Cardinal Tower (Trinity Central Book #1)

Chapter 36

I wince in exaggerated pain, groaning with each breath and trying to appeal towards his humane side. I choke back tears I don't have as I speak. "I'm the bad guy. I'm trying to save thousands of lives, but I'm the bad guy."

The damsel in distress. This overdone performance has yet to fail me. It lowers his guard enough to let me step forward slowly as he pities the desperately pathetic girl in front of him.

"Thousands of lives?" he asks, finally realizing the potential death toll.

"And if they can kill those poor, innocent souls so easily, just imagine how many more will die if they take over? They'll make Trinity more of a dictatorship than it already is They will force the starving children farther and farther into poverty." I'm still questioning the innocence of the people I'm defending, but now doesn't seem like a good time to suddenly switch sides. I'll ask Kai for answers later.

"Dictatorship? You think that's what it will become?" He's dropped his stance, the gun hanging in front of his waistline, his brows creased in question. Just a few more feet.

"More than a dictatorship, a tyranny. I mean, look what they made you do to me, do you really want them to do this to everyone else?"

He doesn't respond to this, instead, he drops his gaze, deep in thought. He doesn't have much time to think as I've reached the mark I needed to make in order to possibly have a chance at winning this fight.

He notices that I've moved from my original position, so in a panic he lifts his gun, prepared to pull the trigger again. Before he gets the opportunity, I push off my right foot while spinning on my left. My leg knocks the gun from his hands and down the hall. He shakes off his hand, looking back at me with what could only be described as petty shock.

"You're injured, Castelle," he half laughs, a familiar, maniacal laugh, "Do you really think you can win this fight?"

"I'm sure I've demonstrated plenty for you to know that I only need one arm to fight."

He swings and I pivot away, his motions filled with uncertainty and guided by spite. Punch after punch and the result is always the same, I easily swerve to avoid each hit, ducking or leaning away. His attacks aren't as sure as they were the first time we fought. Then I could sense he had some sort of skill, some sort of method to his madness, but now he's reckless and desperate. He isn't the same person I fought no more than three weeks ago.

"You're hesitating," I say. His short stay with the Karmas has made him question more than just his morals. The harsh words he's had to hear from Mcallister every day must have taken a toll on his confidence, and I can't blame him.

He backs away to catch his breath, and hand rising to wipe his brow. He smiles a bit before responding, "Hate to break it to you, but you can't win solely on defense."

Once he's more composed, he lunges at me in another haphazard attempt at landing a hit. "You're right," I say as I grab his outstretched hand. I step off of his leg and perch myself onto his shoulder like how I'd done with Mcallister during that session a few days back. I manage to maneuver myself into a position where I can wrap my legs around his neck, and I push my weight forward, forcing him to fall onto his side. He topples like a falling building, and I land on my feet.

I push him onto his stomach, drag his arm around his back, and pull my knife from my boot.

"I don't want to kill you, Blake, but look what Karma has done to you." He's sputtering breaths into the concrete beneath us, and I'm contemplating whether or not I can really drive this knife into his back.

"Castelle, I think you're forgetting something."

"And what is that?" I ask, tightening my grip on his arm. He lets out a breath of pain before continuing our conversation.

"No mercy." He wriggles the arm from under him free, and I feel a sudden pain in my bullet wound where a knife has taken residence. I let out a gasp of pain, using my free hand to push him away from my shoulder to no avail. The blade digs deeper into my wound and I find the world spinning in pain.

I fall on my back with him towering over me, pulling his blade away. He re-aims his dagger prepared to bring the knife down to my heart.

"I hear from Jacoby that people like you have a special organ, a Catharsis I think it's called, so a blow like this won't kill you. No, but it will still hurt enough to keep you down."

A hint of a smile turns his lips upward as he lifts his knife for added momentum. There's no semblance of sanity left in his eyes, like how I probably looked when I made my first kill.

My first kill.

Him, with that smile standing over me with that knife, suddenly makes me remember why he seemed so familiar when we first met. An older brother, one of the youngest sector leaders of his time, and features almost identical to Blake's.

"Sean," I whisper, barely audible enough for either of us to hear, "Sean."

"What?" he asks, his smile wavering, and his arms dropping slightly.

"His name was Sean. Your brother's name was Sean" The forgotten name rings throughout the hall as I speak it. A man I'd almost forgotten, a face I wouldn't have recognized otherwise. Blake right now, in this moment, is the spitting image of his brother. The psychopathic Karma that turned me into a murderer.

"How do you know that? How do you know my brother?" He lifts his arms again, but his intent to kill has left his face.

"He's the one who contracted me to be a Karma in the first place. He was my mentor. He was my friend." Blake's hands have dropped completely, a look of utter defeat overtaking his features.

"Your friend?" he asks as though if he repeated it, then he might actually believe it.

"That room you're protecting used to be his. He used it more than any other in the entire facility." Blake is completely silent, lost in thought about the information I have just revealed to him.

"He's not who you looked up to, Blake. He wasn't a great man. He's done worse things than either one of us combined. Which could explain why he would willingly work as a Karma, why he was so devoted."

"What do you know about my brother?" he snaps at my accusation tainting his brother's reputation.

"More than you, I'm sure, but I know he deserved the fate he got, and if you go down the same path as him you will too."

He looks at me, a fire glowing behind his eyes. I feel like I've said too much, but at the same time, this was all information I am not at liberty to withhold from him - someone who viewed a monster so highly.

"What happened to my brother?"

I gulp realizing that no matter what I say at this point, it will always paint me as the criminal that murdered him. I wrap my hands around my knife, and mentally prepare myself to relive that day and the consequences for my actions.

"I killed him." Blake's eyes bulge. He lifts his knife back over his head and slams it down, my heart in its direct path. Before it gets a chance to make impact, I pull my own dagger to block it before it reaches its target.

His two hands are pushing against my one, forcing the blade to inch closer and closer to my heart. It doesn't take long to realize that this is a fight I'm about to lose, when another fight from that first day crosses my mind. Cynthia versus Aster. She was about to lose, but she didn't.

I swing my leg up, and it connects right in between his. A cheap shot, but an admittedly effective one. He steps back, a hand covering his groin while the one holding his dagger finds a wall to keep him balanced. I scramble to my feet, stabbing his left shoulder with my knife. The sudden injury forces him to drop his dagger, the metal falling to the ground with a high pitched clink. His hand travels from one location of pain to the next as I dig the blade deeper and deeper into his flesh.

He tries to push my hand away, but as someone who's not quite used to pain, he doesn't have the energy to fight against me. Honestly, I'm surprised I currently have the energy to fight at all.

I rip my knife away, wiping the blood onto his shirt before sticking it back in my boot. He topples onto the wall, pain painted on his face in an expression of anguish and utter defeat. I hurry over to the door and throw it open before he gets a chance to stop me.