Ian climbed into the fortified truck, a sleek and unassuming chunk of metal that reminded him of its owner. He'd climbed into the back of large trucks for Rifts, cramped in the enclosed back.

  But here, he claimed the front as windows surrounded him and permitted him to gaze outside.

  Victor fiddled with several buttons and twisted the key. A roar sputtered from the engine, and they were off, abandoning the faraway base. Ian stared after it quietly, as if trying to embed the illusion of leaving into memory.

  If he left and never came back, what would it look like? Would he ever know?

  His inability to predict the consequences of any possible decision drew a sharp resentment, a lament against humanity.

  Humans evolved, yet they couldn't find the absolute truth of anything, much less the trajectory of one's volatile fate. It was all theories and ideas, right enough until proven wrong.

  "What are you thinking now?" asked the Esper, briefly glancing sideways. His slender, pronounced fingers smoothly steered left.

  Dust kicked around the tires in barren lands marked by ruins of old cities. They said the cities were destroyed by Rifts, stomped into flattened lands. Vegetation could be found further, but mutations made it dangerous to visit.

  "How miserable everything is," said Ian, still gazing outside.

  Victor hummed and made a sharp right. The car violently careened. Ian grasped the seat, jerking his head up. Victor's shoulders relaxed, wearing that irksome smile, and Ian swore he saw a hint of real delight at tossing him around like a cotton doll with shrunken stuffing.

  "I'm not interested in dying together," he said pointedly.

  Victor shrugged. "I would take you to a prettier place for that."

  "Can't wait," said Ian blandly.

  Finally, Victor slammed on the brakes, finding a morbid amusement in jerking Ian around and contributing to his misery. Ian squinted, with only a dozen acts of violence in mind.

  "Turn your head." The Esper stared ahead, and a chill crawled up Ian's neck.

  He felt a thousand snakes tightening around his skin, a terrible, bleeding dread that made his heart plummet.

  With a frown, he faced the front, and his chest constricted tightly, like a bundle of strung nerves pulled taut. The deserted lands encompassed a desolate emptiness that did not frighten him.

  It was the fissure. Infinite, extending far into the distance.

  A jagged, abyssal crack against the earth that absorbed all traces of light, running into the horizon. Shadows so dense, it was darker than black, a muddle of unknown that may as well have fractured down to the middle of the world.

  A breeze, a breath, or a mistaken step could promise death.

  His lips parted, drawing a strained breath. "What is this?"

  Indifferent carved Victor's face, an alienation that harboured no fear or concerns. He said, as he would say anything else, "The end of the world."

  Ian couldn't blink, but he frowned. "The world is circular."

  "I didn't imagine they allowed access to knowledge in the facility."

  "I imagine they didn't allow many things, and their disallowance never stopped me." Ian's palms beaded with sweat the longer he stared at that abyss. "Answer me."

  Victor tilted his head, a hand resting on the steering wheel.

  "It's nothing special."

  There was no particular reason to take Ian here, to this place forbidden by the cowardly base. The impossibility of knowing what lay within terrified most.

  The discovery of the crack came unexpectedly. Three trucks had disappeared, and the last skidded to a stop by the edge, scaring an A-grade Esper into wetting his pants. It didn't appear unless you drew close enough, and for those oblivious, it came without warning.

  To some, they believed it was an omen—a sign of the world's inevitable collapse.

  Ian listened to the explanation and looked back at the crack. "Get me closer."

  "Thinking of jumping?"

  Ian sneered. "When I do, I'll take you along."

  Victor tilted his head before a familiar smile curled at his lips, both endlessly gentle and hopelessly cruel. "Whatever you'd like," he said and flung the door open.

  An oppressive energy pulsed from the crack, preventing Ian's approach. Finally, he stood about a meter away, unwilling to near as a lead saddled his muscles. Victor lingered beside him, casting a sidelong glance. "Can't go closer?"

  Ian gritted his teeth. "Can you?"

  "It would be a shame to hurt your ego," smiled the Esper. "Determined as it is. Head back."

  Discomfort continued burrowing into the strings of Ian's muscles, and he'd intended to turn around. But the strange phenomenon of not wanting to do something once ordered took over, and he planted his feet firmly.

  "Use your manners. I'm older than you."

  "And what a tragedy it is that you can only flaunt your age, and nothing else."

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  Victor's provocations were purposeful, digging for a reaction as a dog would dig for a bone.

  Ian concluded this with bitter resentment and narrowed his eyes into two, murderous slits. He refused to move. Victor waited for a few seconds, clearly unused to being disobeyed, before he nodded.

  He bent his head by Ian's ear and muttered in a velvety tone. "Then please, dear Guide, do me the honour of returning or jumping into that crevice, and waste no more of my time."

  Smack—!

  Ian smacked his face away on instinct, and a loud slap reverberated in the null around them.

  "....."

  One Guide and one Esper stood silently, the latter's face now wearing a red handprint. Ian blanked, rubbing his ear with a deep scowl. His stomach jumped, and he suddenly had an urge to rip out his brain.

  Because first off, what was that twinge of delight at seeing his fingers mark a blurred outline to that smiling face, and secondly, why did that man have an irritatingly pleasant voice? His ears itched, poisoned by a weakness to beauty.

  When in doubt, Ian chose the easiest tactic. He pivoted and fled.

  They settled back in the truck silently. After a long period of awkwardness that made Ian contemplate a free fall into the chasm, Victor spoke. "If I recall, the last time somebody hit me, I extracted their hand."

  "I like my hand," rejected Ian. "Consider anger management therapy."

  Victor smiled, lowering his gaze to the hand that slapped him. "What a coincidence, I like your hand too."

  "That's not my business."

  Victor's unsettling gaze lingered for seconds too long before he twisted the ignition, starting up the truck again. He said nothing as they turned down another road, marked by tufts of dark red grass spotted with white.

  Ian soon forgot the previous unimportant event and fixed his attention through the glass.

  They passed overturned trucks, some recent and others claimed by wriggling vines and insects Ian couldn't name. They passed death and decay, and also flourishing evergreens that might not have existed before. He saw a long, slithering creature the size of his arm sprout a dozen legs and long fibers of hair.

  He looked and looked and wondered if there was any future for the world—

  —or was the Base, named Humanity's Last Base, merely a clinging to a past that wouldn't return?

  The truck came to a stop, and Victor exited. Ian quickly followed him through a long, overgrown path that smelled strangely sweet. Victor led them to a rusted fence enclosing a rectangular field within.

  He ripped away the dangling door, tossing it sideways.

  By the entrance, two long, lump-shaped objects crossed over each other, submerged in a blanket of dirt. A handle peeked out, and a round ball sat beside it.

  Victor wouldn't take the initiative to explain, so Ian spoke. "Where is this?"

  "An old field," the Esper said as if it answered everything.

  "It's clear?"

  Victor smiled, striding toward the middle as Ian followed closely behind. Rotted grass scratched at his ankles, like tiny nails scraping at his skin. "Preliminary findings say it is, but there are many areas that have been marked otherwise and are frequently visited."

  He stopped at the center, and within the withered foliage, his white cloak fluttered like a pair of stretching wings—wings of an angel donned by a devil.

  "So tell me, Guide," smiled the man, that beautiful face written of delicate brush strokes painted by a mad devote, "what do you want me to do? I'm not a teacher."

  Ian lifted his chin, a display of arrogance he'd yet to earn. His black hair whipped around his face in the increasing wind that carried traces of dust and abandon. "Then do what you do best. Don't hold back."

  A wonderful, beautiful smile spread across Victor's handsome face.

  Ian blinked, and Victor disappeared. The Esper shot across like lightning, thundering and terrifyingly fast.

  In the second it took to blink, a hand found his throat and slammed him to the ground. Pain erupted. Ian gasped, agony splintering across his chest as he smashed his palm into the dirt to gain momentum, and bent his leg to wrap around the Esper's body.

  He gritted his teeth as he flipped them over, swinging out a fist—caught easily in Victor's hand.

  They weren't equals at all, Ian realized with breathless, agonizing realization. An overwhelming yearning clawed into his heart as Victor shifted, and the injuries on Ian increased by the dozen.

  That power; that relentless, demanding and undeniable power—

  —he wanted it. He wanted it so badly he couldn't breathe.

  Ian's struggles were commendable, but it ended in a one-sided slaughter. Ian hunched over, blood dripping from his head as bruises bloomed over his body. Everything ached. Screamed. He gasped, coughing dizzily, and blood splattered onto the ground before him.

  Victor stood indifferently, gazing through cold, emotionless eyes. "No matter how I think about it, I can't see what benefit you've gotten out of this."

  Ian swiped away the blood with the back of his hand, spitting out another mouthful. He could barely stand, and Victor remained true to Ian's demand. But if Victor wanted him dead, Ian had no doubt he would be in a more miserable state without a chance to resist.

  "Again," said Ian, forcing himself onto his back. "Fight me again."

  "I won't. I'm not inclined to beat a dead dog, nor indulge in your inflated confidence," replied the Esper. He smiled cruelly, cut of cold indifference. "This isn't worth my time."

  The light descended on the horizon, cascading against Victor's white-clad body to create a haloing glow. Ian raised his swollen eyes, blinking slowly. He couldn't take his eyes away.

  He'd never been mesmerized by a person before, but Victor claimed the peak of humanity, a creature descended from universes beyond.

  Beautiful. Cold. Unparalleled.

  His heart rushed, coiling with that same surging beat he'd felt in the battle. An ache rippled through his head, discomfort seizing his body. But still, he didn't blink. Victor regarded him faintly and smiled.

  For the third time that day, he asked, "What are you thinking?"

  "If you'd be just as beautiful dead."

  Victor neared, standing directly in front of him. His shadow was endless, covering the entire field under the descending dawn. "Your verdict?"

  Ian couldn't lift his head anymore and sneered. "You'd be even prettier."

  He couldn't see Victor's gaze, but he felt it boring two holes into his nape, a prickle of danger scattering goosebumps against his skin.

  "Then, do you plan to bring that to reality?" wondered Victor, as if debating whether he should laugh at the ridiculous idea, pity the foolish delusions, or praise the Guide's audacity.

  Victor. Esper. He'd been told of his oddities that disqualified him from a human label. The first time he killed a chattering boy when he was 10, his mother had sighed and told him so. She wiped the blood from his small hands, gave him some books, and reminded him to follow them.

  The rules of humanity; of socializing.

  "Was he annoying you?" she asked, kneeling.

  Victor held no particular fondness for the woman and nodded without shame.

  She nodded too, no ripples in her expression. Her words were statements, cold warnings. "I'll deal with the rest. But I expect you to learn how to assimilate soon, because later, I won't be there to clean up your messes. It becomes tedious when you're caught, so behave."

  Later, long after she'd died and he'd grown up, he simply learned how to clean up his own messes.

  Ian could no longer stay conscious and stumbled forward. Right into Victor.

  The Esper circled his arms around the sturdy waist and lowered his eyes. The person in his arms was weak and miserable. An easy target. His death would be insignificant, with nobody to mourn or enact vengeance.

  What a featherlight body this was. Both in worth and weight.

  Distantly, Victor recalled that other Guide from the facility. But that man was hardly significant enough to do more than yell a few words and sob.

  A brush of raven strands fell away from the damp, slightly tanned nape. Ian's shoulders rose and fell heavily, moving the muscles of his back in a steady rhythm. Victor's eyes remained unblinking. He didn't know how long he stood, watching the person in his arms.

  The Guide with defiant, burning eyes.

  Then, a gruesome screech tore through the air from the distance, and he realized the sun had set, clouded over by darkness. The clouds only served to bury the light.

  He stared into the distance for a few seconds before grabbing the large baggage into his arms, depositing it in the passenger's seat, and started the engine once again.