Roman gritted his teeth, his body convulsing in agony as the blade twisted deeper into his side. Blood gushed from the wound, soaking the ground beneath him. His vision blurred, and the pain clouded his mind as he tried to summon his power, but it was no use. Whatever weapon had been used against him, it was more than just physical—it was suppressing his very ability to heal, blocking the flow of chi and mana alike.
"Don't move, or I'll make sure your leader here bleeds out before your very eyes," the voice growled, cold and mocking. The man standing over Roman was calm, methodical, and terrifyingly precise in his actions. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Z stepped forward, his fists clenched, but the assassin twisted the blade again, drawing another pained scream from Roman. Z froze in place, his entire body shaking with frustration and helplessness.
“Good,” the attacker sneered, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “I’ve been watching all of you for quite some time now. I have to say, you’re an impressive group, a rare mix of power and potential.” His gaze swept over Jessika, Z, Seth, and Lexi. “But none of that matters now. You see, I’ve studied each of you. I know how you fight, how you think, and how to make you all useless.”
The man yanked the blade free from Roman’s side, and Roman collapsed to the ground, clutching the wound as blood poured out. His vision was darkening, the pain nearly unbearable. He could feel his strength slipping away with every passing second.
Jessika rushed forward, her hand already lighting with fire, but before she could cast a spell, the assassin moved with lightning speed. In an instant, he closed the gap between them and clasped a strange metal collar around her throat. The artifact latched onto her skin, glowing faintly as Jessika gasped, her magic fizzling out completely.
“What the—” Jessika’s eyes widened in horror as she tried to summon her power, but nothing happened. The flames she’d called upon moments before were gone, smothered by the device around her neck.
The assassin smirked. “This little trinket disables any magic user it touches. Thought I’d make sure you wouldn’t be able to burn me alive.”
Jessika struggled to rip the collar off, her hands trembling, but it was useless. Her connection to mana had been severed completely.
Before anyone could react, the assassin moved again, this time targeting Lexi. He was a blur, darting toward her with such speed that she barely had time to raise her bow. But he was already too close. With a swift motion, he knocked the bow from her hands and shoved her to the ground, pinning her down.
“Too slow,” he sneered. “A bow is worthless if you can’t get the distance you need.”
Lexi kicked and struggled, but the assassin’s grip was unyielding. He easily kept her subdued, rendering her unable to use her weapon. Roman, still gasping for air on the ground, tried to push himself up, but his body refused to obey. The wound was too deep, the blood loss too great. He could barely stay conscious, let alone stand.
The assassin finally turned his attention to Z, who stood seething with rage but couldn’t make a move without risking Roman’s life.
“You,” the assassin said, smirking at Z. “The brute with all the strength. Too bad you can’t reach me from over there, can you?”
Z growled low in his throat and charged at him. The assassin stepped back, keeping a careful distance, knowing that Z’s strength was useless unless he could close the gap. He had planned this meticulously, exploiting each of their weaknesses. He threw three small blades, targeting the gaps in Z’s armor, Two struck home and Z dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes and slid to a stop. He lay there groaning in pain, unable to get up as those blades were coated in some type of toxin, he assumed. It was the only thing that made sense.
Satisfied with how easily he had neutralized them, the assassin returned his attention to Roman, who was still struggling to breathe. He crouched beside Roman, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “You, Roman, are the most interesting of all. So much power... but you’re still just a boy playing with forces you don’t understand.”
Roman tried to speak, but only a weak gurgle came out. His chest heaved as he fought against the darkness closing in around him.
The assassin raised his blade again, this time aiming for Roman’s throat. “I could end this now,” he mused. “But where’s the fun in that?”
Before Roman could even register the next movement, the assassin drove his foot into Roman’s side, right where the wound was deepest. Roman’s body jerked violently, a hoarse scream tearing from his throat as another wave of agony shot through him. He could feel his consciousness slipping away, his vision dimming.
The assassin rose and turned his attention back to the group, walking toward the soldiers who had been standing guard, their faces pale with shock and fear. “Now,” he said with an eerie calmness, “let’s make sure no one interferes.”
In a blur of movement, the assassin unleashed a devastating barrage of attacks on the remaining soldiers. His blade cut through them like they were nothing, and within moments, the camp was littered with bodies. Sergeant Smithson tried to rally his men, but the assassin was too fast, too lethal. He was a whirlwind of destruction, tearing through the ranks like a force of nature.
Roman’s friends could only watch in horror, helpless to stop the carnage. Z struggled to contain his fury, but he couldn’t move without risking Roman’s life. Jessika clawed at the collar around her neck, tears of frustration welling in her eyes as she failed to summon even a flicker of magic. Lexi, still pinned beneath the assassin’s foot, could only watch as more and more soldiers fell to the ground.
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The assassin finally turned back to Roman, who lay barely conscious on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. He crouched down once more, grabbing Roman’s hair and lifting his head just enough to make him look at the destruction around him.
“See that?” the assassin whispered. “This is what happens when you think you’re invincible.”
Roman’s vision blurred, the world fading in and out as he struggled to stay awake. He used the last of his strength to spit at the assassin. “You think you’re so tough, you attacked a camp full of nobody but exhausted and wounded soldiers. Why didn’t you attack when the Hydra Knights and the rest of the soldiers were still here? You Coward.”
“I’m not here to prove anything to anyone.” He grinned evilly.
The pain was overwhelming, his body screaming for rest, for an end to the torment. He could barely hear the assassin’s words, but they cut through the fog in his mind like a knife.
“I’ve been sent to break you, Roman,” the assassin continued, his voice dripping with malice. “And when I’m done, you’ll wish you had never set foot in this world.”
The last thing Roman saw before darkness claimed him was the assassin’s cold, cruel smile.
Capital
The King’s face twisted with fury as he listened to Sergeant Smithson’s report. His hand gripped the arm of his throne so tightly that the wood creaked under the pressure. The room, once buzzing with the sounds of strategy and discussions about the war, fell into an eerie silence as every eye turned toward the King, waiting for his response.
“An assassin?” the King growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Who dares to lay a hand on my son? Who dares to attack my kingdom's finest without consequence?”
Smithson, still kneeling, shook his head weakly. “Sire, I don't know. He wore no insignia, no markings. He was fast, and precise, and… he knew us. He had been watching us for a long time, anticipating our every move. There was nothing we could do.”
The King stood, his dark robes billowing out behind him as his fury radiated through the room. “I will not stand for this. My son… Seth… He will not be left to the mercy of some shadow in the night.”
The generals around the room exchanged nervous glances. One of them, General Torken, stepped forward cautiously. “Your Majesty, if this assassin is as skilled and prepared as Smithson says, we must be careful. We don’t know who sent him or what his goal was beyond incapacitating Seth’s group. It could be a prelude to a larger attack.”
Before the King could respond, the massive doors to the throne room burst open, and a group of royal guards rushed in. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide with fear.
“Your Majesty!” one of the guards shouted, “The palace is under attack! We’re surrounded by a small army!”
The King’s eyes widened with shock, but before he could react, the air in the throne room grew cold. A chill swept through the chamber, unnatural and unsettling, and the flickering flames of the nearby torches dimmed. The shadows around the room seemed to grow darker as if they were stretching and shifting.
Suddenly, the throne room erupted into chaos.
Black-clad figures materialized from the shadows, their movements swift and deadly. There were at least half a dozen of them, each moving with an assassin’s grace, blades gleaming in the dim light. The guards barely had time to react before the first assassin was upon them.
The clash of steel rang out through the hall as the royal guards fought back. The King, his face a mask of rage, reached for the sword at his side. The leader of the King’s Guard stepped in front of the King. “Protect the throne!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the stone walls.
Sergeant Smithson, despite his injuries, struggled to his feet, drawing his own sword. His body was weakened, but he would fight to the last breath if it meant protecting the King. “Your Majesty, stay back! We’ll handle them!”
But the assassins were relentless. They moved like shadows, darting between the guards with terrifying precision. One of the assassins lunged at the King, his blade aimed for the monarch’s heart. But just as the blade descended, a flash of steel intercepted the strike—General Torken, his own sword drawn, parried the blow.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Torken growled, forcing the assassin back.
The King’s eyes flickered with fury as he unsheathed his sword. “You dare attack me in my own throne room? You will pay for this.”
He swung his sword with deadly accuracy, but the assassins were quick, slipping in and out of the shadows like wraiths. One assassin managed to get behind a guard and slit his throat before vanishing again into the dark corners of the room. Another guard was thrown across the hall, his armor clattering as he crashed into the stone wall.
Smithson gritted his teeth, his grip on his sword weakening, but he refused to back down. His vision blurred, the blood loss from his earlier wounds taking its toll. He swung at one of the attackers, but his blade met only air.
The assassins were playing with them, toying with the guards as if this were a game.
But then, amidst the chaos, one assassin made a fatal error. He lunged too quickly, aiming for the King’s unprotected side, but the King, moving with a warrior’s instinct, spun and struck. His sword cut through the assassin’s midsection, sending him crumpling to the ground in a pool of blood.
The other assassins hesitated for a brief moment, but that was all the guards needed. Torken and the remaining soldiers pressed the advantage, forcing the attackers back.
Suddenly, the lead assassin stepped forward, his eyes cold and calculating beneath his mask. He raised a hand, and the other assassins immediately stopped, retreating into the shadows.
“You’ve proven to be a formidable opponent, Your Majesty,” the assassin said, his voice smooth and unnervingly calm. “But this is not the end. My mission is not yet complete.”
The King glared at him, sword raised. “Who sent you?”
The assassin tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “All in good time, King Juelius.”
With a swift motion, the assassin dropped a small, glass vial onto the ground. It shattered upon impact, and a thick, black smoke filled the room. The guards coughed and stumbled back, momentarily blinded by the sudden cloud.
When the smoke cleared, the King and the assassins were gone.
The throne room was left in disarray, the bodies of the fallen guards strewn across the floor. The King’s Guard stood at the center, swords still gripped tightly in their hands, eyes scanning the room for any sign of the attackers.
But they had vanished.
General Torken rushed to the Throne. “Where is his Majesty?” He called out.
“They took him.” Smithson answered weakly. Nobody knew what to do, everything just froze for a second until the General moved.
“Ok men, The King has been kidnapped! Alert the guard, gather all available units, send out a general call to any able-bodied men who is ready to fight. Send it out to the Adventurer’s Guild as well, post it there and you bet every last one of those money-hungry mercenaries will be out searching.” The General said.
“I don’t think we should pull any other soldiers here. Remember we’re getting attacked from two fronts right now, we can’t afford to pull men from either.” Smithson argued.
“Sergeant, I understand all you have done for us in your service but shut your mouth. You are out of your pay grade now.” The General spat and stomped off. Everybody in the room bursting into motion.
As everyone hurried to carry out his orders, the General stood in the wreckage of the throne room, his mind racing. This wasn’t just a random attack. Someone had orchestrated this carefully, knowing exactly how to strike at the heart of the kingdom.
Whoever this enemy was, they had just made a deadly mistake.