When the assassin Arlandra Knight learned that his old friend Christel had returned to Taelliwey he felt an odd sense of comfort. He had lived, for the most part, a solitary life, and there were few in this world that he had ever come close to. After his involvement in the war, and then his time spent alone training his powers, Arlandra was overjoyed to see his friends again!
“Finally back into the world!” Arlandra said to Christel.
Christel playfully punched him on the arm. “I’d say the same to you! I hear you were working on your super powers, assassin boy. I also hear you’re working for Devin now – don’t let him turn you into some kind of super weapon, trust me I know what he’s like.”
Arlandra received a warm hug from Hazel who later shared with him some remarkable news. “But you won’t tell Christel, will you? He’s been having trouble settling down lately and I don’t want him to worry.”
Arlandra replied. “Not at all! The secret is safe with me for now. And congratulations!”
He inquired also as to the health of Juliet Haines, who had been his old companion for a short time – even though he initially had been sent to assassinate her – they too had grown close and he regretted leaving her so abruptly. “She’s in no more danger than you are during one of your missions,” Sam explained. “But she’s as capable as anything; I’d say she has something to prove, although I’m not quite sure what.”
Arlandra stayed for tea, as he hardly wanted to commence his mission on an empty stomach. They discussed the war of the shemn and the anomalies, Arlandra talked about the strange rock that Devin had presented him with, and the state of the king in these troubled times. The name of Ariana, the goddess of fate, came up once or twice, and they pondered quite seriously the potential for another great threat to endanger their beloved home. It all made Hazel a little uncomfortable, and she shifted in her seat and played with her food, staying out of the conversation when she could.
Sam finished his meal and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “On the morrow I intend to travel south. Among our friend Jeremy Anderson’s possessions, we found a letter signed with a picture of a skull. For reasons beyond my comprehension Christel claims to have seen the symbol before, on the victim at Lady Arial’s Basilica.” One can recall that the tattoo that the victim bore had been burned away, and yet still Christel felt he could see it.
When Arlandra turned to him the young thief shrugged, and said, “Hey, you can shoot balls of energy from your hands – these days anything is possible! Besides, it’s a lead for us to follow.”
Hazel swiftly corrected him. “For Sam to follow.” Her eyes turned to Arlandra, who nodded discretely and with understanding.
Meanwhile, Christel broke the small silence that had followed. “Right. After tonight Hazel and I are returning home. We want to be somewhere warm if things go south between Surra and Taelliwey.”
“It’s a shame,” Sam added. “We could really use your help with whatever’s next.”
“Yeah, as soon as we actually figure out what comes next,” Christel smiled.
Before the night ended, Sam and Christel showed Arlandra what they had uncovered so far. Unfortunately, it all very much remained a mystery to them at the time, but at least they had some idea now of what they were up against. “Look at this!” Christel said with a gleam in his eye. He presented one of the texts they had apprehended, and with a crinkling of paper, turned to one of the pages. He then read aloud. “On the Isle of Great Power, where this life and the next are intertwined, look to the stars where the cage is hidden, and delve below into this earthly realm.”
The words bounced around in the assassin’s head like an echo. “What do you suppose that means?” he asked them.
Sam answered. “Well, if the writings can be believed, nothing good. The skull insignia belongs to a secret organisation called Grey Skull. According to my intel their leader is a man named Josiah Avenberch, a real mysterious fellow, people even thought he was dead for a time. If I can find him, I might be able to see how he’s involved in all this – hopefully he’ll help us rather than hinder us.”
Arlandra left his friends that night with an eerie feeling wallowing in his gut, and he was certain he had caught it from them over dinner. These things were never as simple as they appeared.607Please respect copyright.PENANAi90Dkm5c1n
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The assassin liked the dark, the comforting chill of a night sky, and the playful touch of twilight upon his skin. Clad in black from head to toe, he passed through the night like a shadow, jumping across rooftops and sweeping through alleys as if the city were his playground; of course, playing was the last thing on his mind.
Per his request, Devin gave Arlandra a contract on a local crime lord name Jacob Payne. Arlandra learned that Mr. Payne was running his operation, or rather illegal business, from a dock in the far north of the city. It often amazed Arlandra that Taelliwey was so grand that it could be warm and sunny in the south of the city, and snowing in the north. A thin layer of ice covered the entire dock, upon which the moonlight glistened, and an eerie fog began to drift over the ocean. Tonight Arlandra’s breath steamed from the cotton mask that covered the lower half of his face. Now he truly was a shadow, save for his piercing green eyes.
From afar, Arlandra saw beacons of light that dotted the entire area. Mr. Payne’s men had lit fires in steel barrels to keep the cold and dark at bay. Arlandra noticed a central warehouse that was lit up bright. Jacob must be in there, he thought. He used the flickering lights to map out a route – it was easy to avoid Mr. Payne’s henchmen in the dark – and he approached the central warehouse from behind.
The main entrance at the front was wide open, however there were too many people walking about to go that way. Arlandra decided to climb onto the roof – perhaps from there he would find where Mr. Payne was hiding.
He encountered two guards near the ladder that led to the roof; one was leaning against a large crate and the other was dragging a steel barrel to start a fresh fire. No sneaking past these, he thought, and my way up is right there!
According to his own personal code, the assassin’s capacity to kill was limited to the target, and he could only kill non-contract targets when his life was in jeopardy, which in this case it was not. Just then he had a thought. His powers so far gave him control over the energies around him, but only of a destructive nature. What if he could use his power to put targets to sleep? He decided to work on that later. For now, though, he would resort to his original methods.
Wait for the opportune moment. It came when the second guard had finished stuffing the steel barrel with kindling. He was shivering with cold, and almost slipped on the ice at his feet. He took a match from his pocket at struck it, and then again, and again. “Damn thing won’t light. It’s this cursed frost! I got icicles hangin’ out my nose.” To his friend – the one standing by the crate – he said, “Let’s try yours.” And so one tossed the packet to the other, but those matches wouldn’t light either. “Ahh screw it. I’ll head ‘round the corner an’ bring back a torch.”
As soon as the far guard was out of sight, Arlandra snuck up behind the remaining guard and wrapped one arm around his chest and one hand over his mouth, before bringing him to the ground. Lying beneath him, but keeping him in a tight grapple, Arlandra slipped his right elbow over the man’s neck and began to apply pressure. The kicking and struggling began to grow weaker, and a few seconds later he was unconscious. “Sleep tight,” Arlandra whispered.
After dragging the body well out of sight Arlandra began to climb to the top of the warehouse. The ladder was cold and his gloves often stuck to the ice, and his boots slipped once or twice. When he made it to the top the air was still and bright under the night sky and over the low fog that was slowly smothering the docks. The moon reflected off a large glass window placed in the roof; Arlandra used this to slip inside and access the catwalk above the main floor.
Now he heard voices; a low grovelling commander and someone else who was weeping. The commander was Jacob Payne. Arlandra recognised the large shaved head and thick torso, and the nasty scar upon his chin which was inflicted by a burn. The weeping man was on his knees, hands tied behind his back, leaning forward with his hair hanging over his face. Arlandra counted fourteen other henchmen throughout the warehouse.
Jacob Payne stood over his captive. “You stole from me,” he snarled.
But the captive shook his head and pleaded. “No, sir, please! I swear on my life I never took a thing.”
“Then you’re a liar,” Payne shouted. “I have no choice but to make an example of you.” He made sure his henchmen were watching when he placed his meaty hand heavily on the captive’s forehead. A glow of crimson purple radiated from his arm and the captive cried and arched his back. A moment later he fell limp to the ground, as if the life had been pulled right out of him.
Arlandra shivered. Better do this quick. It’s as I thought, he’s surrounded himself with henchmen which means I’ll have to make the kill from here. The assassin considered for a moment using his powers, perhaps sending a blast at the target for a quick kill, however he was not yet confident that he could control it, and he was not willing to jeopardise the mission in order to find out.
Here he opened the bag that he carried on his back and unloaded parts of the small rifle that Devin had built for him. Everything clicked into place and the assassin smiled approvingly at the weapon. He loaded a bullet into the chamber and took a deep breath. From the catwalk he had a clear shot of Jacob Payne, and a quick escape route onto the roof after the kill was complete.
Payne’s head fell into the assassin’s sights and his finger touched the trigger – all he had to do was squeeze. But he didn’t, due to a slight and unfortunate miscalculation. He heard a click and felt the barrel of a pistol against the back of his head. “Up,” said the man who had caught him.
Arlandra slowly set his rifle down and raised his hand. There was no point in doing anything tricky now – his new objective was to escape. Of course, Arlandra now admitted that perhaps he had gotten sloppy. There was once a time when he would have heard the man’s footsteps from afar, and if he was truly in touch with Ariana’s gift, he would have sensed that the man was there. Alas, it was too late to dwell on it now.
The assassin was taken downstairs, and with his hands bound he was presented before Mr. Payne – much in the way that the last victim was. As frightening as Mr. Payne was, with his violent tone and dismal gaze, Arlandra was able to remain calm, as panicking would get him nowhere, and at present he very much desired to be anywhere else. His eyes scanned the room. Fifteen men including Mr. Payne. Most are unarmed; five handguns and one automatic rifle. No reason to worry. He glanced up at the sky window above him.
Arlandra was forced to his knees before Mr. Payne, who scowled at him mercilessly. “Who are you and why are you here?” he demanded.
The assassin looked Payne right in the eyes, which he hoped aggravated the man. “Who I am is irrelevant,” he said, somewhat playfully. “I am, however, here, on business of the king, to kill you.”
Mr. Payne stepped back and released a bellowing laugh. “You seem to be doing a terrible job of it! I am honoured however that the king’s court is finally taking me seriously. Perhaps they’ll have better luck next time.”
“I’m not finished yet,” Arlandra added.
“Oh I think you are…” Payne sniffed the air, like a hound picking up a familiar scent. “You are like me,” he suddenly realised. “You can do things no other man can do. I have need of people like you, but it seems you’re not worth the effort.”
In the same ritualistic manner as when Mr. Payne killed the man before, he reached slowly for Arlandra’s forehead and his arm began to glow purple. I’m about to have my soul sucked out! Arlandra look left and right, and then centred his eyes on Mr. Payne’s stubby fingers. This better work!
The assassin dashed forward and sank his teeth into Payne’s hand – immediately tasting blood. While Jacob Payne cried out in alarm Arlandra slipped a smoke-bomb from his pocket and tossed it at the ground. He cut his bonds using Ice the minute he began his escape. Now, using the smoke for cover, Arlandra forced himself behind one of the armed men as soon as the automatic rifle began to fire. A stream of bullets riddled Arlandra’s human shield, and the man was dead within seconds. Arlandra jumped onto the nearest crate, which was still attached to the pulley system, grabbed the rope and cut the crate free. The counter weight beside him began to fall and the assassin was launched high into the air.
His body smashed through the sky window above and shards of glass were sent flying into the night, but the momentum of his ascent kept him going, and he flew above the warehouse before crashing down onto his right shoulder. He tumbled down the sloped roof like a ragdoll and finally caught his balance. That was close, he thought happily. Time to get the hell out of here.
The next morning Arlandra found himself in one of his old hideouts holding an ice-pack to his bruised shoulder. He refused to believe that it was bad luck that caused the mission to fail. I should have seen that man. Devin was right, I’ve lost my touch.
He would have to start over if he was to get another shot at Jacob Payne. He thought it over while checking the rifle that Devin had given him, and then he heard a voice. “According to my research the only thing that can kill an anomaly of Payne’s calibre is another anomaly.” Ashley Wilson stepped through the doorway like a cat. “That toy of yours might not work, but I don’t quite have enough data to confirm my theory.”
Arlandra was both delighted and surprised to see another old friend, but he really should have suspected it, given that he was part of Devin’s team. “Ash,” he said, “how are you? It’s been a while.”
“It has, and I should point out that I’m very angry with you,” her tone was urgent and it made Arlandra draw back. “When you disappeared I had to find new subjects to study, and that was not an easy task, seeing as most were uncooperative. When I suggested to Devin that we should come find you he was adamant to leave you alone.”
Arlandra met her eyes. “I wasn’t ready…” he tried to say.
“I know, I know, you weren’t ready to come back into the world – you were too dangerous. It still doesn’t change the fact that you left us to deal with the anomalies alone.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” he told her defensively. “I failed in my attempt to bring Jacob Payne down…”
“I know,” Ashley slipped in, amusingly.
Arlandra glared at her for a moment; he didn’t like losing. “Tell me about this theory of yours.”
She promptly explained to him that anomalies like himself – those who could control their abilities – would become gradually stronger in body over time. Arlandra recalled during the war that he suffered terrible injuries that otherwise should have killed him, and yet he was still here.
“You’re saying I’m harder to kill?” he reaffirmed.
“Well I wouldn’t bet my life on it if I were you, but yes, in fact I’d like to use your body to test that fact, at another time. My point is, if you want Jacob Payne dead you’re going to have to use your powers to do it. That being said, I’d like to accompany you when next you face him. You could use my help.”
Of course, Arlandra was reluctant to agree to her companionship on the basis that it was too dangerous, however he had no real authority to stop her. He remembered Sam once saying that Ashley Wilson was as stubborn as a rock. “Fine,” he eventually agreed. “But don’t get yourself killed.”
Ash smiled and tilted her head. “Excellent, I can test out my new toy!”
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