The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly before him, its dim red light barely pushing back the suffocating darkness. Kael's breath came fast and shallow, his footsteps barely whispering against the cold stone beneath him. The shouts of his pursuers echoed faintly in the distance, but he could feel them—closer than the sound betrayed.
"Don't let him escape!" one of the voices rang out, followed by the rapid clang of boots against stone.
Kael's chest tightened. His body moved fluidly, almost effortlessly, but his mind felt split. One part of him marveled at the newfound precision in his limbs, the quiet grace with which he navigated the twisting labyrinth of corridors. Another part—deeper, more primal—seethed with a quiet, simmering panic. He had no idea where he was or how to survive this.
The lanterns above flickered weakly as he rounded another corner. Each step felt faster, sharper, as if his body was moving of its own accord. The flickering light threw the architecture of the hallways into sharp, angular shapes—arches carved into jagged spikes, ceilings looming higher than they should, almost like teeth.
As Kael ran, his mind scrambled for context, for clarity. The unnamed man's final words rang in his ears: "You were supposed to save us… The guild's finest… wasted…"
The Veil. That's what the man had called this place. The word felt both familiar and foreign. His fragmented thoughts offered no answers—only flashes of motion and sensation, like echoes from someone else's life.
He turned another corner and found himself staring down a wide corridor. It was eerily quiet, lined with tall, thin windows that let in slivers of pale moonlight. The air was damp and heavy, and the distant sound of dripping water reached his ears. For a brief moment, Kael hesitated, glancing over his shoulder.
The echoes of his pursuers were closer now.
He clenched his jaw and bolted down the corridor, his footsteps light but fast. His new body seemed to relish the exertion, his muscles rippling with controlled power as he pushed himself forward. He approached the first window, his sharp eyes catching a glimpse of the city beyond—a sprawling mass of rooftops and spires, their shapes barely visible through the thick, swirling fog.
Before he could process the sight, something shifted at the edge of his vision.
A flash of steel.
Kael ducked instinctively, his body reacting before his mind registered the danger. A blade sliced through the air where his head had been a moment earlier, burying itself into the stone wall with a dull thunk.
The attacker emerged from the shadows, their face hidden beneath a black mask. They moved like liquid, fluid and precise, their twin daggers flashing as they closed the distance between them. Kael took a step back, his heart racing.
His grip tightened on the bloodied dagger he'd taken from the assassin earlier. It felt strange in his hand—not unfamiliar, but not quite natural either. He watched his opponent closely, his mind racing as he tried to piece together a strategy.
The assassin struck first, their blades moving in sharp, controlled arcs. Kael sidestepped the first strike, his body flowing with the motion. The second blade came faster, angling toward his throat, but he deflected it with his own dagger in a shower of sparks.
It was art, Kael realized.
Each movement was deliberate, calculated—an intricate dance of death. The assassin pressed forward, their strikes relentless and precise. Kael's body responded with equal fluidity, his feet shifting, his blade moving to intercept.
But there was no hesitation in the assassin's attacks. No fear. Only cold, mechanical efficiency.
Kael caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. Another assassin stepped out from the shadows, their bowstring drawn tight.
Time slowed.
Kael's mind screamed a warning, but his body moved before he could think. He pivoted sharply, throwing the dagger in his hand with a precision that startled even him. The blade spun through the air and struck the archer in the chest, sending them crumpling to the ground in a heap.
Pain exploded in Kael's side a heartbeat later. He gasped, his vision blurring as he staggered back. The first assassin's blade had found its mark, cutting a shallow but stinging gash along his ribs.
The assassin didn't let up. They pressed forward, their blade slashing toward Kael's neck. Kael ducked low, his hand brushing against the stone floor—and the shadows that pooled there.
The sensation was cold and alive, curling around his fingers like tendrils of smoke. The air around him seemed to grow heavier, darker, as though the shadows were responding to his unspoken will.
Kael didn't question it. He reached deeper, letting the darkness flow through him.
The shadows surged upward, coiling around the assassin like serpents. Their movements faltered, their blade stopping mid-swing as the tendrils wrapped around their arms and legs. The assassin's muffled curses filled the corridor as they struggled against the darkness, their movements jerky and panicked.
Kael rose to his feet, his breathing ragged. The shadows pulsed faintly, as though feeding off his focus. He took a step closer, his gaze locking onto the assassin's wide, terrified eyes.
"It's not enough to kill," Kael murmured, his voice low. "Even death should have meaning."
With a flick of his hand, the shadows tightened around the assassin's neck. The muffled curses became a strangled gasp, and the assassin's struggles ceased. Kael released the tendrils, letting the body fall limp to the ground.
The shadows receded slowly, their cold tendrils slipping away like reluctant lovers. Kael staggered back, pressing a hand to the wound at his side. The sharp ache in his chest returned, stronger this time. The toll of the shadows, he realized. They were powerful—but not without cost.
He leaned against the wall, his breaths shallow as he tried to steady himself. The cold stone beneath his fingers was comforting, grounding. He glanced down at the assassin's body, his gaze lingering on the way the shadows had left faint, inky trails along their limbs.
The sound of footsteps snapped him back to the present.
Kael's head jerked up, his sharp eyes scanning the corridor. More pursuers. He could hear their voices now, low and urgent.
"Don't lose him!"
He straightened, his fingers curling into fists. The exhaustion gnawing at the edges of his mind was persistent, but so was the exhilaration. The power. He couldn't stop now.
Kael turned and bolted down the corridor, his steps light and silent. The passageway twisted and narrowed, the shadows growing thicker with each turn.
As he ran, fragments of memory stirred at the edges of his mind. The guild. The Veil. The man who had died to save him. And the words the assassin had spoken before their death: "The Veil thought you were special. But the Choir… they'll tear you apart."
The Choir. The word hung in his mind like an echo, heavy with meaning he couldn't yet grasp.
Kael's pace slowed as he reached the end of the corridor. A heavy, iron door loomed before him, its surface etched with strange, twisting symbols. They glowed faintly in the dim light, their edges pulsing with an otherworldly energy.
He hesitated, his hand hovering over the door's cold surface. The whispers of his pursuers grew louder behind him.
Kael pushed the door open and slipped into the darkness beyond.