Full Summary:

The Agency, an American run operation that works overtime in their attempts to save the world from bad guys. The Assassin Sector, a group of highly trained killers that stumble upon knowledge kept from humans.

Nothing is ever as it seems. The Assassins know this from firsthand experience. However, it isn't until they learn that their world is actually composed of three different Realms that they realize the depth of that statement.

After a mission gone sideways and a botched up interrogation, they find themselves pulled into a world kept secret from humans. They learn of Hollows and Souls and Death Gods as they're thrown into a secret war, centuries in the making.

She doesn't remember much before the wolves and the woods. She was just a lost girl struggling to survive. Until she's picked up by a group with less than pure intentions. Taking her in, they introduced her to a life of death and destruction. With them, she learns to fight, learns to kill, completely unaware of the war brewing in the horizon.

A war centered completely on her.

In a world where nothing is as it seems, one nameless girl struggles to find out who she is. What she stumbles upon turns out to be more than she expects.


Preface

Our story takes place in a strange desert world. A world forever stuck in the hours of darkness. In this world monsters thrive. Dark, sinister, soulless creatures that hide in the shadows and prosper off the chaos they create.

However, despite all this, a castle stands.

Las Noches.

A white looming building guarded by a spell that chases the darkness away and keeps the monsters at bay. A spell that casts light and forces the creatures back into the darkness.

In this castle, in one of its bright white rooms, there's a heavy tension in the air.

A silence as pregnant as any, while The Great Lord of Las Noches stands before his men. His eyes roam over them from head to toe—mentally assessing and cataloguing any and all flaws—as they stand to attention.

Well, not so much a stand.

They're scattered across the room.

Some sitting, some standing.

They're distracted and The Lord can't really blame them as his eyes flick over to the figure that sits above an oddly placed pillar, almost out of sight. On a normal day, their attention is easily snatched. It's captured by whatever shiny object is dangled in front of them but today their lack of attention is damn near ridiculous.

This is all because one of his strongest soldiers has fallen out of favor.

The Lord's eyes aren't the only ones on the figure. Many eyes continue to snap towards the man above the pillar and The Lord can't help but smirk. The man has become an example. A reason for the others not to disobey. Even though it's left him one man down, it's created the perfect reminder.

There are consequences for disobedience.

Still The Lord is well aware that his men's attention span leaves something to be desired but he ignores it for the most part. Well, really, it's his pride that makes him turn a blind eye because what kind of Lord can't hold his men's undivided attention?

He'd rather pretend that it isn't so and that is a habit you will soon learn he cannot break.

The Lord sighs, long and heavy, as he returns to watching his other men. He's patiently waiting for them to remember he's called them together for a reason. That reason being a bandaged figure currently kneeling in the middle of the room.

A new recruit, a new fighter, a new pawn.

The longer he has to wait, the more he wonders why he's keeping them around. Logically, he knows it's because he wouldn't have an army worth squat if he gave into his urges to just end them all. It's bad enough he's already lost one.

One he's going to make damn sure to get back into tip-top shape as quickly as possible.

War is looming the horizon and it's all hands on deck at this point. Therefore, even if it might irritate him to the ends of the earth to see them chatter amongst themselves when there's more important matters to attend to, he lets them.

They need to get the shock of losing one of their strongest fighters out of their systems as quick as possible.

Its kind of comical, really, because it's seems that they're only just realizing that he can and will cut them down if the situation calls for it.

I'm pretty sure you can now see that this Lord is not the most loving Lord, but what he lacks in gratitude towards his loyal men he makes up for in…well, actually, he doesn't make up for it….

Awkward….

Anyways back to the story.

Once he feels that the chattering has really gone on for too long The Lord steps towards the kneeling recruit. All eyes snap to him as he moves and he doesn't even attempt to hide his smirk. He moves silently, leisurely but with every step, he sends out pulses of Reiryoku—of spiritual power—strong enough to crush his men if he wishes.

It draws his men's attention easily enough and he almost sneers when he spots someone of his weaker men's legs tremble as they struggle to stay standing under his Reiatsu—spiritual pressure.

There are ten in total—not counting the kneeling recruit and the incapacitated man. Each one is stronger than the next but no matter their strength, they all struggle to remain standing. It's only once he hears one clatter to the ground that he stops and mostly because, by then, he's reached the recruit.

He doesn't even bother to see who's fallen. Instead, he gives the recruit his full attention and gets to work.

He does what only he can do.

The recruit before him is nothing more than a monster. One of the many demons that roam this land. A distorted creature that's only desire is to eat and kill and take. All it wants are the souls of the living to replace the one it has lost. It's only the bandages wound tightly around him that keep him from breaking free and wreaking havoc.

All his men were once like this. They were all mindless beings aiming for nothing more than to kill and he'd taken his power and made them more. He gave them back their minds, their thoughts, their senses. He'd given them back a little fragment of their souls.

Therefore, as he works to bring this creature back to himself, he ignores the little voice in that back of his head that tells him that this is all he'll ever be able to give them back. They still thirst for blood. They still yearn to cause chaos. It's only the threat of punishment that keeps them from doing it.

From ripping into each other and bathing in the blood.

They'll never be more.

He ignores the voice as he continues to work, uncaring of the bloodthirsty eyes trained on him from all directions. He can end them all before they can so much as take a step towards him. Therefore, maybe it's because of the voice that taunts his every thought that he doesn't realize that his men worship him.

They admire him. Love him. They'd lay down their lives for him. Even though they may never be as they once were before their deaths—simple souls with simple desires—they're already so much more. The can think. They can dream and, while their desire to kill and maim is still there, it can be easily ignored.

Their Lord may rule with an iron fist but they can't complain because he's already given them more than they could ever hope for. He gave them back their souls—fragmented or not. He gave them back themselves and they'd gladly die again for him.

They watch their Lord as he once again brings back a lost soul. As they watch him welcome back another soul, their gratitude grows.

Not many—No oneever did this for their kind before.

Smoke envelopes the recruit, glass shatters, a name is uttered, and they welcome another soul back.

There is something magical about it. About watching a soul struggle to remember itself. It's some kind of wonderful to see eyes widen as coherent thoughts return, as something other than 'kill, kill, kill,' runs through the mind and they all watch, entranced, as the soul remembers.

The new recruit is all strength hidden behind a baby face. A fierce protectiveness races through each and every one of them at the thought of sending him off to fight. Because he will fight. All hands on deck means everyone to arms. Therefore, no matter how much they want to hide him away from the horrors of war, they know they can't because they need him.

Especially since this whole war is about him. It is about each and every one of them. The guardians of the souls, the Gods of Death, will soon come knocking at their doors to end them because—even though their Lord has given them back as much of their souls as he can—they are considered an abomination. Monsters, demons, and the Guardians desire to end them.

The Lord steps away from the recruit as soon as the transformation is complete. He makes sure to put a great distance between himself and the recruit as his men converge on him. He watches as they welcome him into his army and more.

His strongest goes first. He's a brunette that goes by Coyote Starrk. A tall, muscular, yet lean man and the Lord makes sure to keep a close eye on Starrk as he sizes up the new recruit. Starrk's making sure he won't be surpassed and once he's satisfied that the new recruit isn't a threat, he grabs the recruit and scents him.

It's an animalistic urge. All of this is.

It comes from the monster still in each and every one of them. There's nothing The Lord can do as Starrk pulls back and hands the recruit to the next in line.

Barragan Lousienbairn is an elderly looking man who simply adds his scent to Starrk's and hands off the recruit to his third strongest, Tier Harribel. They're the ones in charge when it comes to the monsters inside them. The hierarchy begins with them and, after Harribel finishes scenting the recruit, he's handed off to the others and that's that.

He's not just part of the Lord's army. Now he's part of his men's army. He is part of their monsters' pack.

The rest move into action then.

Ulquiorra Cifer, his fourth strongest, takes command. He gives orders to the others. Orders that are obeyed without any whining and The Lord watches in fascination. The ferocity in which they care for new recruits never ceases to surprise him. On any other day, they'd fight and yell and whine and ignore any commands coming from Ulquiorra but now they move with surprising efficiency.

They dress and comfort the recruit as the memories—if any—returns. The recruit struggles to relearn how to speak and walk on two legs and just who he is. Nothing matters to them in this moment other than the recruit and The Lord will let them carry on until the recruit can do more than whimper in fear.

However, it is with a small amount of concern that he realizes that it is taking far longer than it should.

An hour has gone by and yet the recruit has done nothing more than mutter his name. Carefully, The Lord approaches the group, mindful of the fact that his men's monster are in command at the moment. Once he reaches the recruit, he lets his Reiryoku swell. He passed it over andin the recruit.

Searching, checking, assessing.

He checks him over from head to toe. The recruit is as strong as he knew he would be but, as he continues to pass his Reiryoku through the lean body, he catches something that had been missed.

Brain Damage.

The recruit is useless.

"Fuck."