The rain fell in sheets, drenching the crumbling rooftops of the slums. The air was thick with the stench of decay and desperation, a fitting backdrop for the end of a life built on lies. He crouched in the shadows, his breath steady, his heart calm. This was it,the final mission. The culmination of years of planning, of pretending, of wearing masks that weren't his. Tonight, he would kill the man who had made him a monster. Tonight, he would be free.
His name didn't matter. Names were just another mask, another lie. In the assassin organization, he was known as Wraith, a ghost who could slip into any role, wear any face, and leave no trace. But even ghosts could be betrayed.
The target's mansion loomed ahead, its opulence a stark contrast to the squalor surrounding it. He adjusted the mask he wore,a young servant boy, innocent and unassuming,the mask carved straight out of the boys face the previous day.The guards didn't even glance at him as he slipped through the gates, his steps light, his expression blank. He had done this a thousand times before. Infiltration was his art, and he was its master.
Inside, the mansion was a labyrinth of wealth and excess. Gold-framed portraits lined the walls, their eyes following him as he moved. He ignored them, focusing on the task at hand. The leader of the organization ,The Veil ,was here, celebrating some meaningless victory. He didn't care about the details. All that mattered was the man's death.
He found his partner, Eira, waiting in the shadows of the grand hall. She was dressed as a noblewoman, her beauty a weapon as deadly as any blade. They had been partners for years, two orphans plucked from the slums and forged into weapons. She was the only person he had ever trusted. The only one who knew his true face.
"Ready?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the din of the party.
He nodded, his hand brushing against the mask hidden beneath his servant's attire. The Veil was there, surrounded by sycophants and bodyguards. The man was a legend, a shadow who controlled an empire of death. But even legends could die.
The plan was simple. Eira would create a distraction, and he would strike. They had done this countless times before. But this time was different. This time, it was personal.
The distraction came in the form of a fire, flames erupting in the east wing of the mansion. Chaos followed, guests screaming, guards rushing to contain the blaze. He moved like a shadow, slipping through the crowd, his blade hidden in the folds of his servant's attire. The Veil was alone now, his bodyguards drawn away by the commotion. Perfect.
He stepped into the room, his hand reaching for the mask hidden beneath his clothes. The servant boy's face was replaced by the mask of a trusted lieutenant. The Veil turned, his eyes narrowing.
"Report," the man barked, his voice cold and commanding.
He didn't answer. Instead, he struck, his blade flashing in the dim light. But the Veil was faster, dodging the attack with inhuman precision. The man's eyes widened in recognition.
"Wraith," he hissed. "I should have known."
There was no time for words. They fought, their movements a blur of steel and shadows. He was good—the best—but the Veil was better. The man had decades of experience, his skills honed to perfection. He was losing.
Desperation fueled his next move. He reached for another mask, this one bearing Eira's face. The Veil hesitated, just for a moment, but it was enough. He drove his blade into the man's chest, watching as the light faded from his eyes.
It was over. He had won. He was free.
Or so he thought.
The sound of clapping broke the silence. He turned, his heart sinking as Eira stepped into the room. She was smiling, but it wasn't the smile of a partner. It was the smile of a predator.
"Well done," she said, her voice dripping with mockery. "You actually did it."
He stared at her, his mind racing. "What are you talking about?"
Her smile widened. "Did you really think I was on your side? The Veil knew about your little rebellion from the start. He wanted to see how far you'd go. And I was there to make sure you didn't stray too far."
The truth hit him like a blow. She had been watching him, reporting on him, manipulating him. The only person he had ever trusted had been a lie.
He lunged at her, but she was ready. Her blade pierced his chest, the pain sharp and final. He fell to his knees, his vision blurring as the life drained from his body.
"Goodbye, Wraith," she said, her voice cold. "You were always just a tool."
Darkness claimed him, but it wasn't the end. He opened his eyes—or thought he did—to find himself floating in a vast, endless void. There was no ground beneath him, no sky above. Just an infinite expanse of darkness, broken only by faint, shimmering lights in the distance.
He looked down at his hands, but they were translucent, barely there. He was a soul, untethered and weightless. The memories of his past life rushed back—the slums, the masks, the betrayal. Anger and regret burned within him, but there was no body to contain them, no voice to scream.
As he floated in the void, a voice echoed in the emptiness, deep and resonant, yet devoid of emotion.
"What an interesting soul, retaining ego even after passing through the wheel."
'seems like this soul was already marked by the old ones even before death,what an unlucky fellow'the being thought.
"You have lived a life of lies and death," it said. "But your story is not yet over."
Before he could respond, the void shifted, the darkness giving way to a blinding light. He felt himself being pulled, drawn toward something—or somewhere new.