Disclaimer – Torn doesn't belong to me, nor does Damas, Baron Praxis, Erol or anyone else recognizable from the game series. Anyone that's not familiar is mine though.
Summary – It's now known that Torn, his brother and parents made up the murderous Clan of Invisibility. This is their story.
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Dark Crimes
Footsteps filled the cold, empty street.
Shadows danced along the walls from the little illumination there was from the lights. The man walking along the road had his nose stuck in the newspaper and he groaned with what the reporters thought was important news to tell.
"The Clan of Invisibility. Puh! I don't know where anyone gets these ideas from. The Clan has never existed! Just some stupid story to make a person afraid of the dark. I've never been scared of the dark," the man smirked.
Rolling up the newspaper, he shoved it underneath his arm. Whistling escaped his lips as he absently passed an alleyway. Out of nowhere, he felt himself being pulled into the darkness.
"Wha…?" he started.
He never had the chance to finish before he found a hand sitting over his mouth, preventing any cry for help from escaping his lips. He tried to free himself from his abductor's grasp as he was pulled into the nearby alley.
No one could hear him scream.
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Perched in his vantage point within the tree, Torn carefully eyed the people milling around him. A smile crept onto his face as he thought about how good the wind felt as it breezed by. He laid down against the tree, giving a deep sigh.
"Torn, will you get out of there?" a voice yelled at him from below him.
He cracked open an eye to find his older brother standing at the base of the tree, his arms crossed and a smirk written across his face. He gave a sigh before nimbly leaping down in a single bound, the older brother watching his every movement.
"You never miss a chance to show off, do you? You're lucky you're considered athletic, otherwise too many questions would arise," Tryce told him.
"And you should be lucky you're considered strong for the same reason," Torn retorted.
Torn began to walk away from his brother until an arm stopped him. Tryce held a stern look upon his face, his eyes continually glancing to the people that moved around them.
"Remember that they know nothing. To some, we are nothing but a legend while to others, we are as real as the tree you were just sitting in. Don't you ever forget who you are," Tryce told him.
Torn shoved his brother's arm away, a sneer crossing his mouth.
"You don't need to remind me Tryce. I'm not a young child anymore, needing to be led around by my mother. I'm not planning to leave behind the person our parents trained me to be," Torn reminded him.
The younger brother stormed away with his mind in a foul mood. The good feeling he had just a few minutes earlier had all but disappeared. In truth, he was glad he was able to have even such a short time with the feeling. After all, the life his parents were preparing him for was inconceivable to most people.
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"There was another disappearance last night. Whoever is behind these, they certainly are consistent," Damas mused.
He stood over a map of the city, with Praxis standing beside him. Both of them mused over the areas where the attacks took place before Praxis decided to speak his mind.
"I still say we should find these perpetrators and kill them all!" he snarled.
"Calm down Praxis. We will bring them to justice, I assure you, we just need to find them first. I do not wish to resort to drastic measures unless we absolutely have to. Just try not to take matters into your own hands if you happen to find a lead. I'd rather not shed the blood of an innocent," Damas sternly told him.
Praxis barely managed to stifle a growl before giving a nod. Damas carefully eyed him as he left the room, passing by Erol along the way. The young elf stepped up to Praxis, his arms crossed and a snicker on his face.
"So how did it go?" Erol finally asked.
"The Clan has made yet another move for there's been another disappearance. They're becoming a bit bolder as of late, despite their low numbers. Sooner or later, they're going to slip up. I can feel it. Then this city will be ours," Praxis replied.
Erol carefully eyed him, wondering what Damas had said about the recent uprising of disappearances and killings. All he knew, is that Praxis wasn't happy about it at all.
"And what exactly did Damas say about the situation?" he wondered.
A growl began to emit from the mouth of Praxis, making a knot bunch up a bit in Erol's stomach.
"We have to wait because these people have no idea what goes on underneath their very noses. They are completely unaware of the things we do. If it were up to me, I'd go right to their house and burn it to the ground," snarled Praxis.
Erol nodded in agreement as he prepared to leave the room. At the door, he took one last look towards Praxis.
"What shall I tell the others? They're starting to get jumpy and would like nothing more than to work on another plan. They're eager to face the Clan again," Erol wondered.
"Tell them it will be very soon. Veger can begin on another plan of attack and I want him to give it to me within the day," Praxis called over to him before slamming his hands on the table. "And by the way, remind Rand that if he should improvise like what he did last time, I will personally have his head served on a platter!"
Erol quickly nodded before he made quick retreat, leaving behind a scheming Praxis, the ideas running though his head.
"If you only knew what went on behind closed doors, Damas. You would not have allowed any of us anywhere near you had you known what we're capable of doing. The Group of 9 shall prevail and lead over this city, like what they have been destined to do for centuries," he muttered.
TBC…
