Mud was everywhere, pooled beneath every drum, sloshed over the piles of fencing wire, and plastered over my pants as I splashed through the rust-colored puddles.
Though the day was gray and hazy from the rain-and-cloud-soaked sky, I still got a good enough impression of the foundry to figure out that it was old, if not abandoned.
That, however, didn’t mean it wasn’t running. Because something was running. The ground was vibrating with a persistent hum of machinery, and a steady thump, thump, thump reverberated through the yard, pitching through my feet and shaking my knees.
I almost stumbled as my feet snagged against a loop of treacherous wire, but I shifted to the side just in time, saving my balance. I managed it, because I saw myself doing it in my vision a split second before it happened.
And I followed. I followed, because I had no choice but to follow.
For the vision, as it swarmed in my mind and took over my field of view, also took over my body at the same time.
I didn’t have the opportunity to question.
I thrust through the rest of the yard and managed to reach the massive doorways that led into the building proper. They were old and rusted, warped with use, chipped and bent from having been yanked open for too many years, day after day.
As I shoved through the door and squeezed through the crack, a wave of acrid scent hit me. It felt like it was scouring the inside of my nostrils, like someone was attacking my throat with sandpaper. I instantly brought up an arm and crammed it over my mouth as I shoved forward.
My hair was plastered across my face, a few strands darting before my eyes. I flicked them away with a jerked move of my head as I surveyed the foundry.
I searched for the victim. I’d only seen him for a few precious seconds in my vision, but it was enough that I would be able to identify him. Young, maybe 25, floppy hair that was plastered over his eyes by sweat and rain. Black cheeks sallow with fear. Jeans and T-shirt torn over his shoulders and knees.
My heart was a reverberating, beating mess in my ears that would have rocked me back and forth on my feet if I’d been standing still. But standing still I was not.
The same level of disarray was present inside the building as was outside in the yard. Used up 44-gallon drums lay on their sides, suspicious pools of liquid spreading from them and eating away the paint on the already dilapidated walls. Small cranes and forklifts lay abandoned on their sides close to piles of rusting metal.
The furnaces were at the back of the massive shed, and despite the fact everything else in this place looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years, they’d clearly been touched quite recently. Because they were on. Even from here I could feel the heat. It was so damn strong, it dried my cheeks in seconds.
Just when I started to fear the worst, I started to hear a voice. It filtered through the cacophonous sound of the rain on the tin roof and the furnaces.
The voice was coming from the back of the shed.
I suddenly reminded myself that I needed to tell Max where I was, what I was doing. But my phone was back in my car. I simply couldn’t think straight. The more I gave in to the sparks flying across my vision, the more I had to do what they showed me. For it was only that which could keep me safe, which could save the victim, right?
Right?
No time to question.
There was a long metal staircase that led up to a gangway that cut around half the room. As I jerked my head back, I realized there was some kind of operational control center on the far wall, shielded from the heat and sound of the main room by thick glass. Squinting my eyes, I saw figures within.
I threw myself forward, wet shoes squeaking on the rough, pockmarked concrete as I headed towards the stairs. Reaching out with a shaking hand, I grabbed the rickety railing and yanked myself up each step in turn. Twisting my head to the side, I kept my gaze locked on the operations room.
“Come on. Come on,” I begged.
No time now. No time now. That refrain struck me, rattling through my brain, feeling like mini explosions going off behind my eyes.
Sure enough, I heard a man’s long, drawn-out scream.
Reason told me not to make my presence known. But my heart fought violently against that reason as I yanked my mouth open. “Stop,” I bellowed, voice loud enough that it punched through the noise of the rain and wind and furnaces.
The man’s scream was cut short. Then there was silence. Don’t ask me how I heard it over the sounds of the storm. But it was there.
Still squinting my eyes as I threw myself along the metal gangway, I saw somebody walk towards the operations door. There was a creak as it opened.
Out walked a man.
I instantly recognized what he was. A faceless assassin. He was dressed in a long dark robe that hid his hands and feet but left his face in full view. Or at least what was left of it. Max had already told me that faceless assassins gave up their features every time they used their magic until there was nothing left of their face but skin. By that time, they would die – as they wouldn’t be able to breathe. But faceless assassins were bred and trained to view death at the hands of their power as ascension – as the only fate worth living.
This guy had to be close to death –
