Sacrifice
It was early dawn by the time Khayin made it back to the hideout, and the first light was penetrating the cloak of trees above. After a long night, he was more than happy to get some rest. Cursing heavily, he made his way through the muck. It was both a blessing, and a curse, serving as a natural line of defense. Attackers would be helpless to evade the arrows of the defending assassins while they were stuck in the mud.
He needed to buy new weapons. His sword was still on the floor in Lady Milova's room in the castle, and his other knife was still with Xander. A trip to one of the tribes would more than suffice. Windmire would be a deathtrap for Khayin after the murder of a high-profile member of the aristocracy.
Something just didn't add up. Why would Iago have her killed? Surely such a marriage was advantageous? Khayin would never understand the oddities of the nobility.
Khayin unlocked the door, and made his way into the hideout.
"Well looks who's back! The bane of Nohr's finest!" a loud voice boomed across the entry hall.
"Ah, Butch, just as noisy as ever. That mission to the Fire Tribe has done wonders for your skin," Khayin jibed at the tall, muscular redhead.
Butch was a rather huge man, and was easily the physically strongest assassin in the brotherhood. His mouth was almost always drawn in a sneer, and he was a relatively intimidating fellow.
Khayin remembered when he had first joined, and had thought the man to be an oaf. However, he was as smart as he was large, and was surprisingly quite the gentle giant.
"It's not the sun that tanned him, it was one of those…. sophisticated brothels on our way back," deadpanned a dark-haired, boyish looking man.
Bartholomew wasn't really that short, but everyone poked fun at him because his partner was so huge.
Khayin chuckled, "I didn't know you were into that Butch! There's this one place down in the capital city with great-"
Butch's face reddened, "I swear Bart, one of these days I'm going to break a finger for every lie you tell."
Bart smirked. "I'm gonna need a couple more hands then!"
Khayin shook his head. "You don't know when to quit, do you Bart? Goodnight guys, I have had a really long fucking night and I'm gonna call it quits."
He treaded upstairs and into his room. He dragged his feet sluggishly across the floor, and plopped onto the bed. He closed his eyes, and focused on the laughter and jibes he could hear downstairs. Khayin listened to every creak and groan of the old fortress.
The peaceful silence punctuated by talking and laughter reminded him of the nights he spent cold and alone, growing up in the dark alleys of Nohr. Xander's words resonated in his head. Did his black heart have no compassion?
Khayin grimaced. Compassion didn't keep you from starving. Compassion didn't put a roof over your head. As far as he knew, his heart was as black as the Nohrian sky. He drifted to sleep meditating upon the question he had cried out to that sky. Who had he become.
When Khayin awoke a few hours later he could hear the clash of steel and the ringing of metal upon metal. He assumed it was just a rather vigorous training session until he heard the blood-chilling cry of a wyvern.
Khayin leaped out of bed and strapped a few knives to his belt, and picked up a Wyrmslayer he had lying around in his armory. He flew down the stairs, screaming "We're under attack!" As the poor man stepped outside, a monstrous site greeted him. A fellow assassin was cleaved in two, his brains and guts spilled onto the floor.
Khayin was no stranger to violence or death, but this was significantly more gruesome than what he was accustomed to. The unsettled fellow bent over and puked out what undigested from last night's dinner.
"PULL IT TOGETHER KHAYIN, THE BATTLE IS FROM FROM OVER!" boomed a confident voice across the battlefield. It was the leader, Hitama, an assassin from the Mokushu clan. He had left a wife and son, Kotaro, behind, so that he could afford to provide them with the means to live.
Khayin's head snapped up upon recognizing the voice. "Yes sir!" he called out. A wyvern rider was coming in a straight line for Khayin. Khayin braced himself, then jumped onto the wyvern's snout, disorienting it. He then placed a solid kick on the rider, knocking him off, and now that he was alone, plunged the Wyrmslayer through the beast's head. It slid through like butter, radiating anti-draconic energy. Very few weapons besides the Falchion of Archanea, and the sacred weapons of Elibe could cut through dragonhide so easily. Khayin followed up this strike with two throwing knives to the rider's chest. Each found their mark in a lung, and the rider collapsed forwards.
An arrow, zipping out of nowhere, impaled Khayin's arm. Grimacing in pain, Khayin snapped the arrow and pulled it out, all while taking cover from the onslaught of arrows. He cringed as he saw a fellow assassin take an arrow to the eye. To be killing off highly-trained assassins this easily, their opponents could be none other than the White Claw, a vigilante organization that targeted assassins and other criminals for hire. Looks like Khayin's recent antics in Windmire had garnered some unwanted attention. "Iago, you snake," Khayin muttered to himself. He was the only possible one who could have given the location of the stronghold. After all, Iago used to be a member. It made sense that he would want to tie up loose ends.
Khayin took out his own bow and arrow, took a deep breath, and fired at where the original shot came from. There was no indication that Khayin hit his mark. After a few seconds an arrow whizzed back, barely nicking Khayin's shoulder. Cursing, Khayin drew another arrow. Surely if this missed, the enemy sniper would not miss again. He dashed from his cover and fired a clear and well-aimed shot into the clearing. This was the easiest shot, but if he missed he was screwed. Khayin smiled with satisfaction as he heard a cry of pain. He dashed into the clearing, but the sniper was nowhere to be found.
He felt a sudden shock course through him as he got body slammed, and his sword flew out of his hand. The sniper was bleeding from his hip, but refused to go down without a fight. Khayin threw a right hook at the sniper, grazing his chin. The sniper swiped left clumsily, but it was too late for Khayin to realize that it was a feint. The sniper's left uppercut made solid contact on Khayin's jaw. Disoriented, Khayin stumbled backwards, and the sniper mercilessly followed up with a well-placed kick to Khayin's ribs.
It was a good shot. Khayin always hated the feeling of having the wind knocked out of his chest. Khayin, however was a veteran of many painful fights, and got up and retaliated with a swift flurry of punches. Two or three found their mark, but the sniper managed to spin around Khayin and kick his feet out from under him. With Khayin on the floor, the archer took out an arrow and brought it down.
Barely managing to move his head mere centimeters away from the arrow, Khayin lunged for the sword, and pivoting on his heel, plunged it through the sniper's chest. The sniper staggered for a few seconds before pulling out the sword. "Oh you have got to be kidding me," Khayin groaned. However, the sniper only managed to take a step or two towards Khayin before succumbing to his wounds. Khayin sat down in exhaustion.
Bloodied, battered, and drawing heaving breaths, Khayin's vision began to fade. The last thing he saw, was a small man pointing towards him, and a familiar giant carrying him over his shoulder.
When he awoke, he was before a fire, and heard two familiar voices. "Neither of them have woken up yet, and the chief has it pretty bad. Khayin seems to breathe steadily and hasn't sustained any major injuries besides that arrow wound a broken wind," Bart babbled worriedly.
Butch grunted, "Khayin's a tough son of a bitch. He'll be fine." A look of concern swept his face as he added "But Boss isn't looking too good right now."
Khayin grunted, and tried to get up. Bart rushed to his side and helped prop him up. "Easy there, tiger," he cautioned Khayin. "You don't want to exert yourself more than necessary."
Khayin groaned and muttered, "Bart, come closer. I…I need to tell you something." Bart inched his head towards Khayin's mouth.
"You have…"
"What is it Khayin, talk to me."
"Bart?"
"I'm here buddy."
"You…have… salad in your teeth," Khayin whispered and snickered before lying back down. "Did you really just a fight a battle with lettuce between your teeth? Man no wonder you made it; they porbably couldn't focus looking at you!"
Butch and Bart both laughed nervously, taking Khayin's humor to be a good sign. A guffaw rang out. It was Hitama. "Oh Khayin, I love that spirit of yours," he said before entering a coughing fit. "I'm not long for this world. All of you listen to me. Stick together, and you can survive this. Give up this lifestyle. Become something. I did this to provide for a family I haven't seen in years, to sustain a son I've never met. I don't regret my decision, but-" he coughed every more frantically, gripping at his sides.
Bart put a hand on Hitama's shoulder. "Chief, don't talk like that. We'll get through this you see. We'll go back to Mokushu, and you can meet your son," he whispered consolingly. The tears across his face betrayed his optimism."
Shuddering, Hitama began to stammer. "Khayin, don't lose your way. You can be so much more than this. I've known that since I took you in." He began to stand up. "The rest of the enemy will be here soon. Butch, Khayin, Bart-"
Butch cut him off "Boss we aren't-"
"I'll buy you all some time, and this is a direct order, Butch," Hitama grunted as he picked up his specialized weapon, the lengthy Muramana. "I may be sore and wounded, but I can still give the three of you a proper lashing and send you on your way," he chuckled.
Bart was completely sobbing at this point. "Ch-chief, it won't be the same without you." He wiped at his eyes in equal parts sadness and shame.
Khayin had gotten to his feet and walked up to the leader. "Godspeed boss. Save some seats down there for the rest of us."
Hitama pulled Khayin in closer and whispered something only he could hear. "Stay the path, and find redemption, Khayin. I pray you never arrive where I shall journey."
Butch looked hesitantly at Hitama, but shook his head in disbelief. "It's been an honor boss, come on Bart," he said as he dragged a still weeping Bart.
Hitama turned to face the sunset as the others ran away and began to chant.
I close my eyes, and the sunlight still burns there
I open my arms, and the wind blows through my hair.
I pace the land, seeking redemption.
About a dozen footsteps began to approach and Hitama took an offensive stance.
Fast is my blade, but death lurches faster
Slow is my pain, like petals of Aster
My blade is sharp, but the cold wind is sharper.
"Surround him!" a commander's voice rang out. Hitama took a deep breath, and continued his mantra.
Silent is the dark
Patient yet stark
Hark, hark!
Then the enemy charged. Hitama swung the Muramana and swept most of them away. He lunged to the left, impaling one, and quickly twisting to dodge a thrust. He pulled out his blade and sliced his enemy in two. A lance wielder on a horse charged him, managing to stab him in the shoulder. Hitama merely grunted stabbed the horse, sending both beast and rider crashing dead to the ground.
I close my eyes, and the sunlight still burns there
Khayin and the others ran, stopping momentarily upon hearing battle cries in the far distance.
Hitama kicked down an aggressor with brass knuckles. He made quick work of him, but was stabbed through the chest by a swordsman. He turned around, pulled the sword out, and screamed in primal rage. "YOU COWARD!" He readied his blade feeling the power of Astra coursing through him.
I open my arms, and the wind blows through my hair
They made it to the border of the Ice Tribe, raising their hands to signal that they come in peace.
Hitama flowed like the wind, his blade cutting shallow but fatal cuts into all five of the backstabber's vitals. Grunting, he ducked to dodge another cavalryman's axe. Another dagger-wielding warrior dashed towards him, inflicting a grievous wound along his left leg before being decapitated.
I pace the land, seeking redemption
The Ice Tribe turned them away, recognizing their assassin's uniform.
Hitama was beginning to falter, when the enemy commander walked to him. "I will give you the noble death you so valiantly seek," the commander confidently stated. He was wielding a Levin Sword in one hand, and a Killing Edge in the other.
Fast is my blade, but death lurches faster
Cutting back through a different part of Nohr towards Windmire, they found themselves surrounded by countless Faceless.
Hitama and the commander dashed at each other like lightning. One, two, three times they parried each other's blows. Hitama managed to scratch the commander's cheek, who retaliated with a swift kick to Hitama's wounded leg.
Slow is my pain, like petals of Aster
Bart -small, tired and unfocused- was torn to pieces by the onslaught of Faceless. Butch and Khayin barely survived, Bart's screams still ringing in their ears. At this point Khayin could no longer stand on his own.
Hitama felt time slow down again, and once more the power of Astra coursed through him. He landed five blows to the commander. However, the commander was barely staggered and prepared the death blow. As the sun seemed to make the commander's Killing Edge glow, Hitama closed his eyes and braced himself for what was to come.
My blade is sharp, but the cold wind is sharper.
Khayin and Butch found themselves face to face with a Nohrian border patrol. Butch took a defensive stance in front of Khayin with his shield and axe drawn.
The commander brought down his blade, and Hitama's lifeless corpse slumped to the ground. "You were a worthy opponent."
Silent is the dark
Butch was beginning to tire. He was at the peak of physical fitness, but moving quickly and attacking powerfully in all that armor was taxing. Khayin focused on the ebb and flow of the battle, meditating his energy into a Lethality strike.
Patient yet stark.
The duo was on their last legs. Butch shield bashed a guard to take him down, but was struck by a Paladin holding a hammer. His axe fell from his mangled arm, and Butch fell to the floor writhing in agony. A red mage dropped Arcfire after Arcfire onto Butch and after a few seconds, the charred hulk stopped moving.
Hark, Hark.
Khayin opened his eyes and let his instincts take over. He rolled past a flurry of fire spells and drove his blade between the mage's eyes. The Paladin charged him, and Khayin slid under the horse and stabbed its under-side and left the sword lodged there. A spearman tried jabbing at Khayin, but Khayin grabbed the spear, flipped himself over the spearman and strangled him with the wooden shaft. The Paladin was back on his feet, sword drawn. Khayin picked up Butch's axe and let his killing intent loose, and it manifested in four mirage copies of himself. The Paladin, confused turned in a circle, trying to discern the real one.
HARK, HARK!
With a sudden strike to the Paladins neck, and a satisfying crunch of bone, Khayin dealt the killing blow. As he limped into the city, he found himself surrounded my more guards. If I can only stay conscious, I can disappear into one of these alleys.
"End of the line, Khayin," a regal, familiar voice drawled.
"Oh you've got to be fucking with me. Can I just get one tiny break?"
Xander smirked. "Nowhere for you to run now, cur." Xander cracked across Khayin's head with the hilt of his blade, and ordered his men to bring the unconscious body to the castle dungeon.