AKAME ASSASINATION (52)
Purity moved through the gathering dusk like a shadow with purpose. Her destination was the grand cathedral—a structure that had worn many hats: orphanage, sanctuary, hotel, and now, a church again in name if not entirely in spirit. These days, it felt less like a house of worship and more like a quiet place for people to outrun the ghosts of what they'd done, or what had been done to them.
'Six months,' she thought, the weight of the timeline settling in her chest. 'It was only six months ago.' The memory was a film reel she couldn't shut off: the sticky floor of the tavern, the smell of stale ale and fear, and then—the sea. A roaring, overwhelming sea of blood. Not hers. Never hers. That was the cruelest part.
'I need to visit Nancy when this is over.' The thought was a quiet promise, a tether to someone she couldn't save.
At the cathedral's heavy oak doors, she paused. Her ritual was a small, personal defiance. She bowed her head and whispered a prayer of her own making—a patchwork of half-remembered verses and raw, honest pleas she repeated every time she crossed this threshold. Let this place hold peace. Let the memories stay outside. Let me be useful today.
The great hall was empty, cavernous in the fading light. Evening services were long over, and most of the residents had retreated to their quarters or the warmth of the village hearths. No one wanted to linger here after dark; the stones themselves seemed to remember the bloodshed.
She climbed the spiral staircase to the second floor, her footsteps the only sound in the echoing silence. A series of plain wooden doors lined the hallway, each leading to a small room designated for Blake's "special someones"—his handpicked circle of survivors and sharp minds. Hers was the third on the left.
She pushed the door open and left it slightly ajar, a habit born from a lingering fear of being trapped. The room was sparse, functional. A narrow bed, a small table with an old, unused television, a wardrobe filled with the practical, borrowed clothes she still couldn't bring herself to think of as truly hers. She could personalize it—add a plant, a picture, something—but that felt like an admission. An admission that this was permanent. That the past was truly over.
She set her tablet down on the bedside table and sank onto the thin mattress, releasing a long, weary sigh. The contradictions of her new life pressed in on her. A steady job. A safe place to sleep. Friends who didn't demand anything in return. It was everything she'd once thought impossible.
Yet, the ghosts of the slaughtered nuns, the echoes of the villagers' screams—they hung over her like a shroud, a cloud of dread no amount of sunlight could dispel. The question that haunted her most in the quiet hours was the simplest, and the most unanswerable: Who do I blame?
Gil? The boy had saved her from a life of silent servitude. He was more victim than villain.
Blake? The doctor had given them all sanctuary, purpose, a fragile kind of hope.
Herself? For surviving when so many did not?
The nuns who hadn't been killed outright were shells of their former selves, lost to trauma no amount of counseling seemed to fully heal. Their vacant stares were a mirror Purity was terrified to look into for too long.
She let herself fall backward onto the bed, a soft groan of exhaustion and frustration escaping her lips.
BZZZ—BZZZ—
The sharp, insistent vibration of her tablet cut through the stillness. She jolted upright, heart skipping a beat. Work calls didn't come this late. She snatched it up, swiping to answer without checking the ID.
"Yooo," a relaxed, familiar voice drawled from the speaker.
"Um… hello? Who is this?"
"Purity. It's me. Akame."
Her breath caught. !
Akame stood at the edge of the seemingly abandoned Maasai manyatta. The circular huts were dark, their doors shut tight. An eerie silence had fallen, broken only by the whisper of the wind through the tall grass. The residents had clearly fled or hidden at the first sign of unnatural conflict—a wise move he deeply respected.
Instead of disturbing them, he followed the subtle, green-tinged pulse of fragment energy to one particular hut. Vines, thick and strangely luminous, coiled around its frame and crept along the walls like protective serpents. He held the cheap flip phone to his ear.
"Is everybody alright?" he asked, his voice low.
"We're just fine over here," Purity's voice came through, tinny but clear. "We're more worried about you guys."
"We've hit a few roadblocks. Should be moving again in a day or less."
"Who are you talking to?" Catherine's voice piped up right beside his elbow. She had materialized silently, leaning in with wide, curious eyes.
Akame tilted the phone away slightly, ignoring her. "That's good to hear… although, I wouldn't know much about what's happening out there."
"I suppose not. Is Blake there with you?"
"No. He's doing a bit of investigation."
"Investigation?" Akame's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
"Yeah. I don't have all the details, but he has a theory about the mansion."
"I wanna talk to her, too!" Catherine pleaded, deploying her best wide-eyed pout. Akame shifted his stance, physically blocking her from the phone without even looking at her.
"What about it?" he pressed.
"He thinks there was someone else there. Someone who saw your… awakening. And that they're the one responsible for reactivating your bounty. Or something like that." She sounded unsure, relaying second-hand information. "I'm not too clear on the specifics."
"I see." He said it aloud, but his mind was already racing, piecing together Blake's sudden absence, the premature bounty, the feeling of being one step behind. 'That must be what he's been chasing. A witness. A leak.'
"How long has he been on this?"
"Um… about two days, intensely. We went to the mansion earlier, but things got more serious two days ago."
"Makes sense." The timeline fit. "When you see him, make sure to tell him I called."
"Okay… Although, I'm surprised you called me of all people."
"Well," Akame said, a faint, almost imperceptible dryness entering his tone. "It wasn't like I had much of a choice. Plus, isn't your entire job description basically 'professional call-picker-upper'?"
On the other end, Purity might have almost smiled. Almost.
"Just… be careful out there, Akame."
"Always am."
He closed the phone with a soft click, the sound final in the quiet of the vine-covered hut. Catherine was still staring at him, her expression a mix of betrayal and deep curiosity. Outside, the first stars began to pierce the deep purple of the twilight sky.
TO BE CONTINUED!