'Arga..the Crow..he's a mythic being created by Lunara, Goddess of Night and Mystery. The founders of the Crow worshiped her years ago, and due to their obedience, she gave them a conduit of dark power which aids those with a boost in power and even dark abilities. Lunara was against the cruelty of the evildoers, and couldn't do anything on her own because of Zepharion, the All-Seer. Lunara wanted the evildoers dead, she wants those who are innocent to live and not have to worry about anyone trying to kill them. Even though she agreed with free will, where Zepharion wants everyone under his will of Perfect Order. But for someone like Father to conflict Arga…his power is on a different scale..'
Zabriel lunges forward, his scythe slicing through the cold air with a shrill ring. Arga, with a harrowing screech, swings his golden hammer-ax wide, aiming for Zabriel's head. Zabriel ducks under the blow, the weapon missing by mere inches, and counters with a low sweep aimed at Arga's legs. The clash sends sparks flying as metal meets elusive shadow. Arga takes to the air, wings beating with a gust of wind, then dives down at breakneck speed, becoming a human missile. Zabriel rolls aside, feeling the rush of air as Arga crashes into the ground, leaving a crater. Rising swiftly, Zabriel throws his scythe like a boomerang, slicing a gash across Arga's chest as it returns to his grip, spattering blood on the stone.
Zabriel runs, healing Arga at the same time, then, Zabriel's scythe was covered in a destitute shadow and gold aura.
Arga, enraged, screeches loudly, unleashing a storm of golden feather-shards from his mouth. Zabriel uses his scythe to deflect the barrage, sparks and blood misting the air as he advances, slicing through the remnants of the feather storm to land a deep cut across Arga's arm. Arga envelops himself in a swirling tornado of shadows and gold, becoming a spinning top of destruction. Zabriel waits, timing his moment, then leaps high above, descending with his scythe aimed at Arga's core. The impact when he hits sends a shockwave through the chamber, cracking the stone beneath their feet. Then, Zabriel spins, and causing a more powerful shadow and gold tornado, blasting Arga away, making him bash into a wall brutally.
'It's strong…it's strange seeing him fight with such velocity. He never dared put a hand on us, he was a direct conduit from Lunara, they shared emotions and goals. Arga was a symbol of her presence..'
As Zabriel recovers from his descent, Arga swings his hammer-ax with both hands, catching Zabriel off-guard and sending him flying against a wall. The collision cracks the wall, debris falling around him as Zabriel coughs up blood but swiftly regains his footing. Utilizing his unique ability, Zabriel heals the bruise quickly, his scythe glowing momentarily as it absorbs some of Arga's power, increasing its weight and deadliness. He swings with renewed vigor, clashing heavily with Arga's hammer-ax, forcing the guardian back with the sheer strength of the blow. Locked in a deadly embrace, neither willing to give an inch, Zabriel and Arga exchange rapid, brutal strikes at close range. Zabriel parries a downward slash and counters with a sharp uppercut using the butt of his scythe's handle, cracking Arga's jaw, drawing more shadowy blood.
Arga, momentarily stunned, uses his wings to create distance, hovering above Zabriel. With a powerful downward swoop, he attempts another torpedo strike. Zabriel sidesteps and swings his scythe in a tight arc, cutting through one of Arga's wings, sending feathers and blood raining down. Arga, grounded, moves with limping but deadly grace, his shadow and gold aura flickering erratically. He spins, the aura whipping out like a lash. Zabriel, eyes narrowed, jumps back, then forward, using the momentum to enhance his strike, his scythe biting deeply into Arga's torso.
Blinded by pain and fury, Arga swings wildly, his aura crackling. His hammer-ax meets Zabriel's scythe, and the force of the blow sends both combatants staggering. Zabriel uses the brief respite to slice at Arga's hamstring, crippling his movement further, blood pooling beneath him. Witth his mobility hampered, Arga resorts to crawling towards Zabriel, leaving a trail of blood. He attempts a low swing, which Zabriel easily steps over, bringing his scythe down in a powerful, vertical strike that cleaves into Arga's shoulder. Just as Arga seems to succumb, he surprises Zabriel with a sudden burst of speed, ramming into him with his shoulder. Zabriel is knocked back but recovers quickly, slashing across Arga's face, leaving a gory trail where eyes once shone.
Knowing the battle must end, Zabriel channels all absorbed power into his scythe, making it glow ominously. He charges, the scythe cutting through air and shadows alike. Arga, too weak to dodge, receives the final, decapitating blow, his head toppling as his body crumbles into shadow and gold dust.
Standing amidst the ruin, Zabriel breathes heavily, his weapon absorbing the last of Arga's essence before vanishing, leaving him with his original scythe, now silent and still. The air feels lighter, though the ground is scarred and soaked with the remnants of battle.
The hidden figure emerges slightly from their concealment, observing Zabriel with a mixture of reverence and fear, aware that the power displayed here was both terrifying and awe-inspiring—a testament to the lethal ballet of assassin's art.
'Zabriel…he's alive.!'
Each movement driven by the necessity of survival and the elegance of trained combatants, their confrontation is a symphony of violence and strategic prowess, leaving the sanctuary forever marked by their encounter.
As the lifeless body of Arga crumbled, the ash-like remnants fluttered away, and amidst a chorale of diminishing echoes, his form reconstructed into a stoic, stone figure. The red flames that had once signified his daunting presence now gently extinguished into the ether of the cavern. The silence was momentarily broken by the jarring sound of stone grinding against stone as a large door behind the newly formed statue creaked open, revealing a passage shrouded in mystery and antiquity.
Zabriel, his breath steady but heavy, utilized his unique healing abilities, his hands glowing briefly as his wounds closed and his vigor returned. He stepped through the doorway, his footsteps echoing in the newly revealed corridor which was dimly lit by torches that cast eerie shadows against the walls. Ahead, the corridor opened up into an expansive circular chamber, the air thick with the scent of ancient incense and cold stone.
'For anyone who gains acceptance from Arga, they can enter the Room of Mystery. Where an assassin can search through the history of the Crow. It's very classified information, I've never been in here until now, I've only seen the leaders do it.'
As he entered, his gaze was immediately drawn to the towering statues that encircled the room. Each statue was a resolute figure, carved in exquisite detail and poised with a severity that spoke of their once-living counterparts. Below each figure were plaques with names etched in a script that was elegant yet formidable:
- Variah the Wise
- Melkoor the Severe
- Jenthis the Shadowed
- Elara the Swift
- Terek the Vile
Zabriel moved to the center of the room where the floor was marked by an elaborate symbol of the crow, carved into the stone and surrounded by an undulating pattern that suggested both reverence and warning. With a resolved sigh, Zabriel drew a small knife from his belt, slicing across his palm. His blood welled and dripped onto the symbol, dark red on grey stone. Placing his bleeding hand firmly down on the platform, shadowy flames and ethereal crows fluttered up around him, wrapping him in a mantle of spectral wings.
Instantly, Zabriel's mind was assaulted with a barrage of memories — images flickering past like shadows cast by a raging fire. He saw the founders of the Crow, architects of the orphanage that had trained countless assassins under the guise of charity. His mind's eye showed him sprawling, dark scenes of missions that carved the foundation of their power, his senses filling with the cold determination and sharp focus that had been instilled in him.
He was a child again, dressed in tattered white cloth among other young recruits, the harsh syllables of Variah the Wise instructing them, disciplining them with a cruel precision. "You are born from shadows to serve the darkness," Variah's voice echoed in his head.
A flicker of light, and he saw himself being anointed by Arga before the transformation into stone — a blessing or a curse, it was hard to tell. Arga's voice rumbled like distant thunder, "In darkness, you find purpose. In stealth, your salvation."
The memories twisted, darkened further by glimpses of a cult within their ranks — a secretive cabal led by Terek the Vile, whose ambitions seemed to stretch beyond the teachings and control of the institution. Whispers of forbidden rituals, and a sacrificial circle beneath a blood-red moon where Terek's voice reverberated, "The flame will guide us to glory or to ruin."
Then an eerie, unsettling memory of an encounter with a figure whose head blazed like a sun, casting everything in a harsh, relentless light. The spectral figure spoke in a voice that crackled like fire, "Beware the light that seeks to purge the shadow," before vanishing into the ether.
As the influx of memories receded like the tide, Zabriel was left kneeling on the platform, shadow flames dissipating, the echo of countless whispers filling the chamber. Sweat beaded his forehead, not just from the physical ordeal but from the weight of the revelations — the depth of darkness he was part of, entwined with powers and secrets far beyond the simple creed of an assassin.
Standing, his hand still marked with his own blood, Zabriel felt a new resolve hardening within him. The foundation of his beliefs shaken, yet from the rubble, the will to confront what lay ahead solidified, armed with the knowledge of what the Crow truly was — and what he must either salvage or forsake.
'That cult…they've been here since the beginning! Have a slight connecting with the assassins, did Father conflict Arga to keep us from coming in here? I know he couldn't come in here because only those who have been seen and accepted by Arga can enter the room. That means…this place is still under that Cult Of Fabel's supervision.'
Zabriel smiled under his mask, "That's perfect…"
'Even if those bastards lurk through this area..I'll be ready for them. They'll want to know what I saw in the vision. I've already killed one cult member so far, they do well to hide amongst the public, but once they're on the brink of their plan to find an immortal seed, it becomes obvious who the fuck I need to kill.'
Zabriel stood up, and walked away, saying, "Ellie…Arshan…Holt…everyone else…don't worry."
Amidst the incessantly descending snowflakes in the cold embrace of the Varangian Frostwilds, Gill stood, still engaging in his arduous training regimen against the ancient pillar boulder. His breath hung visibly in the air, a testament to his exertions and the bitter chill. "Can I stop now?" he panted, looking towards where Zabriel had been standing.
In a blink, Zabriel vanished, moving with such swiftness that Gill found himself inexplicably shifted from a standing position to a push-up stance. "HOW DID I GET IN THIS STANCE?!" Gill exclaimed comically, his tone a mixture of confusion and frustration, "And WHY ARE YOU COVERED IN BLOOD?!"
Zabriel, his figure smeared with the vestiges of a recent clandestine struggle, merely took a seat on Gill's back, adding to the physical challenge as Gill struggled against both the weight and the cold. Throughout, Zabriel maintained an enigmatic silence, only patting Gill's head, an odd form of nonverbal encouragement, or perhaps amusement at his plight.
Later, they shifted to the snowy woods where Gill, still attempting to impress or perhaps surpass the often unspeaking Zabriel, engaged in a fierce battle with a giant ape stained with red blood marks. Climbing onto the beast in a display of raw athleticism, Gill fought valiantly, each stab punctuated by the beast's roars and the shattering of branches. Despite being tossed about like a rag doll, he managed to slash off its head in a gruesome, decisive move. Standing over the fallen creature, he grinned widely, flexing his muscles, and asked, "Haha! I did it! Saw that huh?! Impressive! So, how was that?"
"Horrible. Bring him back to life and do it again," Zabriel deadpanned, looking utterly unimpressed.
"I CAN'T DO THAT AND YOU KNOW THAT!" Gill retorted, clearly exasperated.
As the day turned to night and a heavy snow blizzard set in, the sounds of distant beasts and the howling wind created an eerie symphony in the dark woods. Gill and Zabriel sat near a flickering campfire, the harsh weather battling the warmth it offered. They dug into their simple meal, shrouded by the thickening snow that challenged the very notion of peace.
"If you lose your food, I'll end you," Zabriel remarked casually, his eyes narrowing slightly in the dim light, half-serious.
"THAT'S NOT FAIR!" Gill protested loudly, the wind snatching the words as though to emphasize the threat.
"It's fair. It's training. You wished for strength, I'm giving it to you," Zabriel replied, his voice firm, brooking no argument.
"It's so brutal!"
"This is nothing."
As they continued eating in the tempestuous blizzard night, the absurd severity of their situation might have seemed comedic to an outsider, a master and his apprentice locked in a bizarre mentorship framed by the savage wilderness around them. Here, amidst the wild and the whimsical, the line between survival and training blurred into the oblivion of the storm.
Gill asked, "Yo, Zabriel."
"…Hm."
"Why didn't you talk a lot?"
"…I'm always hungry."
"STOP BEING SARCASTIC!"
"Hm?"
"I see what you're doing. Lately, after everything that's happened, you've been acting more and more—."
"—Like Ellie."
"Yeah.."
"A secret coping mechanism for assassins. Acting like those we lost, to keep them alive in our memories. It's tormenting. I hate it, but it's the only way..I can cope. If you don't feed her memory, I'll forget about her."
"If it's torment, why do you do it?"
"…The bloodlust I have for revenge can't die out. I do it to keep myself motivated. Even if I have to torture myself, I have to keep myself motivated. If not, I'll hate myself all over again, think I'm worthless, like it was when I was a child. I can't lose the motivation to keep my promises."
"Did you love her?"
"…I don't know what real love is, the orphanage only taught us to love purging evil. Ellie had a different upbringing than me, she was raised by loving parents until they were killed, she had a glimpse of what love was. I was the complete opposite, I never knew my parents. So, I did not love Ellie. I cared about her, she was the only one I ever spoke to. She was the only one I felt real to."
"Oh.."
'He's telling me so much information, such a depressing backstory—.'
"ACK!" Gill exclaimed as he was instantly put in a push-up position, and Zabriel standing on his back this time with his arms folded.
Gill yelled, "WHAT DID I DO NOW?!"
Zabriel replied, "Tell anyone about my life, you die. That's an order."
"I-I WASN'T PLANNING TO!"
"Mm."
"But why are you comfortable telling me all of this?"
"…You accepted the invitation to become an assassin of the Crow. We are brothers. I'm going to sleep now."
'Brothers…' Gill grinned with a thought. "I guess I'll sleep too."
Zabriel stopped Gill, "What are you doing?"
"Going to sleep?"
"Finish the rest of the food, then you come in If you let any food get blown away, or if you get blown away, I'll end you."
"Zabriel!"
Zabriel walked into the cabin, shutting the door behind him.
Gill stood there, chuckling, "That damn guy.."
'Brother…I never had anyone call me that before. BUT, I'm already full, I'm tossing this food in the wind, he goes to sleep fast, so I'll—.'
Gill turned around, and saw Zabriel staring at him through a makeshift window, and Gill exclaimed, "Oh COME ON!"
Zabriel said, "This isn't even half of what we went through at the orphanage. You'd be dead already."
Gill said sarcastically, "Oh yeah I'm definitely breezing through this! And I don't mean literally."