The Assassin

Zhang, Zor Empire. As/A: 3084.

The throb in his ear bashing against the sides of his skull, as the invasion from the woman's high pitched scream attacked it, pummeled his chest.

And as the flames grew, so did his fattening heart crash incessantly into the cages of his ribs, growing even larger and squeezing brusquely in, while the quick bliss of the swift impatient seconds ran still.

Although his eyes were shut, he could still feel the presence of its myeiora: Its aura. It was a familiar one he'd known for many nights now: warm, with a cold touch; voice breaking and words terse.

It spoke, he heard and saw. Memories. It's not his. He could tell.

It was somber, and heavy with plight. The kind that leaves the eyes draped in black and overflowing red.

The swords, the pain, the screams; paintings of bright scarlet and sorrow. A premonition he knew not how to handle. So unlikely for someone like him to see visions, as he wasn't an Alnkra, or blessed with the flare for sorcery.

But this was more than a vision. It was real. She was real and calling to him.

He couldn't reach her...she was too far gone. Lost. Stolen by fate and malice. Not dead. Lost.

He kept cursing himself for being late, and too frail to save her. Terror engraved it's petrifying claws over the gazes of his eyes, as he watched the same malicious dark clouds of choking scent and sheer madness, hovering over her like vultures encircling a rotting carcass. It rushed at her arms and legs, grabbed her, and pulled her into the sky, dragging her away until it vanished.

Her screams left an aftermath of reverberation, rippling through the canals of his ears.

He watched her evanesce as the cloud gobbled her into nothingness, and so did her myeiora.

It ended.

Blurry eyes, prickling sores of injuries, warm soft skin rubbing against his, the dream riled in terror, and urges to pee, ordered him awake. Sweat dripped, rolling between his scarred muscles, using the spaces between his abs as a pathway down as they dropped.

He sat up and looked into his palms. They were trembling violently. He folded them, but the quiver never ceased. The tremor of his body were scars from the unholy impacts from the demons that haunted his dreams and fed it mares.

Stealing a second, he closed his eyes, held his breath and sat still to calm the jetting nerves running wild within his flesh. He unfettered the mold of gas deep in his lungs, with it were most of his quivering, and he sprung up.

His flaccid testicles glued tautly to the side of his left leg as he leapt out of bed, and they began to dangle after he peeled it off, before making his way to the only door of his abode. The lightness within his skull, and the pain thoroughly probing the deep crannies of the back of his head, made him stagger and sway while motioning to the door.

Other than being embalmed by a dense mass of towering trees, he lodged in trailer right in the middle of the hovering canopies of leaves and multiple spotlights from the sun.

Old and rusted were the first details that caught the eyes on the very first view. Originally abandoned, he had transformed this very aged trailer into something habitable. With a quick glance of the exterior, the notches and fading white paint slowly revealing the silver tin within, and the decaying black lineation running over the corners and edges of the trailer, were palpable. One could feel the deflated gray leather tire silently sulking over its metal wheel bulging like a ledge, fairly golden and brown, with dirt patches sticking to its circular corner, brooding over its lack of use as the weight of the trailer was mounted on the wheels, while the tire was mostly flat at the part next to the green marshy ground.

The Trailer wasn't connected to a bus, the only two tires were closer to the left end, causing the trailer's right end to lilt down as it rested on the ground, balanced. Stacked wood to a height were braced at the entrance, serving as an extended landing platform.

The internal weren't poles apart from the outer. There were peeling black and white wallpaper, a fan poster of what should be a celebrity from before the ascension, and a kitchenette. Mentally, the trailer is envisioned to be cleaved into two halves with the door adjoining as the center.

Eagerness were braided into his wobble lazy legs. His eyes were still heavy, but it was either he and his sack of weariness outside immediately, or the floor would be soiled in the mess he had locked tight within the pink walls of his bladder.

He needed to take a leak, but he couldn't do it inside.

Fresh warm breeze from the brook nearby lurched by his ears and invaded his face the instant the door swung open.

He leapt, ignoring the woods bundled into stairs, and landed in front of laying pieces of chopped up logs. He watched the projected amber liquid burrow into the soil, foaming and letting free its pungent alcoholic stench as it bored into the earth. He shook his crotch, scratched his naked butt, and journeyed back to his trailer.

Irritated, he shot his foot to kick the empty liquor bottles blocking his path, made visible from the sun's ray the moment he opened the door. He watched one spin then roll and tumble, until it was stopped by the leg of a table. Unamused, he drew his eyes away from the bottle, and walked over to the mattress laying squirmingly on the floor, and lazily stared down at the two companies he had over the night: two whores, a red head and a blonde, pairs which he loaned from the local brothel.

He had hoped that watching the two ladies sleep in their nudes, would get him somewhat excited. It didn't. Only that it was a snare of intricately woven shades of boredom.

The only exciting thing he might've had these past weeks, would be the timely sex and booze.

Good sex always helped clear his mind, as much as alcohol does.

He yawned widely, then took a moment to scratch the itching brown furriness heaped round his lips and below the jaw, stretching across the sides of his face to the head. After a thorough scratch, in the same likelihood, his hands scampered about his chest as though in search of one musc of gold, which he ended before running his fingers through his raven black hair, with a sigh leaping over his lips.

He then bent over to pick the pants he had on the night before, sniffed the under leg area -it reeked of smoke, scotch, and over due sweat - and had his legs into it. The strap of the leather belt anchoring about his waist, nearly choked off blood to his torso, the moment he tugged it tighter as he clenched the belt's head over his groin.

Curious, he had his hands over his mouth, exhaled the warm breath from his throat, and sniffed it. The attacked from his morning breath first made him flinch, which he quickly shrugged off, and went on with adjusting the waistline of his trouser.

The left halve of the trailer housed a mattress, clothes and other junks he could find, while the other were a kitchenette, an old table, and his weapons.

He then walked over to the right end of the trailer where sat the lazy rickety old looking table with a coarse honey-brown surface, and a limping leg supported by a slightly smaller wood right underneath. His eyes carefully went over the items on it: a disembodied Glock 17 9mm pistol, a weapon with the rare antique class of the past age -near extinct; an army knife with one smooth razor sharp edge, and the other cut into tiny bundles of teeth; dozens of hand carved steel shurikens and silver bullets packed in black leather purses each; a pair of black leather gloves, a hunting rifle. Ñjir his katana rested, sheathed, against the side of the table.

He pulled the only chair around closer, sat and rested his back first to let his weight settle, before leaning over to pick up the dismantled Glock pieces, which he began assembling. He held firmly the grip with his index finger placed lightly against the trigger. He drew out the pistol's magazine, filled in the missing bullets, cocked it, closed his imperfect right eye and aimed at the wall.

"Perfect!" He said under breath. Brought down the gun and began cleaning its muzzle. He placed it back on the table, after blowing away what looked like dust on its surface.

He stood, taking hold of the pair of gloves and dropping them on his shoulder, he bent down to look under the table where he pulled out a box with clanking sounds beaming from within, and took it out of the trailer.

He made his way through and over the pile of bottle and timber stacked all over the ground, and finally got to the side of the trailer with a motorcycle leaning against the walls of his abode. From where it rested, he moved the motorcycle to the front of the trailer, and squatted in and attempted to tinker it in a fix.

As he twisted the screw to set it loosed, like a warm tingling air rolling and swelling on the back of his neck, running heavily over his arms and down his back, he felt the myeiora of a stranger. He could sense it along with their menace. disappearing between the trees like the wind rustling through leaves.

He slowly placed the screw on the floor, and scattered his eyes, trailing the movement of his dangerous visitor.

looking with the back of his eyes, he found them and swiftly jerked to his toes, and continued tracing them to sides, as his eyes were focused on the axis.

"I can smell you there -" he paused and inhaled deeply "- the jabbing stench of the corpse you will soon become, if you don't show your fucking sel -"

He halted his threats to watch the knife thrown at him, cutting through the wind while it approached him. To him, the motion of the knife was as slow as the flapping fin of a whale.

He calculated his next move: catch it and throw it back, or dodge it altogether? He took a step back, bent his head to the left side, and watched the knife fly toward the tree behind him.

A person pops before him. They were clad in a black laced with a belt of shuriken holsters.The trousers, a hooded cowl with only their eyes visible, gloves and boots, were all dark as night. He noticed that they had a collection of petit daggers, sheathed at different areas,

He noticed something about the assailant before him, that first made him scoff, which soon birthed a smirk brimming over his face.

He watched them pull out another dagger, flip it into the air, grab it by the hilt. It could hear the energy pulsing through their arms, running down and bolstering their wrist and fingers, just as he caught the quick flash of purple glow that flowed into the dagger, causing it to buzz dully purple. The assassin singled the range of attack on his target, and jetted the dagger at him.

His feet glued, nerves steady, and mind set on a plan, he smirked to mock his opponent, or rill them a bit. It did not worked. His opponent was too confident of a hit, which he notices from their eyes.

Watching the blade whoosing in rage at him, he first applauded its speed in his mind, and as it appeared at his face, he flicked his arms at it, hitting it with more force. It stumbled abruptly out of its aimed path, and stabbing the ground.

"So, they sent an amateur after me? I'm hurt! Say, that was reinforced magic drawn from a magic amulet wasn't it?" He sneered at the assassin who was struck with more shock not just from how easily he deflected their attack but from how he easily detected their form of attack. "Amulets are rare and expensive, and I know that the one you just wasted, was the last one you had on you. Wasn't it? Besides, I know the number or weapons you have on you, including magic tokens and whatnot... I can feel the energy beaming from each of them." The assassin readjusted his steps, and pulled back. He winked at them, and immediately spun around, walking to draw out the dagger that had earlier been stuck in the tree behind him.

"Motherfucker!" He screamed at the them, as he didn't get any form of response from them, while he walked for the dagger. "You gotta aim better next time..." He arrived, and slightly tugged on the dagger and it freed its grip. he turned to face the hooded assassin "See, the trick is all in two places, your wrist and eyes." He threw the knife up and grabbed it on the hilt. "Just like a baby's head, the dynamics of throwing a knife is very fragile, and with magic, even more complicated." He took a moment to examine the dagger, which he then try balancing the sharp hilt on his forefinger. It stood with pricking or drawing out any drop of blood, but then, it unsteadily began swaying which he cautiously followed in the direction it bent to, trying to regain balance.

He couldn't.

It was getting futile to try and find the blade's equilibrium, so he sprung it up again with the same finger, and caught it just as he did before.

"Throwing weapons like this requires skill..." He spoke. "Speed, power, precision, and one more thing, which you lack..." He held the dagger to his face, and ran his tongue on the fuller, from the hilt of the dagger, to the heel, with his eyes closed and face spiraling in excitement.

The assassin had their eyes narrowed. They appeared to be on guard to defend, rather than waste moves and weapon on him, knowing that his intentions were to reciprocate with something even dire. They could dare underestimate him.

His thumb and fore finger stuffed the blade's sharp edges within them, and his concentration moved from it, to the person in front of him. He grinned,drew it hand towards the side of his head, crossing it, and fired the dagger back at the assassin.

It was quick, too swift to react. They couldn't escape the blade's speed or counter it. It struck their left elbow.

"What you lack my dear lady, is the will to kill, and that will cost you your life, by these very hands." He smiled as he drew his hands closer to his face. He raised his gaze back to his assailant when he heard them stifle a hiss drenching in pain, while plucking out the knife, and then had their hands pressed against the injury to curt the bleeding.

The assassin's breath spaced upon hearing him say dear lady. Sweat, outburst of goose-pimple spreading like a plague, tongue dry and crisp, fingers numb, and heart erupting in overwhelming fear, cascaded over their skin as though standing at gunpoint with an intelligent sociopathic beast softly caressing the trigger. It was as though they knew he was on a queue to discovering their identity. The assassin's eyes got tighter with confusion warpped in her myeiora, and he could smell it reek.

"who is this person?"

Never before had she fought for her life so much, and not with the chuckling devil whom she knew was only craving her blood.

"Those titties gotta be quite small...or did you wrap them up to seem smaller?" He asked, drawing her from her comatose reverie, and she responded by pulling out two more daggers and focusing harder to attack. "Still confused?" He asked, and went further with an explanation. "One, you couldn't completely dispel the existence of the cleavage between the boobs...I guess your worth spending a night with, but sadly, you're gonna have die before that happens. So so sad!" He sniffed, buried his head in his palms, and immediately squinted it up to meet her green eyes with his grin. "Two, your myeiora. I can tell male from a woman by sensing their myeioras. You know those things are slightly different right?"

She said nothing, but launch at him. She leapt, holding out two daggers aimed at him. She landed and took a swing at his neck. He bent backwards, and it flew past. She swiftly adjusted her grip on the hilt, and had the heel's tip pointed at his chest. She didn't hesitate one bit to venture in for a stab, but with more speed, precision, and venegeance burned into her eyes as she groaned with each swing. He grabbed her wrist, right as the blow was about landing, spread apart her arms, and shot his head for her face, and bashed it into hers. Still clutching her wrist, he drew back his head, gathered more momentum, and hammered the same spot he'd hit before. Her temple beneath the hood was cracked, and blood began soaking into it, thickening as few ran between her eyes.

She tried twitching and twisting her wrist to escape his grasp, but his grip was too grounded. Her only options were to use her legs, just as he had planned she would. She arched her knee, and initiated for his groin. He let her land a hit.

He bent to look at his crotch, then back at her with a sneer mocking her weak kick.

Looking at her face, he could feel her despair gushing out, which was at him not only tanking her hit, but equally seeing through her attack.

He got bored.

Fighting a foe as weak as she was, only made him guilty, as his game wasn't giving him enough fun. Upon disappointment, he freed his grip, lending her a chance to attack, or escape. She was smart enough to choose the later, and jump back.

He sighed.

"I'm letting you go. You do not stand a chance. Run before you lose your life to this futile battle."

She felt insulted. Pity is a smear to the ego of an assassin -a trample on their will -so to her, it was pride and death, not cowardice and bliss.

Noticing her convictions, another sigh from his lips plummeted to earth.

"Fine!" He squinted his eyes to feign ignorance. "well? get going!"

Seeing a chance as his eyes were closed, she seized the chance to throw another dagger at him, but this time, he catches it by the tip, and drops it on the ground. She groans, and rushed in and took a slash at his throat. His eyes were still shut, but he could hear the dagger cutting through the air, aiming for him. A clear opportunity to counter-attack appeared, and he snatched it. He folded his knee, bent lower than her attacks, shot his elbows above his head, and hit her wrist, blocking her and causing the daggers to slip from her fingers. She stumbles back, and before she could reclaim balance, he rushed in, raised his leg, launched it at his opponent's face, and kicked under her jaw, sending the poor girl flying and rolling away in the opposite way.

He walked over to where the she-assassin laid, who quickly got up, and took a desperate swing at his abdomen, having drawn out another reserved dagger. He bent away, and watched the blade's slow motion cut past him.

"That's the spirit chap..." He taunted. "You can do it!"

He felt riled...excited.

"I'm gonna end you now miss." he sadly added, and screamed at her to come at him. "Faster!" He screamed again at the female assassin who was already in motion to dish out a second swinging attack. She was fast, but his punch was more, as it pummeled her abdomen, making her gasp for air.

She groaned in pain, but still swung, which he dodged, and landed another fist on her face. The hit forces her back, making her drop on her back. She gathered her energy to stand, but before her arms saw the strength to pull her body high enough for her legs to take over, a kick crashes into her cheek, cracking her jaw and pulling out a teeth.

"Hmmm! I see! You took a vow of silence or something? Ain't you trying so hard not to scream and beg?" His eyes were cruel, and dead. Remorselessness camped about him, choking her like a giant hugging her so tight that her bones begin to creak, while she struggles for air.

He stood, and gave her a chance to stand, which she does, and pulls off her hood, revealing her white freckled face, ginger hair, sad loopy eyes, and really small soft lips. She braced her legs, held out her daggers, and ran to attack. She see her coming, raises the back of his hands, and smacks her face, while almost instantly launching his right leg, aiming his heel for her left knee. She was unaware of this attack, and only felt his feet crashing into her leg. She wailed as the impact equally crushed her bones, decapitating her leg.

"Faster!" He screamed at her. "Bitch, faster!"

She struggled another attack, but missed. He was clearly enjoying this. Every single second of it were sending rushes of pleasure rocketing all through him.

His opponent saw no chance at her close combat, and jumped away from his attack girth with hurdles of random slashes lurched at his face to aid her escape. He shielded his face with his elbow, and she grabbed the chance to hurry into the trailer.

"So fucking stupid! Just run away!" he said softly, as he watched her hurriedly limp into the trailer.

From where he stood outside, he could hear the cries and screams of the naked ladies inside. He sighed and went into the camper, stopped and watched all three of them at the other end.

He sighed again when he saw her all battered in bruises and blood, using the poor nude ladies as a shield against him. He Turned to the table that laid to the right, walked over it and picked up his Glock, cocked it and aimed it at her.

She assailant tugged closely the naked crying whores, with a blade held against their throats, threatening to slit them if there were any sudden movement.

He facepalmed as he approached them.

"That is a very bitchy move girl." He tightened his grip on the pistol, and concentrated his aim more. "In four shots you'll be dead, so you might as well tell me, who fucking sent you to kill me... Among other things that is." He giggled, and clasped tighter to shoot.

His assailant also responded by holding the women even tighter.

"Are you messing with me? Is that some sort of threat? Uh?" He was getting furious at her for staying mute.

"Urgh! I guess I'll have to force out the words, or cut out your tongue if I have to." He added in spite.

He groaned angrily again, and moved forward and began a count down.

"One!"

The gun sounded, and one of the whores dropped dead. A bullet straight through the head. He took another step forward,

"Two!"

He shot the second prostitute, making the assassin run backward, but stopped upon meeting the walls of the trailer.

"And Three!" Another gnashing bullet bored into his assailant's right leg, causing her to burst out a scream.

He walked to where she laid bleeding.

"I told you, you would be dead by my fourth shot." He cocked the gun again, and pointed it directly at the her head "Tell me, who the fuck sent you after me?" Her eyes were full of agony and fear, but her lips were still sealed. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Just so you know, I can hear your pounding heart, and every striking pulse. I can easily tell when you lie and when you don't. So..."

He placed the tip of the gun's muzzle against his head "One... Two. I will count to four, and on my fourth count, will my fourth bullet do it's job. Three... Fo-"

"There's a bounty on your head! -" She frightfully screamed "- Milen Geyr," She carefully said his name with a smoulder. "All the empire's top Mercenaries and assassins are on a hunt for you." She pulled out a rumpled sheet, with his name and a vague sketch of his face on it, and pointed it at him.

He stared at the sheet, and back at the unnamed assassin in bewilderment.

"Who placed this bounty on me, and why?"

Milen's fury was getting peaked, not by her, so he was careful enough not to press hard on the trigger.

"Seventy Thousand Dunari was what is offered, but nobody knows who it is you'd pissed off. We all know that it's one of the big shots, probably a Valrian, or somebody very powerful and possibly higher --"

"Higher?! You're fucking kidding me! You're saying that the emperor could possibly be outsourcing for my head delivered at his doorstep, in a sack?"

"Who knows?" She shrugged. "We only heard rumors of something called the Amarethean, with orders to kill you, nothing more." she whimpered from the bullet injury she'd received, while cowering in fear from the heartless interrogating beast.

"And you accepted it?"

He jestly pulled up a brow.

"The pay is good. Even ten dunari can set me on a twenty year streak as a queen, in my own fucking castle, so forgive me for choosing my greed over the life of some fucked up stranger!"

"Wow, you talk so much for someone who'd just broken her vow of silence. It's like you were on a fast, wasn't it" Milen let out a quick short laugh, and turned his full attention back to the pale sweat female soaked in the redness of his own blood. "What is this Amarethean?"

"The Amarethean is something nobody knows." Her chest began to pound again, when he leans over, had her jaw in his hands, and pulls her face into his. With his face close enough, she spat on him. Though she still wasn't unsure why she had to rile the beast up, but if today happens to be her last, she wouldn't go while satisfying him with a smug.

The expression on Milen's face was different from what she had intended. He seemed unfazed by her taunts.

"What is you name?" Milen asked.

"Melany!"

Milen sighed then spoke.

"Well thank you Melany." Milen said and widened a grin "Hope you understand why I cannot let you live. I know you're just doing your job, but Sorry...Four! "

He sent a bullet straight through the her head, causing a splatter of blood over the wall behind. He kept his eyes fixed on her, as she slid down the wall, until reaching the floor, which he the shifted his gaze to the blood rolling down the same path .

Three hours of his, were spent on dragging the corpses out of his camper, pouring gasoline on them and setting them on fire. He sat on a log, with a bottle of beer, watching his entertainments go up in flames.

He scattered the ashes and bones after, grabbed his leather jacket, mounted his motorcycle, and and drove to town.

Danger, that's what loomed around his head. The bounty hunters were a work over, but if it's the emperor coming after him, then those he will personally send, will be the actual challenge.That didn't matter now, as it finally was the time for him to set his plans in motion once again.

Peace and comfort, was what he knew he would never find, not after what he had done. It was a crime punishable by the grim reaper himself.

But Milen had enjoyed the dimmest of comforts in the Kingdom of Zhang, the lowest of the three Echleons, 'the slum' of the Zor Empire. The lower Echleon had a few kingdoms and many villages, that held the lowly of the the low: the dump of the high states and the government.

The rules here were a glitch, the laws changed as the lawmakers saw fit, which made it more perfect for Milen. Though the taxes drove many to starvation and homeless, and most to the brink of death, but neither of those were his problems, as his major concern was hiding and surviving. The forest he lived in, far away from the habitation of men, proved to be the safest.

This degraded region had shielded Milen for years, from the hawk eye of the Empire's high seats. Five years had gone by since the chase for him ended, and the sudden resurface of assassins for his head, and the whole Amarethean story, set him on the move again; not into hiding, but in search for answers.