Suture: The Bleeding Worlds Book Two

By Justus R. Stone

Suture. An organization created by immortals who once walked the Earth as Gods. A place containing eras worth of secret agendas.

Gwynn joins believing he will learn about his abilities, assisting to protect the world from the Veil.

Instead, he finds an ancient evil stalking him. A face from his past shows up in an unexpected place. And ghosts that prove to be very much alive.

Faith, friendship, family. All are tested within Suture, book two of The Bleeding Worlds Series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Justus R. Stone
• Release date: Aug 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9780987743930

Justus R. Stone

Justus R. Stone is an author and YouTuber. On YouTube, he runs a channel dedicated to Light Novels, which serve as the source material for many of today's popular anime. In his writing, he combines the same elements of action, myth, and mystery which he loves in those same light novels.To keep up with the latest releases and news, join his mailing list at http://justusrstone.com/subscribe-mailing-list/

Book preview

1

Building of Wrong

Vibrations from the helicopter's rotors sank deep into Gwynn's stomach. He'd anticipated joining Suture would come with its share of discomfort, but he didn't think airsickness would be one of them.

Hey, Jay. The voice sounded tinny through Gwynn's headset. After eight months of training, he recognized Brandt's gruff and mocking tone. It looks like our noob is gonna hurl. Did you bring any barf bags? Brandt's laugh was laced with the clear message, he shouldn't be here.

Jason turned an appraising eye on Gwynn. You do look a little…greenish. You gonna be ok?

Gwynn felt a reflexive urge to respond with some pissy retort—more for Brandt than Jason—but he swallowed it back…along with half his stomach's contents. Of all the people sharing the helicopter, Jason deserved Gwynn's wrath least.

I'm good. Just a longer trip than I'm used to, Gwynn gulped.

Jason's eyes held doubt, but he nodded like he'd trust Gwynn's word. Just in case, Gwynn calculated the angle and force he'd have to use to hose Brandt if he did hurl.

We're coming up on the target area, all eyes, Njord's voice filled the headset.

Njord had been appointed Commanding Officer of Ansuz after Paltar's death. He maintained control with a quiet mystique, never resorting to being a bastard—something Palter obviously lacked based on the rest of Ansuz's difficulty in adapting Njord's style.

Gwynn closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. Eight months—to become a freak, save the world, join a group of fellow freaks, all just to find out he was still an outcast. Apparently, when you're raised and trained by Suture, joining Ansuz is a major life ambition. So when some new kid who has never once set foot into Suture walks right onto the team, well, people get pissed. Or blow into full on rage and hate. When Woten had said Gwynn wasn't a full member, just receiving advanced training because he was the only other Script, he hoped things might improve. Yeah, not so much. The members of Ansuz tolerated him, though Brandt revelled in any opportunity to point out his shortcomings. The other kids at Suture, and surprisingly most were kids, treated Gwynn with open contempt. Turns out, the thing about saving the world…it doesn't take long for people to forget the part you played. Pretty much life moves on and the wait for the next apocalypse begins.

Does anyone else think that's weird? It was Angie's voice. She sat on Gwynn's side of the helicopter, but had twisted to look out the window so he could only see her brown curls.

Others shifted, sat up in their seats, and craned their necks trying to get a glimpse.

There's a building in the middle of the cornfield, Angie narrated for those stuck in the middle who couldn't see. Three floors, large enough that there's probably two or more apartments on each floor.

Nah, that's not weird, Brandt said. They're probably just a bit corny.

Several people groaned.

The helicopter banked to the left toward an open space to land. Gwynn's stomach lurched. Was this where he humiliated himself and barfed all over the team? He inhaled through his nose, trying to will the air to push the sick back down. A tap came at his shoulder. He turned to look at Jason, who pointed at his own stomach and clenched his fist.

This was Gwynn's first time in the field with Ansuz. He hadn't felt anomalies in the Veil for months. His memory pushed back eight months, to when he first felt the twisting in his gut that indicated a tear in the fabric of creation. He nodded Yes to Jason. As the only other Script, Jason would feel the tear as powerfully as Gwynn. Some tension left his shoulders, knowing it wasn't just him wimping out on his first long distance helicopter trip.

Jason looked pensive. After a moment of thought, he clicked the transmit button on his headset.

Njord, Gwynn and I are feeling some crazy energies down there. I think we've got a large tear, or…

Or? Njord asked.

I… I can't explain it, sir. It's not like anything else I've ever felt.

Njord regarded Jason for a minute, his expression unreadable. Gwynn, what do you have to say about it?

Eight sets of eyes bore down on him. Brandt wore a smirk that said, C'mon, impress us.

It's…wrong. Eight sets of eyes rolled and turned away from him. It feels like a tear, but there's something more, something that doesn't belong.

You mean something came through the tear? Something more than just a Curse? Njord asked.

Yes, exactly.

Everyone, Njord said, when we land, do not disembark right away. There's something I need to configure with your suits.

The entire team turned to look at Njord, their glances filled with questions no one openly asked. Gwynn had learned asking too many questions was generally frowned on. Suture taught obedience and Ansuz relied on it like oxygen.

The helicopter set down on the ground with a jolt. As Njord instructed, no one moved. The Ansuz Commander turned in his seat, zipped open a black backpack hanging from the wall, and pulled out a ten inch tablet. He tapped the screen several times, ending with a single stab. A hum filled the air as the drives in their suits booted up and received whatever commands Njord issued. While they waited, each pulled their helmets on. When Gwynn first saw the Ansuz team in his hometown of Brantfield, he'd thought they looked like a generic SWAT team. Being familiar with their abilities, he saw them as belonging more in a science fiction movie. The helmets had visors affixed to the front which could be switched from standard vision to night-vision, infrared, and even a magnifying setting. The helmets also had internal microphones and speakers so they could communicate clearly with each other. The suits monitored their vital functions and fed the information back to Suture. And their sleek, black, design made them look badass to boot.

Ok, Njord said, his voice coming now through the speakers in Gwynn's helmet. Com check, go. 

In order of seniority, each of the members sounded off. Each said their full name, accompanied by the word 'check.' Once everyone had given a thumbs up to indicate they copied, the next person took their turn. As a pseudo member, Gwynn went last.

We're good, Njord said.

He stood, moving to the rear of the helicopter. He pressed a button and the rear split three ways. Two third opened horizontally, while the third dropped to the ground forming a ramp. The team stood in unison on either side of the chopper, and marched out in two single files.

On the ground, they each ran a final check of their equipment, including Gwynn's least favourite, the gun. While Suture's purpose was to combat Curses and Taints, they'd seen fit to equip all the members of Ansuz with firearms. Gwynn had spent part of every day for the past five months training with the firearm. He prayed it would never leave his holster.

Why do we even have these things? he'd asked Jason one day during target practice.

Same reason we have tactical knives. Just in case.

Just in case of what?

Jason's expression said, How can you be so naive? We fight monsters, Gwynn. What would you do if you were facing a Curse and you couldn't summon that sword of yours?

Pridament said normal weapons wouldn't kill a Curse. Saying the name had stung. A reminder. Even though Pridament promised to return, Gwynn hadn't heard a word since their parting.

True. But a well placed bullet might slow them down enough for you to escape.

Seems kind of irresponsible to hand a gun to a bunch of seventeen to nineteen year olds. When did I become such a prude?

Jason chuckled. Really? They're trusting a bunch of teenagers to save the world. I'd think giving us a gun is a minor decision.

It didn't feel minor to Gwynn. His sword, Xanthe, was an extension of his soul. Having it in hand felt natural, and controllable. This lump of metal felt foreign and held the potential for defect.

Njord motioned with his hand for the team to follow.

Civilians? Jackson asked.

Gwynn knew Jackson's interest stemmed from more than just potential for casualties. As a powerful empath, the fear or anger of civilians would make it harder for him to feel the erratic emotions of a Curse or Taint.

Evacuated several hours ago, Njord replied. When we picked up the energy spike, we had local law enforcement evacuate the area and seal it off. Huh. You'd think we would've had reports of the magic apartment building showing up.

Unless it appeared after everyone was moved, Caelum suggested. At seventeen, he was the youngest member of the team, though he carried himself as being much older. The boy was gifted with the ability to heal using the energies of the Veil. He'd been at Gwynn's bedside after he'd closed the world killer.

Njord held up a hand, halting their forward motion at the edge of the cornfield.

Jackson, you get anything from the field or the building?

Jackson's wide shoulders drooped, his body slackening as he tried to will his concentration outward. By contrast, the tension level of the other members inched higher with each moment they waited for Jackson's answer.

There's fear in the building. Hard to say how many people.

That's it? Njord asked. Did Gwynn hear doubt in the Commander's voice?

Jackson obviously did, because his voice wavered as he said, I can't be sure. The fear is so large, so overwhelming, it's obliterating everything else.

All right. Everyone move in. All eyes.

They moved into the field. The Nebraska sun beat down on them. In training, they'd told Gwynn the suit had adaptive technologies built into it to help regulate the wearer's body temperature. Either they'd lied, or his suit had malfunctioned, because he felt like he was being microwaved.

Corn stalks rose into the sky, an organic curtain enveloping each of the Ansuz members.

Check it out guys, Brandt came over the comm, we're children of the corn.

Shut up, Brandt. Natalie. She suffered no bullshit, or so she'd often told Gwynn. Which meant she and Brandt argued. Often.

A few moments passed—time marked only by the steady sound of crunching footsteps.

Geezus, what's that smell? Brandt gagged.

While Gwynn found he often disagreed with anything that came out of Brandt's mouth, this time he had to agree. The smell was staggering. Not just the expected sharpness of manure, but smells of rot, excrement, and death. By the time they reached the building, Gwynn's eyes watered and he struggled to force down the sick rising in his throat. One of the team, Wade, had torn off his helmet, having lost the war with his stomach. Gwynn turned away, trying to block out Wade's heaving.

God, Wade. Hold yourself together. Natalie's voice may have lacked sympathy, but contained a definite ounce of jealousy. Gwynn suspected all of Ansuz wanted to join Wade. Given his precarious social standing, Gwynn would not let himself. He figured pride held the others back. He wondered if he should hold Wade in higher esteem for being brave enough to let himself go, or if the boy deserved contempt for being weak. Considering the impatient mutterings and sighings of the other Ansuz members, they were firmly on the side of contempt.

When the retching subsided, Njord's voice came over the com. Brandt and Gwynn, start a sweep of the left side of the building. Natalie, Jason, you take the right. Meet in the middle, then come up the opposite side. I want reports on exits and the building's condition.

Yes, sir, four voices responded.

Gwynn followed Brandt to the left.

If there's a fight, try not to wet your pants, Brandt hissed.

The smell clung to the building—even taking two steps closer to a window caused the stench to increase.

Gwynn tapped Brandt's shoulder. Before the boy could deliver one of his usual sarcastic remarks, Gwynn held up a hand to indicate silence, and motioned to the corn field. Brandt's bulky form went still. In their imposed silence, they heard the rustling of corn stalks moving. Both boys slowly panned the field.

Where'd you see it the first time? Brandt whispered.

Gwynn pointed out the direction. About a hundred feet out.

The silence broke with the crack of a dried corn stalk. Just twenty feet away from them. Xanthe came into Gwynn's hand. Brandt had reached to the Veil for his weapon too—a pair of spiked gauntlets. In training, they had explained to him, their weapons somehow reflected their own hearts, being formed from the energies of their soul. Did this mean blackness was in Gwynn's heart? Or maybe black was the color of anger? Yes, this was the answer he had settled on, his heart held anger and hurt. Even more so after losing Sophia. She'd died, either for him, or because of him. Either way, he felt the weight of it in his heart.

Brandt's gauntlets were an easy explanation. His personality was to push into the uncomfortable barriers of personal space. It figured his weapon would require him to do the same to dispatch his enemies.

The tops of the corn swayed to Gwynn's left. Before he could let his sword loose, a small black form bounded from the cornfield.

Meow? Great greenish eyes held within a matted, tabby coloured face, regarded them.

Brandt laughed. A cat? Geez, what a waste, I was looking forward to a good fight.

Gwynn couldn't see Brandt's face through his helmet, but his tone and body language spoke of relief. Brandt enjoyed a good fight, but something in the air of this place just felt wrong. Gwynn agreed he had no desire to face an unseen enemy out in the depths of the corn.

They met Jason and Natalie at the corner of the building.

What was the hold up? Jason asked, his voice indicated he'd taken note they'd drawn their weapons.

Friggin cat, Brandt grumbled. Did you find anything?

All clear on our side. There's another entrance, but it's locked, Natalie said, a chuckle in her voice. She probably enjoyed the thought of Brandt being spooked by a cat.

The two pairs crossed paths and made their way up the opposite side.

Brandt stopped at the door Jason had mentioned. He twisted the knob and gave a shove with his shoulder against it.

Still locked? Gwynn asked. It was probably stupid to poke the bear, but he'd endured too many jabs to let his opportunities pass.

Not just locked. There's no give at all. I think someone's barricaded it on the other side, Brandt huffed.

They finished their sweep without further incident and reported what they'd found to Njord.

You saw a cat? Njord asked Gwynn.

Yes, sir. Just a normal tabby cat.

Njord's tone said he cared about that detail much more than he should. What was the significance of spotting a farm cat on a farm? Except that it was a farm with a three storey walkup sitting in the middle of its cornfield.

Ok, Njord said after a few moments of silence. We'll go in the front. Brandt, see what you can do.

It struck Gwynn that every combat team needed a member who acted as the muscle. Even without the energies of the Veil, Brandt was a mountain of a man who could probably lift Gwynn off the ground with a single hand. Add the Veil, and he could lift cars and god-knew-what-else above his head.

Brandt approached the door with relish and even an ounce of bravado. This was his element—brute force.

It became clear Brandt hadn't put any effort in trying to open the back door. This time, his gauntlets appeared, and the size of his arms increased within his suit. A single punch smashed the door off its hinges. Several more blows cleared furniture and other debris braced against the door.

With the way opened, Brandt dropped his fists and staggered back.

Holy fuck, the smell is worse, Brandt said through dry gags. Why did R and D make these helmets to allow smells? Wade's gonna puke his lungs out.

Shut up, Brandt, Wade's sheepish voice filled the com.

The more senses you have, the more information you can gather, Caelum quoted from some obscure manual no one currently cared about.

Sir, Jackson said, whoever is inside…Just had their fear go through the roof.

Njord nodded in response to Jackson. Listen up everyone, we split into teams for a floor by floor sweep. Brandt, Jackson, you two monitor the front door and stairs to cover our backs. Fear can make people react unpredictably. Don't lose your cool and strike first, or we might have civilian casualties. Understood?

Yes, sir, their voices all responded.

Oh, and Wade, Njord added, try to keep yourself together.

There might have been a time when the building was attractive. The front door opened onto a foyer with marble flooring showing beneath the grime and refuse. From the foyer, a staircase led upstairs. Brandt hadn't been kidding about the smell, nor the lengths someone had gone to keeping the door closed. Besides the locks, nailed boards and furniture were used to brace against the door. The hall that ran from the foyer went straight to the rear door they had seen outside. In the dim light coming through the front door, Gwynn could make out a pile of furniture that had been braced against where the door used to have been.

Someone went to a lot of trouble to keep something out, Gwynn said.

"I think something is the operative word. Jason nodded toward a door along the hall torn off its hinges. Looks like some of the guests got a little rowdy."

How long has this place been here? Angie asked. It looks like it's been here a long time.

Not possible, Njord replied. "The evacuation of the twenty mile radius and our arrival took only a few hours. If Caelum was right, and this building appeared after the evacuation, it's only been here two hours, three tops."

Well, wherever it's been, Caelum said, it went a long time without running water or power.

How do you know, genius? Brandt asked.

Simple. The smell. It seems they were still using the toilets even after they stopped flushing.

Wade made a gagging noise.

Keep it together, Wade, or you're sitting the next couple missions out, Njord cautioned. Now, Brandt, Jackson, you have the first floor and guard duty. Natalie, Wade, the two of you and I will head downstairs to see if we can figure something out about power. Jason, Marie, you take the second floor. Caelum, Gwynn and Angie, you three head up to the top floor. Remember people, there are probably survivors. They'll be scared and might even attack before they realize you're here to help them. Everyone be thorough and stick together. Now move.

The stairs turned out to be more of a challenge than any of their group had anticipated. Someone had gone to the trouble of blocking the top of each flight with furniture and other refuse.

Watch out below, Jason said. The cracking sound of a whip, followed by the splintering of wood, and bits of armoire fell down the stairs.

Do you think we'll even find someone alive? Angie asked. I mean, it looks like this has been barricaded a long time.

Caelum shrugged. Doubtful, but still possible. However, if they are alive, I imagine they're in rough shape.

At the second floor, they parted with Jason and Marie and continued up the steps. Gwynn used Xanthe to chop his way through more barriers.

Gwynn, what did you mean when you said this felt wrong? Angie asked.

He couldn't see her face, it being hidden by her visor, but her voice didn't sound mocking. Some of the other guys in the group only saw Angie's looks and how her body armour…fit. Gwynn couldn't make himself feel attracted to her. He knew he should be able to leave Sophia in the past, move on. After all, it had been eight months, and they weren't even an item. But he couldn't shake the sense of wrongness about her being gone—couldn't help but feel allowing himself to fall for another girl was some sort of betrayal. Still, he had to admit Angie was attractive, but more importantly, she talked to him—seemed to want to talk to him. Except for Jason and Fuyuko, that made her unique in his current life.

I don't know how to put it, he answered. I don't think there's a tear here. I mean, obviously this building shouldn't be here, but it doesn't feel like a tear. It's almost as if, the building just slid into place here. Like it didn't used to be here, but now it belongs.

Caelum held up a hand bringing their conversation to a halt.

Did you hear that? he asked.

Gwynn and Angie shook their heads, no.

Caelum pointed toward a door down the hall, on the left. Gwynn stifled the urge to ask Caelum what he'd heard. Possibly of all the members of Ansuz, Caelum was the least to give into high stress situations. He approached all tasks with a calm, calculating manner. Odd, someone gifted with the ability to care for people could operate more on mind than on heart. Knowing the boy as he now did, Gwynn knew if Caelum told them he'd