Assassin's Fall

Severance

Liandra’s muscles were rejuvenated in strength, her will became reinforced with iron, and her perception heightened. She closed the distance between them, thrusting a dagger at Dale’s midriff. Dale backpedaled methodically out of range. He used Liandra’s own shadow to morph behind her, and before she reacted, he drove his blade through her abdomen.

The momentary contact allowed Liandra’s havoc to absorb strength from Dale. She had never replicated shadow motion before, but at that instant, it was the only viable option in her arsenal. The effect of infusing with shadow made her body feel weightless, giving her accelerated reflexes and better momentum. She slipped off the blade and spun around, planting a dagger under Dale’s ribs. Subsequently, she drove the other one deep into the side of his neck, tore it out and stabbed again, but Dale staggered and fell on his back before the blade made contact.

Liandra retrieved her sword and towered above Dale, who held one hand against his neck wound to stem the blood flow. She raised her blade, intending to decapitate him on the spot. A sharp and cold pain stung at the back of her neck and sunk deep into her flesh. The very instant, her muscles felt fatigued, and her eyes rolled into her head. Her consciousness fleeted, and the last thing she remembered was reeling towards the floor.

Tamaia approached, armed with a couple of long, throwing needles.

“I bought us a minute at the most,” the watcher said. “If I don’t show up anytime soon they are going to follow. Liandra will not sleep for long, her kind has strong resistance to poison.”

Dale pointed at a nearby lantern. Tamaia extinguished it, and Dale was able to draw from the shadows that formed the strength to regenerate. His wounds stopped bleeding. He stood up, massaging his neck.

“I can help you if you accept my terms,” Tamaia said.

“We can talk later if we survive,” Dale answered.

“Don’t be slick, executioner,” Tamaia warned. “Do you accept my help in return for a favor?”

“I accept,” Dale said wearily.

“Fine then, take me to your family.”

So the watcher had known about this all along… He’d ask more later. Dale led Tamaia to the kitchen, where his parents and Ducibella stood in the far corner. Danette had armed herself with a couple of knives, ready to take on anyone who tried to get past her. Her anticipating expression was replaced with concern as Dale entered, looking fatally wounded. Tamaia walked towards the heath, throwing back the chairs that occupied a rug. She removed the rug also, revealing a small square trapdoor that blended perfectly with the floor. After a click or two, the trapdoor snapped open. Inside, a narrow staircase led down into the darkness.

“I will go with them,” Tamaia said. “But you need to buy us some time before you follow. Don’t linger for too long. I will wait for you on the other side.”

Ducibella ran forward and wrapped her thin arms around Dale. She remained like so until Danette pulled her away and onto the staircase.

Crestien looked back at his son as he stepped through the trapdoor. He was never good at expressing himself, and neither was Dale. They shared an awkward bond, but what went unquestioned was their affection for each other.

“Be careful,” Crestien said, then he vanished into the darkness.

Dale closed the door and replaced the rug on top of it. He walked back to the dining room. Liandra was still unconscious. Her ability to emulate his skill had caught him unaware. Had Tamaia not shown up in time, there was a good chance Liandra might have been able to kill him.

With his family safely out of the way, Dale had no reason to restrain his special ability. He sat on a chair, watching with detached interest all the food his family had prepared for him. The stuffed birds, the grilled pig, roasted vegetables, all had been cooked for naught. Dale took a knife, sliced a piece of apple pie, and ate. He smiled childishly as he relished the flavor. The old man never lost his touch.

A dense presence closed in from all directions. Bodies came flying through the windows. A lot of assassins poured into the house through the front door, their blades unsheathed and ready to strike.

Four arrows flew towards him. Tapping into the primordial rift, Dale was able to perceive the trajectory of the arrows the moment the bows twanged. Now assassins did not fight a dangerous target by ignorantly storming in as a crowd. They implemented a strategy.

First, the spell weavers initiated their process of binding from a distance. Projectiles were used to pin the target in place or distract it while the strikers closed in, one at a time. Each assassin in wait evaluated the target’s strength, observing its movement and special skill.

While the strikers engaged, the executioners took position and attacked in sync as soon as the strikers failed. Meanwhile, the moment the spell weavers completed the binding, the target lost whatever advantage it had and got executed instantly.

No human, no matter how strong, had ever survived a multi-pronged attack. All of this Dale had anticipated. He was ready for them. After he was done, Zay would realize how foolish he was to underestimate his true power.

Dale shifted the rest of his presence into the primordial rift. By the time the first arrow reached his form, he was already immaterial. The guild had not yet encountered a target without a physical body, and needless to say they had no way of dealing with such. Spells had no effect on his primordial form, and save for Liandra, who could absorb some of his power with her havoc, no assassin could touch him once he unleashed his true strength.

The drawback, however, was losing his sentience for as long as that form prevailed. It had no mind, no conscience, and its sole purpose was to destroy anything born of light.

The assassins looked like immobile sculptures. Using his enhanced senses and perception, Dale mapped the exact location of each assassin within his scope, and counting Liandra out, they indeed summed up to twenty. Dale’s consciousness slipped, and the primordial being begun its hunt.

Celia watched helplessly as her comrades got slaughtered one by one. This was her second mission as a fully-trained assassin. She had not expected this. Instructor Arxes had assured everyone that everything would go according to plan, and that the spell weavers would easily eliminate the threat if things went out of control. All five of them had been the first to die once the target came out of the house. They had faced gruesome deaths; either having their heads ripped off their shoulders by some invisible force, or their stomachs shredded open by dreadful claws. What sort of creature were they after?

The air reeked of death. The unknown creature had slaughtered anyone who had foolishly entered the house and hunted those who had remained outside. A couple of novices had attempted to run for the horses only to get torn limb from limb before they got halfway there.

Celia tried to think, but her mind had already fled. Her special skill was creating and manipulating illusions. What specialty did that skill have, if it could not even save her in her time of need? Celia silently cursed herself for ever dreaming about becoming an assassin. Attempting to fight was a sure way to die quickly. She waited beneath a thick hedge that traced the path towards the house, careful not to make a sound as the cries of the last victim died out. Her heart drummed furiously against her chest. She knew that she was next.

A shadow darker than the night passed over her and landed in the paved path before her. Celia closed her eyes and remained still. For a time, there was absolute silence. No wind, no rustling of leaves, nothing. She opened her eyes slowly. What stood on the path was a tall humanoid creature whose form constantly writhed and melted into the darkness of the night. As she watched, the creature fell to its knees, emitting an agonized roar that chilled the blood in Celia’s veins. The unnatural voice was replaced by a man’s groan, and behold, a solid form materialized where the creature had been. A lean man stood slowly and eyed his surroundings as he came to his senses.

“Were you sent to kill me also?” the man spoke in a clear, emotionless tone. The man turned and looked directly at Celia’s hiding place.

“I…I don’t want to kill anyone,” Celia whispered, hugging her knees tight. Her eyes watered. “I just want to live.”

The man walked towards her. Celia shrunk smaller, begging the earth to open up and swallow her. She was a disgrace to the assassins’ guild. She should have stood bravely against this creature, but what was the point? She had no hope of winning, and she was going to die like the coward she was. The man knelt in front of her. He had cropped dark hair, neither moustache nor beard, and his face reflected so much gloom. His gray eyes had a faint glow in them, like two miniature moons.

“The guild will execute you if you return. They might even torture you to get the answers. I can relieve you painlessly, if you wish it.”

Celia sobbed. A lump rose up her throat. Was this her fate? There was so much she wanted to experience in life, and reflecting back on her past, she regretted her choice of becoming an assassin.

“I don’t want to die,” Celia mumbled. “Please, I’ll do anything…”

The man stood and walked away towards the house.

“Don’t be anywhere near this place when Liandra wakes up,” the man said from a distance. “She’ll be in a very bad mood.”