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Even now

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The Waif (Nun) pov :

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As the shadows yielded to the flames, courtesy of No One's strategic torch lighting, (since it became evident that the advantage we sought in the darkness wasn't to be). Nonetheless, my focus remained unbroken.

The poison-infused air hung heavy in the hall, and as I stood before the poisoned fountain, my eyes remained fixed on the fallen body of the Pyromancer. The silence, once shattered by the clash of deadly dance, now lingered unbroken, as if the very hall held its breath in anticipation.

There he lay, the man who defied the odds, whose flames seemed to defy death itself. His body, battered and broken...

'Just as it should be...'

My gaze lingered on his form, almost expecting him to rise once more, as he had defied death many times before...

The faces on the walls, hollow and silent witnesses to the unfolding drama, seemed to look upon the fallen man with disdain. The air pulsed with a strange energy, as if the very hall rejected the man who dared to challenge it.

Despite the undeniable stillness in the man's unmoving chest, I couldn't shake the disbelief that clung to me. This Warlock, the one who conjured flames that danced with the ferocity of a tempest. The notion that he had finally succumbed to the call of mortality seemed surreal, and I stood there, waiting for the impossible – for the Pyromancer to rise once more...

A soft tap echoed through the hall as I gently tapped my heel against the cold stone floor, a signal resonating with silent intent. In the very next moment, I sensed the presence of the last remaining assassin behind me, his silhouette emerging from the dim light of the hall. Without a word spoken, I extended my hand, passing him the dragonglass dagger that had seen the dance of death.

In exchange, a simple steel dagger found its place in my grip, a reasonable choice for the task at hand. The hall held its breath, and with deliberate slowness, I began to walk towards the fallen body of our enemy.

With a deliberate focus, I pushed away the surge of anger that swelled within me, refusing to succumb to irrational emotions. The fallen bodies of my comrades lingered in my peripheral vision, but my gaze remained fixed on the unmoving warlock.

Step by measured step, I approached him, the echoes of my footsteps reverberating through the hall. In a slow, graceful motion, I hurled a simple steel dagger towards the fallen man's head. The blade cut through the oppressive darkness, a calculated strike that held no room for impulsiveness. As the dagger sailed through the air, I held my breath, ready to evade any retaliation, my senses heightened for the flicker of life in the seemingly lifeless body...

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Alas, there was no need to be cautious...

The dagger embedded itself deep into the man's skull.

A palpable silence filled the hall as the truth unfolded – he was undeniably dead.

I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, relief washing over me. The reason for my survival until now was starkly evident – the dragonglass daggers... Without them, I would have met the same fate as my fallen comrades, broken and lifeless on the cold stone floor. The unique blades had served as both offense and defense, capable of cutting through the man's flames and shielding me from their deadly dance. And now...I didn't have them anymore. One of them was still near the dead body of the intruder, and the other was given to the assassin who still had his battle prowess intact.

They, the daggers, were a relic from a long distant past and one of the very few artefacts present in the House of Black and White.

'And they served their purpose beautifully' I thought as I signaled to the remaining assassin that the fight was indeed over. Then, I finally allowed myself to kneel in prayer on the cold stone floor.

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"My Lord, in this sacred realm of shadows and whispers, I offer profound gratitude for the strength and resilience with which you have blessed us. I beseech you to cradle the departed souls of my fallen comrades in your eternal embrace, granting them tranquil rest..."

As I knelt, my eyes lingered on the lifeless form of the mysterious pyromancer. Questions echoed through my mind, seeking understanding in the aftermath of this chaotic encounter. Why had he chosen to assail our temple? What drove him to face death so willingly?

Puzzlement deepened as I contemplated his resilience against the manticore poison that coursed through his veins. Why did he not succumb from the very first scratch of our daggers? His unwavering confidence and immunity to pain were anomalies that defied explanation.

In these traits, he stood apart even from the Faceless Ones, who devoted their lives to becoming No One, shedding unnecessary emotions to embrace the teachings of the God of Death. The enigma of this intruder's motives lingered, a puzzle demanding unraveling.

'And we will find our answers...and should he have allies, they will be broken all the same...'

And so I continued praying for a while, almost feeling the gentle touch of my Lord as I keenly felt the warm blood still coursing through my veins.

''Not today...'' I ended my prayer and finally pushed myself to stand tall, ignoring the horrible pain coming from my hands.

Rising from my kneeling position, I turned my gaze toward the remaining assassin, acknowledging his silent presence in the dimly lit hall. His eyes were reddened and blood was slowly dripping from his mouth.

'Ah, the poison in the air...I keep forgetting not all of us are as resilient against it as I am...'

My voice, devoid of emotion, cut through the silence. "You have fought well, my fellow servant. Now I ask you to go and receive the others as they arrive. Allow me to do the necessary preparations for the departure ritual."

And I extended my hands, showing him my blackened knuckles, the gruesome aftermath of the pyromancer's assault. The whites of my bones peeked through the charred flesh, still oozing remnants of the searing heat. The visceral display conveyed a message clear as daylight — should more intruders come, I would be ill-suited to wield the dragonglass daggers in the near future.

No One nodded in acknowledgment and took his leave, leaving me alone in the hall of faces with the solemn task of preparing the three bodies...

With a casual stride, I picked up one of the scattered daggers strewn across the hall, remnants of the relentless attacks that had drained the intruder's stamina. It wouldn't have surprised me if there were no more daggers left in the small armory of the temple.

I approached the first No One, the one who failed to impede the pyromancer's advance. His lifeless body and severed head lay in the shadow of a stone spire, frozen in an eternal expression of disbelief. The dim light cast eerie shadows across his features as I began the solemn task of preparing his remains for the departure ritual.

With each deliberate movement, I peeled away the mask of mortality that clung to him. The dagger's blade moved with a sacred precision, revealing the visage beneath – a face worn not only in life but now immortalized in death. In this act of solemn duty, I entrusted his essence to the Many-Faced God, the echoes of my prayers lingering in the hall of faces.

Beneath the dagger's touch, the face portrayed a handsome young man, seemingly in his early twenties. Yet, I knew that this particular No One was far older than that.

With a respectful tenderness, I carefully detached the face and added it to the silent assembly along the countless others in the hall. Each countenance, a mosaic of stories, stitched together bearing witness to the passage of countless lives now merged into an eternal tapestry...

As I stand amidst the faces, the hall never fails to evoke a sense of awe within me, a profound reverence that lingers, undiluted by the countless times I've witnessed it beforehand...

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With a solemn pace, I approached the second fallen assassin, the one who was too hasty with his strike from above, my brow furrowing as I surveyed what remained of his head. A soft sigh escaped me as I concluded that the face was entirely unsalvageable.

Reluctantly, I cast my gaze toward the last remaining body in the hall—the fallen pyromancer...

Slowly, I walked towards him, unable to shake off the uncanny feeling that his body, despite the knife buried in his skull and the pool of blood around him, might spring back to life.

"But that's beyond impossible..." I muttered softly as I knelt besides the body and retrieved the dagger from it's head. Gently, I took hold of his shoulder, turning him to face the ceiling, preparing to take his face away. With my knife poised, I approached the skin but as I got closer...I hesitated...

His plain face was neither handsome nor ugly but it sent chills down my spine...Why?... Because even in death, he still wore a chilling smile, as if he held the punchline to a joke only he knew...

'It doesn't matter anymore...' I thought, trying to calm myself.

Inhaling deeply, I let the breath expel the lingering tension from my body. With a deliberate exhale, I cast aside any superfluous thoughts, focusing solely on the task at hand. I let my teachings guide me as I started cutting methodically.

But as I separated the man's face from his skull, my mind lingered on the intricate dance of blades and fire that had unfolded in the hall...

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The preparations were a blur, since the man who emerged out of nowhere, callously breaking down the door as if the sanctity of our temple meant nothing. I vaguely recalled hearing a knock on the door before its violent demise, but I dismissed it, thinking it was another soul seeking the gift of the Many-Faced God. The rules demanded those who arrived at our door to wait at least for a few hours, testing their conviction, and weeding out those with feeble desires for death.

Startled by the violent splintering of the door, my instinct to confront the intruder alone clashed with a more prudent caution that urged me to retreat deeper into the temple. Abandoning the immediate confrontation, I swiftly sent messengers—swift-winged birds—to summon all nearby assassins, all the Faceless, back to the temple with utmost urgency. The threat demanded a united response.

Amidst the chaos, as the intruder relentlessly advanced deeper into the temple, shattering everything in his path, I swiftly gathered the three assassins who managed to arrive in time. With urgency in my voice, I explained the situation, igniting a shared flame of rage within each of us. The violation of our sacred space demanded punishment.

Recognizing that he was headed towards the Hall of Faces, I acted to thwart his advance. Drawing on the temple's defenses, I initiated a mechanism that released a unique and potent poison into the Hall. The breathable poison, distilled from rare herbs and venoms, cascaded through the air, forming an imperceptible barrier for anyone without the proper immunity.

Our years of training, part of the never-ending regimen of the Faceless Ones, included periodic injections to build a resistance to this very poison. As the deadly mist swirled within the Hall, we, the No Ones, stood immune or, at the very least, resistant, ready to face the intruder who dared to desecrate our sacred space.

Donning the guise of a nun, I adorned an exquisite face, one that radiated beauty and serenity. In the dim-lit hall, I positioned myself by the poisonous fountain, adopting the appearance of one immersed in prayer. And as the intruder finally entered the sacred space, the other assassins skillfully concealed themselves within the shadows, poised for action.

That fool...perhaps inebriated by his own overconfidence, chose to await what he believed to be the completion of my prayer, heh.

Little did he know, he was walking willingly into the trap set by the Faceless Ones.

'The very last trap he ever encountered' I felt a small smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth, but my next thought made it dissipate instantly.

'But why.....why didn't his flames burn the surroundings?' I asked myself the question I had been unconsciously avoiding.

'I don't believe that he could not...his flames were hot enough to melt through steel...'

I cast a glance towards my ruined hands as I continued to ponder.

'He was also immune to flames, since he wielded his whip with no discomfort...so setting the whole hall on fire would have only been beneficial to him...'

"So why didn't you do it?" I asked the dead man as I continued to remove his face.

Thankfully...he didn't answer, but I still couldn't get rid of the pit in my stomach...the feeling that I was missing something...

...something crucial...

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Rising from my kneeling posture after a while, the Warlock's face firmly grasped in my hand, I approached one of the vacant spots on the spires. Placing the face alongside others, I cast a final glance at it, deeply wishing to just burn it instead of allowing it to remain in the hall...

And I knew the reason I found it so unsettling...

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The faintest echo of a smile still lingering on its lifeless features, 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗻𝗼𝘄.