Red Raven.

                Hair as black as midnight. Eyes the color of the night sky. Armor the color of red and black. Skin the color of bone. His head was full of many things-the next target, the next payment, the next person to slide the dagger into. His mouth only remembers the taste of dirt, blood, and the finer things in life. Tonight the moon is hanging over him as he knelt down over the roof of the house. His fingers curled around the dagger, poised and ready to slip inside the body of his target so he can watch them die. That would be his legacy-to become the greatest assassin that Khatanga has ever known.

                He waited till all the lights were off in the neighborhood, waited for the laughter to die down and for the people to go to sleep. His fingers curled up on the side of the roof, mentally screaming at the rich people to go to sleep. He knew his target wasn’t asleep-he could see the outline of his shadow, walking back and forth. Every once in a while he’d see the window open, and the fat old man peering out of the window, to catch him slipping in.

                That brought a small, slight grin on his face as he watched the window close.

                Standing up, his long, loose raven black hair tangled in the wind, he stepped off the roof and landed catlike on the ground, not even making a sound. The Red Raven walked towards the manor, cloaking himself in the inky shadows as he found the servants’ door completely unlocked and walked in.

                He slipped passed the many guards that were positioned on the edges of the house and on the exits that his target thought he would walk into. They were a bunch of ruffians, each a different race and size, from a nimble halfling to the tallest elf. Opening his hand slightly, he willed his psychic powers to form a simple blade, a dagger in this case, and waited for the right moment to cut them as fast as he could.

                It only took one step for him to get across one point to the room to another, with only four guards looking around for him, but with quick precision and their bodies falling on the ground, he was already running upstairs to his target’s room.

                Hisakite reached the last step and stopped. He wanted to slowly torture the man before he killed him, then going back to the guild and getting his prize. In fact, he wanted to see the man’s face when he walked in, psychic blade in his hand, preparing to rip his soul from his body. So he walked towards the old man’s room, waiting for that right moment for the man to realize that he was here, and that he wasn’t going to last long. Hisakite wanted to look into his eyes as he saw the fear in his eyes, and watch him shake and scurry away from him. That brought a smile to his lips as he reached for the doorknob and opened it.

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                “Lord Wolfe-“ he started to announce, but the rest of his name died on his lips when he saw the old man scrambling back-not from him, but from a skinny boy with scales of a snake gleaming on his neck.

                “Whatssssss wrong, Lord Wolfe?” the boy said, each step coming closer to the scared man, who was twitching and looking around, trying to find something to hit the boy with. Hisakite looked at the boy, who had a calm look on his face, but a twisted smile on his face, as he slammed his foot on Lord Wolfe’s foot-and his could’ve sworn that he just broke the man’s foot. “Sssscared of little ol’ me? The greatesssst thief to ever live?”

                “Y-You’re no thief!” Lord Wolfe snapped at him. “You’re a killer! Just like him!” he turned and pointed a finger at Hisakite, who was still standing there, stunned at what he was seeing.

                A boy with silver hair and purple eyes who hissed like a snake, looking down at Lord Wolfe so damned calmly, that something went through the man known as the Red Raven, but he couldn’t place it. It skittered down his back and made ice go down his spine. What the hell was it?

                He watched as those purple eyes slide over to him, and he could see that the boy was so young, like around eighteen, with that snake skin glinting off his neck. The purple eyes looked at him up and down, and then it met his eyes, ignoring Lord Wolfe completely. “You’re here to kill him, yessss?” he asked, his hiss slow and elaborated as he motioned over to the lord.

                He nodded, the only thing he could do.

                The boy with the purple eyes nodded. “Then let’sssss make a deal,” he moved his gaze back to the scared man. “You kill him…and I take what he sssstole from me.”

                “And what,” Hisakite asked slowly, “Did he steal from you?”

                The question made him pause for a moment as he turned back to him, that cool, lethal calm never shifting on the boy’s face. “The one thing I can’t replaceeeee,” he hissed, turning back to the lord, turning his head to the side.

                “My…ssssssoul.”