"When God is gone and the Devil takes hold who will grant mercy on your wretched soul? Words chanted in the ancient elegant language of the Romans, gilded words that often rise to rafters in cathedrals and churches spoken from the pious lips of priests, an utterance of comfort to the sinner who may have strayed from the safety of the flock and into wolf infested woods. But what of the saint turned slayer willingly falling into the temptation of vengeance without regret, willingly embracing the demons that lurk in his soul? He must take heed and take caution when he enters this gloom shrouded pit, he must be careful of the daggers he shoves into unguarded backs and the blood that stains his hands. Sometimes those victims do not perish and they become just as terrible as their assassins. The predator becomes the hunted and he tries to hide in the darkness that cloaked him from the eyes of the ones he so cruelly tried to kill. But shadows are treacherous and the same darkness that conceals them also hides the blade seeking their throat. They may fall to their knees and beg for mercy, try to flee for that road they once tread seeking the protection of their God but the Devil deals a swift hand and always comes to collect his due. Pleas will fall on deaf ears, unheeded, unheard. So I ask again…who will have mercy on your soul"

~Edward Wuncler, Novice to the House of Wuncler

February 21, 2009~

"The life of the assassin is a difficult one, he often yearns for the touch, love and devotion of another, but the call of the blade, and the summoning of death pulls to strongly on the threads of his soul and grievously he will turn his back on everything he cherishes and embrace his ruin…" ~Erath Grey~


Frigid morning light cascaded though the half open curtains of Wuncler's office, its golden essence spilling across the many papers strewn about on the polished surface of his oaken desk. The patron of the third house in the Legion leaned back in his chair a cup of Irish coffee hooked on his fingers. His sere gray eyes carefully tracing over the documents lay out before him. In another part of the office the idle whisper of a page being turned could be heard, followed by the sound of metal singing across wood, then silence.

He glanced up from his studies his gaze briefly lingering on Ed before returning to their task. For the first time in many years he felt his old sense of imperious pride returning to him, and it was all because of his grandson. The change that Ed has gone though in the past four months had been impressive if not miraculous. He was no longer the arrogant youth that constantly defied him in the loud mocking scream of a street gangster to the shame of the Wuncler name. He had become a young refined aristocrat who spoke in gentle subdued tones that complimented a lethal cunning and calm poise.

What he lacked for in experience he made up for in savior faire and an unshakable confidence. Wuncler was swift to notice this and had begun to request his presence on certain jobs, utilizing Ed's defiance to fit his own needs. Because Wuncler was under the edict of the two upper houses he was forced to attend contract and logistics meetings while Carbellot and Arach only sent their representatives as heralds in their stead. It was an act of humiliation toward Wuncler a constant reminder that that his house was in essence just an extension of their own agencies. The patron had endured this silently his agile mind always seeking a way to usurp the power that they held over him. And when Ed had begun showing his finesse and skill with weapons Wuncler was certain he had found his gambit against Carbellot and Arach, and he wasn't disappointed.

It was the redhead's anger that Wuncler took rein over, twisting it in a way that allowed him to exert his control over his grandson. On three previous occasions Wuncler had been very pleased to have Ed at his side, the redhead had become a very intimidating presence. Neither showing emotion or gracing any certain person with words he would simply settle at his grandfathers right hand; as though he had always been there, radiating an unspoken threat that he would gladly slit anyone's throat who would try and deny it. He always remained the epitome of calm and prevailed as a steadfast guard at his grandfather's side. Meeting the eyes of trained assassins with unflinching placidity and devil may care smirk tugging at his lips. As though he were yearning to bestow a demonstration for the benefit of his grandfather and all the assassins in attendance a taste of his merciless cruelty.

The elites that handled these councils would meticulously watch his grandson and during their last audience, to Wuncler's immense delight, had tested Ed's resilience. The previous occasions had not been contract meetings but an exchange of information regarding the number of assassins each house held under their command and were conducted at the manor in his private office.

The older man had no reason to tell his grandson the shame their sire name endured during these gatherings because they took place in such an intimate setting, he was sure that if he reveled to his grandson their subservient position it would end in spilled blood. He had already replaced his quarters once and didn't wish to do so again. He was not yet ready to sever the leash that the other two houses had fastened around his neck. He had finally gained a level of trust with Carbellot and Arach bowing to their every whim making them believe he was still weakened from the death of his top assassins and from the loss of his son. They thought they had tamed wolf that had been howling at their gates but they had only made him more deadly, more cunning. He had drawn them within striking range so they couldn't escape when he chose to tear out their throats. So he held his tongue, waiting for the right moment to unleash his newly hewn weapon of rage.

He didn't have to wait long.


It had been an evening when the sun had just touched the horizon and the heavens had been jagged with ice. The frozen streets of the city silently slipped past the smoky glass of the Mercedes. Wuncler sat across from his freshly dressed grandson his hands clasped over the top of a silver walking cane. For once the saccharine scent of cigar smoke did not fill the warm air, nor did it wreath the older mans face. Cigars were for pleasure, and not business.

Ed sat in front of his grandfather his eyes turned to the window gazing out into the darkening night. He had chosen simple attire for the occasion selecting a simple black suit that was accented by the silken emerald tones of a tie that dyed his eyes a dark viridian hue. His hands were carefully folded in his lap his heated stare snapping to grandfather's face as he began to speak. Sitting in stoic silence as Wuncler explained the significance of this type of gathering and why he was always the only patron in attendance. Laying bare how shackled they were to the other two patrons due of the weakening of his house with the death of his son. Explaining that many of the assassins under his command were not his but rather served Arach and Carbellot. Even as he spoke Wuncler could distinguish the subtle signs of quiet anger that gripped his grandson. His jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed to slits, the older man resisted the urge to grin.

Wuncler had decided that his conclave with the two reining houses would take place in one of his own jurisdiction in the elegant building where he had branded Gin as one of his own assassins. His grandson had never been there, and the older man intended on giving him the full experience of the power that their family now held.

The building loomed before them shards of glass against the icy heavens. Beneath the vaulted ceiling of the atrium Ed could see the glow of a gas light chandelier its hazy light spilled though the brumal mist casting everything in an eerie radiance. Flag stones the color of obsidian paved the way to the entrance glistening with melted ice and lined with furrows of snow. Ed was quick to slip out of the Mercedes before the vehicle had rolled to a stop trotting around to the other side and waving off the footman as he stepped out to attend Wuncler.

The older man readily accepted his grandsons out stretched hand softly grunting as he was pulled to his feet. He felt the warmth of his long over coat settle over his shoulders and his walking cane was gently placed in his hand. Ed walked slightly in front of his grandfather opening the door and escorting him inside briefly glancing at the assassins that stood on either side of the glass entrance.

They were dressed in matching suits of charcoal gray their guns visible on their hips. They stood to one side slightly inclining their heads murmuring low greetings to their patron and heir. Ed could see the symbol that has been branded into their wrists as they shifted back to resume their stances on either side of the entrance, their shadows dancing in the flickering light of the gas wrought iron chandelier in the atrium.

A soft gloom settled around them as they made their way into the center chamber. It was strangely quite as they moved farther into the darkness. Ed's breath sounded as a gentle whisper that stuttered to a sharp gasp. Ed was struck by the beautifully malevolent architecture rendered into a silent reverence by how little light there was; the only illumination coming from candelabra's or braziers their fires stoked to low seething embers. Thirty floors spiraled above him fading into shadow, ending in a glass dome that reflected the brumal sky caught in the cruel grasp of winter. Their footsteps and the click of his grandfathers cane echoed loudly against the agate marble floor which had been inlaid with gold to form the crest of Wuncler's house it twisted around creating the gapping maw of a dire wolf which pierced Ed's distorted reflection.

The air smelled of stainless steel, silk, and the gloom of night. Sconces flickered on the walls deepening the blackness and adding to the dark ambiance that seemed to permeate the very air. Here and there Ed could see the silhouettes of men reclining in the gloom and could feel their eyes following him as he and his grandfather walked to Wuncler's private chamber. The redhead felt an odd an odd sense of wicked excitement scrape down his spine his breath quickened and he felt his fingers twitch itching for the handle of a gun. One day he would be one of those men, an assassin of the night, able to meld and blend with shadow with terrifying ease. Wuncler's voice suddenly rang though his thoughts dragging him back to from his private thoughts.

"This is where I quarter some of my assassins when they are not handling contracts or have been wounded,"

Ed gave a brief nod casting his gaze back to the vast room behind them noticing that the dark shapes he had assumed were hitman were no longer there. His voice barely rose over the sound of their footsteps,

"Is it wise to invite elites from Carbellot and Arach to this place? It seems foolish to allow them here."

Wuncler gave an amused snort,

"You fret to much Edward the whole point is to invite them here, let their men tread the room we just crossed and be aware of the unseen eyes burning into their worthless carcasses."

He graced his grandson with a vicious smile,

"Imagine walking though the darkness and not knowing how many of my assassins are watching you from the shadows... how many of them have weapons trained on you…if they have been told to kill you now or later or let you live."

Without even looking Wuncler could tell that his grandson's grin mirrored his own,

"I understand…you want them to gain a sense of trepidation when they have to make deals with you and they will never know how many men you command."

"Preciously, its an intricate waltz we dance Edward and we have to be cunning enough to take the lead with out our partners knowing. This is just a subtle taste of some of the power I have regained."

He glanced at Ed his voice taking on a tone that bordered on madness, and he suddenly reached out gripping the redhead by the hand so hard that he winced,

"And you, my grandson, shall be the ultimate undoing of the two upper houses you will bring us back to power back to where be belong!"

The intensity of his words burned thought the darkness and he pulled Ed closer his other hand shifting to rest on the side of his grandson's face his fingers gripping the edge of Ed's jaw so that he was staring into searing green eyes that were still brimming with fury.

"You are the last hope for the Wuncler name do not let your fathers death be in vain do not let them defile his memory even further,"

The voice that reached Wuncler's ears was cruel a whisper so full of wrath that it sounded inhuman,

"I will not disappoint you, I will tear down the houses of Carbellot and Arach, I will make their assassins beg for death before I end their worthless lives."

"That is all I ask Edward,"


The council room that Wuncler had chosen was elegant, with darkness spilling into corners where flickering candlelight could not reach. Like many of Wuncler's private rooms there was a case of liquor and many comfortable armchairs scattered before the hearth. A huge oaken armoire sat on clawed feet in one corner its edges adorned with hand carved wolves roaming though the twisted forms of gnarled trees. Their eyes had been set with garnets that glimmered in the darkness like tiny points of fire. A grand portrait hung on the wall set in a heavy frame of silver gilded oak the image of thirty men were seated around a circular table the symbol of a chimera had been scored into its surface. Beneath each seated figure were graceful symbols painted in gold, which Ed assumed these were the sire names of each man. They were all adorned in different styles of armor and all bore the colors of onyx, scarlet and silver. Of all these men there was only one who was standing and seemed to possess an imposing presence. The title that had been fastened to the top of the frame read The House of Thirty.

"Magnificent is it not?"

Ed nodded his eyes still riveted to the picture,

"Who are they?"

He felt his grandfather move to stand at his side,

"No one is certain, rumors are heavy when it comes to this image. It is something the reining houses have quarreled over for many centuries. There have been many patron's who believe it is the birth of the brotherhoods, or one of the many council's that were held against the Knights of Templar."

He moved closer reaching his hand out to brush over a man, who was not seated,

"There is one thing I am certain about, that he is our ancestor,"

Ed's eyes settled on the long past assassin trying to find some of his features in face of his predecessor.

"What was he called?"

"Iergan the Gilded is what he was known by his companions as well as his enemies,"

His grandfather sighed withdrawing his hand,

"Before the church and her Templar's descended upon the Brotherhood with the unforgiving fury of God he was their patron, their rein and he was betrayed."

He was silent after that letting the quietness curl around them before he spoke again,

"That is all I know of him, and even less is known about the men under his command only that many of them turned traitor when Vatican came upon them."

Wuncler's voice was laden with bitter venom, his words laced with hatred,

"And we were cast into their crypts to rot and be forgotten,"

"Just like we are now under Arach and Carbellot?"

Wuncler laughed,

"Almost my grandson…but that is all going to change as soon as the clock strikes the hour."

He gave Ed shoulder a brief squeeze before moving to settle in one of the armchairs. There was a rustle of paper as he withdrew a stack of documents from a satchel that rested at his feet, leaving Ed with his thoughts.

Ed returned his focus to Iergan studying his features tracing his fingers over the image. His eyes were wide and the hue of tarnished silver coins set in a face that was gentle and lacked the cruelty of his present decedents. Long ringlets of ashen colored hair were pulled back from his face and spilled down past his shoulders. His mouth was quirked in a half smile of some long forgotten mirth; his hands were splayed against the table within easy reach of a double bladed halberd. He dressed in the same colors as all the other men gathered around the table but there seemed to be an added touch of extravagance to him. He had the aura of a ruler even a king; a man could easily snare the attention of his followers. Yet he had been cast into abandon by his brothers, sacrificed by them as penance for their own lives. It was odd how history had a way of repeating its self, odd how fate flung the past and present together entwining lives that were separated by the sand of time.

Ed shut his eyes turning away from his ancestor pushing back the anger that swelled against his throat, threatening to rob him of his breath. He began to survey the rest of the room his eyes skirting along its edges. Tapestries that were woven from gold and emerald thread hung on the other walls, one bearing the symbol of their house, the others threaded with ancient Celtic and Old English scripts. A chandelier forged from silver and dripping with crystal hung in the center of room, its electric lights remaining unlit.

In the center of then room a glass topped table dominated over all else, an oddity among the antiquity that swept though out room. Ed soon guessed its purpose it was so his grandfather could keep an eye on the other assassins in case they secretly drew their weapons. This was also the reason for the many mirrors that lined the wall strategically placed so that who ever sat the head of the table could view the entirety of the room with out having an agent standing guard every corner.

The clock had began striking the hour when the hitman of Carbellot and Arach arrived, their elites moving with the stealthy grace of shadows; their four Scead* were not to far behind flinging nervous glances back over their shoulders at the darkened atrium they just crossed. Ed saw each of them in, keeping a respectful distance and gracing the two Laedens* of each house with a brief nod. The two men didn't even acknowledge the young heir but took their seats without a word, their associates trailing in their wake. Wuncler stood at the head of the table waiting for the all the other hitman to take their chairs before he himself sat.

Ed causally took his place beside his grandfather, his eyes scanning the men before him with obvious disdain. The lesser hitmen of both houses were sitting rigidly in their chairs clearly unnerved by their passage though the dark to the meeting chamber. Their eyes dancing to the darkened corners of the room trying to peer into the shadows attempting to see if any assassins lurked in the gloom. Ed did little to conceal the smirk that curled at the corners of his lips he could almost taste the fear rolling off them.

Ed's eyes swept down the table and lingered on the Laeden of Carbellot unlike the two men seated beside him he retained a calm composure his lithe frame lazily sprawled in his seat. He was a tall cruel featured man with hair the color of a tempest midnight sky that spilled like ink down past his shoulders to his mid back in thick tresses. Even in the poor light Ed could tell how pale his eyes were like the ashen color of cinders that were flecked with pieces blue turquoise. A long jagged scar threaded from the side of his neck to his jaw, the remnant of a failed assassination. He was clad all in black the only gleam of color coming from the silver necklace that was fastened around his neck like a collar, its surface etched with the word Hraefen*.

The other Laeden was man of equal height to his fellow elite. But where the man from Carbellot had subtle somewhat alluring features, his were as sharp as a daggers blade and looked as though they had been hacked from marble rather then carved. His eyes were a strange dusky emerald tone and reminded Ed of dragon scales. His hair was a dark sanguine hue that was pulled back from his face by a silver clasp with a few stray strands falling over his eyes. The ink from several tattoos scrawled from the tips of his fingers past the cuff of his jacket curling into strange symbols and ancient runes. He was attired in an onyx Brioni suit with a scarlet undershirt adorned with scrolled silver buttons. A similar cincture was fasted around his neck, its surface etched with the word Draca*. The other men, the underlings, sat flanking their leaders one of them with a satchel strapped across his chest bearing the three insignia of each house.

The assassin from Carbellot was the first to speak his voice ringing clear against the gloom like the cry of a raven.

"The darkness is thick here Wuncler, can't afford to properly light this wretched building?"

His voice was condescending but held an under current of mocking laugher. Ed glanced to his grandfather expecting him to lash out at the arrogant man but to the redhead's mild surprise he simply shrugged off the comment,

"I apologize Iscaeld but my duties and influence do not extend to the heavens, I cannot control the weather and when it happens to cause black outs."

Iscaeld laughed it was lethal sound like a blade being sharpened against a welting stone,

"Ah Edward your dry wit has always amused me but you must remember the houses of Carbellot and Arach expect more of a courteous reception then traipsing into a dingy room when discussing contracts especially from a lesser house."

When his grandfather's first name fell from Iscaeld's lips Ed had almost balked. Once again he flicked his gaze to Wuncler recognizing the barely noticeable expression that passed across Wuncler's face; the fleeting shadow of rage, his right eye twitched and Ed could tell he was clenching his teeth.

"I didn't realize the that elites of the two legions were frightened of the dark?"

The words left Ed's mouth before he realized he even spoken them, and he suddenly found gaze locked with silver toned eyes. Iscaeld was staring at him in an odd way a half amused expression on his face. Before he could reply another voice suddenly slipped though the darkness, like a wisp of smoke rising to barely a whisper,

"No one was addressing you novice…I suggest you keep a civil tongue behind your teeth docga*,"

The insult stung the young heir almost as if he had been slapped across the face and he swung his smoldering gaze to look at the other red head his voice slicing through the tension like a knife his anger threatening to spill over. He drew in a deep breath through his nose and managed to smile quelling his wrath and slowly rose to his feet.

" Afraid of the shadows and lacking courtesy, what kind of Nieten* have Carbellot and Arach sent to us?"

The assassin snarled starting to his own feet his hand slipping into his jacket. The men around him tensed their actions mirroring their masters their fingers just inside their coats. Ed watched the other man with equal intensity settling his entire focus on the six men seated beneath him. The Scead's sitting around Iscaeld were also reaching for their weapons but a brief motion form their Leaden halted them.

"That is enough Volante do not waste your energy on indolent insults we are here to speak of business not to engage in a battle of wits against an apprentice assassin show some restraint,"

Volante spun to face him his voice dangerously low his fingers tightening around the hilt of his half sheathed stiletto,

" You your self would not take such an insult so idly the whelp needs to be taught some manners in how to speak when he is addressing his superiors."

Iscaeld sighed picking none committedly at something beneath one of his nails his voice losing its light tone to take on a darker more threatening edge,

"While I enjoy putting insolent children in their place it would be against Carbellot's and Arach's command to spill any blood over such a trifling matter. I know you don't want to incur their wrath Volante. Or have you forgotten what happened to the last elite that disobeyed your masters words?"

Volante hesitated flicking his eyes to Ed then back to Iscaeld who raised a silver brow. It did not escape his notice that the Leadon's hand was resting nonchalantly on the gun that was at his hip.

"I suggest you take care of this on your own time,"

The raven-haired assassin smiled at him with an unspoken challenge his ashen eyes gleaming with something more then amusement. Volante reluctantly drew his hand from his weapon and shifted his attention back to Ed,

"Be cautious docga, Iscaeld and Arach will not always be around to rein in my hand, its been a long time since my blade has tasted the blood from one bearing the Wuncler name,"

Ed bestowed him with a benign grin sweeping his arms before him in an exaggerated bow his voice holding a capricious tone,

"We shall see who has the honor of spilling first blood then,"

Volante granted Ed with a nasty smile before taking his taking his seat his voice taking on a edge keen with deadly promise,

"Yes we shall see won't we?"

He glanced at Iscaeld relaxing his posture purposely laying his hands in full view on the table. The tension that coiled though the room visibly eased but as Ed moved to sit he noticed that Iscaeld's hand not left his gun. His eyes still fixed on his brother assassin Iscaeld addressed Wuncler,

"Please forgive my associate he has a temper that matches his name. I say we speak of more pleasant things yes?"

The jesters voice had returned eerily merry and insouciant he beckoned to the Scead who still had the leather satchel strapped across his chest, Iscaeld glanced at Ed grinning then flicked his eyes to Wuncler

"Such as your payment for the crime against my master?"

There was the rustle of leather as the Scead with the messenger bag slipped it from his chest and unclasped the buckle. Within were thin rolls of hand pressed scrolls, sealed with obsidian wax stamped with a raven insignia. The Scead with drew these and quietly handed them to Iscaeld.

In a flash of silver a thin bladed knife appeared in the assassins hand he ran the edge along the partial opening of the parchment breaking the seal. The volute rolled open its surface covered in scrawling spidery handwriting. Iscaeld's pale eyes flicked over the paper his fingers making a dry sound as they absently ran down the page.

"It seems that some of your assassins have been trespassing into our territories with out permission?"

Wuncler grinned it was startlingly unpleasant,

"Yes,"

"Then you are aware of these transgressions,"

"I am very aware of the movement of my assassin's they acted on my whim,"

Iscaeld slightly tilted his head raising an elegant brow,

"Then you know the consequences, and the harsh reprimand for your oversights"

"Of course I do…

Wuncler shifted resting his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together and slightly pressed them to his smirking lips,

"Though I have no intention of paying them."

This was greeted with a heavy silence and for the first time since the meeting began Ed saw the shade of anger briefly flit across Iscaeld's features.

"That isn't for you to decide Edward you serve Carbellot and Arach, you answer to Volante and myself if you defy us then you defy them and I assure you, arrogance such as this will be greeted by swift punishment,"

Quiet laugher drifted across the table rolling down on the elites and their subordinates like the brumal whisper of winter.

"Ah I am afraid that the tense you used is wrong my dear Iscaeld. I used to serve Carbellot, Arach and his ignoble Leaden's. I used to suffer omitting their worthless carcasses into my most private quarters in my manor and endure the irritation of allowing them passage into my place of business. I used to have to have to withstand their revolting presence, I used to be quelled by promises of punishment"

There was the harsh sound of ripping paper as Iscaeld clenched his fingers shredding the delicate document. Anger didn't mar his handsome features but Ed could see it prancing behind his pale eyes and when he spoke his words were forced though clenched teeth.

"Edwar-,"

"Its Wuncler Iscaeld when you are in my presence you will address me by my sire name,"

Volante snorted his voice heavy with scorn,

"A sire name that is weak and means little,"

"He wasn't addressing you wyrm attend to your own advice and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth,"

"Heed your owntongue docga before I slice it out of your foul mouth,"

Ed laughed his voice sharpened to a keen point by a dismissive tone,

"An empty threat Volante, Iscaeld has your leash wrapped to tightly in his hands for you to do anything. Now sit and be silent like a good bitch or go bark at someone else your fucking voice irritates me,"

A flare of silver sliced through the tepid light and only Ed's honed reflexes saved his head from being cleaved in twain. There was a hollow sound as the stiletto slammed into the wall behind him quivering from the force by which is had been thrown. In a movement that belayed his size Volante was across from him a gun in his hand his finger resting on the trigger. Ed felt the cold kiss of steel as the assassin pressed the weapon against the curve of his eye socket. He flicked his wrathful gaze to Wuncler his words falling from his mouth as a jagged snarl,

"The penance for your transgressions against our masters is blood payment which I will take from your fucking mongrel novice now,"

Wuncler had started to his feet in a fit of anger his face callow with rage only to be gently restrained by his grandson. Ed sat there a moment before leaning into the high caliber weapon with such a great force that the metal sliced into the flesh of his eyebrow. Blood immediately began to well from the thin cut and dribble down his face in a crimson thread. A full-fledged, insane grin split across his face, his voice barely rising to a whisper,

"If you're trying to scare me mother fucker, you're doing a very poor job of it."

He glanced to Wuncler a bored expression on his face,

"I tire of this grandfather, my sense of diplomacy has worn incredibly thin, this fool obviously doesn't know who the fuck he is addressing"

As he had been speaking Wuncler had noticed the small shift in Ed's posture, and how he leaned his weight on his hips against the edge of the table. The older man could almost feel the murderous energy coiling within his grandson's body. And as the last grating word left his lips Ed shoved his entire weight forward almost vaulting his entire body onto the tabletop. His hand caught Volante's wrist there was a sickening snap as the agent's hand was violently twisted around and broken.

The gun clattered to the table and Ed swept it back toward him with his free hand before gripping the unfortunate hitman by his long hair and slamming his face into the table. The glass groaned and splintered, cracks creeping to the edge. Blood arched back glinting a dark crimson in the golden candlelight as Ed jerked his victim's head back for a second time and sent his head crashing though the tabletop in a crunch of broken bone and glass.

In the same motion he stepped back taking the assassins dropped gun and leveling it at Iscaeld. They were all standing now their weapons drawn and pointing at Ed. Only Wuncler remained seated an amused expression etching his face. Ed's turned his gaze to each of the other hitmen's faces an infuriating smirk plastered across his features, his green eyes glinting with madness. Wuncler was the one to break the silence absently twisting his insignia ring around his finger,

"Well gentlemen I believe our business is finished here,"

Six long slides being pulled back was his only response. He grinned his voice hardly able to contain his mirth his smile matching his grandsons.

"I would seriously reconsider what you are about to do,"

He slightly inclined his head indicating a dozen of his elites who had silently slipped into the room when they had heard the sound of breaking glass, they were now were flanking the door.

Twelve AMT F.A.N.G's gave threatening clicks.

Wuncler sighed and stood, brushing shards of glass from his suit motioning to Iscaeld with a slight nod as he strode past.

"Tell your patron that his services to the house of Wuncler shall no longer be required any of his men that I find at my manor when I return they will be shot then dumped to rot on his doorstep."

He glanced at the mess on the floor clicking his tongue in disapproval,

"And tell him he will be billed for a new a table since his assassin seems to have fallen though mine,"

He stepped past the furious Leaden beckoning his grandson to follow him with a gentle curl of his fingers. Ed paused before falling in step behind his grandfather his voice ringing with authority and distain as he spoke,

"If that mother fucker is still alive tell him that first blood was mine."

Wuncler's laugher could be heard mingling with the snap of lighter as its lid was flicked closed, floating back to Iscaeld and his assassins like the smoke that trailed after the patron to the Wuncler name.


After that word had spread like the plague through the dark world of hitman that Wuncler had shed blood from the house of Arach, indeed had almost slain one of the houses elites. Wuncler savored this new attention but kept the presence of his grandson scarce after the confrontation. Let the rumors aid in creating his new assassin, let them breed fear and respect and spark the damning hell fire of fear to forage the blade to press against the backs of Carbellot and Arach.

This is what Wuncler had tried to wield with Gin and had paid for his arrogance with his own blood. He had been too blinded by his own malevolence to those who had attempted to dethrone him to realize that ICA would eventually attempt to kill to get their elite assassin back.

He had played the deadly gambit in which all the patrons of the contract agencies engaged, each one forging and destroying alliances, slitting each other's throats, trying to topple one of houses of the Legion of Three. Weaving nooses for the elite patrons while grinding executioner's axes to bury in the backs of their companion houses. Leaders who surrounded them selves with assassins whose alliance teetered on the edge of faithful loyalty and treachery each as starved for power as their masters.

It was the quietus of many lower guilds, the inability to control the ambitions of their own agents, these men were so vigilant of daggers from their enemies standing before him that they never expected a blade to be buried in their backs from their own men.

This fate had almost befallen Wuncler when his faction had almost been splintered into disarray with the passing of his son who had been followed by the crippling blow of losing one of his most proficient assassins. He had struggled to hang on those five wretched years, begging Arach and Carbellot to not let the fledgling guild be cast back into the grave from which it had been found.

During this they bestowed upon him the small mercy of their protection allowing him the use of their agents. He accepted this with a forced false humility that had almost torn him asunder. While this seemed like an act of clemency Wuncler was no fool and whether from paranoia or cunning he was astute enough to never let those borrowed killers be alone with him or allowed to wander his house with out three of his own escorts.

The blessings of Arach and Carbellot lent some strength to Wuncler and aided in securing his hold on the thin ledge he had been allowed to keep from his fallen kingdom. However it was no secret that the other agencies were closing in on him with the not so subtle threat of elimination, even with the grace of the other two agencies they made little attempt to conceal their jubilation of witnessing Wuncler of toppling from his pedestal. Then like a saving grace Gin had fallen into his lap, and his grandson's bed. The older man had been surprised when Ed had returned from Iraq with a handsome companion trailing in his wake much like a docile servant. A youth with mercury swift eyes, who was fleet of hand and moved with the grace and sure step of a prowling hunter.

Wuncler had thought it amusing that he had been aware of the affection that had threaded between them even before they themselves were aware of such feelings. He saw just how carefully the blond watched his grandson devouring his every movement with a penetrating gaze. He was always at the redhead's side and usually just a subtle step in front of him so that he could move in the way of any threat, his listened intently to anything that Ed said bestowing upon the redhead his full attention. On other occasions Wuncler would notice how intimately close he would he would stand next to Ed his fingertips barely brush against his grandsons hand and sometimes he would even wind his arm around the heir 's waist pressing him tight against his hip so that he could lean down and whisper something in Ed's ear.

Their emerging romance had not greatly disturbed Wuncler he had cared so little for his grandson that the redheads affairs and who he chose to fuck were his own business. But there had been something about the lithe blond that Wuncler had been unable to cast from his mind. He knew he had looked upon his face before, of that he had been certain, but it wasn't until months after Ed had returned that he had finally been able to gain some clarity.

A rouge assassin had been seized by one of his Reapers while roaming though one of his territories. On a whim Wuncler had him brought to his manor and given a taste of Erath's skills as a Scourge. Information had poured from the unfortunate hitman's mouth as easily as the blood that spilled from the gashes that had decorated his tortured body. Between his sobbing screams he reveled much about the little known agency called ICA.

Wuncler had already been familiar with ICA, a small contract organization that had various factions scattered across the globe. For the most part ICA kept to them selves and offered little threat to the established hierarchy, often times staying away from the Legions main territories. It was because of this that the unobtrusive agency was often utilized even protected by the three ruling families. Wuncler would sometimes send in contracts that were too frivolous, or perilous for his top agents. Very rarely did he see the hitmen he was hiring in person, little personal information was offered and usually all he received was the standard rate for the taking a life. The more expensive the agent the more efficient and skilled he was at handling complicated hits.

Wuncler had glimpsed Gin five years prior to seeing him on his doorstep. It had been a fleeting glance of a youth on the cusp of manhood casually reclining in the back of a black SRX, dressed in a nondescript, rather expensive suit, his blue eyes obediently fixed before him. There had been another assassin with him a man who Wuncler assumed was the boys Rein, a man of no discernable age with a shaved head. His back had been turned to the patron so Wuncler had not been able to see his face, however he had been able to glimpse the edge of the tattoo that marred the back of the man's neck. He had been quietly instructing his ward on some specific detail the low tones of his voice drifting into the slate gray sky.

As time passed it had been reveled that the blond youth had swiftly raised though the ranks of ICA under the mentorship of their top assassin, an agent that whose features were only known to his agency. This faceless agent had been the pride of ICA and suddenly he abandoned them, leaving his legacy for his novice, one in which his underling had flourished, and here was this elite assassin on his knees before his grandson worshiping him as a devout lover. So deeply enamored that he would have done anything for the redhead, even offer his own life in penance for the heir's sins, or too keep his lover safe. If Ed only knew that he had played such a major part in the downfall of the blond.

Because of his faithfulness Gin had provided a set of shoulders for Wuncler to stand on, and his desertion had been the force that pushed Wuncler back from the brink, back onto solid ground at the feet of a very unlikely assassin. Ed saw Gins actions as treachery, a feeling that Wuncler nurtured into a deep seething hatred. Lies laced with lies that would become truths fostered by deceit.

This did not mean that it had been a simple task of getting Ed to be his ward. Wuncler had to weave his deceit carefully until his young heir was so bound in his distortions that any whim grandfather uttered became quietly accepted as true. It was then that he began to sculpt Ed to his own liking teaching him his family lore until he was consumed with the desire to be a killer.

It was though these methods that Wuncler discovered, to his fathomless delight, that Ed was a swift, eager learner just as his father had been, a trait that he had thought been lost to his grandson. It was astounding how his young heir burned though thick tomes in a matter of days, devouring the words like an addict. Wuncler would often wake and find his grandson slumped over piles of books asleep, to tired to stumble to his quarters and his own bed. So in order to accommodate this new yearning Wuncler had given him new rooms closer to his own that connected with Wuncler's private library. Soon the walls of this chamber were covered in maps, and sketches of lithe assassins from every century their equipment and various weapons carefully diagramed and labeled.

Besides the methodical beautifully detailed drawings the walls were also lined with gleaming swords, daggers and knives that were accented by replicas of assassin armor. Items forged by the hands of Wuncler's Weapons Masters and wrought from Damascus steel deadly weapons for a lethal nascent assassin. Ed had an obsessive fascination with blades and because of this reveled that he had a talent for wielding ancient weapons and could handle a sword with a natural skill and grace Wuncler had only witnessed in his own father.

When Edward wasn't pouring over books he could be often found in the brumal upper attics dancing in a whirl of singing steel, steam rising from his body in delicate wisps, his breath pouring from mouth and hanging before him in a translucent mist. Wuncler was usually present when he practiced his skill, and the older man loved watching him.

The redhead was death in motion so lost in his imaginary fights the when he stumbled or made a mistake he would wince as though he had been struck be the keen edge of an enemies blade. When he made these errors a snarl that bordered scream would tumble from his lips in a rush of vapor and wrath. He would then meticulously perform the erred maneuver for hours combining it with others until he would fall to knees trembling with exhaustion and gasping for breath. Wuncler had to carry him from the upper lofts down to his rooms during these times. Marveling at his grandson's prowess and how it was truly a show of deadly elegance that was alluring in all its perniciousness.

Ed emanated that deadly sword stance when he was simply reclining in a chair or leaning against a wall. Like a wolf that knows it doesn't have to stalk its prey but rather has the knowledge that the hunt will be over before it's even had a chance to begin. Now Ed was casually sprawled in one of the many high backed bishops chairs that were scattered around the room. Strewn before him like a seers scrying trinkets, softly gleaming in the weak light, were the pieces of a dismantled AMT Silverballer. Wuncler had lost count of how many times his grandson had broken down and reassembled the gun.

He had one of his weapons engineers cast the gun and gave it to Ed as gift. The redhead had quietly accepted the weapon with a gentle word of thanks and for many weeks it had rested on a shelf next to the curving blade of a Persian Legionaries sword, past and present spillers of blood. Then one morning Wuncler had walked into his office and found Ed sitting at one of the tables the pieces of his gun scattered across it surface, carefully drawing each piece running his fingers over the titanium memorizing them. It had been like that every morning for a month Wuncler had even stacked the table with various books the schematics of guns.

They still didn't speak much, and for the most part Ed was content to be silent going about his studies and accompanying his grandfather when requested. But the older man could sense something rising within Edward, a taciturn rage the smoldered just beneath the surface of his clam exterior.

"This was the gun that shot me,"

The words where as a wisp of heat against the cold morning, and the older man could tell they were spoken though bared teeth. Wuncler feigned a smile and focused his attention on his grandson.

"Yes Edward that is the weapon that almost took your life for ICA,"

There was a pause filled with the hushed cadence of the clock and when his grandson's voice finally rose from the stillness Wuncler felt a shiver of cruel delight creep down his spine.

"I will make them regret not slaying me when they had the chance."

The older man allowed him self a soft laugh,

Yes…yes you will my novice assassin you will bring the world of hitmen to its knees

Instead of replying he silently stood taking the documents he had been looking over with him and quietly went to Ed laying the papers in front of him.

"I believe that the time is approaching for you to fulfill that vow of vengeance my grandson. You no longer need to practice your skill with a blade in the dusty attics of the manor, away from the eyes of the world, nor do you need to continue your training with modern weaponry here, it is a waste of your talent."

As he spoke he leaned down softening his words until they were only a low murmur against Ed's ear.

"Sanctus de Umbrae awaits you Edward."


Ed trust his blade into the heart of an imaginary enemy in a coupe de grace, he followed the movement with an upward parry before slipping back into the darkness of the attic and lashed the blade out low. The saber sang against the night cutting shadow flesh to ribbons in a stream of silver and moonlight, dancing around the heir in a flare of whirling steel. He could hear Erath's voice in the ringing sound of his blade shouting out stances and complicated combinations urging him past rational thought and pain. The Scourge would make him practice until he was swaying on his feet in exhaustion and he couldn't hold his saber straight with out the blade trembling in his grasp.

When he had first begun he was clumsy because of his uncertainty, constantly tripping over his own feet and cutting his hands on the blade not wanting to disappoint his master. But under Erath's benevolent guidance he swiftly improved until he had gained enough confidence to cross swords with the Scourge. Ed was nervous about-facing Erath, he had often watched his mentor shadow fence and knew he could kill a man in the span of a few breaths and that his skill far exceeded his own.

"I will show you no mercy Edward,"

The redhead had graced him with a tense smile,

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you,"

Erath had only allowed him a gentlemanly bow before he was upon his young student in a blur of metal and silk. Striking Ed's sword with such a force that it sent tremors though the younger mans bones. Sparks erupted in the darkness as their sabers clashed as Erath relentlessly drove the young backwards until he was pressed against the wall. His green eyes bright with battle fury he managed to parry and dodge most of Erath's thrusts and slashes wincing every time their blades met in a crash of fire.

He somehow managed to slip around Erath's swift saber but found himself once again forced in a defensive position. He spun back from Erath his sword feigning low then striking high almost catching the Scourge of guard. He sprang back out of the others saber range, his breath heaving his fingers twitching against the hilt of his sword. He wearily circled the other man his eyes flicking across Erath's stance trying to find an opening.

He stepped into sword reach again evading Erath's saber as it sough to knick his sword hand. They danced around each other weaving in and out of the moonlight painting the darkness with streaks of silver. Each fell into a comfortable rhythm Ed lunged forward in mercury swift movements his blade swishing forward in intricate thrusts. Where Erath sought the advantage of sheer savage strength Ed tread the path of lightening quick combinations trying to conserve his energy and out last his opponent. Their blades locked and Erath's momentum brought them nose-to-nose their eyes meeting over their straining swords. A few moments later the sound of steel striking wood could be heard, and Ed found himself on his back with the Scourge knelling on his chest the edge of his sword pressed against his throat.

Fear immediately swelled in Ed's chest and he almost bucked his weight forward in a blind panic but stilled when he felt the others hand press against his chest. He forced his body to be still and turned his head away from Erath's steady gaze shame dusting in a hot blush across his cheeks at how easily he had been vanquished. A soft curse spilled from his lips in a swirl of mist and he tensed waiting for the Scourge reprimand him for his failure. Instead he felt the cold steel of Erath's sword shift away from his flesh and hot breath sweep across his face. Strong fingers curled against his jaw turning his head so that he looking into Erath's dark gaze. There was no scorn or disappointment etching the other man's face, and a flicker of a smile lingered on his lips. He leaned down until he was level with Ed his voice whispering in the dark.

"Do not be repentant Edward, you did very well,"

A smile broke across his face,

"However if I were an enemy you would be very dead."

Ed gave low huff of laughter gently shoving Erath's shoulder,

"Any enemy of yours would soon lay dead Erath, your skill with a blade is too great,"

Erath made a small sound of acknowledgment and tilted his head brushing his lips against Ed's temple. The redhead's breath snared and his body twitched stunned at such an arbitrary act of affection. It was not a lover's kiss, of that he was certain, it was chaste and almost playful and didn't send a bolt fire spiraling though his body. No this had been the kiss of a brother or a friend a token of tenderness and support to ward off sadness and doubt. Letting out a breath he had been unaware he had been holding he wound his arm across the others neck holding him in a loose embrace. When he managed to speak his voice so soft that the Scourge had trouble hearing him.

"Thank you,"

Erath nodded and slightly drew away from his student leaning back and gripping his hand pulling him to his feet as he stood.

"Come, take up your sword Wuncler your training is not over this night,"

The memory vanished flowing back to the recesses of Ed's mind. If only Erath could lay eyes on him now, Ed was certain that he could push his mentor to the very limits of his skill and possibly defeat him. No longer was he the shy stumbling apprentice he once was, his stance was no longer insecure and tactless but was fluid and graceful. The sword that he always seemed hesitant to swing now seemed to be an extension of his body; metal that flowed as quick silver from his fingertips.

He flicked the blade in a deadly arch that would have been level with a mans throat, then spun around ending his dance in a classic saber salute with his left hand tucked behind his back. The wraiths that surrounded evaporated drifting up to the dusty beams of the attic, specters going back to the gloom to called back when his dark rage rose within him again. After a moment he relaxed his stance twirling the blade in a slow circle to alleviate the stiffness that had settled in his wrist.

Sweat dripped from his forehead and slipped down the crevice of his spine. Steam rose from his over heated flesh and the gelid air burned his lungs like liquid fire. Battle light still gleamed in his green eyes, stoked to a seething blaze because of his swordplay but it was slowly fading back to a dull cinder like glimmer.

He walked to his weapons rack and sheathed his blade with one sooth motion in the leather scabbard hanging from its edge. He stayed with his hand resting on the hilt taking comfort in the flesh-warmed stainless steel. Sanctus de Umbrae, the name was enough send excitement spindling though his body.

It was the Citadel to the Three Houses, the place where the sent their novices to be sculpted into assassins. Erath had mentioned the sanctuary many times but when Ed would press him for information the Scourge was absently wave the requests away with a flick of his fingers or the tip of his sword. Ed knew that his father had gone there and so had Erath, he was also certain that Sanctus de Umbrae would give him what he needed to wreck the vengeance he so sought on ICA. He long tired of fencing with specters that could not parry his blade and fight back. He yearned to hone his skills to the equivalent of an elite assassin to dance with killers and meld with shadows.

Against his will Erath's final words, scrawled across yellowed parchment streaked across his mind with a crippling radiance.

"Cast aside you heritage Edward become something more then a blood thirsty killer,"

Ed sneered then bared his teeth his voicing hissing though the gloom as keenly as his sword,

"No…I am what my heritage has brought upon me, the fates descended upon me and made into what I am, I can no longer ignore that the blood from generations of assassins, of murders in the dark, flows though me. Pity me Erath…pity me for what I shall become."


*Docga- an ancient word meant as an insult meaning dog mongrel

*Volante- dragon/fiery

*Wyrm- meant as an insult dragon/worm

*Hraefen- meaning raven a title reserved for Carbellot's elite

*Draca- meaning dragon a title reserved for Arachs elite

*Sceald- meaning shade a name often served for underlings or novices

*Nieten- meant as an insult ancient word for beast or cur