[Normal P.O.V]
One year ago...
Trap music blared across the room as people danced to it on the dancefloor. LED lights lit up from below the floor, in sync with the beats of the music. The Nether is a famous club in the city of New York and it has the most frequent visits than any other bar or club. Inside the club it was like dancing on the Northern Lights; beneath the dry-ice smoke swirled an array of ocean blues, acid greens, hot pinks, and gold. The music played over the dance floor as if had fused with the bodies.
Tonight is a very special event. Everyone is feeding off of the smiles and fast dancing. Feet were moving to the crazy beat as if they belong to the music. Women were moving in their dresses like their hips were made to sway, the sequins catching the disco ball light that twirls above—launching every shade of the rainbow into the darkness. The men laughed and snickered across the bar, drinking shots after shots like there's no tomorrow.
Everyone was dressed as fashionable as possible. Almost every women's clothing had a dash of sparkles and some solid gold accessories. Their dresses were as tight as possible and exposed. The men all had a coat and a fedora, with most of their button-up shirts three buttons open. To the eyes of a normal civilian, this would look like a casual party in a club. But it's more than that.
Underneath all their sparkling dresses and their dark coats, are a set of hidden weapons. Each and every person either had a gun or a knife concealed under their clothing. Underneath all their smiles and laughter, is a look of absolute mischief and evil, for their target is amongst them.
As they pretended to act as if everything is normal, they silently watched their target's every move. From the single sway of her arms and legs to the flow of her braided golden blonde hair. Unlike the rest of the women in the club, she wore a set of causal clothes; a pair of ripped jeans, brown boots, and a black sleeveless crop top. It's pretty obvious that she stood out, and it made the others' job easier. Her back was turned towards them as she sat on a stool by the bar, sipping on a glass of whisky.
All fifty assassins were suspicious of her. They were simply told to monitor her and follow her every movement. However to them, it's as if every move she made has a hidden motive. Even when she swayed her body along the floor and muttered incoherent words while carrying a beer bottle. None of them believed that she was actually drunk because it would be too good to be true. Why would their client pay them to watch a random drunk girl?
"Yo, bartender! Another glass!" Their target yelled with a loud voice.
The bartender, who was also one of the assassins, irritably walked over to her side of the bar and practically slammed the entire bottle of whisky on the surface. Either the woman was too drunk to notice, or she did care. She simply took the bottle, popped the cork open, and poured the rich golden liquid onto her glass, filling it up to the brim.
Once she set the bottle back down, she began climbing up the bar. The assassins watched her stumble up to her stool and stand up onto the bar table. They couldn't believe their eyes. Is their target this dumb?
The woman stood up straight or what she believes to be straight, and held her glass up in the air. Her body is now facing them, grinning drunkenly at the flabbergasted crowd. Sky blue glowed through her irises. A bright but slightly mischievous smile crawled up her face.
"Drinks for everyone!" She announced gleefully.
The assassins couldn't do anything but cheer. They had to keep up with this act if they intend to finish the mission. No matter how insane it is to send fifty assassins after a single drunk woman, they're getting paid so it doesn't matter.
Upon seeing their faces, the woman's aura shifted. Gone was the mischievous and drunk attitude. Instead, a cold and dark presence replaced it.
"But you'll have to pay with your... blood?" She seethed out, only to stop to see if she said the right word.
The assassins only had three seconds to react to the sudden shift of attitude and comprehend her words before the 'drunken' woman leapt from the bar table. Her hand slid under her crop top and when she swiped her arm out in the air, five cuts appeared on the throats of five assassins, causing blood to spew out of the openings.
Before the bodies could touch the ground, a quiet but sharp sound zipped through the air. The clubbers winced, except for three, whose bodies received numerous cuts on their torsos. The blonde woman landed on her feet, in front of the still-frozen assassins. The metal on her sword gleamed against the disco ball's light which momentarily blinded the assassins. In that fraction, if a second, the woman's sword, which has an extremely thin and sharp blade, slashed at them.
Blood painted the floors and walls as the blonde woman proceeded to cut through the distracted assassins. It's as if all their training had suddenly vanished. They couldn't move from their spot either out of fear or shock. The ones in the back broke off out of their frozen state and hastily fished out their weapons, only for them to feel the skin on their neck open.
As rich dark liquid poured out of their sliced necks, they fell to their knees and choked at their own blood. Then all of a sudden, a lanky blond popped up from behind them and draped his arms over at their shoulders as if they were normal pals.
"Hey! Have you guyz seen an ugly blonde girl who stinks of curdled yak milk?" The man asked the dead bodies in a scratchy voice.
His blond locks were styled into dreadlocks which oddly suited him. He had a long face that resembled the blonde woman going berserk on the other side. His trench coat was far too big for him so it kind of hung across his body like a cape. In his hand, lays a small six-inch bar with a spearhead stuck out of the end, the blood of his victim still coated the metal blade.
All of a sudden, a body was thrown across the room and was slammed against the wall. The blond's blue eyes followed its trajectory to the crazy drunken woman, who was swinging her sword around, spilling blood and flesh.
"Oh, nevermind." He casually said, patting the dead man's shoulder, and stood back up. "Hey, ass-face. Are you done over there?"
Ass-face cut another assassin down with a growl before glaring at the lanky blond. "What do you think, Bride of Grendel?" She shot back after kicking an assassin's crotch and then slicing her face off.
The bride of Grendel hopped from his position, swinging out his now fully retracted spear, and stabbed an unaware assassin in the back.
"That you're face looks like your ass. I've seen both and the resemblance is uncanny."
Ass-face flipped a pool stick off from the ground, caught it, and threw it at a random assassin like a javelin. The assassin gasped at the protruding wooden stick that's jutting out of his chest. Ass-face allowed a grin to spread out on her lips. She ran towards him and using the pool stick as a step, bounced off of him and stuck another assassin on the way down.
"Do you even know what uncanny means?" She asked the male blond, who is now randomly stabbing the clubbers' body from the back and side.
"Uhh, no? Does it mean you're an ass-face?" Bride of Grendel replied rather confused. "Oh! It means that you don't have cans!"
The female blonde rolled her eyes and cut her way through the crowd towards him. Blood spilled onto the dance floor, illuminating the death around them. Once they reached each other, they slammed their backs together and fought off the assassins.
"No, idiot. The 'un' from 'uncanny' is supposed to be an acronym for the United Nations. So, the cans belong to them!" She concluded, feeling proud of herself.
The second idiot grinned at the explanation and guffawed. "That's why we're the geniuses of the team, sister!"
"Right back at you, bro!" The female blonde grinned back before facing the ones who were left.
But they were surprised to find out that there were only two left. Two for each of them. They both smirked darkly as they gripped their respective weapons, eager to use them.
The two assassins then lunged at them, swinging their combat knives at them. Unfortunately for them, the brother and sister duo are far more experienced than them. As dumb as they may be, nobody can deny their skills. Like a rodent, they scurried out of the range of the knives and sneaked behind the assassins. With their backs turned, they pierced both of their bodies behind them. The two assassins spat out blood as they crumple to the ground, limp and lifeless.
After the last of them breathed their last breath, silence fell upon the room. Only the booming trap music from the speakers resonated around them. Dead bodies laid scattered across the dancefloor and the bar. Blood caked the floors, walls, and even the ceiling. The stench of death filled the air like a messed-up deodorant In other words, everyone's dead. Even the DJ, who now dangled across the DJ booth with a red dart stuck on his forehead.
The two responsible stood tall in the middle of the bodies as if showing off the number of their kills and their deadliness. The female blonde's crop top rode up to her chest as she stretched out her bloodied hands in the air and let out a groan.
"Ugh, the Flyers are the worst. They just had to pick my favorite club as their base." She said grumpily.
"It's your fault since you went here." Her brother remarked.
Ignoring him, she wanders around the room survey the are. Who knows? Maybe one of them has a gold watch or something. Her eyes, which practically matched the blue hue coming off from the dancefloor, locked onto a certain pool stick, which was buried in a dead man's chest. Upon seeing it, the woman let out another groan.
"No! I didn't even notice I used my favorite pool stick! What next? My favorite dart?" She waved her arms out.
The blond man points at the red dart jutting out of the DJ's forehead. His sister then lets out a loud gasp.
"No! Belch!" She exclaimed dramatically. Then her eyes narrowed at the blond man, who smiled sheepishly at her. "You did this! You're going to pay, Tristan!"
The sound of a doorknob turning caused the two to whip their heads around towards the main doors. They had just enough time to watch a woman leave through the doors in a panicked state.
"Ohh! We got a runner!" He exclaims, strangely excited. "Move it, Racquel, or whatever your name is!"
Then, without wasting a second, they moved quickly to catch her. They followed her steps and burst out of the club, where they watched the woman frantically dash through the alleyway. She was rather slow, due to her high heels and her tight dress. So, her fastest was about the speed of a normal person walking. They casually followed her so-called escape by walking normally.
As expected, the heel of her shoe broke, causing the woman to trip and fall down to the ground. Tristan let out a loud snort upon seeing the woman slip up.
"You know, for an assassin you're kind of... awful." Racquel quipped.
The woman trembled in fear, looking up to the two siblings. "A- assassin? I- I'm not a- an assassin." She stuttered.
Tristan tilted his head, perplexed. "You're not? You just happen to be at the Flyer's base, wearing the exact same thing they do?" He asked the woman with narrowed eyes. "Alright, we believe you!"
"Idiot! She's obviously lying! She's a blonde, so she must be lying." Racquel retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.
"But you're a blonde. Or are you...?" Her brother narrowed his eyes at her with suspicion.
"Of course I'm blonde! Can't you see? I have blue eyes!"
"No, you don't! You have... aqua blue eyes!"
Racquel gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "How dare you?"
Tristan smirked in response. "What are you going to do about it?"
While the two continued with their squabble, the woman sneakily slid her hand down her skirt to pull out the hidden knife attached to her thigh. She couldn't believe that they were this stupid. She couldn't wait to receive the one hundred thousand dollars she was about to receive once she cut these two's heads off. But sadly, fate had other plans. Or in this case, a sword.
Before the woman could even pull out her knife, a curved blade jutted out of her chest, breaking through her sternum and piercing her heart in the process. A choked scream escaped her lips, which caused the bantering siblings to stop and gasp at the scene. Blood trickled down the wound and to the ground. The color in the woman's face faded as well as the light in her eyes.
However, whoever did it wasn't done. The blade retracted from the woman's chest, quite harshly if Tristan might say, and proceeded to slice through the woman's neck, cutting her head off clean. The decapitated head rolled across the ground and stopped by Racquel's feet. The shock instantly vanished on her face and was instead replaced by disgust and fear. She jumped backward while letting out a shriek. The male blond's face turned green and turned to his side to barf out the last of his lunch.
"What the fuck?! Even I don't cut people's heads off!" Tristan exclaimed while wiping his vomit off of his mouth. But when he noticed that his sister didn't make a remark, he lifted his head to look at her, only to find her frozen in fear.
At first, he was confused. Because the only time her sister ever showed fear was during her first mission. He would even admit that he was terrified. But this is also the first time he vomited that's not caused by her sister. He then followed her line of sight and found himself in the same state as her, once his eyes fell on the person behind the decapitated woman's body.
Fear is no stranger to either of them. But for the first time in their lives, they couldn't contain nor hide the terror in their hearts. Their first impression of the guy was that he was a homeless person. But the more they observed, the less they thought he was some weird bum and more like an assassin. A dangerous one.
His clothes were ragged and dark, a few splashes of blood caked on them. Rips and holes riddled the worn-out leather jacket. There was even a bullet still stuck against the collar. Pads of ripped leather stuck on his body like a set of disorganized armor. The hems of his pants were burnt up to his calves, the charred cloth still visible. A single fingerless glove is present on his left hand, which is attached to a mysterious contraption underneath his sleeve. In his right hand, is a long curved sword. Silver ore practically gleamed off the blade. But covering the beautiful blade is a splatter of crimson red blood that reached up to his exposed wrist.
The man's face is devoid of a mask but the amount of blood splattered across his face is too much for him to be recognizable. Other than his pale green eyes and his light beard under his chin, he was a man of mystery. His dark and almost-burnt hair was so long that it practically covered the back of his head and touched his shoulders. His bangs, which were a few strands of dark locks, reached up to his chin. But even with the blood-covering his face, the expression on his face is still decipherable.
But that only confused the siblings. The man's forehead was creased, his eyebrows furrowed. His lips pursed, with his eyes unwavering but held a distinct feeling of confusion. It's as if he had no idea what he had just done.
"Um..." Racquel broke the silence, causing her brother and the mysterious man to turn to her. The former shaking his head silently but hastily. He knows when to stop messing around and this is one of those times. "Hi? Thank you for helping us but we..."
Tristan already ditched the subtle shake of his head and is now outright mouthing the words 'shut the fuck up'.
"We already knew... she had a hidden weapon and we... were just tricking her into pulling it out so... no worries?" Racquel's voice was strained and tense, but who wouldn't in the presence of a man who mercilessly cut off a woman's head?
The man remained silent, his eyes trained on her form. They held no anger nor bloodlust—simply confusion. Tristan watched the supposed interaction between the two with bated breath. He was a bit scared that the man would suddenly lunge at them and tear them apart like toys.
Instead, he was shocked to see the mysterious man speak.
"Name?"
The man tilted his head, staring at both of them like a bewildered animal. His emotions were so exposed but at the same time, hidden. Tiny little flames of life danced in his pupils. A spark of curiosity.
Racquel snapped out of her shock and digested the words coming from the man. "Uhh, name? My name?" She asked him.
He nods in response. She unconsciously turned to her brother with a readable expression on her face.
'What do I do?'
Tristan pressed his lips together and motioned his head towards the man, who was still staring at the both of them in a peace-like trance.
'Tell him. We don't want to die, right?'
Her eyes went back to the man. With a gulp, she said, "Um, my name is... Ra- Ra... Raffnet! I mean, Ruffnut!"
In her frantic state, she accidentally lied to the man. She had been contemplating whether to tell him his real name or not. So far, the safest thing to do is tell the truth. But doubt sneaked behind her and caused her to blurt out that awful lie. She silently cursed herself for coming up with an unbelievable name. Her brother also cursed her, but for coming up with an awesome name.
The man, who seemed to accept that answer, now turned to the male blond. At the sudden pressure from him, Tristan began to sweat. He wasn't really that good in pressure and he tends to wing it. But in this situation, winging it could get him killed.
"Umm, my name is... T-" He started, but when he caught Racquel's eye, he quickly changed it. "-uffnut. My name is Tuffnut..."
His sister rolled her eyes at the imaginative and creative brain her brother had. Note on the sarcasm...
"So, what about you?" She asks the man, who glances at her with curiosity. "What's your name?"
His dark locks shifted downwards as if to cover his eyes. At the same time, his head fell down. Racquel's brain panicked silently. She thought she said something sensitive to the man.
Tristan clenched his right fist, but he neither showed it nor hid it. It was a subtle message to his sister to tone it down because they have no idea who they're facing, as well as a message of intimidation to the man without actually threatening him. Granted, he may not look like an intimidating person but never judge a book by its cover. Years of training had changed him but it didn't bleed Tristan's goofy and wild personality.
His hand wrapped around his retracted spear that's hanging in his trench coat. About a few seconds have passed and the man still hasn't responded. The only movement they received were a few shakes of his head and flinches. But even the simplest actions cause Tristan to sweat.
'Why am I being paranoid? That's supposed to be Finn's job. Wait, who?'
Racquel on the other hand is trying to avoid any sort of conflict. Right now, she feels like that instead of them, he's the one being threatened. She's been observing him for a while now and she concluded that he's experiencing some sort of inner battle within him. What is he thinking about? She has no idea. But, it's either that or the guy has Tourette's Syndrome.
"Hey, if you don't want to tell me your name. That's fine." Racquel broke the silence, raising her hands in the air in a gentle manner.
Unaware of the hushing noise she's breathing under her breath, she approached him slowly as if she were trying to tame an animal. For all, she knows that this guy may be a modern version of Tarzan.
The man is now practically trembling. His tenseness is lost and the grip on his sword is slowly softening. However, his head was shaking and flinching. Every once in a while, he would let out a grunt or he would take in a sharp breath. His hand flew to his eyes and clutched it tightly. The sudden movement surprised Racquel and she instinctively took a step back. Tristan saw this as a sign of aggression and when you're an agent/assassin, habits tend to be... habits.
His hand unconsciously gripped his spear and pulled it out, causing a ruffle in his coat. The man's ears perked up, and his shaking stop altogether. Green peaked out from between his fingers. A sudden rush of coldness and heaviness swirled around the walls of the alleyway. The siblings could hear the clenching of his fist around the handle of his sword, his muscles stretching and squeezing.
The two agents recognized this shift of demeanor. Curiosity has vanished from his eyes. A black and dark kind of chill replaced it. They remember this from all the trips they've been to the zoo. A porcupine bristling its quills. A tiger baring its fangs and extending its claws. A squid squirting out its ink. They all have a defense mechanism. The same goes for the mysterious man. He has one...
...and they just triggered it.
Finn was happily re-reading the entire Percy Jackson series on his comfortable reclined chair. People find it odd that the husky man still acts like a total geek when he literally is the opposite when it comes to his job. He may not be always out in the field but when he's needed, he can kick ass in his own way.
Cooped up in his fine little home in the Big Apple, New York City, he usually spends his time writing or reading. Granted, his job is stationed miles away from where he's currently living, but he's officially a free man with free will. He could live in Japan for all he cares. But that doesn't mean he's still out of his job.
He informed ahead to the office where he'll be living so that it would become his territory. Whenever he has an assignment, it's guaranteed to be in New York or close to it. Plus, when he's needed back at base, he could always take his Chevy Silverado for a ride. But don't underestimate that brown truck of his. It's been modified by Finn himself to withstand the heat of three-thousand degrees Fahrenheit. There are a few more altercations but that's the most impressive attribute.
So when he heard a knock on his door, he immediately thought that he'll be receiving an assignment. He usually isn't excited about infiltrating highly-secured places or stealing some important documents but he was stuck in his little shelter for five weeks without an assignment. His past self would pass out, every time he has to go on a mission. But his current self was so excited, that he practically giggled and rushed to the door.
But what he didn't expect, was to see his two life-long friends enter his home, injured and covered in blood.
"Tristan? Racquel? What the-"
"I'll explain later, Finn. Just get me a medical kit." Racquel ordered him as she barged in through the door while holding her brother up by his arms and shoulders.
Either it was their blood or not, he didn't care. He immediately followed her orders and returned with a white box of medical supplies. Racquel carefully laid Tristan down on a couch, causing the blood from his wounds to trickle down the leather furniture.
Tristan coughed harshly and raspily. "Sorry... about the couch, Finn." He smiled weakly at the husky blond.
Finn smiled in return, "No worries, Tristan. As long as you're safe, my couch is all yours."
"Sweet..."
That's the last thing he said before passing out. It was a good thing because Racquel had to stab a needle into him for the morphine to enter his bloodstream and Tristan hated needles. Once the morphine was set, she took a bunch of white bandages and wrapped them around the wounds on his body, but not without cleaning them first.
"We got attacked," Racquel said as she dabbed the cloth on her brother's chest. "Well, actually it was our fault that he attacked but... the guy had no mercy."
"What guy?" Finn cautiously asked.
Racquel stopped for a moment to face him. There was a long cut down her neck and her lip was bleeding. But her injuries were minor compared to Tristan, who sustained about sixty-three cuts, all shallow and deep, on his body.
"Some weirdo we met during our mission. Dude's a total freak-show. Acts like some sort of dangerous animal."
"You said the same thing about your hook-ups," Finn remarked with a small grin as an attempt to lighten the mood. Luckily, it worked.
But as fast as her smile appeared, it disappeared. "But this guy is different from all the weirdos we faced in our missions. He blocked all our attacks. Always had a counter-attack. There were no openings at all. He had this weird mix of a wild and coordinated fighting style. Like he knew what he was doing but at the same time, he didn't."
Finn pursed his lips. "And you couldn't see his face?"
"No. It's super dark in there and his face is like... covered in blood." She replied with a shudder. A humorless smile then curved up her lips. "I don't even know what we're dealing with here. "
"A monster? A madman? A demon?" Finn suggested.
"Nah, man. This guy is who you send to kill demons. This guy... this guy's like... a demon killer..."