The metallic clang of steel echoed through the chamber as Reinhardt's sword met the assassin's blade. His mind, still clouded by Selene's intoxicating presence, snapped into focus with the immediacy of battle. Blood surged through his veins, sharpening his senses as he twisted his wrist, forcing his attacker's weapon aside. With a swift movement, he drove his blade forward, cutting deep into the masked figure's shoulder.
A guttural cry filled the room before the assassin collapsed.
But there was no time to breathe. More figures emerged from the darkness, their presence barely perceptible against the flickering torchlight. Their movements were eerily coordinated, as if driven by a singular will.
Selene leaned against a pillar, watching with quiet amusement. "Oh dear, they really don't want to let you go, do they?"
Reinhardt gritted his teeth. "You knew they were coming."
She smirked. "I might have had an inkling."
A dagger whistled through the air. Reinhardt barely dodged, the blade grazing his cheek. Pain stung, but it was nothing compared to the weight of the realization that dawned upon him. These assassins weren't here for Selene.
They were here for him.
Another figure lunged, twin daggers glinting in the dim light. Reinhardt parried the first strike, but the second nicked his forearm, drawing a thin line of blood. He countered with a vicious backhand, his sword cutting through fabric and flesh. A pained grunt confirmed his hit, but the assassin did not fall. Instead, he pressed forward, relentless and unyielding.
Selene sighed. "This is taking far too long."
With a flick of her wrist, the air grew thick. The torches dimmed, shadows elongating unnaturally. A low hum vibrated through the room, an incantation barely above a whisper. Reinhardt felt it, the pull of dark magic curling around him like unseen tendrils.
The assassins hesitated.
And then, as if swallowed by the abyss itself, they were gone. No bodies, no traces—just an unnatural silence that sent a chill down Reinhardt's spine.
He exhaled, lowering his sword. "What did you do?"
Selene walked toward him, her expression unreadable. "I merely evened the playing field. You can thank me later."
He stiffened. "I don't trust magic."
She laughed, a sultry, knowing sound. "And yet, it just saved your life."
Before he could respond, a new sound filled the chamber—the slow, deliberate clap of hands. Reinhardt turned sharply, gripping his sword tighter.
A lone figure stood in the doorway, cloaked in black, a hood concealing their face. "Impressive," the stranger murmured, voice smooth as silk. "You truly are the King's Hound."
Selene's playful demeanor vanished. "Who are you?"
The figure took a step forward. "The one who holds the strings of fate, dear sorceress. And I've come to offer Reinhardt a choice."
Suspense tightened its grip around the room. Reinhardt could feel the weight of an unseen force pressing down on him, urging him toward a decision he did not yet understand.
The stranger extended a gloved hand. "Come with me, Reinhardt. Or stay and be consumed by the very forces you seek to resist."
Selene's eyes darkened. "Be careful, my knight. Some choices are irreversible."
The chamber fell into silence once more, only the steady pounding of Reinhardt's heart echoing in his ears.
The game had just begun