“THAT LITTLE FUCKING-! THAT SNIVELING, GODS DAMNED-! AARGH!”

In a fit of rage, Lord Finneas snatched a hefty tome from atop his desk and hurled it across the room with all of the strength he could muster.

With a succession of glass shattering, wood splintering explosions, the book easily careened through several display cases before eventually embedding itself in the furthest wall. In turn, any swords, bows, or ornately wrought armor pieces unfortunate enough to have found themselves in its immediate path were destroyed just as utterly as if they too were made of glass.

Although so consumed by his anger was the city lord, that he barely even noticed the loss.

With two hands, he snatched up a resting decanter and threw it against the wall with another unintelligible scream. Upon contact, the vessel detonated—thoroughly splattering it, and just about everything else in sight. The city lords hunched shoulders rose and fell with every deep lungful of air.

The pitter-patter of wine dripping down from the ceiling accompanied only by the crunch of breaking glass as he paced—desperately searching for something, anything, with which he might further vent his rage. He was just about to call for his assistant—thinking a round or two with a third ring beggar might be just what he needed to assuage his anger—when a soft voice interrupted his dark musings.

“Please forgive the intrusion, but I believe I might have something of interest to share with the lord,” came a young, feminine voice from an oddly shadowed alcove in the otherwise well-lit room.

The city lord nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. Though, despite the sickly unease worming its way through his gut, he didn’t allow for even the hint of worry to show in his reaction.

One had to be very careful when dealing with the House of Ruination.

You never truly knew what the mad cultists were thinking. That disrespectful employers have been known to expire on occasion—and rather gruesomely at that—just about as soon as their contracts did, was more than enough to incentivize civility.

Quickly, he smoothed out his features, and then, ignoring the mess he’d made as if it weren’t even there, he turned.

Turned and nearly kicked himself for being such a damned fool.

This was no world class assassin. It was just some brat. A filth smeared urchin who’d, by some unknown miracle, slipped past his security’s notice.

Looking like she hadn’t bathed in several months—her hair so unbelievably matted, tangled, and greasy that underneath, the color could have been anything from a light brown to a wheat blond—she stood barefoot in his office, as if it were the most natural thing in the world!

It was ridiculous!

What did he pay his men for if not to prevent this very thing from happening! If those fools were too inept to keep out any old beggar child that wandered in off the street, then they didn’t deserve to breathe, let alone fritter away all his hard-earned money!

He was just about to say as much—to lay into this waif, his incompetent guards, and anyone else he even suspected of being responsible—when he met her eyes for the very first time, and the words he’d been preparing died on his lips.

In an instant he understood that, standing next to this supposed “child,” he was likely in the most danger he’d ever been in his life.

It was a truth so obvious once you looked past the grimy façade, that he wasn’t sure how it hadn’t been apparent from the very beginning.

And with the way she’d simply appeared, with no one the wiser? Well, he could only conclude that he’d been correct the first time. What else could she be but an elite assassin from an upper tier guild? Having narrowly avoided complete and total disaster, Lord Finneas responded with as much dignity as he could manage.

“Is the deed done?” the city lord intoned, relieved to find his voice even and steady.

“Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t say done so much as… incomplete, I suppose. As it stands, the request you’ve made has proven quite impossible.”

Silence reigned after this proclamation, as the city lord tried to decipher her words.

“And that’s… supposed to be good news? You said you had something of interest for me. Should I be overjoyed that you were unable to fulfill your end of the contract?”

No matter how hard he tried, the city lord couldn’t help the notes of exasperation that bled into his voice.

“Some is good. Some is not. Really, it depends entirely on who’s asking.”

The city lords jaw worked silently for a few long seconds.

“I’m asking! Obviously,” lord Finneas took a series of long, soothing breaths. “So, which is it then? We’re you able to put an end to the man or not? I would’ve thought a single person to be no match, given the resources your organization has at its disposal.”

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

“Oh! No. No, I have not killed him as it so happens. Though, neither is he alive. Our contract was annulled the moment it arrived. Is that not wonderfully ironic?”

The city lord froze as his mind raced with the possibilities.

“What are you saying?” though he was starting to suspect he already knew.

“I’m saying that my services are no longer necessary. Though, that should come as little comfort, since I’m now very certain they never were to begin with. I’m also sorry to say that, nowhere in its tenants, does the church reference anything even resembling a refund policy. Bad luck that. It was a clever trick, though, you must admit, that the man of your greatest enmity didn’t even exist.”

At first there was only blank confusion. And then a thrill of elation shot through his veins—so sharp and sudden that it was almost painful. His nemesis, that infuriatingly competent man, wasn’t just dead but he’d never even existed in the first place! The largest threat to his power base, gone up like a puff of smoke.

But wait a moment… how could that be? If the mysterious benefactor was fictitious, that would mean someone else had been calling the shots. But that didn’t make sense. Who, then, was spearheading operations? Not the boy, surely.

Unless…?

But no. That was ludicrous. What was he thinking! Of course, it couldn’t be him, because…? Well… because it was improbable to the extreme! Even if, by some miracle, the boy played a larger role than he’d first assumed, he had to have had backing of some kind.

With his long list of connections, as well as his improbable number of successes, he had to have had some help along the way. Finneas had been certain that the capricious upstart was the favored son of some Viscount, pampered Earl, or another—the scion of an esteemed and wealthy noble house. No mere child could have achieved so much in so short a time.

It was impossible. Unthinkable.

Preposterous.

But…then again, he’d never known a member of the House of Ruination to lie. In fact, he suspected even insinuating as much would immediately land him on their list, free of charge.

As he mentally sped through the implications in his head, his hesitant grin blossomed into a victorious, toothy smile. If this was indeed true, he might’ve just found a way to retake what was his after all. And if things went to plan, he wouldn’t be forced to ask for a mere thirty percent of what he was rightfully entitled to. No, no, no. If things went as he intended, by this time next week…?

Oh, the look on the brat's face when he realized just who he’d crossed would be priceless. Before any of that, however, there were still preparations left to make. The city lord could already tell it would be a very busy day.

Calling out to his guard detail, the city lord turned and swept eagerly from his office. Practically skipping with a childlike delight, he never broke stride as his militia flanked him to either side. No matter what he tried, he found it nearly impossible to wipe the foolish grin off of his face.

And so, after a while, he decided he wouldn’t bother. There was just cause for celebration after all. There would be a reckoning. Ooh, yes. Yes indeed. A reckoning. A reckoning! Yes sir. Oh my! A reckoning. A reckoning. A reckoning was nigh.

image [https://i.ibb.co/rw6tMBB/IMG-2711.png]

A reckoning. Nialla scrutinized the plump man’s retreating figure. That’s certainly one way of putting it.

Unbidden, a small giggle escaped her pale lips. An affectation of jubilance that didn’t otherwise crack her stony visage. Only when she remembered to will the phenomenon, did her face split wide into a toothy grin. This time, when the laughter bubbled up from her core, it came out unrestrained, unrelenting, and manic.

The sound cut off just as quickly as it’d begun—leaving the space somewhat hollower for its sudden absence. Human anatomy was really such a bother, she decided. So much inefficient spasming paired with unexplained redundancies. Still, she would have to work on that too, she supposed, if her many plans were to be realized.

And so, after giving the far corner a quick wink in farewell, and reveling in the burst of terror that ensued, it was with a deliberate twirl, skip, and girlish hop that the vessel housing the soul shard of Nialla Tallvar sank back into the other—the in between realm from which she’d first come. Her already muted presence vanishing in its entirety, as her body, fundamentally, ceased to exist.

image [https://i.ibb.co/rw6tMBB/IMG-2711.png]

From her precarious perch, wedged in the upper lefthand corner of the city lord’s office, Silvia Black—disciple of ruin, trained spy, and master assassin—nearly wept as the bead of sweat chose that moment to finally drip from her nose. Shuddering with every wave of relief that tore through her, she soon found her body tumbling after it in turn—all the will having suddenly gone out of her.

It would be many seconds later that the slumped and sobbing form of the master assassin stilled, and Black was finally able to properly compose herself. And in so doing, attempt to comprehend what exactly it was she’d just been made to witness. When just the mere thought of it nearly sent her into another round of convulsions however, she was quick to abandon that line of inquiry entirely.

And though a part of her, her conditioning, cried out at her own cowardice—demanded she track down the client and give her own account—she managed to convince herself that the dread entity, the one that shall not be named, had done a rather succinct job of it already.

That she’d originally come to differing conclusions, entirely ceasing to matter all of the sudden. And so, it was in that moment she decided that this time… this time…? She could be a little less than diligent… just this once.

After launching to her feet, vaulting through the open window, then slipping free from the oppressive confines of the estate altogether, Black could actually feel her spirits lift with every step, every story, every kilometer she placed between her and that creature's lingering presence. After all, it was a terrible, all-consuming pressure that she’d sooner forget.

Would forget, if she had anything to say about it.

Because, while sure, she might have pledged herself, heart and soul, to the ultimate ruination, the slow degradation of all things, she most certainly had not signed up for this.