in which Frank was included. From Frank's perspective, Grayson was pleasant with those lower than him simply so that he could manipulate them better, and pleasant with others of similar rank so that they would give him no problems when he needed something done. Frank was unique, however, as he had been close with Zexaron's original architects, and he suspected Grayson didn't like that much.

Gradually, Frank came to realize where he stood in the grand scheme of things: he was a liability, a wrench in the complicated mechanism that Zexaron had become: McCarthy at the reins, and Grayson his dexterous puppet. The worst part of it all was how they ignored Frank. He was no longer invited to partner meetings, and no special announcements were ever handed to Frank personally. It had become a natural part of his day to sift through files in order to find out about updates he had 'missed out on' the nights before. He knew he was being singled out, and in the end, there was only one thing that happened to people like that – they disappeared. Just like Victoria.

The Zexaron Corporation was no longer a world-famous company that had pioneered new energy source technology. It was a conspiracy, a dream that had slowly morphed into a nightmare.

The main headquarters of Zexaron had been relocated to Bakersfield a year ago as part of a plan that had begun after Victoria's death. "A new start for a new age of Zexaron," F. Douglas had called it. Frank had moved with the help of the company and started at the new office in the middle of a hot California summer. Since then, he’d intentionally snooped through the files in the system, searching for information about Zexaron's true purposes. So far, he knew that the capital they were reaping from this new oil venture was not being used for promotional purposes, funding for new ventures, or anything else that made a lick of sense. Something was very wrong with Zexaron, and Frank was convinced that McCarthy and Grayson were at the bottom of it.

I could run at any moment, but it wouldn't be fair to Victoria or Sasuke...wherever they are. And who knows what would happen to Ed? Even if I have to do it alone, I'm going to keep this company from going to hell.

At the same time, Frank was worried about himself, and more importantly, his family's safety. He had been raised well. He’d never been in trouble with the law; he’d learned at a young age that keeping to the norm was the best route to take if one wished to avoid stormy weather. And Frank was quite the smooth sailor. He never hit his kids, came home drunk, or hurt his wife. He paid his taxes, worked hard, and didn't talk back to his superiors. He was a typical middle-class white male in his late forties, went to church every Sunday – that was it. End of story, no hidden affairs or dark secrets. Frank Arazia was a simple man on the inside and out, a dedicated member of his company...and perhaps that was what made him so problematic.

I'm on to something big now...I can feel it. Maybe I'm so close that they're already on to me. But if I don't act fast, there will be no one left to stop them. Their plan will be put into action, and I'll lose everything...just as Edward Darcouver, a brave, charismatic man, was reduced to a debilitated, self-loathing creature with absolutely nothing left to live for.

Next: Grey Eminence