It was many hours still until dawnlight. The vacant alleyways, a vast spiraling network that linked the seaport to the heart of the city, emitted a musty odor, partially due to being perpetually damp from the thick salt air that had saturated the stonework over hundreds of years. More recently, due to the petrichor-like scent of precipitation on stone, which had been slickened with a late-night rainfall from a thunderstorm.
Within the dark of the night, which had been amplified by a shroud of dense downpours and thunder, a figure tugged the hood of their cloak over their face, their boots splashing through a shallow puddle as lightning flashed. It crackled across the sky in an arc, and when it had faded, the figure was gone.
Toward the end of the hour, the storm had fully passed over the horizon, accompanied by a low rumble of thunder in the far distance. The once-angry clouds softened and thinned, parting way to reveal a silvery crescent moon that hung in the black sky, cradled upon glittering stars. The city was asleep, all but for a few hungry unfortunates and pickets of patrol guards that diligently stalked the streets with lanterns in hand. All were ignorant of the pursuit happening just above their heads.
With an unintentional slip of the foot, a cloaked figure glid down the angled rooftops on their back, careening dangerously close to the edge. They held a plain wooden staff tightly in their left hand and drove it into a space where a shingle had long since lain. Their movement was immediately suspended, and the sudden jerking of the muscles and joints in their arm made them grimace beneath their hood. With a brief look below, they saw that they had stopped just short of dropping over the eaves and onto the heads of a passing patrol.
A shingle had broken off in the slide, tumbling past as if in slow time and dropping right over the edge before the cloaked figure could even think to catch it. It splashed into a puddle below with a quiet plop.
One of the guards came to a standstill upon hearing the faint sound and peered over his shoulder at the rings rippling in the puddle behind him. He took a step forward, stooping at the waist to examine the small pool. When he peered up, the figure on the roof quickly pulled their boots out of sight to avoid being spotted.
The guard shook his head, suspecting it was merely an old, loose shingle that had fallen. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and he rejoined his patrol.
The individual stood up with a sigh as the guard rounded the corner, and the hair on the back of their neck bristled. They sank reflexively in response to a dagger that flew by. It was a hairsbreadth away from their skull, temporarily grabbing onto the fabric of their hood and drawing it back slightly before sinking itself into the sturdy wooden crossbeam of the tiered rooftop behind them.
The dagger vanished, leaving a deep wound in the wood where it had just been. The figure had caught their hood from being wholly pulled back, their face still obscured, and turned to climb up to the next roof level with the speed and swiftness of a hawk.
With remarkable ease, the person in pursuit of the hooded figure leaped to the next roof level to which the other had fled. They landed quietly and gracefully, slowly standing, the moonlight reflecting in their purple catlike eyes.
His hair was cropped on one side while draping down on the other, and he was clad in a mix of darkly stained boiled leather armor over layers of black cloth. Suitable both for protecting and aiding one's ability to move freely in the shadows. He was an assassin, and one could tell precisely where he came from by looking at the dimly glowing purple mark on his forehead, as well as those pointed ears and distinguishing traits. The Veil.
He reached a hand outward, a dagger materializing within it.
"I'm tired of chasing you," a velvety voice laced with aggravation stated.
Unseen, another distinctly male voice responded, "I'm tired of being chased."
Purple eyes scanned the rooftop; the only hiding place was a considerably sized red chimney with moss-covered bricks. The voice had seemingly come from that precise location. He stepped toward it, articulating, "providing us with what we want would save us the trouble of chasing you." He sprang to the top of the chimney, crouched and poised on the edge with his dagger ready to strike at the figure hiding on the other side.
There was no one there.
His bright eyes went wide as soon as he felt the gentle push on his back, tipping him over into the chimney below. His dagger vanished as he cursed and dug into the stone with clawed nails.
"I am truly astounded that you fell for that," a gleeful voice from above replied.
The assailant's eyes whipped up to see the shrouded man, arms crossed leisurely as he leaned against the chimney opening, a tone of amusement in his voice as he peered down. Only his lips were visible, and that shit-eating grin made the assassin want to rip the other's throat out, though he could only sneer back with outrage.
The man stood, "tell whomever you work for, that if they continue to follow me, I will find them much sooner than they will find me." He chortled, "whenever you manage to crawl your way out of there, that is." As he had stepped away to leave, his back turned, he parried yet another dagger with the twist of his staff, not even taking time to look the direction in which it had come.
One could almost feel the eyebrows rise from under his hood as the dagger clattered to the ground before vanishing. 'Resilient,' he thought to himself.
Sharp canines were bared in the other's direction, purple eyes glowering as the dagger was instantaneously returned to his hand.
Feeling a bit fatigued, the cloaked man turned around and questioned with a sigh, "what would your kind possibly want from me?"
"As if you don't know!"
He had the feeling that he did know the answer, but he simply smiled under his hood and suggested, "hum, maybe you have the wrong person?"
With the might of his slender yet muscular legs, the other had thrown himself halfway into the air, flinging the dagger in fast concession and summoning it back after each throw to hurl it again and again. With each forceful toss, he rotated the hand in which he summoned and threw, from left to right, and back again. Enraged, his accuracy was poor, and on top of that, he seemed to have no notion of whom he was toying with.
The masterful twirl of the staff that fended every possible angle, and the nimble dance of feet, deflected the onslaught effortlessly. The dagger was resummoned so quickly that it dematerialized before it could fall to the ground.
The entire time, the hooded man was able to dodge while he also observed his opponent, and in a brief stall, his head tilted and the butt of the staff tapped downwards for a mote. The never-ending volley of daggers came to a halt because suddenly there was no target before the assassin. A strong, almost imperceptible sense of electricity had pulsed in the air. Before the assassin could blink, the cloaked figure materialized behind him, staff pressing uncomfortably at his spine.
"Not that I'm the sort to brag." Before the assailant could retaliate, the staff had hooked his legs and slammed him face-first into the damp rooftop, a boot firmly pinning him there. "However, you have no chance of acquiring what you want from me." He pressed his boot further and further against his back, driving the bones underneath to render a sickly cracking sound.
"My magnanimity has limitations," he said coldly, pushing down even more, the assassin groaning in pain as if a massive boulder were crushing his spine. "I will not hesitate to kill anyone who threatens— well, it doesn't matter," he trailed off as he used his staff to instantly whack the back of the clawed hand trying to summon the dagger. "Nice try, demon, but consider this your final warning. If you are seeking death, I will deliver it."
The demon suddenly grinned dauntingly, eyes gazing behind the man in the hood as he let out a strange constrained breathy laugh, his one cheek pasted to the rooftop slightly muffling it.
The hooded man lurched back then, nearly falling as he reached a hand to his side. When he pulled it back, it was drenched in the warmth of fresh scarlet blood. The tip of an arrow had been shot through his oblique, protruding from the back of his cloak through the front of his lower left abdomen. Thankfully, some crucial inside things seemed to have been missed, but it was nevertheless excruciatingly unpleasant.
"...well...that hurts."
He stumbled away from the demon, freeing him in the process. With a controlled groan, he snapped off the arrowhead with one hand and tossed it to the side, leaving the fletching and shaft intact in hopes that he would not bleed out before he could escape. He swung his staff in a spinning motion to deflect yet another arrow aimed at his heart by way of his back. Despite his hood obscuring his eyes, he turned and skimmed the rooftops. A figure was nocking another arrow from several buildings away.
He dropped to one knee, his staff extended out in front of him with his left hand, while drawing his right arm back as if there was an imperceptible bowstring clasped between his fingers.
Black runic marks upon his knuckles erupted with the warmth of golden light, as did similar bold lines of varying thickness that circumscribed his wrists like tattooed bracelets. He discharged an arrow composed of refined magical energy toward the archer. It soared with tremendous speed, shattering into a delicate golden haze upon impact.
When it struck, he felt relief, but before he could exhale, his expression faltered and his eyebrows creased.
As the light faded, his attention was drawn to the two large blades crossed before the chest of a stalwart elf who had materialized and deflected the strike with the skill of no ordinary individual.
"Say it for yourself," said a snide voice from behind him. He glanced back as the demonic assassin bounded from the rooftops and slipped from view.
"Par for the course," he muttered, suppressing the nearly choleric feeling that had been beginning to bubble up in his chest and throat as he glimpsed across the way. He'd have to deal with this now? At this pace, his energy would be depleted—anyone's would after two months of a scarcity of sleep due to long nights filled with fleeing from assassins. When was one to rest and circulate their magic with such a dynamic schedule?
The elf, tall even from this distance, lowered his blades. Their eyes met across the stretch of the topside of the moonlit city before a dark aura coruscating with flecks of silver surrounded him and he vanished from sight. He appeared before him on the next rooftop in a flash, remnants of magic and rain dancing around him and splashing at his black boots.
As the elf advanced with the authoritative presence of someone who wasn't afraid of much, if anything at all, the hooded man rotated his staff in front of him in preparation for defense. The make of these swords was unmistakable at this range, and the cloaked man bemoaned internally, "why now of all days? Has my luck finally run out?" He silently yet calmly questioned himself while maintaining a vigilant eye on the elf's motions.
In addition, an arrow was still ungraciously piercing his side rather painfully, hindering his ability to move only some. He ignored the sensation of the blood that now saturated the side of his cloak.
With this, surely nothing more could transpire tonight, right?
The elf tilted his head back with a bizarre smile, and at that moment the other began to instinctually amass magic once more. The runes on his knuckles and wrists that held the staff, ignited before flickering erratically and snuffing out before his very eyes. He looked down and frowned, "fantastic timing," he sighed feeling discomposed.
Knowing what the other was attempting to do just then, the elf raised his left sword-wielding arm and gestured scoldingly, "ah, ah, ah." It was as if he had already known the other would attempt to teleport and fail.
The strange dark jagged blade in his left hand was suddenly enveloped by the darkly scintillating radiance that had surrounded him a moment ago. In a more traditional make, the blade in his right hand emanated that same darkness. While it may have appeared to be an average blade, he was well aware of the carnage it had wrought at the will of its wielder's hand. The turmoil that this man harbored, inside and out, was heavy and monumental regardless of the weapons he held.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
"I wouldn't try that," a smooth, deep voice advised as he unhurriedly strode forward with an atmosphere of refined and cultivated strength. "You will not be able to escape either way."
He always wore his chest exposed, exhibiting the harrowing scar that stretched diagonally from his right shoulder to the left side of his abdomen on his ghostly grey skin. He wore it with distorted pride, a terrible memento of his moniker and his ill-fated record. And, despite his numerous scars, this one was unquestionably the most conspicuous, and the only one that he would not let fade through either natural or magical means.
His hair fell over his shoulders in layers, framing the sides of his face, his elongated ears unadorned and breaking through the folds. His apparel was simple and dark, the only intricate detail being the ornamental clasp pin, which secured a black cape to one side of his shoulders. His eyes, which dissected the veiled figure across from him, were perhaps his most unsettling feature. His sclerae were entirely pitch-black, with silvery blue irises which seemed capable of glimpsing a step ahead of most.
"You have something I want," he continued, "and I think you perhaps know this by now."
The cloaked man eyed the other, "I have nothing to give you dark one," his mind raced with how to escape, but he was still curious enough to ask in a nearly mocking manner, "an elf who falls into the immoral embrace of obscurity. What man you were before, does he still exist?" There was only one way he would leave alive tonight. Under his breath, he whispered but not to the elf across from him, "wake up, I could use a hand..."
With one blink, the elf was gone, materializing directly before him. His staff, while wooden, was able to intercept the prompt impact of both blades without being splintered. Magic-induced sparks diverged at the crossing of the dissimilar weapons.
The elf stood taller than six feet. His height was that of a Higher Elf, but due to how elven society revered their kind, he could no longer be considered as such. He conveyed a foreboding impression thanks to his muscular build, tyrannical demeanor, and maniacally bright grin.
Despite knowing of Caroxus Ghelva's accomplishments and ultimately his steep decline from grace and dignity, he had never personally encountered him until now. He was disturbed by the fact that he had not foreseen that the mastermind behind all of the recent assassination attempts, would be this elf who had fallen so deeply into darkness. A disconcerting discovery indeed.
Caroxus curled his lip in contempt, pressing down with incredible tenacity while replying scathingly, "I do not require being made aware of my juxtaposition!"
Ah, there it was. The speculation about the unbridled wrath filling his heart was true, and it seemed to have manifested itself before him. A legitimate strategy the cloaked man had honed to the utmost, as people were sloppy when they were angry and he used that to his benefit often.
As he held against the blades that bore down on his staff, his teeth clenched as the pain in his side increased. If he let down his guard even for a moment, those blades would cleave him into pieces of unrecognizable flesh. He almost wanted to cry, but not from the painful undulating stabbing sensation of his wound.
He was not one to constantly demonstrate his unrivaled might. Or exult in the extent of his incomprehensible wisdom. Or bask in his unrivaled grandeur and expect others to glorify him. He knew he was all those things already and he simply wanted to be left alone. But, to put it bluntly, on a typical day he would undoubtedly annihilate this pretentious man with his arrogant and lifeless ego and broken morals. Oh, how he wished he could put him in his place and teach him humiliation.
Unfortunately, he hadn't had a typical day for some time, due to particular events, and a few...tiny problematic circumstances that arose from them. As a result, this individual was much more than a minor inconvenience, tonight being the worst conceivable time to have met him.
Caroxus withdrew one arm and came from the side with his left blade, forcing the other to twist and roll to escape being gruesomely divided in two. This maneuver caused the briefest of openings, and the hooded man did not delay in sprinting away, leaving the other to pursue him across the rooftops during the fleeting respite where the elf recovered from the forceful swing.
With essentially zero stores of magic remaining within his core, he couldn't utilize his power to jump any distance near or far, nor cast offensive or defensive spells. He had his staff, and he had his feet, so logically he ran. Even for someone such as him, fighting Caroxus Ghelva was a foolish thought in his present state.
With a strange crackling sound, the domineering elf apparated beside him, sprinting parallel to the cloaked figure. His sword arms were outstretched behind him to help balance him as he ran across the very narrow ridge of the rooftop, his cloak billowing behind. An eerie sight with the moon and stars as his backdrop and the sea sparkling in the near distance.
The other used his staff as a vault and cleared the large gap between the buildings just ahead of them, flying through the air with legs tucked upwards and rolling into a sprint once he landed. Caroxus emerged on the other side in a flash, possibly to demonstrate his ability, prompting the shrouded figure to roll his eyes.
Beside him, the elf kept up easily, suddenly raising a blade roiling with dark energy. The energy lashed out from the tip of one of the swords which he used as a conduit for his magic. It struck the roof tiles below the feet of the other as he ran.
He looked down, "ah shi-" his words were cut off as he plummeted as soon as the hole had formed, causing him to crash down into a deserted building and onto a pile of crates. He cried out in pain when he landed right on the edge of one, smacking his already seriously damaged side. The loud call of pain was heard by a nearby patrol and the few beggars that had been gathered in the lane below.
"What was that?" The patrol quickly approached the few late-night witnesses, wondering what had transpired.
"I don't know, the roof collapsed all of a sudden! I think someone's up there!"
"Stay here and stay back." They ordered.
The beggars whispered as they gawked up at the dust settling from the collapse, the guards tearing the wooden beams from the abandoned building's old doorframe.
He had forgotten the grace he had been intending to retain at this point. All he felt, when he inhaled a hissing breath, was agony. After the wind that had been knocked out of him came back, he moaned and coughed twice as he struggled to shift, rolling to his other side on top of the boxes. As additional soldiers drew near the building, he noticed the brightening of lantern light gleaming through the shattered windows.
"What... a...wonderful...series...of progressions..." He managed to say aloud between labored breaths.
His eyes dilated. The sudden choice was presented to him between accepting death or continuing to suffer. He chose the latter in hopes that he wouldn't leave this world tonight. He put a hand on the crate's edge, invoking the will to live within with a flip across the room, his staff scraping across the wooden floor to help him skirt the landing and support his body, which protested every movement.
The swift strike had splintered the containers he had just been sprawled atop, smashing the bottles filled with liquids inside.
If the guards did not know then, they were alerted to someone's presence in the building now.
"Who's up there?!" they called up from below, hastening their entrance. "Hurry up!" The sound of boards clattering to the ground and the prompt shuffling of armored footsteps grew louder.
Caroxus jumped into the hole he created and destroyed the crates and nearly the guy atop them before turning to face the stairs, which were suddenly flooded with luminous lantern light as the guards ascended. Yet, he dared to appear aggravated by this, with his nose upturned, when he was the one who provoked the initial situation here?! While in much misery, the cloaked individual across from him nevertheless wanted to rebuke him. The elf was insane in some aspects, he knew as much. Perhaps if he didn't go blasting holes in things just for the sake of doing so...
But before he could chastise him, the elf appeared, grabbed the front of his cloak, and they were abruptly landing on a flat rooftop about a block away. When they touched down, he shoved him back while lifting his blades in a cross-strike, hardly allowing him time to respond.
He was dizzy from the endless throbbing in his side and steady blood loss, but he eluded the attack with a backward somersault. He was not willing to let Caroxus Ghelva kill him today, or any day for that matter. "That temper...may very well be your demise," he exhaled deeply.
He gave a look that would have made most people shrink in terror, but he ignored it and continued, "why did you bring us out here?"
"I don't need a city trying to hunt me down, I am a busy man." He brandished a blade in his direction, sneering, "and you are wasting my time." He enunciated each word. No better than a kid having a fit because their parent won't purchase them the toy they desire. If he didn't want a city after him then he shouldn't blow holes in it!
He added, "you know what I am here for. Though, I am curious how you got your hands on it."
He replied cockily with a burst of laughter that made him cough immediately, "I'm not sure what you mean." He needed to keep in mind how stupid it was to laugh when one was skewered by an arrow.
"Tell me where to find it and I will make your death that much less unbearable."
"On that, I'll have to come back to you later." He observed the elf's tolerance waning. Was the time he had to delay him long enough?
The elf appeared behind him and firmly kicked him in the back with a strong boot, causing him to topple forward. Before the hooded man could even recover from the first strike, he threw another kick at the arrow stuck in his side. It sent him reeling sideways, and he saw white as he stabilized himself with two hands on his staff, coughing a mouthful of blood.
When he collected himself, breathing deeply, he smiled and laughed a bit, "it seems you caught me on a bad day," he coughed again, "Caroxus Ghelva."
The pale elf grinned back in the most unnerving way, not at all surprised that the other knew his name, "you see, that's been exactly my plan since the start of this ordeal."
So he'd been wearing him down for months by dispatching all those assassins? How could he have missed it? And why were demons following his orders? But if they so desired... His hands were clasped tightly on his staff, and he didn't reply.
"What? Nothing to say?" He crouched down with a sword crossed over a knee casually, "you can't protect it forever, and I do not need you alive to find it. You are merely a convenience. But tell me, what are you doing risking your life for something that does not belong to you?"
The hooded figure's eyes, while hidden, slowly moved to look upwards, "sorry to upset your plans, but even if you kill me, you won't get it," he replied, his grin wide and teeth bloody.
Caroxus let out a faint breath through his nose, "so be it." As he stood and went in for another blow, the cloaked man calmly awaited death.
As the blade neared his throat, the air surrounding them exploded, sending the elf flying backward. His reaction time was extraordinary, and he used his swords to absorb the brunt of the blow, precisely as he had done with the arrow. He landed in a crouched position, skating laterally across the rooftop before furiously thrusting down a sword to stop his momentum. He stood, lowering the blades to his sides as the current that resulted from the explosion blew strands of his bangs away from his face and eyes before settling. The smoke from the blast dispersed as he looked out across the wasted rooftops, debris falling around him.
When he saw the man with the staff was no longer there, rage drowned out his heart and he bared clenched teeth. His chest heaved with each breath. A familiar dark magical aura began to wrap around him, wildly thrashing. His hands shook, gripping the hilt of his swords so tightly that his knuckles turned white even on his pale grey skin.
Then, after a moment, his brows suddenly unfurrowed. The turmoil expressed on his face quelled, the aura fading. He let his swords dissipate, and he slowly brought a hand to the ornamental clasp at his shoulder. He paused with a hand hovering near it, instead letting that hand fall lax at his side.
With the sounds of shouting and lantern light that began to fill the night, he did not tarry, and with an uncharacteristically calm expression on his face, he vanished.
----------------------------------------
The cloaked man materialized in the air, grunting when he dropped and landed on a large pile of netting hidden behind tall stacks of crates and barrels. While lying on his back getting his bearings, he gazed up at the aged wooden ceiling. The potent scent of the sea led him to the conclusion that he was in the interior of an unlit and isolated dockside warehouse.
After a brief pause, he said to no one in his immediate view, "I wanted to chastise that person for blasting stuff however he pleased, and you come and do the same tenfold. I didn't mean to blow up the place. Will you save me some face next time?"
He was met with pure silence.
"Are you angry?" Silence still.
After a few more moments of silence he sighed, "I just need...to sleep for a bit, then..." he coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were too heavy to keep open, and his lips were still the only thing visible as he whispered, "when did I become so...weak?"
The hand that had still been firmly gripping the staff went slack as his vision faded to black.
----------------------------------------
Caroxus stood on a narrow stone ledge of a rooftop, long white hair lightly blowing in the breeze, surveying from above.
He had appeared from thin air, frightening the archer who had waited behind to rendezvous, and they noted the strange calm of the other, which was by far more alarming than his usual aloofness and temper.
The city was well aware of something occurring in the general vicinity of the dockside wards. Frenzied light and shouting began to stalk the streets in search, late-night onlookers coming to see the destroyed structure near the docks.
"Report." Caroxus didn't bother to look back to fully address the purple-eyed demon that had emerged from the shadows behind them, scratching a pointed ear and looking down in apprehension or humiliation. It was indeed uneasiness tinged with fear when facing the likes of Caroxus Ghelva.
"It is as you suggested. Somewhere in the south." He muttered this while looking down, apprehensive.
"No simple enchantments or arrays could have kept it hidden for so long, just who is that man?" The archer replied on the demon's behalf after observing the tight expression on his face and the tense words, hoping to ease the fury that would surely be aimed at him later. The only thing that suggested the archer's gender was her voice; otherwise, their cloak and attire gave no clue to this, her face concealed by a hood. "Should we prepare to depart?"
The tall elf finally turned his head a bit at the news, "tonight was not a total failure." The other two shared a look at his words. It wasn't?
"Because now that he knows what we're pursuing, he'll go back to where he keeps it hidden," Caroxus continued, "He'll take us there himself."
"What should we do for the time being?" The demon inquired, relieved that Caroxus was not as enraged as he had anticipated.
"Keep an eye on him. We will follow until the moment is right." He turned abruptly on a heel then. With a faint swish of the hem of his cape, he vanished under the moonlight.