CHAPTER 23

The daughter attacked her own father first. The Executioner was surprised by her boldness.

“I see that you are strong, agile, and talented, but you lack refinement in your strikes. You still have many years of experience to gain.”

“Thank you. I learned from one of the best, right, Dad?” She said cynically.

“I’ve never understood your obsession with causing pain to others. I taught you many things about our craft, but I never taught you to enjoy doing it.”

She paused her attacks for a moment and laughed.

“May I ask what’s so funny?”

“You...” She laughed until she was gasping. “As always, an ideologist... with your sermons about purpose, honor, loyalty, legacy... all that is a bunch of nonsense. None of that has ever mattered.”

“Oh, really?” He said curiously. “Please, enlighten me about what these tired eyes are unable to see. Brighten me with your premature wisdom.”

The Executioner, apparently, also knew how to be ironic.

“It’s nothing like that. Our work has nothing beautiful or noble about it; if it did, we'd have no reason to hide our faces for centuries.”

“So, what is it then? Don’t let me die in ignorance.”

“Power, what else?” She said in a mocking tone, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. “Having the authority to decide, out of pure whim, who lives and who dies. That’s true power! It’s not about making laws, decrees, or any of that nonsense... It’s about having the power to decide while strangling someone, while watching the sparkle in their eyes fade, whether that person should or shouldn’t keep breathing.”

“Like what you did to that poor Muspelheim employee, who was arbitrarily taken for torture disguised as an interrogation? Tormenting a witness to death, even knowing that the poor guy was telling the truth?”

“And what if he told the truth? So, what if he was innocent? Who cares about what’s right or wrong? Honestly, I don’t care. I had his life in my hands and could end it out of pure whim, at my own pleasure... and as soon as I got bored of his screams, I, out of pure whim, silenced him forever.” She said in a mocking tone. “That... that’s so exhilarating, so enjoyable... even more so than copulation, I guarantee it.”

“Yeah. In all my years in this job, I’ve never caused pain to anyone out of whim. Only in cases of utmost necessity, and even then, only to preserve a greater good.”

“Greater good? Greater good? Greater good for whom? To keep a prison? Tell me, what is the greater good in this society? Stop being hypocritical!”

“Whether you like it or not, this way of managing society is what has kept us alive until now.”

“Alive? Who’s alive? No one is alive in this damned city. Everyone is just acting out scripts; they’re mere actors. Everything is a fantasy, a very well-staged make-believe. Now tell me: if everything is planned, calculated, and executed according to the script, wouldn’t that be the same as a farce? If it’s not real, it can only be fantasy. What does that mean? Is this life to you?”

“That has been questioned many times over the centuries. Many revolts and attempts at subversion have sprung from these pernicious ideas. And in all of them, we Executioners have prevailed. You’re not the first to question this, and you won’t be the last, but like all the others, you will fall.”

“And again, why? Why keep this, this theater? What are you fighting for after all? In the beginning, in the first generations, among the pioneers, I even understand that the role of the Mathematician might have been important for our survival, but now? Now, what does all this crap mean?”

“Living with the privilege of being free from desires has been harmful to you. It gave you the false feeling that you are free to think and question the system. Deep down, you're not challenging the system; you don't care about the system at all, since you've always been part of a privileged caste precisely because of it. You want to keep everything as it is, but with one difference: to be at the forefront of the Inquisition and the persecution of dissidents in an even more brutal way. You dream of things returning to how they were under the old Mathematician's regime. The only freedom you're fighting for is to promote more carnage; in whatever way your disturbed mind sees fit.”

“So, this ragged speech of mine about freedom is a foolishness I don't even believe myself?” She laughs. “Maybe it is. I just needed a good excuse, right? After all, everything is theater; it's not truly free. No one can show their true colors. We are hypocrites even when we don't want to be. Ah, cursed humans. What matters isn't what is said, but how it is said. Am I right?”

“In a way, yes, but I understand how weak minds like yours get intoxicated by the little power they have. Usually, they are low self-esteem creatures trying to gain something from this feeling of power. I was careless in ignoring this in my own daughter. Now I must correct this sin.”

“And what do you intend to do, Dad?” She laughed. “Fix this? How will you live with it? Knowing that every innocent person I slaughtered was because of your inaction?”

“I'll hold myself accountable later; I won't run from justice. But before that, for the greater good, I will eradicate errors like you.”

“Error? ERROR!” She shouted, offended. “How dare you... call me an error? Me, your masterpiece? Yes... Yes, Dad, your masterpiece! Because none of your disciples learned to kill as I did. I learned your technique... I refined it, improved it, updated it, and you insult me by calling me... an error?”

“The greatest one of my life. Enough talk; I no longer care about the motivation behind your fight, although I know it's for yourself, never for Mu. But that's okay; I’ll carry this burden with me after ending your threat.”

“Try, Dad... you know, of everyone in this city, the only person I’ve always dreamed of facing and killing with my own hands was you. Killing the best assassin... oh... isn’t that incredible? After all, he who lives by the sword must die by it. Killing him or dying by his hands... that excites me so much, so much. I can't hold myself anymore.”

“Want to die epically? Is the peak of your life the moment of your death?”

“Actually, the idea of killing you makes me much more fired up than allowing myself to be killed by your sword.”

“Oh, really? Swear? Then this is your chance. Come! Get your prize. Try.”

“Let's get started then. We've never had a healthy relationship, since instead of affection, like with others, all I received from you were warnings, punishments, and penalties... You know what? I learned to like it. I started to enjoy suffering and causing suffering. I think that's what makes me feel alive.”

She began to laugh loudly and suddenly stopped her laughter with an attack that almost hit the Executioner in the throat.

“Too slow.” He said, deflecting the blow.

“Calm down, we're just warming up. Although I’m already boiling inside.”

Both resumed exchanging frantic blows. The Executioner's daughter landed consecutive diagonal strikes, spinning on her own axis. The Executioner, in turn, defended these movements with precision. He knew that fighting her required patience. All her moves gave the false impression that she left her guard open for counterattacks, but it was a ruse. If the Executioner tried to attack her during that window of opportunity, the girl had a corresponding movement strategy to follow up on the previous one and hit him with a counterattack. He knew which moves left gaps and which didn’t; after all, he was her mentor.

Fighting her was a mix of pride, because she was so skilled, and disappointment. After all, she had developed a taste for blood. A dangerous tendency that had once led past generations of Executioners to decline. His relationship with his daughter never reached an acceptable father-daughter level; it was always more like master and student, with exaggerated strictness. He taught her his entire craft and, noticing her personality traits from a young age, chose to continue her training, since she could become the greatest talent in the entire Executioner lineage.

It wasn't uncommon for the previous Executioner to be defeated by the new one, almost like a rite of passage, and he knew they were both destined for this duel. The problem was that he didn't anticipate a situation like this—an uprising and rebellion. His greatest sadness was having to end his greatest creation, as she called it—a masterpiece—since it would probably be one of the pillars of Mu's ruin.

The Executioner had his reservations about Ivan as a monarch. Still, in the face of the chaos never before seen in the city with Lucia's uprising, he realized that, at least initially, he was on the wrong side of history.

It was time to fix that.

Would she mourn her daughter's death? Probably not. Her lineage didn't have those fraternal bonds nor the traditional agape love of what are considered ordinary families. What united them was legacy, honor, and purpose. And if she had rejected all of that, there was no reason to mourn. If mourning is to be done, let it only be for the loss of a prodigy who went astray.

On the other hand, her personality was a product of the environment in which she was raised. One of extreme competition with other family members. The struggle for positions, titles, and vanity during training, ambition, and finally, the fight for survival. Yes, because family members who didn't meet the goals and expectations, or who failed in training, were, so to speak, discarded.

The Executioner posed as a protector of Mu above good and evil, but his own roof was made of glass. To perpetuate the family’s mission, he had children with many different women, so he'd have enough descendants for at least a few to survive his education and training. That clan was a meat grinder. The Executioner’s daughter always wondered how many brothers and sisters she had and how many had succumbed to that hell.

They say a person can only give what she has in excess. She never received love or affection, only pain and hatred. It’s natural that she only knew how to reciprocate that.

Her relationship with other human beings was limited to domination, whether with her subordinates, the weaker members of the clan, or her victims.

Her marital relationships were limited to flesh. She saw her partners not as men, but as toys she could break when she got bored.

Her view of life stemmed from centuries of Executioner family tradition. She was the product of generations of abuse.

The Executioner knew this. But it was always the same excuse:

‘The ends justify the means. This is inhumane, but necessary.’

Is it?

And at that point, he had to agree with her.

Things needed to change.

The fight continued relentlessly, but something distracted him and irritated him deeply. The fact that she enjoyed that moment, the contest, risking her life just for the fleeting sensation of euphoria from mere seconds of victory and watching her opponent's agony. She was laughing while fighting; he couldn’t wait for it to end.

Her youth seemed to prevail for a few minutes, but...

The experience in a fight matters much more. However, even wounded, she managed to hit him too.

They looked at each other and stopped fighting. They admired each other for a few seconds.

“So... a tie? I guess I expected more... but it was a good fight. I will die without regrets... at least I didn't lose,” she said before collapsing. “By the way, do you remember my name, huh, Dad?”

“I am proud... of your technique.” He said as he fell beside her.

Unfortunately, he wasn't sure if her name was Freyja, Skadi, or even Frigg... Could it be Idun?

“Oh yes... Idun, right? Names behind masks don't matter... our names shouldn't be remembered... our masks do.”

The assassins were immortal because, when one fell, another took on the mask.

Lying in her own blood, Idun was satisfied to hear her name before closing her eyes for the last time.

Deep down, the Hangman was truly satisfied. That tie meant that, for better or worse, the Hangman's legacy would end there, because most of the clan's techniques would be lost in the fall of those two.

Maybe that was the kind of change the world needed.

•••

At the back of the Temple of Accuracy, Theresa led her new partners into the medical wing. Security was a mess: many staff members had locked themselves in their homes, and those still on site were stunned and inactive because they hadn't received any instructions on what to do or how to do it. Years of working based on detailed orders, without decision-making power in anything, even in small tasks, had calcified these people's minds.

With everyone confused amidst the fights between the two rival factions inside the temple, no one was likely to notice, at least not initially, a few individuals in the area.

Sneaking through the corners and hallways, the trio reached the medical wing's locker room.

“Here, put this on.” Said Theresa, grabbing three outfits from the closet for them.

“What is this?” Asked Lÿarah, curious.

“It's the uniform for doctors and nurses. Hurry up, put it on over your clothes.”

It turned out that the clothes were a kind of priestly tunic with a large hood. The difference between the medical staff's uniforms was that the hood had red details; the nurses' had blue details.

The idea that people became ill because they hadn't respected or obeyed the divine will, but in a wrong or partial way, was deeply rooted in the local culture. In other words, falling ill and ending up in the hospital was more of a ritual of purging sins than necessarily a medical treatment. The doctor's role carried more priestly weight than anything else. The treatment, of course, was carried out within the limits of their technology, but ceremonialism was the most important aspect. That's why they wore those extravagant outfits.

“It's perfect!” Said Lÿarah.

“Didn't I tell you? What did you think of my idea?” Alex boasted.

“Great. We can go up to the main hall disguised as doctors. For all intents and purposes, we're treating the wounded.” Lÿarah agreed.

Theresa looked very worried about the situation.

“Do I need to go... with you?”

“No, hide. Miah and you. From this point on, unfortunately, you'll slow us down more than help us. But don't worry, your help so far has been essential.”

“That's the problem; there's no turning back now. I'm in this with you up to my neck.” She said, almost crying. “Please, don't die. You need to find me. If they catch me after seeing me with you...”

“Calm down. I promise, little sister. I won't leave anyone behind.” And, saying that, Lÿarah patted Miah.

“And where will I find you again?”

“In that alley where we meet after fleeing from my house. Wait for us there. And be careful, okay?” Alex smiled, trying to reassure her.

“Can I trust you?”

“I swear on my life,” Said Lÿarah. “If you helped me, I owe you.”

“Alright... then it's a deal.”

Lÿarah looked at Alex.

“Take me to my goal.”

“Yes, follow me.”