"You know you'll mess this up again," giggles a tall and pale woman, her amused smile on the young man beside her. "You always fail, Icarus." Icarus scoffs and rolls his eyes in response. "Silence, Death. This time, I've got this," he mumbles, focusing on applying makeup to make himself look more feminine. Finishing his eyeliner, he mutters through crimson lips, "Why do you even keep following me? Go do your job, Reaper."
Death's smile widens. "Where you go, death and misfortune follow, darling. Of course I'll follow you."
Icarus's brow twitches at her words. "You'll see."
---
Camelot, a legendary castle with a legendary history. What used to be a castle in which king Arthur lived is now nothing but a place to throw royal parties in (It is said that the current owner even did some unholy things on the round table with his mistress). Right now, such a royal party is going on at its fullest. Aristocrats, knights, fools, musicians, vassals and servants fill every corner of the castle.
Inside the great hall of Camelot, Mordred (It must be clarified that it is not the illegitimate son of late King Arthur that we are talking about) is throwing another party surrounded by his dear friends and servants. They are drinking, feasting and dancing with no worries whatsoever, but little do they know that there is an Assassin inside Camelot with them. And not only one.
---
"Wow, you really do look like a lady now, darling," Death says with a chuckle, clapping her hands. "Except, of course, for your body." She gestures at his figure. "Since when are these overcompensating aristocrats into strong-looking women?" Icarus doesn't answer; he simply strips off his clothes and changes into the garments taken from the corpse in front of him. The body belongs to an aristocratic woman whose absence would have been noticed if not for the fact that everyone was drinking like the world was ending.
Her death wasn't planned—it was an unlucky accident. Icarus had only meant to knock her out, which he managed...except she didn't fall quite as intended. Now, thanks to an unfortunate twist, she has an unfortunately placed twist in her neck. Death had burst into maniacal laughter the moment it happened.
After donning the bright red dress with golden accents, Icarus pauses to inspect himself in the mirror. Death claps her hands again, laughing louder this time, her elegant, ethereal voice echoing through the room. "You look so damn adorable, Icarus."
"SHUT IT!" he snaps, slipping on the uncomfortable heels before storming out of the room.
Once in the hallway, Icarus feels Death slip through the wall, following him in her spectral form. "So, what now? Going to seduce the fat pig?" she mumbles, her amusement at Icarus's appearance clear.
Icarus nods, his expression serious. "Yes, and once we're all alone, I'll slit his throat."
Death chuckles again. "Ooooh, how edgy!"
---
A man with a belly so large that the buttons on his shirt look ready to burst is singing at the top of his lungs, a large mug fashioned from an animal's horn in his hand. Whether it's empty or full is anyone's guess. This man drinks so much that soon he'll single-handedly drain every barrel of wine and beer.
"Willhelm, you beast! Leave some drinks for us!" his friends shout over the raucous singing. Willhelm shows no signs of stopping, sparing nothing that can reach his chubby fingers.
"Where do you think Lord Mordred is?" Friedrich, one of Willhelm's close friends, asks him. Willhelm slams his mug onto the wooden table and bellows over the instrumentals and singing, "God fucking knows! He was here not so long ago!" He shrugs and waves a servant over for another refill. As the servant approaches, he can't resist and ogle her like a hungry predator. Willhelm is notorious for his thirst—not just for alcohol but for women as well. But before the fat man can make a move, a fool leaps onto the table, dancing as if under a spell, causing everyone to erupt in laughter.
---
Icarus glides through a horde of dancing and singing aristocrats, skillfully dodging the unwanted advances of 'enthusiastic' hands. Meanwhile, Death follows in her intangible form, eagerly waiting for the moment Icarus's misfortune strikes again. Finally breaking free from the crowd, Icarus glances toward the long tables. Three stretch out before him: one directly in front of the throne and two that fan out diagonally, resembling the head of a trident. Though the layout makes little sense to Icarus, it does make spotting his target easier, as the tables nearest to the throne are relatively close together. And Willhelm, with his high status, will most definitely be near the Throne.
To Icarus, the entire hall feels confusing. It is enormous, as if designed to hold giants and dragons. Adding to his confusion, the hall is asymmetrical, adorned with eleven chandeliers scattered across the ceiling in chaotic disarray. The chaotic arrangement makes it difficult for the assassin to look up without feeling a wave of nausea wash over him.
'Oooooh look at that darling, we have a guest,' Death suddenly whispers into Icarus' ear. His head immediately turns sideways, and he notices the 'guest' Death was talking about. An Inquisitor in flesh. Standing at around 7 feet they are knights that hunt any supernatural force, including even demons.
"For Gods sake..." Icarus mumbles while dodging another hand that was coming for his waist. His misfortune certainly outdid itself with this one.
---
Willhelm, now another couple mugs of beer and wine in, is furiously dancing with a fool on the table. The audience is laughing and clapping, many of them wondering how the table didn't crumble under the man's weight. Willhelm's seat was located fairly close to the throne, which of course made the pig proud and happy. The closer you are to the Lord the closer you are to his position, at least that's what Willhelm thinks. Not much in that chubby head of his.
The Fool Willhelm danced with wore bright, colourful clothes, his white clown mask revealing only his eyes, but anyone, not as drunk as Willhelm, could clearly tell he was smiling. And it wasn't a benevolent smile beneath that mask. Willhelm, with his guard completely down, didn't notice that. Even when the Fool suddenly lunged forward with a dagger to gut him, he didn't react at all, continuing his maniacal dance.
---
Icarus kept his eyes on Willhelm, waiting for a moment to seduce the hog, when suddenly, the Fool lunged at him, dagger in hand. Apparently, Icarus wasn't the only one with plans to end Willhelm. What fascinated Icarus most right now was how perfectly the Fool masked his malevolent intent. But Icarus knew this wasn't how Willhelm's story would end—it was how the Fool's would.
The Fool's thrust fails as he trips over some spilled food, the dagger slipping from his grip and landing at the Inquisitor's feet. The Inquisitor's eyes immediately light up beneath his black helmet, and with a swift downward slash, he cleaves both the Fool and the table in two. Willhelm stumbles as the table collapses beneath him, but the laughing, cheering crowd catches him, completely ignoring the two pieces of human flash. The blood and organs spill on the food and floor but servants quickly appear out of pretty much every corner and clean up the mess. "HA! At this point I could actually say I am God's favourite!" Willhelm booms with his loud voice as the crowd helps him on his feet.
Icarus's brow twitches in annoyance at the mention of Willhelm's outrageous luck. He was indeed lucky; no man has faced as many assassination attempts as he has. Yet, they all failed. "Perhaps your misfortune will cancel out his fortune, darling," Death murmurs in his ear with a chuckle. Icarus scoffs, continuing his advance toward Willhelm, determined to succeed. Misfortune or fortune, he was still one of the best among his colleagues.
As Icarus steps into the crowd, he can't help but scrunch his nose at the stench clinging to everyone around him. Aristocrats or not, their hygiene was horrible. The party had been going on nearly a day, and they showed no intent of stopping. "For God's sake, just let me through," he mutters, watching his target slip farther and farther away. Icarus had to catch up before Willhelm found a woman to have fun with.
He pushes forward, dodging or brushing off anyone who tries to touch him. Icarus curses, stomps his heel, and dashes forward, clutching his dress up to keep moving freely. "Willhelm!" he screams, breathless as he closes the distance. Death raises a brow at his overly direct plan.
---
"Willhelm!" a voice calls out, cutting through the music and laughter around him. "What?" he replies, his voice rough from shouting as he turns to look behind him. A beautiful woman in a red dress rushes up, leaning down with her hands on her knees, panting heavily. "Well, who do we have here?" he says, his voice loud and booming. The woman looks up, face flushed and glistening from embarrassment and sweat. "Come to bed with me!" she declares, straightening and puffing out her chest.
Willhelm raises a brow, then bursts into booming laughter. His friends join in, leaving Icarus standing awkwardly among the laughter. Icarus forces a weak chuckle, hoping to get a bit of dignity back. Around them, the singing and laughter grows louder. "What's your name, beautiful?" Willhelm grins as he steps closer, still convinced he's speaking to a woman. Icarus clears his throat and says proudly, "My name is Helia, daughter of Helios," names he just made up on the spot.
"Oh really?" Willhelm smirks, now face-to-face with 'Helia.' "Then tell me why you're wearing the dress I chose specifically for my mistress?"
Icarus's jaw drops. "Oh, for God's sake..." he whispers.