The boy peered through the crack from the plant and sighed loudly, as if he was extremely bored.

“That one was tough to kill,” he said after some time and Jericho realised with great shock that he was undoubtedly talking about Blaise.

“At least we got the invitation,” Jericho said, trying desperately to sound casual.

He knew at once he had said something strange or wrong for the boy spun around incredulously, his lips curled into a sneer.

“You’re not thinking of registering for Praetorian?” the boy burst into giggles that sounded extremely unfit for his stature. “We’re here for the bounty, the Tagori will arrive tonight to find the target they have been searching for had been decapitated with his head completely missing,”

“No one knows you are here, they think you’re dead, Warwick,” the boy said as he stood up, walking back towards the hamlet, “only me. And it stays that way,”

Jericho opened his mouth to recover from such a horrible mistake but the boy spun around again, sneering, “I like what you did with your hair, black, I like it,”

They walked past his treehouse, heading straight for the forest next to it. It was larger than he thought, for he could no longer find the exit, they were completely surrounded by towering trees. Yet they continued walking, Jericho in a stunned silence. As far as he could gather, the boy and him were accomplices, who were claiming the bounties for Blaise’s head, who seemed to be hunted by another organization. Jericho was also supposed to be dead having altered his appearance.

They walked for another few minutes before they took a sharp turn on a dirt path, leading straight to a tiny wooden hut. They were in semi-darkness, the Sun completely hidden behind a sea of leaves. This part of the forest was in complete silence, the birds’ chirping and the occasional mysterious croaking underneath dead tree trunks were absent.

Something rustled in the leaves and Jericho jumped as a blur of bright orange whizzed past him. The boy reacted almost instinctively, his right hand that was concealed beneath his cloak shot past Jericho’s face, faster than the blur of orange. Jericho watched, frozen with fear as the boy’s hand caught a mass of orange fur, his hand going straight for a tree besides them. In a split second it was over, the boy’s bloody palm planted against the tree, the orange creature behind it struggled for a moment before going limp. The boy removed his hand and wiped it against his cloak in disgust, a headless animal with a body similar to a fox’s slid off, a small trail of blood following, painting itself on the bark.

“Just a horka” he said placidly and continued walking.

Jericho followed in stunned silence. He would be found out sooner or later, to be an imposter or whatever he was. But how could he run? The boy could behead him with a flick of his wrists, or could he? He was his accomplice after all, could the sudden bloodlust that overcame him when he disarmed the thieves help himself against such a formidable threat?

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“Wait here, I will get my gold out,” the boy said without looking back, entering the hut, slamming the door behind him.

He needed to run but his legs seemed to say no. This could possibly be the only chance left before he is revealed for some reason. Could the boy be watching? Jericho eyed the curtained windows in panic, the coast was clear.

Gritting his teeth, he mustered all the strength he could to break off into a run, to escape from-

The wooden door opened and the boy came charging out, something silver glinted beneath the hem of his cloak. Jericho dodged before the blade could slice him, surprised by his reflexes. The boy had drawn a weapon that looked like a katana from his sleeves, his face triumphant.

“Really? You fell for this?” the boy scoffed, “orousasho strikes first, quotes Maestro Graum every single time, you really fell for this?”

The boy laughed shrilly, though Jericho noticed his knuckles were white and they were slightly trembling.

“The great Jericho Warwick, the underground will pay generous amounts for knowledge of your whereabouts,” the boy whispered, his katana pointed at Jericho’s heart, “you are already a dead man, but I will enjoy this,”

“Disarmed and useless,” the boy spat as he circled around Jericho, “not so arrogant are you?”

“We are the first generation of pupils of the Takezo school yet everything is about you,” he snarled, “your clan and kin whom (unrecognisable word) us, when we work tirelessly to even be acknowledged by the Maestro”

“You were a waste of space in the school,” he continued, his hands trembling uncontrollably now, “taught in the ways of the (unrecognisable word) and assasination yet you arm yourself with your staff,”

The boy lunged, his katana swinging in graceful arcs. Jericho barely dodged it this time, his arm drew blood instantly. There was no point in explaining, he also did not know how to.

Fuck.

I am so fucked.

Come. Let me help.

The voice came as fast as it had left, like the moment he had remembered his name. The same feeling overcame him and he felt himself letting go, letting the voice take over, whatever it was…

Jericho’s eyelids drew heavy and snapped shut, he was in the shaft again, chains whirring and clanking but this time he was descending.

Jericho awoke. The boy was in mid swing, his eyes murderous, time slowed to a crawl and he watched, though he was staring through the eyes of his body, it acted on its own accord.

“Good day, Hawks, I can explain,” Jericho spoke but it was not his voice, it was more relaxed and he had a very thick accent. He picked up a twig and to Jericho’s horror sat down.

"But I would not bother," he said again, sounding bored but cold fury behind it sent a chill down Jericho's spine. What the hell was he saying?

“I could kill you with this twig,” Jericho whispered, Hawks was still in mid swing, his eyes turning from rage to terror.

It was over in a second as Jericho watched and felt himself flicking his wrists, the twig connecting with the katana. He had sworn the blade had cut through the stick that was barely the width of his index finger but the katana seemed to have completely missed, curving and deflecting directly onto Hawks’ face. There was a sickening “thud” as Hawks collapsed, kneeling before a towering Jericho. The boy’s face was ruined, the katana had found itself in the left side of his face, blood was literally gushing out.

“What... but I hit…” Hawks’ voice left his throat at this very moment as Jericho yanked the katana from the boy’s face, revealing the horrifying indescribable mess under it. Jericho had no time to look or gag for he found himself swinging the katana, slicing the assassins’ head off, it flew a few metres away, the ghost of a terrified, vulnerable boy still on his ruined face.