Kael

The blade slid into the man’s throat, quick and silent.

Kael watched, calm and steady, as his victim’s eyes widened in horror. The man’s hands shot up, clawing at his neck, but it was already too late. Blood spilled from the wound, thick and dark, bubbling up and staining his fingers. He gurgled, sinking to his knees, still holding Kael’s gaze as the light faded from his eyes.

It was a look Kael had seen a hundred times. Fear, realization, desperation. The assassin twisted the blade once, feeling the slight shudder as the body began to go limp, then pulled the knife free and wiped it clean on the man’s shirt. He stood, straightening up, and slipped the blade back into its sheath with practiced ease. Another job done.

Kael’s face, half-hidden in the shadows of the alley, remained cold and unreadable. He was tall and lean, his muscles honed by years of work that demanded agility and strength. His dark hair fell loosely around his face, blending into the hood that shadowed his piercing blue eyes—a striking contrast to the grimy darkness around him. A small scar ran along his jawline, a remnant of a job gone wrong long ago. In the dim alleyway, with blood still drying on his hands, he looked every bit the weapon he’d trained himself to be.

They called him Kael—a ghost, a weapon, a one-man army. The type you hired when you wanted something done quietly and efficiently. He was known for getting his hands dirty and never flinching, no matter how messy things got.

Kael glanced down at the dead man slumped against the alley wall. He hadn’t even known the bastard’s name—only that he was some mid-level thug who’d pissed off the wrong people. It didn’t matter. The guy had one purpose tonight: to die by Kael’s hand. That was all he needed to know.

As he walked away, he mentally recited the rules he lived by, the ones he never broke. No women, no children. There was already enough blood on his hands; he wasn’t about to add innocents to the tally. He killed people who deserved it—or at least, people who’d signed their own death warrants in one way or another. But beyond that? He didn’t give a damn who ended up on the wrong side of his blade.

Kael moved through the dark streets with practiced ease, his boots silent on the cobblestones. This was his world—the alleys, the flickering shadows, the whispers of deals made in the dark. He blended into it, an unremarkable figure who might’ve been anyone on the surface, yet beneath that calm exterior lay a lethal readiness. In a way, he was as much a part of this city as the crime that festered within it.

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His destination tonight was a small, dimly lit bar at the edge of town, a place known for its silence and discretion. As he stepped inside, the bartender gave him a nod, sliding a drink across the counter without a word. Kael took it, leaning against the bar as he surveyed the room.

In the corner sat a man who’d been expecting him. He was well-dressed, probably in his fifties, with graying hair and a calculating gaze that matched the cut of his suit. This was one of the middlemen for a local crime boss, a man who made a living organizing hits and handling the mafia’s dirty business. Kael barely glanced at him as he approached.

“Job’s done,” Kael said quietly, his voice cold and flat. “He won’t be talking.”

The man’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he took a sip of his drink. “Good. My employer will be pleased. Means your payment will be waiting in the usual spot. I have to say, you’ve proven… very reliable, Kael.”

Kael’s mouth tightened, but he kept his face blank. “Just doing what I was paid for.”

“Oh, we both know there’s more to it than that.” The man leaned forward, a smug look crossing his face. “Of course, you don’t have much choice, do you? That little debt of yours…”

Kael’s jaw clenched, a flicker of anger crossing his face. He held the man’s gaze, his blue eyes cold and unyielding. “Don’t push it. You got what you wanted.”

The man chuckled, swirling his drink. “Always so tense, Kael. Really, with the money we’re paying you, you should be grateful. Who knows? Maybe when you’ve finally paid off that debt, you’ll even find this line of work… enjoyable.”

“Not a fucking chance,” Kael growled.

The man raised his glass in a mocking salute, clearly amused. “Suit yourself. We’ll be in touch when we need your services again. Until then, try not to get into too much trouble.” He waved him off, already looking away, dismissing Kael like he was nothing more than a hired gun.

Kael left the bar without another word, the man’s smug grin still lingering in his mind. He wanted to feel nothing. Nothing but the weight of his knife at his side, the steady rhythm of his steps on the cobblestones. But it wasn’t that easy. He could still hear the man’s words, the reminder of his debt, the reason he did what he did.

He was a killer, yes. But he’d been forged into one. Shaped by desperation, honed by survival, and bound by a past he’d never escape. But one day—one day, he’d claw his way out of this life. He’d finally bury the ghosts and the guilt and be done with it all.

Until then, he’d keep walking, keep killing, keep surviving.

Because in his world, there was no other way.