Malcolm felt a chill run down his spine. Melt had been a field champion, more of a coworker than a friend, but someone Malcolm had known personally. He’d been there when Melt had turned into a demon.
It was at least partially my fault. I stopped him from fighting Rose, and pushed him over the edge.
“You want me… to kill Melt?” Malcolm asked, slowly.
Savior nodded, his expression unchanged.
“Yes.” He held out his hand, palm up. “If you can’t, then I’m afraid we’re going to have to find a different role for you, going forward. Something more… behind the scenes.”
Malcolm winced. The idea of having to kill someone he’d known, regardless of whether they were a monster, made his stomach feel queasy. He didn’t feel like he had it in him, like it was something he’d be able to pull the trigger on. But was there any other choice?
“I’ll do it,” he said. The words came out less confident than he’d intended, but there was nothing he could do about that.
“Good,” said Savior. “He’s been spotted in the abandoned campground south of Vanderbrook. One of the reasons why I’m asking you is your ability to get there quickly with your powers.”
“You could get there just as quickly as I could,” said Malcolm.
“The other reason…” said Savior. “Is so you can prove to me that you’re still trustworthy.”
Malcolm nodded.
“I figured as much,” he said.
Savior eyed him for a moment, as though considering whether Malcolm would be up to the task.
“I like you, Cutter,” said Savior. “I think… You have a similar outlook to mine, in a lot of ways. If you succeed here, you could go far in the Champion Authority. You could have the power, perhaps, to one day influence policy in our organization.”
The words were exactly what Malcolm needed to hear. He suspected that Savior was exaggerating his potential slightly, but it didn’t matter. It was the big picture that mattered to him, the idea of one day being able to free himself and other champions from the burden of having to kill sprytes and demons for no good reason.
One day… But obviously, not today.
“I’ll do it,” he said, this time with confidence.
“Good,” said Savior. He passed Malcolm a slip of paper. “Here’s the address, though it shouldn’t be too hard to find if you just keep heading south.”
CHAPTER 29
Malcolm left immediately. He used his wind manipulation to travel, launching himself upward with a few brief, powerful bursts of air, and then gliding forward, starting the process over again once he’d lost enough height. He tried to limit his usage of his powers as much as he could, more aware than ever of how easily he could end up in the same position as Melt.
His doubts stayed with him, even as he made it past the southern edge of Vanderbrook and into the more rural areas outside of town. What was he supposed to say to Melt before killing him? Would it be better to stay silent? To press on with the attack, and just get it over with as fast as he could?
I’m thinking about killing someone as though I’m cleaning a dirty bathroom. Can I really do this?
He wondered if Savior was expecting him to fail. Perhaps it wasn’t about Malcolm proving to him that he was capable and committed, but rather, confirming that he actually wasn’t. If he let Melt escape, or worse, died fighting him, Savior wouldn’t have to spend time wondering if one of his new champions was worth trusting.
Malcolm landed about a mile out from the summer camp, not wanting to give away his presence by making a grand entrance. It was on the shores of a small lake that the brook from which Vanderbrook took its name fed into. The surrounding forest gave him plenty of cover as he approached, and Malcolm used the wind to cushion his steps and keep from making too much noise on the leaves and fallen branches.
Fifteen minutes later, he approached the first of the summer camp’s buildings, a small, open faced wooden shelter. He leaned up against the side of it, closing his eyes and listening to the wind.
By focusing hard enough, Malcolm could use his wind manipulation to extend the range of his hearing. It was a simple enough thing to do, but only when he could get himself in the right state of mind for it to work. Wind listening was a little like mediation, and at times, he found it frustratingly elusive to achieve.
He had trouble with it this time, finding it hard to clear his head of thoughts about what would happen once he found Melt. It wasn’t just about having the nerve required to kill him. Malcolm would have to defeat a demon in a fight, one with powers that would probably be more effective against him than his were against Melt’s.
I should have brought a gun…
A sound came from further into the summer camp, just beyond another building to the south. Malcolm crouched low, taking careful steps up to the corner of the building and crouched down just beyond the edge of the building. He peered around the corner, scanning the area for any sign of Melt.
He risked sneaking to the next structure, again cushioning his steps as he went. It was a lean-to, and a few dozen beer cans were scattered around the inside of it.
Malcolm heard the sound again. He was sure of where it was, now. He waited, wondering if the best move would be to stay hidden and hope to get the drop on Melt as soon as he revealed himself. A few minutes went by, long enough for the tension and pressure of the moment to start to get to him.
The sound came again, almost at the exact same pitch and volume, and then again, a few seconds later. Malcolm made a decision and started pressing forward, relying on his wind manipulation to move silently.
He took long, bounding steps, carefully landing in between dried leaves and grass. The summer camp looked like it had been abandoned for at least a decade, long enough for paint to begin to chip off the lean-tos, and small animals to take up residence.
His heart pounded nervously in his chest as he rounded the corner of a rickety cabin with a screen door barely hanging from its hinges. The sound was coming from a small clearing on the far side of the cabin.
Melt stood several dozen paces away from an old, wooden target. He held a bow in one hand, and there were a couple of arrows scattered around the ground near his feet. Slowly, he pulled the bow back and released, planting another arrow into the wooden target.
He didn’t look angry, or volatile. Aside from the small, misshapen bumps in his skull around the crown of his head, and the pinkish hue his skin had taken on, there was little else demonic about him. He wore jeans and black hooded sweatshirt. He was smiling.
Malcolm turned his attention back to the arrows on the ground. With the wind, if he was quick enough about it, he could get one of them into the air, and possibly through Melt’s skull before he even knew anybody else was there. He could kill Melt without having to say a word to him, or look him in the eye.
Would I be able to live with myself, if I did that?
He knew the answer before he’d even finished thinking the question. Malcolm took a deep breath and started down the slope, forgoing any further attempt at stealth.
“Melt,” he called.
Melt stiffened. He slowly turned to look at Malcolm, as though he’d forgotten that anything could be a threat to him. The bow fell from his hands and to the ground. Melt met Malcolm’s gaze, and a spark of recognition kindled in his eyes.
“They sent you?” asked Melt. “Savior thinks that fucking little of me? To send a champion barely past the point of wiping his own fucking ass?”
“Uh…” Malcolm couldn’t help but smile. “Nice to see you, too. I’m surprised you remember me.”
Melt scratched at his scraggly, overgrown beard.