The expanse is a deathly eerie silence—a worn-down office in the middle of a bustling city. Books scattered, old crumpling velvety chairs sat parallel, and a pungent molas aroma pinching the nostrils.
The old rugged man with a salty pointed mustache sat stooped: Hands interlocked and resting on the chestnut desk. Wrinkles boasting on his complexion as it creases in potent pissed off-ness.
"Stop messing with me, you darn scoundrel!" He grits out gruffly his fist slamming against the desk with a raucous thud.
"We made a deal… And you ought to pay me back on it." He snaps out in finality, ticking his tongue. His eyes darkened a damning testimony.
"I don't have to give you shit…" I mutter darkly in a bassy undertone. My hands finally withdrew from my pockets, a silver embellished snake dagger neatly plucked in my hold.
His dark orbs widen into boulders, a piercing gasp rippling from deeply within his throat. His features wavered amidst the profuse tension: Narrowing his timeworn daggers at the increments that decorated this shallow weapon. "Don't tell me… IT'S YOU! YOU DAMN VERMIN!" He yelps cacophonously, scrambling to his feet, his complexion churned a ghastly pallid sheen.
"Aww… Not ecstatic to see me, huh? How shocking, most people are fans…" I smugly snark out with a cocky belligerent grin. My tongue, tutting in statement as I twirl the knife in my hold. Light streaking the scene in intensifying dramatism. The golden hues carving my face into defining crescents and shadows a tenebrous.
His figure is coated in the liquid light as I leisurely trudge toward him. He helplessly whips his head around like a trapped mouse ensnared in a futile hopeless trap. The predator in trepidation approaches his demise.
But I, a moth drawn to a flame. And he the flame that I have ensnared.
"How could you?… How could you fall into their damn trap?! Submit to them, follow their bidding like a damn fool?!…" He rasps out rashly, spit flinging outwards, trembling as he forces his hand into his pocket. Whipping out a gun between his quavering wrinkly hands.
His body seems to churn even more wan. His lips were tightly sealed together. His voice a low piercing plunge. "You know what they do…"
My mouth slightly parts at his scathing impetuous words; the gun that juddered in his hold. "I'm not doing this for them…" I grit out in a low timbre. My eyes darkened icily.
His eyebrows furrowed, his adams apple bobbing around his empty words until he finally spoke. "Then why?… Why help those damn conceited greedy pricks!" He juts out his exasperation between bated sheer breath.
I tilt my head to the side as a wry invisible knowing smirk marks my features. In one swift movement cascading towards him, the blade jutting against the precipice of his bare throat.
My knee digs into his hip as my eyes glow a fiery enrapturing gold; peering into the satchels of his soul as my knife rests against his life.
"Because… You don't know the full story." I remark with orotund.
The blade briskly slashed his throat. He collapsed onto the cold wood a dull thud that echoed in the surroundings. A deep withering sigh erupted from my raw lips, and the iron-tangy liquid trickled down my chin.
This is the world of hierarchy. One where injustice, power, and inequality grace this cruel world.
The Royals hold a superiority that has plagued and confined others in the clutches of their power: The Royals in pure blood have been gifted extraordinary power and the will of magic.
Meanwhile, the less fortunate are born into a strict social class hierarchy. Royals, nobles, merchants, and peasants.
And I have become their puppet of righteousness. Born to wield a blade in my palm. To follow their bidding, to slay my target in cold blood.
I am an assassin.
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I trudged through the rusted alleys, garbage strewn athwart. Lanterns adorning the narrow winding streets.
The pavement jutting upwards with uneven bricks. People roaming around with tattered rags of clothing; carrying sludges of urine and other extrete. Hanging their clothes on flimsy hangers, as the impoverished children sang whimsical melodies, clutching their barren-clothed bags between their frail hands.
A young girl with flowing golden hair and a young boy with curly dark locks come barrelling towards me. Their lips outstretched into cherry grins, a gleam boasting in their eyes.
"You're finally back!" The girl shouts enthusiastically, her hands clenching my shirt.
"Sylvian!!" The boy shouts cheerily, his arms wrapping around my leg in a joyous embrace.
My hand ruffles their heads as a smile splits to my lips warmly. "Guess what I got ya' troublemakers?!" I unsling the duffle bag on my shoulder hastily; the fresh aroma of pastries humming throughout the surroundings.
I unzipped the bag and unveiled the simmering waft of steam. Pastries galore, cinnamon buns, pain au chocolates, and lists of meaty breads.
Their eyes practically glow at the prospect, their hands grasping their favorites with a deft swiftness.
Malia tilts her head curiously. "Where have you been all this time?" she asks gently as she shoves a mouthful of bread into her mouth speedily.
"Mhhmm!!" Will hums in affirmation at the question, chowing down a cinnamon bun with an avid pace.
"Well, I was off running many errands for the king. To relaying messages to others and slaying monstrous beasts." I remark whimsically, the half-truth jutting between my teeth cheerily.
Both their eyes in a chorus glow in intrigue. "So it was an adventure?!" Malia cheers as she bounces skippily. "Tell us! I want to hear about another adventure!" Will shouts with his mouth half full.
I sigh gently at the sight, my lips barely contained from going upwards. "Don't talk with your mouth full, William," I state in a reprimanding tone. Will, sheepishly looks back at me while his lips smack together.
"Let's go inside first and then I'll tell you all about it." The two scatter promptly into a ramshackle apartment; the connected housing strewn with withering awnings, with doors rusted and lined up. A stray cat skittering past the doorway as my gaze lands on a letter pinned to it.
A crimson embellished stamp marking the tan sleek envelope. The royalness of such a gesture, rather glaring. My hand brushes against the paper before yanking it off in the clutch of my hand. Ripping it open to find a letter with the cursive formality of the noblility.
Letter:
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As such sentiment of thy King; in the name of god spoken miracle: He formally gives you the honor to come hither to his estate under his majesty's rule, to serve under the prince.
Your honor thus will be to valiantly protect his rightful heir and be his sworn blade in battle, in struggle, and in inevitable triumph.
He shall further inform you, Sylvian Destruo, the man of the hour of such reason, after you arrive.
Sincerely,
a royal servant message of the King of Elethley.
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Fuck, not this… Not that bastard, the one notoriously known for being stuck up, hoity toity, and egotistical to no end.
The infamous prince with a royale stick shoved up his arse.
Slandering, and fighting with no restraint. Rumors spreading vastly in this land; the incident fire of the festival, the beatings of nobles, going to a ball with a sword and threatening them all, and blades jutting against a rivaling throat.
A lunatic in better words, a lunatic with power.
I tutt my tongue in preemptive thought, shoving the letter into my pocket. Honor, my ass, the king is forcing me to do this. If anything I'd rather be a part of the kitchen errands again.
I stroll into the apartment, shutting the door in finality, sinking the thoughts of my upcoming duty to the back of my mind.
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The carriage ornamented in peaks and swirls of gold decoration crackles against the pavement. Knulling to a halt, the horse's hooves striking the ground in finality.
The door to the carriage opens, an ambiguous figure dawned with an elegant flowing robe of crimson stepping out. A glinting golden mask with a spike
where their nose would be obscuring their face.
"Come now, Sylvian Destruo," A low ominous voice reverberates from the figure. A slow deliberate gloved hand gesturing towards me as they bow their head in formality.
"I'm not going without bringing the kids," I remarked firmly, the kids huddled behind me, peeking their heads in random intervals.
The solemn head tilts to the side, "As you wish, however, it is under the King's command to accept your proposal of their stay as you serve."
"I know that, I'll be sure to sway him." My lips gently quirk upwards into a sly smirk. The only apparent shock of the servant being the widening of their dark eyes.
"Fine then, you may come to regret your brazenness, but I am no one to judge," They grit as their fingers tap on the door repeatedly.
"Yes, you certainly aren't one to judge." My lips strain to keep their innocence as I snark out my benevolent words.
The dark ominous eyes glare daggers into me, and if their mask wasn't obscuring their features, I would bet I would see the fury on their complexion.
However, in a shocking turn of events, well not too shocking.
"Get in the carriage, we have places to be and we can't keep the King waiting… Certainly, he is the one to judge, especially for your insolent nature." They resound sharply, gesturing to the door once more.
Oh?… And here we go, they have some bite.
"Ah, insolent you say? Hm, I haven't heard that one before." I gently mock with a sly cock of my eyebrow, stepping up to the carriage with the kids following closely behind.
I could swear I could almost hear them groan under their breath. A mutter of grit, "You'll be hearing it a lot more now. Tch, he'll make a 'great' pair with the prince." They roll their eyes as they heatedly scoff.
"What's that you just said?" I ask gently.
"Nothing…" They utter, turning their head to the side in defeat.
At that, I board the carriage, inside lies seats across from each other, crimson cushions with fine satin. As well as holsters for a myriad of high-class wines.
I sit on the same side of the kids, the flamboyant servant sitting across. A permeable silence marinates until the whip snaps and the carriage bolts forward.
The ride is calm, gazing out the window as the rotting houses slowly merge into rich flamboyant displays of money; labor of handcrafted designs on pillars of multi-story buildings, intricately stained glass designs, and magical light oozing from their lanterns.
The divide between us is so stark. Day and night, filthy rich and filthy poor. The rich lavishly lived with grand houses, clothes, food, magic, and everything they could dream of.
Meanwhile, the poor succumb to illness, lesser education, and everything in store.
That's how I ended up here. Slaying the villainy of Elethely.
My parents vied for an escape from the constraints of the hierarchy. They vied for better treatment, and for the prosperity of materials. Better food, clothes, land, and ever-more.
However, to do so, they abandoned me. Selling me off to the King, an honor just for me.
If only they knew how they treated me like a machine. A tool to be used, as young as I was. Forcing me to practice maneuvering my blade for the kill until I crumpled on the ground from exhaustion.
Eight years old, bludgeoning people to death for the honor of the righteous King.
They are bad people…
I had to repeat that sickening mantra over and over until my gut sluggishly eased up from nauseatingly churning into an indomitable fire of guilt.
Those over-wracking emotions turmoiling, uncontrollable in their perpetual ferocity.
They are bad people…
They had to be… otherwise I'd be…
A monster…
A monster just like the ones that put me in this hell.
But I'm not a monster. These are bad people and without this bloodshed, their reign of terror will never end.
This is redemption, quelling the atrocities they committed, atoning for what they did.