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The world must be cleansed of its filth.
Aguiar stands atop a red-bathed dining table in the nave of a decrepit church. A heavenly chorus of bloodshed and pain echoes around him. His axe in one hand, a sword in the other, Aguiar’s eyes find his next victim standing before him.
A vile nun, her hands clasped in the symbol of Blood. Her habit is soaked in gore flowing from her open mouth and open wounds.
She is injured. She will not last long. Aguiar leaps over the monster tearing into the corpses on the floor and knocks the vile nun to the ground.
One…two…
(…What?)
The nun hisses, her tongue and teeth lashing out at him. Aguiar plants a knee in her chest and stabs the sword through her mouth.
…three…four…
(What’s happening?)
The beast behind him lets out a furious roar. A shout: “Jasper!” The sound of a familiar sniper shot echoes through the chamber. Aguiar jams his axe into the nun’s mouth as well.
…five…six…
(Are they okay?)
Aguiar growls. He rips his weapons in opposite directions, splitting her head open by the jaws.
…seven.
Aguiar has seen better. Her rosary catches around the blade of his sword. The thread snaps, and the beads spill into the pool of blood beneath her—sanctity liberated from her defiled claws and cleansed by the waters of her death.
Aguiar stands and turns to survey his hunting grounds.
To his left, he sees a bloodied X being helped off the ground by the Master of the Labyrinth. Beyond them, Aguiar sees the hitwoman crouched over a dying man, pressing bandages to a gushing wound on his neck.
(Eloi! No—I’m so sorry!)
Aguiar shakes his head and blinks the swirling out of his vision. His condition, he realizes, is deplorable. But his own injuries have never hindered him. He knows he will always outlast them. The hunt must continue, and Aguiar sees his next victim.
It is an ugly wretch of a man, hunched over the corpse of that beast. He is distracted, stuffing his face with gore.
Fool. Aguiar digs his feet into the tile, viscera and grit under his shoes, and breaks into a dead sprint.
(No, no, no…!)
The hooded wretch barely looks up in time to see Aguiar’s sword come swinging through his shoulder. It’s swiftly followed by the axe through his ribs.
The wretch screams.
One…two…three…
“Wh—JASPER?!”
“JASPER, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
(No!)
Aguiar’s hand jolts around the handle of his axe, a spasm from—something. An injury? It doesn’t matter. The wretch swings his blood-soaked knife at Aguiar, desperate. Aguiar deflects it with a throw of his elbow, then crashes his skull into that of the wretch. The wretch goes down like a sack of bricks.
Weak.
…four…five…six…
“JASPER, STOP!”
(Please!)
Aguiar heaves for air. His body is heavy, his muscles are reluctant, his ears are ringing. But the hunt must continue. Aguiar cannot be stopped. The world must be cleansed of its filth. Aguiar drives the sword into the wretch’s shoulder, pinning him like a bug, and raises the axe.
…seven…eight—
The wretch peers up at him, dazed. “J-Jasper?”
(No, Juan, PLEASE!)
Aguiar’s hand spasms again; he readjusts.
…eight…nine—
Something crashes into his side.
Aguiar doesn’t even hear it coming. All the air vacates his lungs, and he and the assailant hit the ground. They roll. The sword goes flying. When they come to a stop, Aguiar splayed on his back and his vision spinning, a delicate giggle reaches his ears.
Figures.
“Well, that’s not very nice of you, my love,” sings X, straddling his waist. “What’s gotten into you, hm?”
Aguiar growls at them. “This one’s mine, Jae-Yoon,” he snarls, “get your own playthings—” and he swings the back of his axe at their head.
(Be careful!)
X giggles as they fold themself back, letting his axe whoosh over them through open air. When they straighten again, they tilt their head at Aguiar. “‘Jae-Yoon’? How cold of you! You know my name, Jasper.”
…What?
(Maria! Please, get away from me! I don’t want to hurt you!)
Aguiar lies on the ground, stunned for a moment.
A muffled, echoing laugh reaches Aguiar’s awareness. “The mask!” the Master of the Labyrinth cackles. “He is lost to the mask!”
“Ohhh, you poor thing,” X coos. They reach towards his face. “Let me help you—”
Aguiar snaps his hand around their wrist and wrings it. X howls. That brat knows better than to even put a finger near his mask. With a snarl, Aguiar bucks them off and rolls onto his feet.
With less grace than usual, X rolls onto their feet too, panting. They grin something wicked, blood in their teeth. “So! That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”
“You talk too much,” Aguiar spits, and he lunges.
(No! Stop!)
Aguiar stumbles as he trips over seemingly nothing. Between one blink and the next, X vanishes. Their giggles fill the air. Familiar with the brat’s tricks by now, Aguiar casts his head about, trying to catch their footfalls, their rustling coat, their cloying sweet scent—
The world pulses white as something slams into the side of his head. Aguiar staggers and whips around to see the hitwoman lowering the butt of her sniper.
“What the hell!” she screams in his face. “Jasper, get a grip on yourself, you fuck!“
(Lena, I’m so sorry! Please, get away from me, please!)
Aguiar shakes his head. The world is spinning. Focus. The time runs; he has a kill to finish. He swings his axe at her with a disgraceful sloppiness, only trying to get her to clear the way to his victim.
The hitwoman—coward—leaps to the side. Ahead, Aguiar now sees the Master of the Labyrinth performing a ritual over the hooded wretch—the wretch, who lies on the ground, motionless, in a growing puddle of blood.
(Oh my God. Juan. I didn’t…I never wanted to…)
Something cold falls in his gut. He— He—
…He knew it. Aguiar knew he couldn’t trust the Master of the Labyrinth. All that thing cares about is his stupid little maze, and now he’s taking Aguiar’s. Fucking. Kill. All for his own purposes.
That secretive bastard doesn’t understand— The world must be cleansed of its filth! What does he take Aguiar for, weak?
(Oh God. Oh God. Oh God, I’m so sorry…)
Aguiar blinks tears from his eyes. He is not that helpless boy anymore, drowning under his Master’s hands. Aguiar is not weak. The Master of the Labyrinth will fall for his insolence. Aguiar grips his axe—
A rustle of footsteps and whispers. “Miss me?”
Legs wrap around his waist, tight as a knot, and hands close over his face.
“Bitch!” Aguiar snarls. X laughs. He grips his axe higher on the handle and swings at one of their arms, grabs the wrist of the other, blocks a hand, bucks around, twists his shoulders—anything to get this fucking pest off of him.
The butt of the hitwoman’s sniper rams into his elbow. Aguiar grunts as his arm spasms, causing him to drop his axe, and the mask is whisked from his face.
“HA HA! I got it! I got the—!”
Aguiar reaches over with both his hands and grabs at X’s back. With a furious yell, Aguiar flips them over his shoulder and slams them into the ground at his feet with all his might.
X stares up at the ceiling, eyes wide, and doesn’t move.
(MARIA! NO! MARIA!)
Another blow from the butt of the sniper. Aguiar stumbles, and the hitwoman snags his mask before leaping away from him. “Remi, it isn’t working! He’s still fucking crazy!”
The Master of the Labyrinth is laughing still. “Maybe I could be of some help!” he delights. And, in Aguiar’s spinning vision, the Master of the Labyrinth slides on some golden rings.
(Please, just stop me, please…)
Golden rings. Aguiar knows what ritual those are for, and by his blood, Aguiar will not be ensnared by that bastard’s stupid maze.
(I don’t want to do this…)
Aguiar swipes up his axe.
The hitwoman tries to trip him. He slashes through her leg with his axe. (Lena!) As she cries out, the battered man in the white jumpsuit tries to jump on him, howling in fury. Aguiar dodges, then slams his axe in the man’s back. (God, no, no, no…) He has a victim chosen already, and he doesn’t let his prey get away from him.
Aguiar turns and sets his eyes on the Master of the Labyrinth. The Master. Filth.
(Please, not him too…)
Panting, Aguiar takes a step forward.
(Not him. I can’t lose him…)
He takes another step. And another. And another. He raises his axe.
(Someone stop me. Please. Please…)
Tears spill down his face, and he throws his axe at the Master of the Labyrinth.
It lands square in his shoulder, stopping the ritual before it can be cast. Aguiar, trembling, charges him with all he has left and tackles the Master back onto the ground. Aguiar pins his working hand, and with the other, tears off his stupid helmet.
(Do what you have to, please, knock me down, take me out.)
“JASPER!” The Master of the Labyrinth swings a punch across his jaw. Aguiar takes it; frail thing. “JASPER, IT’S ME, DAMNIT, IT’S REMI.”
That’s enough lies. Aguiar reaches for his axe—
(PLEASE, NO!)
—clenches his hand instead. Enough. Lies. He slams his fist down on the Master’s head.
One…two…three…
The man blinks, bleary, blood welling on his forehead. “Jas… I-I…”
(Do anything, anyone, do it.)
Aguiar pulls his axe out of the Master’s shoulder. Aguiar wraps a trembling fist around the Master’s throat. The Master scrabbles at him dizzily, eyes bulging, legs kicking.
The Master is not strong enough. Puny. Weak. Let’s see if you last as long as my old Master did.
…four…five…six…
Aguiar’s breath comes in labored pants, vision blurry. Footsteps rush to his side. A click, and the barrel of a gun brushes his temple. “JASPER, YOU DUMB FUCK, PUT THE GODDAMN AXE DOWN.”
(Kill me. Please, kill me. Take the shot. Put me down.)
…seven…eight…
“Lena, don’t you DARE!” Arms wrap around his own, holding it, and other hands try to tear the axe out of his iron grip. “JASPER! DROP IT!”
(Kill me before I kill someone else again.)
Aguiar heaves for breath. Tears spill salty into his clenched teeth, trickle down his chin. It feels like his chest is caving in. The Master struggles against his hold.
…nine…
(It’s all my fault.)
He grips the axe.
…nine…
(I’m just…)
He grips the axe.
…nine…
(…I’m weak.)
The Master’s eyes start to roll back, lashes fluttering. His hand falls like a caress down his arm; whisper of skin on skin.
(I’m weak for you.)
A hand appears on his cheek. It’s the same blood and warmth he can’t help but tilt his face into, always seeking more.
(I’m weak for you.)
“Jasper, my love. Let Remi go.”
I would die for you.
“I’m so sorry,” Jasper sobs, and he releases his hold on Aguiar’s axe and Remi’s throat.
He’s thrown back by strong hands the moment he does. There is the sound of rasping coughs, desperate questions, shouting orders. Jasper curls on his knees and gasps, and sobs, and gasps, and sobs. It heaves out of him. He can’t breathe. Everything around him is muffed and turbulent, rushing bubbles past his ears—he’s drowning.
Oh God, Jasper killed them. He killed Juan, he killed Maria, he killed Remi, he killed them all, the blood is on his hands. He was supposed to die for them. How could he? How COULD he?!
Hands settle on his shoulders. They buzz against his skin. “I’m sorry,” Jasper sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
“Jasper.”
“I’m so sorry.” He curls his hands around the back of his head, pulls fiercely at his hair, he needs to claw it out— “I’m a monster, everyone dies because of me, I’m sorry.”
“Jasper, look at me, damnit!”
Hands reach under his chin and bare his face to the light. The world is a mess, tears and blood and dark splotches in his eyes.
“I killed them,” Jasper heaves out. His head is pounding, his chest is shattering. “It’s all my fault! I’m so sorry, I’m…”
His words peter out as a forehead comes to touch his, and a hand clasps around the back of his neck.
“You’re not a monster,” he rasps out. Remi. “Listen to me—you didn’t kill anyone.”
“But—”
“You didn’t kill anyone. We’re going to be okay. But you need to fucking breathe, understand?”
Remi pulls him into an embrace, one that Jasper can’t return. He can’t imagine putting his hands on Remi again, he might—he might—
It rings like a bell in his head: The world must be cleansed of its filth.
Jasper buries his face in Remi’s neck and sobs.
Voices echo off of the vaulted ceiling of the church, heartbreak staining every glass window and every clay tile. Blood paints itself over Jasper’s soul, and he knows there will be no waters that will ever cleanse him of his guilt.