Anthem's Fall

Chapter Fifty Five

Chapter Twenty-Two

Vengelis

The sunlight danced on Madison's flawless complexion and the dark waves of her hair as she turned at the street corner and watched him jog after her. Vengelis shouldered past a few passersby and halted before her, meeting her gaze with an expression bent in conflict.

"Look." Vengelis gazed wearily into the busy intersection as cars and taxis veered by. "This city . . . this city isn't a safe place to be today. You need to get as far away from here as you can."

"And why would that be?" Madison reached into her bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

He dismissed her curiosity with an agitated shake of his head. "It's really too much to get into. But you need to get out of this city. Go anywhere but here."

"Like Jersey? I'm all set."

"I don't know what Jersey is, but if it's far away from New York City, then, yes, go there."

"Hmm." Madison tilted her head as she lifted a cigarette out of the pack with elongated fingers. She put it to her lips, lit it thoughtfully and took a long drag. "Nope. That doesn't feel right. No offense, but I think I'll stay."

"You really need to listen to me. This entire city is in imminent danger. Your world, collectively, isn't safe. I'm formally asking you to leave."

Amusement surfaced on her lips as Madison regarded him, her judgment of his character obviously vacillating. He watched her eyes move to his body and take in his uncanny, though unmistakably valuable attire. The obscenely massive Blood Ring on his hand surely looked elaborate and genuine, even to her untrained eye. Perplexity passed across Madison's face as her attention paused on the Blood Ring. A seed of uncertainty surrounding the man before her had taken root in her mind.

"Where are you from?" she asked, her tone abruptly intrigued.

"Far."

Madison cast him a doubtful look. "Like Europe? You sort of have a European look to you I suppose. Your . . . clothing . . . and that ring definitely scream un-American."

"No, much farther than Europe."

"So, like . . . where?"

Vengelis took in an extended breath and let it out slowly, both his frustration and his nerves growing. Time was running out, and he knew he was past due to check in with Hoff and Darien. "Are you going to leave the city or not?"

Madison shrugged. "I don't see why I would."

The traffic light across from their intersection signaled walk, and Madison stepped out onto the crosswalk along with a few other pedestrians. As she turned away from him, Vengelis reached out and held her shoulder. Madison turned back to face him, insulted by the gesture. Vengelis regarded her coldly; he was about to tell her more forcefully to evacuate when a beep sounded from within his armor. With his left hand he pulled out the Harbinger I remote.

"What the hell is that?" Madison asked, staring at the extraordinary contraption.

"A remote control to my ship," Vengelis said simply.

Madison visibly thought over his nonchalant statement. Then once more she tried to casually pull her shoulder away from him, but found his grip to be implausibly strong. A concern began to surface across her face, as if it suddenly became clear to her that the man before her was not entirely stable.

"I mean you no harm, stop squirming," Vengelis said, his attention on the remote.

"Then let me go." Madison pressed her cigarette down against his arm and it fizzled out against his impervious skin. She brought her free arm down against his grasp and beat against his forearm several times. "Let me go!"

"No."

"Let me go!" With mounting anger Madison tried to free herself, but his grip was inconceivably strong. She reached around to dig her fingernails into the taut cords of muscle in his forearm and her mouth fell immediately agape. The ends of two of her nails cracked. "Your skin . . . it feels like rock."

"I'm still in the process of helping you," Vengelis said. "You're not aware of the danger you are in."

Another beep sounded from the remote, and Vengelis raised the remote and answered.

"Cinga avar zitutha," were the words Madison heard from the remote. Vengelis recognized the voice as belonging to his Lord General Hoff.

Vengelis looked into Madison's eyes, his face distant. "Marza e'kuff vashkara nompanta."

Madison's expression twisted in bewilderment as she stared at him; the incoherent words belonged to no language she had ever heard. Her lips moved inarticulately and she stopped squirming. A cautious trepidation claimed her as she listened to the sharp transformation of Vengelis's tone and intonation.

"Lorvesh ritak levkaraska e'ta Shikago," the voice spoke again.

Several more exchanges were passed in the language that Madison surely only recognized as a strange and foreign tongue. Vengelis then paused and considered something, before switching back to English. "Are you familiar with a city known as Chicago?"

Madison futilely tried to yank herself away from his grip. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Are you, or are you not, familiar with the city of Chicago?"

"Yes, obviously."

"Keez arakla." Vengelis looked at her with complete stoicism and repeated the command in English for her benefit, perhaps to enlighten her of her plight. "Show them our power."

Vengelis slipped the Harbinger I remote back into his armor and released the grip on her shoulder. He calmly wiped off the ash her cigarette had left on his forearm. Madison saw the unharmed skin underneath and recoiled away from him suspiciously.

"Now you realize the nature of danger you're in by staying in this city against my guidance," Vengelis said.

Madison rotated her arm and massaged her shoulder where he had held her. His fingers had left marks on her skin. "You . . . are some sort of terrorist?"

"No. Well . . . " Vengelis considered the question. "At least not a terrorist in the sense you're probably envisioning. Though I have no doubt my presence here will inspire terror."

"Who are you?" Madison said as the fear in her eyes began to turn to dread. She was surely now remembering all too vividly the inhumanness of his attack on the men in the club. What had happened in there was not normal—not natural. She sighed, stepped closer to him so no passersby could overhear, and begrudgingly rephrased her question. "What are you?"

"My name is Vengelis Epsilon."

"What kind of name is that?"

"A foreign one."

"And you are from where exactly? I can recognize a lot of languages and I've never heard anything remotely like what you were just speaking. I don't—"

"I'm from Anthem."

Madison blinked. "And that is . . . some city in the Middle East or a town in Eastern Europe or something?"

Vengelis shook his head and she took a shrinking step away from him. Madison turned to leave him for good, but again he reached out and took her arm.

"Let me go!" she said quietly, leaning into him, her eyes furious. A number of passersby turned their heads, but no attempt was made to intervene. Instead they drew their attention to the restaurant fronts across the street or the dried gum on the pavement; all walked by without a word, making the choice not to involve themselves.