“Protect the Royals,” was her order. “Protect them by any means necessary or only the spirits can save your city, Hideo Horio.” She had not ordered. She had pleaded. The Empress never pleaded, never showed fear. Hideo never thought her capable of it.
The clandestine pact between King Sigismund Greenfire and the Night Fangs supposedly went back decades when the New Jade King had sent a small army of his soldiers to aid in the defence of the Monsoon Mountain when the Stone Ronin launched a siege. The Empress never told him how King Sigismund knew of the Night Fang’s existence, let alone how he was acquainted with her to begin with, but when a raven had arrived from the far south of Pangea from a fraternity spy, her skin turned paler than it had ever appeared. She had allowed Hideo to keep the letter during his return to New Jade as a reminder of the severity of the situation. Hideo rolled the crumpled paper in his hand before reading it again. It was hastily written. He had not known the fellow fang, but he still mourned him like a brother.
Your Sapphire Highness,
Position within the Inferno is compromised. I will most likely be dead when you read this. Inferno is sending assassins to New Jade to do away with King Sigismund and his kin. Do not know how many nor strategy. They ride north from Magma Canyon at first light.
Under moonlight, we end.
New Jade City was Hideo’s home, and the death of the city’s entire sovereign could end in riots, and martial law, followed by civil war and chaos throughout the streets. He could not let that happen, not to the baker that gave him and Hiroko free bread when they were out on the streets decades ago. Not to the old woman who ran the orphanage a street away (even if she had previously shunned him and Hiroko when they were looking for a roof over their own heads just for being Arkovian). Not to the family that lived in the apartment above him in the present, whom he could hear yelling and screaming at each other throughout the night, followed by a constant rocking sound after they had made up.
The moon was already rising above the city by the time he had returned to his apartment. “Apartment” is what the landlord had called it, but his living quarters mainly consisted of; a bed, a chair, a small desk, and a privy in the corner. There was a large stained-glass window that the heavy rain splattered against outside which always sounded like a swarm of locusts were trying to break through. Next to the window was the evidence board he had hand-crafted against the wall, pinning sketches of the people he was sworn to protect with letter openers. Hideo studied it astutely. His scarred hands made his handwriting shaky and squiggly. They served him well in combat, but not in artistic merit.
King Sigismund Greenfire was at the top. An already known target, a stupidly obvious one in fact. Next to the king was a crude drawing under the king of a long, golden-haired girl of fourteen. Rosamund Greenfire, the king’s daughter. The best conclusion Hideo could conclude with her was that she was reclusive. She did not talk to many people other than her father, Anastasia Aubrey and that gallant knight, Sir Dorian Ambrose. He had overheard whispers around the palace of her strange behaviour, and she rarely left the Jade Palace. Good. She’ll be safer there.
She was not supposed to be in the Duke’s chambers that night. Her presence took both him and her attempted killer unawares. After some innocent inquiry at the palace, he had learned that she went with Anastasia who was looking after the Duke during his illness. The Arch-Alchemist was to additionally teach the Princess banal lessons about how Duke’s reign over their duchy. Perhaps the Inferno assassin was the second-worst thing she had to endure that day.
Rosamund Greenfire would be next in line for the throne. Her mother had died from birthing her long ago. If the Inferno Clan’s aim truly were to end the Greenfire bloodline it would mean the daughter’s death too. There was a time when Hideo would have once found it hard to believe that anyone would be cruel enough to murder a young girl but his time as a Night Fang in Arkovia had long ago confirmed to him that cruel men were capable of anything.
Below Sigismund’s sketch was Duke Hugo and Duchess Ada Barlet. Last night’s events made it perfectly clear that Hugo was a target and if Hugo is one, Ada was most surely one too. Perhaps it really was all the Royalists like the Empress had feared.
Then there was the sketch of a smug-looking, long-hair noble with a small white ruff around his neck. Viscount Reynard Woodard clearly had a stick secreted somewhere private as every attempt at conversation Hideo had made with the council member was met with a scoff and a glare. Lord Julian Reeve seemed somewhat more welcoming and amiable. He jested with everyone at court and flirted casually with maids, ladies, and commoners alike. Hideo was taken aback by Countess Elizabeth Woodards’ beauty but then he remembered that it was her suggestion to increase the price of medicine in the poorer boroughs of the city. In the Jade Herald, she had been quoted saying, “If the people of the Shards and Drakelyn really need medicinal help then they’re not working hard enough to afford it.” Regardless of what Hideo felt of her politics, she did not deserve to fall victim to the Inferno’s bladed kiss.
He sat cross-legged on the floor and stared at his mask. The sapphire side glowed in the dark. He donned his mask and his breastplate. The silver emblem of a snarling horned tiger felt cold yet the scars around his fingertips burned. He studied his hands for a moment. Deep maroon patterns that sprawled from his wrist and curved and flickered around his fingertips. The more Hideo looked at them, the more they stung. He covered his hands with soot black leather fingerless gloves and donned sapphire gauntlets that shimmered in the moonlight.
Lastly, he equipped his curved dagger with sapphire markings attached to his zaffre belt. He did not want to use it. The night’s best-case scenario would mean that he would. This was the second time he would be going out into the city he once called home as a Night Fang. He opened the window and climbed out into the moonlit night sky.
The rain had cleared just as he climbed up the building, moving from crevasse to arch with the speed and smoothness of a spider. He could finally be free of the cocoon he was trapped in as Hideo Horio. Hideo could not climb up the towering buildings and jump from rooftop to rooftop as if it were a dance, but a Night Fang could. He jumped from the side of his apartment and landed on the roof of a string of smaller terraced houses that noblemen and noblewomen lived in with warm fires and fresh food. Those who lived in the apartments did not have such a luxury. The roofs of these houses were pointed so Hideo had to grab into the crevasses and gaps between the tiles and climb up not unlike the Monsoon Mountain he had climbed years ago. Once he reached the peak, he slid down the other side and jumped onto the next building, swiftly climbing up the statue of an armoured knight.
When he reached the top of the architecture, Hideo got a good look at the city. He walked to the very edge of the building and saw the Shards borough in view. Orange glows from the torches and fires in the distance made the troubled borough appear almost beautiful, but Hideo knew the darkness that lay within. The man in the demon mask was out there somewhere.
Hideo’s first attempt to protect a royal was messy at best but his fight with the Inferno assassin ended with Hideo managing to not only unmask the fiend but leave a nice visual mark on his face to make him more distinguishable in their next encounter. After escaping the Duke’s garden, the Night Fang had found a blood trail of the would-be royal killer’s wounds. He had managed to track the assailant, finding him walking down the city streets of the Shards, three boroughs from the Duke’s Manor in Stone Sparkles. The burnt assassin had paced past countless closed taverns, cradling his arm in the shadows. The Night Fang had decided it would be smarter to follow him in the hopes that he would return to the rest of his clan. It was a long follow before the assassin knocked on the door of a familiar building. A building Hideo had previously feared before he left the city. Now he would look at the Gargoyle’s tower with suppressed rage.
It was the tallest tower in the Shards and maybe even the whole city, with near a dozen thugs guarding it from the inside and outside. He wanted to forget about the assassin, throw him aside, kick down the front door and storm the tower, grab the Gargoyle by his collar and dangle him over his safe little fortress. He never had such power before he left the city, the power to fight back, and even kill if he would so choose. If only I had it sooner, he thought with remorse. Light broke out between the clouds and dawn was approaching. Hideo decided this was a decision for the next night.
He had reflected the next day that attempting to storm the Gargoyle’s tower would have been foolish and impulsive. The burnt man might have not led him to the rest of his clan but at least the Night Fang knew how to find him, by asking his crooked friends in less guarded locations. This was his second night out. It was better to start small. Hideo’s memory of the city’s many pathways and hidden routes throughout the borough were rusty as he had been gone for so long and before he left, he had never travelled the city via the rooftops.
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Tonight, however, the Night Fang found himself once again watching the Gargoyle’s tower from above. The more hate that began to burn, the more Hideo could feel his fingertips beginning to spark. Instead, the Night Fang made his way to a tavern where some of the Gargoyle’s men were running. He had been watching it since he returned to New Jade. A scumbag henchman called Wes was using the tavern as a front for selling narcotics and faulted elixirs on the black market. Desperate people would buy these “potions” only to find themselves suffering a far worse fate of addiction and in some cases, death. Others would merely purchase nightbliss or stardust, most likely for a long overdue night out on the town. Then there were customers who visited Wes for harsher substances. Mainly momentum. Some appeared excited for the first-time experience, others appeared as frequent users, twitchy and emaciated shadows of better days long forgotten. Wes served each customer with a crooked smile all the same. Hideo could just as easily get the information on the assassin from some of the crime lord’s lackeys and Wes answered straight to the Gargoyle himself.
The Green Goat was a tavern in one of the back gutters of the Shards. A damp and rat ridden alleyway where every other person that lurked there was up to no good. The Night Fang hanged off the top of a towering chapel opposite observing from high up in the night. He marked five men carrying batons and knives guarding the ins and outs of the tavern. An illustrated sign of a skeletal goat atop a verdant hill hanged over the patrollers and creaked as the nightly chill blew by.
He saw Wes emerge from the tavern, donning a purple hood to attempt to hide his crooked nose and warty face. The Night Fang watched on as he saw the Gargoyle’s lackey selling one of his tainted elixirs to a frail woman who looked to be heavy with child. Behind his mask, Hideo ground his teeth and waited for the woman to leave. When no other customers seemed to be around the tavern to get in the way of his infiltration, the Night Fang climbed down the chapel with the moon watching over him.
He avoided the light of the lanterns hung outside the tavern’s entrances and climbed up a beam where the lighting was at its dimmest. When he reached the upper balcony, he snuck in an open window. Finding himself atop the second floor of the tavern. Hideo found no men upstairs but got a good view of Wes and his four goons gathering around a crooked table in the middle of the bar.
“How long have we got to wait for him?” protested one of the underlings.
“How should I bloody know?” Wes spat as he playfully kept stabbing the wooden table with an iron dagger. “Thorne told us to wait for him so that’s what we’re doing. Just shut ya’ trap and be patient.”
“I don’t like the Arkovian,” said another goon with a bushy monobrow and mustard-stained jerkin. “Why is the boss even helping him? Thorne has spent so long in the tower I wonder if he is still even alive in there.”
“You shut ya’ trap,” Wes snarled. “I’m sure he has good enough reason, perhaps the Arkovians are paying him a pretty penny.”
The Night Fang did not waste any more time. He jumped from above and landed in the middle of table. The goons looked up in unison, jaws hanging open, unable to process the half-sapphire, half-shadowed wraith that stood above them. He kicked a thug with red and white face paint and a jester’s hat in the jaw and the thug fell off his stool with a grunt. The Night Fang jumped backwards off the table, launching both of his sapphire boots into Wes’ chest. The purple hooded goon slammed his head back into the wooden floorboards. Then the Fang spun and kicked the table, launching it at two of the henchmen who were just getting to their feet. The table smashed around them, and they both wailed. The manoeuvre bought him some time.
As the Night Fang stood, another thug, a big man with greasy hair and rotted teeth charged towards him from behind with an axe. The Ninja spun and grabbed the handle. He twisted the thug’s wrist until he screeched and snatched the weapon away. Now disarmed, the Night Fang struck upwards with the side of his hand, clashing it into the thug’s pointed chin. This sent the man back a few steps, but he then tried to grapple his hands around the Ninja’s neck. The Night Fang parried it with his gauntleted forearm and delivered a knifehand strike into the thug’s neck. The grease-headed man went staggering back, at which point the Night Fang ran and kicked him in the kneecap. The thug collapsed, slamming his head against the bar table on the way down.
The man with the monobrow had a kitchen knife and a scabby bald head. He swung the blade, and the Night Fang dodged every slash deftly. He grabbed monobrow’s wrist, holding the knife and twisted it. The thug screamed and dropped to his knees and the Night Fang kicked him in the forehead. The man slumped, out of the game.
The Night Fang then turned his attention to the last thug in a tattered jerkin who was standing between him and Wes. He was holding a machete. The machete wielder charged, screaming, and yelling out curses riotously but the Night Fang managed to dodge each slash with ease. He grabbed the man by the shoulder and felt the sparks vibrate through his arm. Wild blue sparks started flailing from the Night Fang’s scarred fingertips and the thug started screaming. He let go of the goon before too much damage was done and the attacker dropped to the ground shaking and twitching.
As the Night Fang stood, breathing aggressively he saw a brief purple blur run upstairs. Wes was weak and cowardly. The Night Fang gave chase after him.
Wes stood in front of a circular window, that displayed the chapel in the distance. The purple-hooded rat held a rusted dagger in each hand. “I bloody knew that fuckin’ Arkovian would bring trouble with him.”
Wes spat and charged, swinging with both arms. The Night Fang misjudged a dodge and had no choice but to hold his gauntleted arm up to block the attack. Luckily, the blade bounced off the sapphire with a sharp clink and the Night Fang grabbed Wes by the throat and slammed him against the wall. Both blades fell to the floor in a clanger. Poorly hammered in nails were sticking out of the wooden wall, making Wes incredibly lucky not to have been impaled by any.
“The Gargoyle housed an assassin last night,” the Night Fang could feel his throat vibrating and burning. He had taught himself the trick back at Darkfall. Focusing his charge internally granted him the ability to modulate his voice. “Where can I find him?” He echoed the question.
Wes spat on the Night Fang’s mask in response.
The Night Fang wiped the drool off and punched the hooded thug in his hooked nose. When he still received nary a response, he allowed the sparks from his hand to flow free. Small blue bolts flickered, erratically twirled, and danced around his gloved hand and the sapphire gauntlet pulsated in bright flashes.
“Nissaro…” Wes finally croaked. Blood trickled down from one nostril of his hooked nose.
“And where is Nissaro now?” the Night Fang asked with his demonic voice. Every time he spoke, he felt as if his throat would explode from the inside. Modulating was agony at first but the more he used it the more he became accustomed to the burning sensation through his throat just as he had become used to the blinding, scalding sting he would feel every time he charged his hands.
Unexpectedly, Wes started to chuckle. His crooked smile seemed more malicious as blood circled around his lips. “Pointless question if you ask me,” he said as he started cackling and coughing. Hideo felt a cold, metal hand grab onto his shoulder from behind. The Night Fang spun and was met with a sharp kick into his metallic breastplate. Hideo fell flat on his back and into the crooked wooden floor.
Nissaro stood over him in his shadowed clothing that was coated with rusty metal armour. His metal gloves had spikes sticking out of the knuckles and his smiling demon mask gazed down at him with reproach. A different mask, Hideo observed. One that was made out of bright silver, not worn-down rusty iron. A gift from someone in an upper echelon perhaps.
As the Night Fang became distracted racking his brain, Nissaro drew the same curved blade he had used to try to kill the Duke and Rosamund Greenfire the night before. The Night Fang sprung to his feet like a panther and ran at him. He could feel small sparks flying from his fingertips. He jumped and spun, launching a kick into Nissaro who jumped to the side. Hideo missed and fell to the ground. He pushed himself up and turned to hit the demon assassin with an uppercut.
A spiked hand grabbed the Night Fang’s fist. Nissaro twisted and behind his mask, Hideo let out a pained whimper. The Night Fang felt his other hand charging yet did not have the strength to unleash it, settling for a punch into Nissaro’s armour platted stomach. It made the smiling demon let go of his grasp. The Night Fang kept hitting with both hands.
He was too busy focusing on blocking Nissaro’s counter attacks that he could not focus enough to light his hands up. Eventually, the Night Fang managed to hit Nissaro’s blade away. Unarmed, Nissaro attempted to tackle the Night Fang. A foolish mistake. He grabbed Nissaro by the head and slammed him into his knee. The Night Fang, once again pulled off Nissaro’s mask, revealing the burnt and scabby face, the pale mark of a hand stretching from the side of his right eye and down to his bearded chin. He grabbed Nissaro by the throat and he heard glass crack as he forcefully pressed the demon assassin against the window overlooking the empty moonlit street. The Night Fang found it eerily difficult to tell the difference between his mask and his real face as Nissaro still retained a seething smile, the teeth only replacing metal with bone.
“Where are the others?” When the Night Fang yelled the question, his modulated voice only sounded more hellish and fiercer. “Who is leading the attack against the royals?”
Nissaro continued to stare him down. His eyes were pointed and unfazed. This only made the Night Fang more maddened until he felt a burning, piercing sensation in the back of his leg. The Night Fang turned to see Wes, crawling behind him. He kicked the warty henchman away. That was when he saw the dagger sticking out of his leg.
The realisation only made the searing agony scream faster. Nissaro then grabbed the Night Fang from behind and punched him in the back of his head. Hideo’s vision started to appear blurry as he felt cold metal hands around his throat. Hideo stopped feeling the hits and the burning when he saw glass shatter around him, flying around him in a swirling swarm. The shards sparkled in the midnight, and as he fell, he saw the muddy ground hurtling towards him. Then all he saw was darkness.