George paused, feeling the hairs on his neck rise. Typhon growled low, his lion head snapping to the right, while Kas coiled tighter around George's arm, hissing with warning.
Out of the shadows stepped a figure cloaked in deep crimson robes, their face obscured by a mask etched with unfamiliar runes. More figures emerged behind them—silent, deadly, and clearly not beasts.
"George Carter," the lead figure spoke, their voice distorted. "Your time has come."
George gripped the Bloodthirst Sword. "Who sent you?"
The figure tilted their head. "Does it matter? Your bloodline has enemies in many places, but your family most of all wishes you gone."
The revelation hit like a hammer. His family—the ones who despised him, the ones who had already tried to kill him—had escalated their efforts. They wouldn't wait for him to perish quietly in some distant land. They wanted him eliminated now.
Typhon roared, and the assassins moved as one.
