AN: I noticed a slight mistake I made in the last chapter. I mentioned that it was autumn, when in previous chapters I mention it is early spring. I'll be going back to edit it out, and try to be more careful of slip ups going forward. Let me also add a huge thank you to those that comment on my stories. I sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart, and would like to let you know that it motivates me to keep writing. Even though I may not reply to most comments, just know that I read them all. Everyday I might add, it is becoming somewhat of an obsession of mine. So once again, thank you for always being so kind and generous with your words. Without further ado, Enjoy!
"It's a beautiful night." It is something she will always enjoy about her late night work. The moon was full casting its brilliance for all to see. A howl of wind ran through the night as the winter laments its passing. A chill ran through her, and she was once again thankful for the change in her attire this evening. Black pants hugged her legs tightly helping slightly against the chill this evening. They trail down her legs disappearing into a pair of black suede boots. The belt strapped around her waist securely held all her tools for the evening, such as her golden stilettos and other small blades. She wore a tight black shirt that was lined with a mesh material on the inside to prevent any slashing wounds. Which seemed a little pointless to her, afterall everyone inside will likely be using firearms. Better safe than sorry though, and she did not want to have to explain to Loid why she would be wounded this late at night. The last piece was a black mask that covered her whole head, where one would see her eyes was instead covered with a black mesh material. It should be more than enough to cover her identity from any would-be servants.
"Thorn Princess." A deep voice spoke coming from her ear piece. She raised a hand to press a finger against the little device that the director was using to speak to her.
"Yes, sir?" She looked out from her perch on a tree branch to stare at the looming manor ahead of her.
"It would appear we have encountered some unforeseen circumstances." She furrowed her brow upon hearing that.
"Such as?" Was she the only one in Garden that knew how to speak directly?
"The guard detail is much smaller than anticipated." That is something she has been able to gather on her own. Aside from the two guards walking the perimeter and the one manning the entrance she has yet to see any protection.
"Do you think they are inside the manor?" The director was silent for a moment, likely thinking the question over.
"It is unlikely." So it could be a possibility? "It would also seem that Agapov is not here either."
"It is awfully late for a visit." She could hear the man chuckle as if he was hearing something funny a toddler might have said.
"He was supposed to be spending the evening here." Agapov was staying the night? Shopkeeper said the two were political rivals, why would Desmond invite the man over?
"How do we know he isn't here?" She looked back towards the manor and could see that only a few windows had light from inside trickling out of them. "He could be sleeping right now."
"Trust me." The voice rang in her ear with finality. "He isn't here."
"As you say." How does he know that? The director is supposed to be in a car some miles away. How could the man possibly know the details of the manor? A vexing question that she has no answer to, and likely will not ever get an answer to. The man has never led her astray though, so she may as well trust his intel. "How should I proceed?"
"Continue as you were instructed." She nodded then felt silly as no one could see her. "You know the signal."
"Yes, sir." It was not a question, but she answered anyway.
"It'll be radio silence from here on out. Good luck, Thorn Princess. Director, out."
Then all she could hear were the rustling branches of the trees dancing to the will of wind. She hopped down from the tree into the bushes waiting below. She stared ahead to the headlights on the wall, and just waited for the director to give the signal. Which is another thing she realized is strange in this situation. Why even wait for a signal? There are practically no guards here tonight, which is just downright weird. Where could all of the men protecting Desmond be? Even the Director said that they would not be inside the manor. Who could stop her from just walking straight into the camera and hopping the wall? She could easily get inside and kill Desmond before the police even left the city. Something is wrong about all this, she just does not know what it is.
Her instincts were screaming at her though.
The floodlights ahead began flickering, then they went out entirely. As soon as the light faded, Yor dashed from her position in the bushes. She darted toward the wall knowing she had only a scant few seconds before the lights would come back on. She pumped her arms running as fast as her legs would allow, letting only the balls of her feet contact the cold ground. A trail of leaves flew off behind her flying in the chilly air, and she was thankful again for covering up tonight. The bricks were approaching rapidly and she looked up at the top of the wall. Once she was within a few paces of the base of the wall, she jumped like a panther stalking her prey. She felt weightless as she ascended through the air up to her destination. Her hands grabbed the ledge and she pulled herself over as swiftly as possible. She flipped up over the ledge hanging upside in the air for a moment looking back behind her. She saw the lights flick back on, and knew she just barely made it in time. She curled in on herself flipping and landing on the other side of the wall with all the grace of a feline. She sat crouching and scanned her surroundings.
Nothing but empty flower beds and a small dying orchard greeted her as she stood there in the shade of the wall. She can imagine this place looking beautiful, once spring finally settles in. As if to remind her, another gust of wind whips around her. The specter of winter runs through her, and she shivers from the unpleasant chill. She stepped from the shade and into the silver light once more quietly dancing from shadow to shadow through this macabre of once lush greenery. She feels the cobblestone before she sees it as she steps from the barren garden into a pathway that leads around the illustrious manor. She prowls along the stonework adjacent to the manor avoiding any windows even if they only reveal darkness within. She knows she is approaching her destination shortly where her target should be this evening.
Desmond's bedroom.
Director McMahon provided her with a basic layout of the estate. His information gathering before an assignment always proved to be invaluable. Knowing this, why did she question him before? It is likely that he already knew everything that would be happening here hours before she arrived. He has never let her down, so why suspect anything now? Why suspect him? Maybe she is looking for needles where there is only straw. Does it have to do with the target? She does not know Desmond, and has never once spoken to the man. She knows his wife though, and dare she say friends with the woman. She also knows that Anya and Damian are classmates, and Loid hopes for them to become friends.
Personal feelings are dangerous.
She needs to block out all thoughts other than those necessary to the task at hand. She can not think about Melinda and Damian, and what this may do to them. Loid and Anya will be fine, other than a mutual interest in the family through Damian this has nothing to do with them. She is merely overreacting because she personally knows the people close to Desmond. This is the first time she has some sort of personal connection to a target, even if said connection is minuscule and of no consequence.
Then why does this feel wrong?
She shakes her head clearing the pervasive thoughts threatening to ruin this assassination. She cannot afford to be Yor right now, tonight she is the Thorn Princess. It is time to get to work.
She stops under an overhang protruding from the estate she is slinking around. Upon closer inspection, she comes to realize while in the shade of the protrusion from the building that this is a balcony. Particularly, the balcony adjoining Desmond's private chambers. The wooden balustrade encircling the open area prevents those above from having an untimely end. It should also provide an excellent hand hold for her to ascend onto the balcony. The crux of the matter is getting high enough to grab the wooden fixture so she can get up there. She stood far below the balcony grimacing up at it like it provided all the world's annoyance. She turns to scan the brickwork of the building she is attempting to infiltrate hoping to garner some means of access. The brickwork was immaculate, not a single brick lay uneven.
Of course everything about this place is perfect, why would she expect anything less? She sighs, then removes one of her golden stilettos from around her waist. If she could not find any handholds, she would simply make her own. She spun the golden weapon in her palm feeling the familiar weight settle across calloused fingers. She ignored the pinpricks of ice creeping up her hand from the chilly metal sucking the heat from her. She tightens her grip around the weapon holding it like a chisel, which seemed fitting as she contemplated her next move. She crouched down tensing the muscles in her legs. Then like a spring, she released the built up force once again feeling weightless. Her hand holding the trusty weapon winds back waiting for the perfect moment. Once she reached the apex of her short flight, she struck the brickwork with all her might. The windows rattled as the force of the impact flowed through the building. Aside from the rattling of the glass, it was a surprisingly quiet sound. Perhaps it was merely muffled by the howling wind.
She hung there for a moment making sure her impromptu climbing spike was secure. Feeling satisfied with her effort, she pulls herself up and rests her waist against the golden weapon. Then in an amazing show of acrobatics, she extends her arms out and lets gravity build momentum. Using every muscle in her body, she swings around the golden spike like the hand of a clock. Letting gravity work again, she swings downward, increasing her speed. Once her legs are above her in the air pointing up to the balcony, she releases her grip. She curls in on herself flipping backwards to right herself in the air. Once her body is parallel to the ground, she reaches out toward the balcony. Her hands grab onto the cold balusters feeling the surface of the smooth wood against her numbing hands. In that moment, while she strains the muscles in her upper body to pull herself over the balustrade she has one thought running through her mind.
She can not believe she forgot to wear gloves.
Once her feet are planted firmly onto the balcony she brings her hands up in front of her mouth. She exhales onto them trying to warm them from the frigid night air. Even simple leather gloves like her husbands would have been nice, at least they could protect her hands from the wind. She rubs her hands together to get some feeling back into them, but abruptly stops when she can see a flicker of light from beside her. She turns her masked face, to see a glow coming from an open door leading into the room. Through the glass of the balcony door, she can see two figures speaking briefly. The one in the hall turns their head slightly and she is sure that they have seen her. Well, so much for a silent and clean job tonight.
She lifts her boot covered foot up, then kicks the glass doors right above the handles. The doors fly open, straining against the hinges as they swing against the walls, shattering like ice. She could hear the man outside the room scream something, before pulling who she now recognizes as Desmond past him into the hall. Now that they know she is here, she can not afford to dally and needs to finish this job before he can get into the cellar. The paranoid man built himself a bunker down there, and even though she is quite strong, there is no way she can break through solid steel. She growls and dashes out of the moonlight into the dark room with the intent of raining death. She leaps over a table sitting in the middle of the room and while airborne, she grabs a dagger from her waist. Once her feet touch the floor, she flicks the blade out aiming for her target as he enters the corridor. The other man, who she can only assume is one of the sparse guards this evening, slams the door shut. The dagger impacts the wood of the door with a loud thud, sinking up to the hilt right where her target's head would have been. Undeterred, she dashes through the bedroom right up to the closed door. She brings her foot up and once again kicks a door open with all her might. This time the hinges break and the door flies from the doorway against the opposite wall crashing loudly. She plants that same foot down onto the marble floor and rushes into the hallway. She turns in the direction Desmond went hoping she could still pick him off from a distance with a well thrown blade, except it was not the backs of two men she saw.
It was the barrel of a gun.
Her back muscles scream from the strain she puts them through as she leans back away from the firearm. She lifts one foot up to keep her balance as she becomes parallel with the floor. A muffled high pitch sound hits her ears, and she feels a rush of air dispersing scant inches above her face. She hears glass shatter behind her, and a woman screams in panic in the same direction. With her foot in the air keeping her balance, she flicks her ankle up towards the ceiling. She feels the hard impact of metal against her boot, and reaches her hands back to plant them on the floor below her. She hears the clatter of metal against the marble floor as she twists her wrist to spin while performing a handstand. She chances a glance down the hall where the scream was from, and can see Melinda looking at her in horror.
She can not help but think when the next volleyball game will be at that moment.
She swings her hips with the motion of her spin, and sweeps her leg through the air toward the guard's midsection. The man bends forward while rocking back on his heels, allowing him to move his hips away from the kick. She sees her boot brush past the black suit he is wearing, ripping the two buttons keeping the suit jacket closed. She watches a button fly over his shoulder, and can see Desmond running down the hall behind the man. The guard pushes his hips back forward and raises his leg attempting to kick her like she was a door that needed to be opened. She relaxes her arms and tucks her head into her chest allowing her shoulder blades to absorb the impact of the floor. The kick sent her way sails harmlessly between her open legs, and she can see the look of surprise on his face as his attack missed. She feels herself smirk as a devious thought enters her mind from the position the two are in. She punches up right above her position on the ground.
Aiming directly at the man's groin.
The man pushes off the ground with his back foot, and flips forward so fast she can hardly believe her eyes. His hand strikes with the speed of a viper, batting her hand aside to narrowly avoid her castration attempt. His other hand plants itself on the ground between her legs allowing the man to flip past her onto his feet. She tilted her head back while on the ground to chance a look down the hall behind her. She saw her target leaning into a turn that would take him down a side hall and out of view entirely. In one fluid motion, she grabbed another dagger from her waist and threw it at the man turning down the hall. From her position on the ground, and her inverted view of the man she narrowly missed her target. She did however, strike the nightgown the man was wearing along the collar, effectively pinning the man as the blade sunk into the wall. She smirks again under the mask as she hears the man scream in terror.
The sound of metal sliding hits her ears.
She rolls to the side as another silenced gunshot echoes through the hall deafening the sounds of two screams surrounding them for a moment. Flakes of the marble floor bounce off her back as she rolls away from the danger. Once on her back again she kicks her foot up in front of her hoping to strike the metal again. Her kick strikes true as the suppressor extending from the barrel gets knocked aside as another bullet strikes the floor above her head. She throws her other leg to the side spinning on the ground like a street dancer kicking out at the legs of the guard standing over her. The man jumps back and lands off balanced from the surprising attack to both his arm and legs. She then pushes off the ground with her hands landing on her feet. Still spinning from the technique on the ground, she swings the back of her hand around to strike the suppressor. The gun flies through the air once again before impacting the wall with a solid thud. She then hears several pieces of metal ring out against the marble floor and she smiles knowing that she broke the annoying suppressed weapon.
A suppressed weapon?
Why would a guard carry a suppressed weapon? The whole point is to alert people to danger, bringing more guards to apprehend the assailant. Her eyes narrow behind the mesh of her mask as she looks at the guard in front of her. Blue eyes narrow at her in return, and she can not help but feel a sense of familiarity. The blue eyed man throws a jab at her, and she bats the fist aside as if it was thrown by a child. She then retaliates by throwing her hand out hoping to gauge out those blue eyes staring through her. Blue eyes widen and the man tilts his head to the side avoiding a gruesome experience. She growls in frustration as she has yet to land a proper strike against this guard. The man was good, she would give him that much credit. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she noticed something strange about the man before her. The man may have avoided her last attack, but she can see that she grazed him. Some of the skin by one of his eyes was dangling like a plastic wrapper. Underneath the tanned skin where blood should be trickling out, was instead pale skin. It would seem the man before her was wearing a mask.
The man was a spy.
No matter. It would not be the first time she has killed one of these Westalis dogs, and it would certainly not be the last. The last spy she killed recognized her, even though she has never seen the woman before in her life. Maybe that spy was wearing a mask as well? She never bothered to check, and she knew the woman was dead before she hit the ground. The force of her attacks can pierce a brick wall after all, and the woman's head did not fare much better.
The sound of ripping cloth down the hall shook her from her thoughts. It would seem her target is breaking free from his restraints. She grabbed her other golden stiletto from her waist and stabbed at the spy. The spy twisted and her golden weapon merely sliced through his suit coat ruining the material. She spun the weapon in her hand, switching the grip and slicing across his body. The man leaned back avoiding her attack again! She spun with the motion of her last strike and threw a back kick at the spy. While performing the attack she looked back down the hall toward the target, and only saw her dagger with a piece of white hanging from it. Desmond was gone, and in addition to her growing frustration her back kick made no contact with the spy. She was impressed at the skill of the man behind her moments ago.
Now, she is pissed.
She stomps her foot down, cracking the marble floor, and twists her body striking with her stiletto again. The spy ducks under the blow and his hair brushes against her hand letting her feel how fake it is. She curls her wrist behind his head, and brings her knee up into his face with the force of a sledgehammer. Unfortunately she could not get a solid hold of his head because of her stiletto, so the spy managed to slip the blow. She smiled as she still managed to make good contact this time as he only managed to avoid having his face broken from the impact. Her knee instead struck his forehead, snapping his head back and staggering him. Standing on wobbly feet, panting harshly, he seemed barely able to keep up with her. She, on the other hand, has hardly broken a sweat from their brawl. A smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she realizes her superiority over the Westalian dog. A glint of metal in his hand causes her eyes to widen, and pat her waist feeling nothing but the material of her clothing. Her smile turned into a scowl as she watched the spy bring her last dagger up before him and smirk at her.
She is going to kill this man.
He spun the weapon with ease, holding it in a reverse grip and twisting his body slightly to provide less surface area for her attacks. She heard herself growl again before rushing the man in a fury of metal. The sound of metal echoes through the manor as the spy successfully parries each blow aimed at him. She stabs and he twists while moving her own dagger against the side of her golden stiletto knocking it aside. She slashes across his chest and he leans back while knocking her blade up avoiding another cut to himself. She kicks or punches and the spy jumps back out of reach. He was breathing loudly now and she knew it was only a matter of time before he tires and makes a fatal mistake.
Time she may not have.
She knows how to get to the cellar, and knows exactly where the bunker is. What she is unsure of though, is if Desmond has made it there yet. Assuming that the rip of clothing she heard was him escaping, she probably has less than a minute to finish this fight and give chase. Can she do it though? She can certainly win the fight, that much is obvious to her. Within their dance of steel the spy has only been able to defend, and barely at that. She can see he tires and is slowing steadily as her weapon is now trailing across his clothing. His suit is getting ripped to shreds revealing pale skin under the tearing fabric. She scowls in irritation while he smirks confidently. They both know that soon one of her many attacks will land, maiming or outright killing the spy, but both know that it will not matter.
Time is running out for her after all.
Whether the man knows about the bunker in the cellar or not, he at least knows that the time she is wasting on him gives Desmond every opportunity he needs to survive tonight. So, all the while her attacks get ever closer to piercing skin and releasing the beautiful red she adores. He smiles all the while, and she scowls at every parry he performs. Not once has this man blocked an attack outright, and it is infuriating. She knows that her blows will break bones and leave those on the receiving end deformed. It is almost as if he knew that to be the case, that to do anything other than divert the force was suicidal. So was standing in her way anyhow, and this man seems to understand that. He knows she will kill him, surely he can see that. Yet, he still smiles while slowly falling prey to her onslaught. She is going to kill this man tonight, but it will still be her loss. He is too capable to turn her back to, and that is what has stopped her from giving chase this whole time. She may fail tonight in her mission, but she can take satisfaction in killing such a capable spy.
The two fighters danced within a whirl of steel as sparks flew from the contact of the blades. She steps forward swinging her arm in a precise sweep across his chest, and once again the spy narrowly avoids the attack. He steps back from the golden weapon and brings the dagger up to parry a backswing she threw at him. She follows the momentum of the parry and stepping forward and twisting her hips as she swings her leg up aiming a kick at his head. He ducks under the blow and steps back parrying another stab aimed at his torso. She follows the stab with a knee aimed for his gut, but he jumps back yet again. She plants her foot down and spins again attempting another back kick aimed at the man. He takes another step back, and she wants to scream in frustration when the sole of her boot was mere millimeters from his face. She places her foot down following the momentum of her back kick and stabs forward yet again.
Blood flies through the hall.
The spy tried to twist out of the way and even attempted to parry the blow away from his body. It would seem that the fatigue was finally catching up to him. His twist was slow, and the parry attempt from her dagger he now possessed grazed along the side of the blade. It would seem he no longer had the strength to divert such monstrous force, not entirely anyway. The stiletto stabbed into his side from the front and ripped through the back. She finally wounded him, it may not have outright killed him, but she relished in the sight of blood. He staggered back as blood darkened his tattered dress shirt. Not one to miss an opportunity, she spun on a heel and sent another kick into the waiting chest of the spy. He tried to lean back and avoid the attack, but he was too slow. She felt as much as heard the bones snap like tree branches under the pressure of her attack. The spy flew through the air for a few feet before landing on his back and sliding down the hall quite a ways. She set her foot back down on the floor and saw as the man laying some ways down the hall still drew breath. She felt a fascinating mix of respect and exasperation from the man who now lay with a hand pressed to his side attempting to stem the flow of blood. They were the only two left in the hall as both Desmonds must have surely ran for the bunker. She turned and left the man laying there knowing that within the next few hours he will surely perish.
The poison on her stiletto will see to that.
She dashed through the corridor running past the heap of broken wood that is the bedroom door she blasted into the hallway. She passed the remains of the pistol that brought her so much trouble early on in their little dance. All was quiet in the manor aside from the impact of her boots and her steady breaths. She leaned into the turn and did not slow for a second as she ran past the dagger lodged into the wall at the intersection of the hall. She ran past portraits of all the members of the Desmond family, those who have passed, and those currently alive. Hopefully she still has enough time to add another to the deceased members. She turns down another hall and can make out the rails of the grand staircase further down. The sound of her boots impacting the marble floor echoes through the foyer as she runs ever closer to the staircase. She jumps the railing ignoring the steps entirely and drops toward the marble floor below. She rolls on the ground minimizing the impact to her joints before snapping up and running behind the steps. Directly behind the steps was a large white door, and from her intel she knew the steps to the cellar were on the other side. She rushes forward and kicks another door open this evening straining more hinges in the manor. A faint light is seen coming from the bottom of the cement steps leading into the dank cellar. She descends them two at a time and it would seem her arrival has not gone unnoticed.
"Hurry!" She can hear a gruff voice echo through the cellar. She reaches the bottom of the steps and turns running further into the dank cellar. Her mask helps a great deal in filtering the dust from flying into her mouth as she pursues her target. It does little in masking the musky scent from the damp place however. She vaults over a barrel running past what must be excellently aged wines. Maybe when she was done with her mission she would treat herself to some. She reaches the end of a long line of barriques and turns to where she knows the bunker is. Well, perhaps vault is more appropriate for what the great thing is. A great mass of steel sits lodged into the cement wall of the cellar, looking completely out of place next to all the wine barrels. She can see Desmond already inside and helping Melinda through the small metal door. She sprints against the cement ground kicking up dust behind her as Melinda enters the hunk of steel. Desmond grabs the door and begins pulling it closed all the while staring in sheer terror at her. Realizing she still has her stiletto in her hand, she whips her arm forward releasing the weapon. She watches as it darts through the air towards her target as the door before her closes.
She was too slow.
Metal rings around her as the stiletto bounces off the door that has now been closed before her. She slams into the metal banging her fists against the steel screaming in fury. Feeling all around the door for anything that could be used as a handle, but alas there was none. The only thing she could make out on the door was a keypad, and she would never be able to figure out the passcode. She roared in fury again and kicked at the steel monstrosity before her, but it refused to yield in her presence. She was mere steps too late, if she was just a few paces faster she would have…
Then it dawned on her.
"That fucking spy." She spits the title out with all the venom she could muster. He knew that all the time in the world was needed to save Desmond. He knew that he would not be able to stop her, that she was far too strong for him. So what did he do? He merely used all his capabilities to defend himself from her brutal attacks. Oh no, not only did he defend himself, but he led her along like a marionette. He danced away from her lurring her further and further down the hall away from Desmond. Their fight started right outside Desmond's room, and it ended well past it in the opposite direction she needed to go. That is why the bastard was smiling! Not because he was stalling, but because he had her in the palm of his hand. He played her like a fiddle, and she was too stupid to see it. She takes a shuddering breath as she stands there trembling in unbridled fury. Well, he is still alive. The poison will not take for some time, so she might as well have some fun. She usually never indulges in her sadistic urges, but tonight she can make an exception. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this."
She bends over to grab her stiletto on the dusty ground before turning away from her failure and looking ahead to her night of indulgence. She makes her way through the manor not nearly as quickly as before, but still at a brisk pace. She licks her lips in anticipation at all the fun she knows she will have and all the pent up frustration she will unleash. Finally, something to satiate her lust, bloodlust will just have to do the trick. She giggles in delight as she slows reaching the intersection with her dagger embedded into the wall. She yanks the dagger out with all the effort of removing a pin from cloth and turns down the hall where her new toy is.
Where he was.
The spy was gone. Her eyes widen as she dashes to where the body was mere minutes ago. She merely looked on with disbelief at the small patch of blood staining the marble floor. How could this be? How could he be able to move with those injuries and poison? It does not make any sense. She scans the hall for any sign of the spy lingering about. Did some of his fellow compatriots recover him? She looks upon the dark pool on the ground again, and notices a few scant drips along it. She follows the trail and can see it lead into the forgotten bedroom of Desmond. The game of cat and mouse has begun, and she loves it when they try to run. She moves into the bedroom and steps further into the dark room. Shards of glass crunch under her boots as she steps into the moonlight out onto the balcony. A chill runs through her as she embraces the frigid air once again. She follows the trail to the balustrade and sees a bloody handprint glisten in the moonlight.
"Oh you poor thing." Her words leave her lips in a wisp of steam before escaping into the night. She peers over the balustrade down to where her stiletto should still be pierced into the wall. Unsurprisingly to her, it still is sticking out into the night glistening in the moonlight, and it also appears that the weapon managed to soak in its favorite substance after all. Covering the stiletto was another bloody handprint letting her know her prey did manage to leave the manor. "How clever."
She giggles again before jumping over the side and grabbing onto her makeshift climbing spike. She pulls the weapon free from the brickwork and drops the rest of the way to land on the hard ground below her. She steps from the frozen dirt to the hard cobblestone path looking for any more traces of blood. A faint glimmer catches her eye, and she can see a droplet of blood laying upon the stone walkway. She continues down the path winding around the manor leading past the orchard she snuck through earlier in the night. She eventually finds herself walking out in front of the manor, and can hear a faint repetitive click in the distance. She can hear the noise from further along the way, wrapping around the otherside of the manor. She noticed more drops of blood leading towards the sound , so she continued using her ears as a helpful guide. The clicking started up again, and she knows she has heard that sound before. It eventually turned into a loud thrum before eventually winding down into a soft purr.
Oh, it is the sound of a car starting.
A black sedan barrels past her from around the manor as soon as she realizes what the sound was, and she manages to see the spy is in the driver seat. She curses as the car peels along the path towards the security gate at the entrance. She dashes in pursuit of her new toy attempting to flee the scene. Her arm shoots out like a whip releasing a stiletto aimed right for a tire of the escaping vehicle. As luck would have it, the car kicked up a loose rock deflecting the weapon from the desired target. She growls while chasing after the car now too far away to accurately aim at a tire. She scoops up her stiletto ignoring the sticky blood still on it as she watches the car accelerate down the path. She watches as the spy approaches the gate as if it was not even there and she can hear the frantic screams of the guard manning the gate for the night. The spy appeared to be unperturbed as he smashed into the gate breaking the mechanism holding it closed. The metal screeched and rattled as it was wrenched open by the fleeing spy. She approached the wreck of a gate seconds later and watched as her prey simply escaped into the night.
"Who the hell are you!?"Said an irritating voice from somewhere beside her. Her arm strikes like a viper releasing her stiletto into the night once more. A squelching sound of flesh then a gurgle of a drowning man. A moment passes and the night is still once again, not even the wind was brave enough to cross her path. She sauntered over to the body of the dead guard that now lay in an ever growing puddle of blood. She looks down at the corpse with indifference before retrieving her weapon from their throat. Some blood trickles out from the body and blood drips from her stiletto onto the stone beneath her. She holds it in a loose grip in one hand and tucks the other into her belt. With her free hand she pressed a finger to her ear where her earpiece still sat firmly in place.
"Director" She looked back over her shoulder gazing over the mess of steel and blood before her. "We have a problem."
"A problem you say?" She sighed in frustration. She turned and kicked the corpse watching it fly through the air a few feet away before making a meaty thud upon the stone.
"I failed." Silence was what awaited her. Not even she knew what would happen after stating the result of a mission. It was a first for her, and she brought her thumb to her lips and chewed on her finger nail in apprehension.
"...I never thought I would ever hear you say those words." She listened for any indication of emotion from the man. Anger? Surprise? Disappointment? Nothing. His voice was as stiff as ever, not giving away anything to her.
"There was a spy." Hopefully that little bit of info will help explain her reason for failure. "He seemed to know I was coming tonight."
"Did you take care of him?" She shook her head then remembered that the man could not see her.
"Not yet." She turned and began walking down the path leading away from the Desmond manor. "The poison should finish off shortly though."
"So he got away?" This time she heard the faint sound of surprise in his voice.
"I wounded him before pursuing the target." She put her other stiletto away on her belt ignoring the blood staining her black garb. "Desmond managed to escape to his bunker, and the spy slipped away while my back was turned."
"You let an injured mouse escape you?" She growled at the amusement dripping from his voice.
"He hotwired a car." She shivered slightly in the chilly night. "He should be dead within an hour or so though."
"We'll see…" She closed her eyes before exhaling a long breath into the night. "I'm coming up the path now."
As those words hit her ear she could see two small lights in the distance growing ever brighter. She stood to the side and watched as the black car slowly approached through the forest path. The car stopped before her and she got into the back of the warm car without uttering a single word or looking at the man. He kept quiet as well as he turned the car around and drove back towards the city. She kept her eyes aimed out the window watching the forest pass her by in a shadow of stillness. She felt the director eyeing her through the rearview mirror occasionally, and she continued to ignore him. Eventually she heard the man sigh and she pressed her lips together hearing the tired sound.
"No need to pout, Thorn Princess." She furrowed her brow and glared at an owl she saw in a tree.
"I'm not pouting." He chuckled as soon as those words left her lips.
"Of course not." She knew the old man rolled his eyes even though she could not see him do it. "Everyone fails."
"I never have." She feels his gaze on her once again.
"Because you are talented and work hard." She looked away from the forest to gaze at the Director in the mirror. The man was focusing on the road driving steadily towards Berlint in the distance. "A combination that breeds success."
"I still failed." She looked into her lap staring at her clenched fist.
"You did." She felt the car sway as he turned into a new lane on the road. "Learn from this, and try harder next time."
"It won't happen again." She looked into the mirror at the Director and could see a faint smile on his wrinkled face.
"I know." He then reached over to the seat beside him and grabbed a balck duffel bag handing it back to her. "Now change out of those clothes, I'm taking you home."
"What about reporting to Shopkeeper?" She saw him shake his head at her in the mirror.
"You can do that tomorrow." He said as she opened the duffel bag laying on the seat beside her. She found a red sweater and some black leggings in her size. Also a pair of simple white shoes and a bottle of water lay inside. "Now change out of those clothes so you don't scare your neighbors."
"Thank you." She removed her mask and took a deep breath no longer feeling so constricted. She reached down to the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head revealing the mesh protection that was indeed useless tonight. She sighed again as she threw the sweater over her head, already feeling much warmer than before. The sweater fell into clumps of cloth around her hips hiding the belt holding her weapons. She reached down and began untying her boots pulling the laces free from their complex knots. She lifted her leg up and wrenched the boot off before doing the same with the other. With her legs still in the air she wriggled out of her black pants letting her legs breath for a moment. She looked up into the rearview and could see the director focusing on the road, seemingly unconcerned about the display behind him. She awkwardly pulled her leggings up over her legs and around her hips feeling comfortable once again. She slid the simple shoes on her feet and laced them quickly, not really caring if the ties were loose. She grabbed the bottle of water and drank from it like she was a dying man in a desert. Once the bottle was empty, she threw the bottle and her old clothes into the empty duffel bag. She closed the bag and set it down by her feet in the car knowing that the Director will take care of it. After that was taken care of, she leaned back against the seat and felt her eyes droop shut as she dozed off.
"We're here." She opened her eyes and stretched her muscles enjoying the soft pops running along her body. She looked out the window and could see that they were indeed outside her apartment building. She opened the door and was slapped by the cold night air and she resisted the urge to shiver as she stepped from the car. She closed the door behind her and stood there for a moment watching the Director pull away from the curb and driving into the night. She stood under a streetlamp and sighed once again watching the air disappear up past her face.
She stepped up the cement steps and made her way inside the cozy building where her home was located. She continued up the stairs with her hand sliding up the wooden rail recalling the feel of the stone balustrade at the manor. So much fine craftsmanship went into that home. She may not have been able to admire it, but she did glimpse some things while running through the manor. Like the beautiful chandelier she ran under in the foyer, or the wonderful marble floor throughout the home. Well, home did not feel like the right word. It certainly was a marvelous place, but it definitely was not homey. She could not help but notice how empty the place was, sure there was supposed to be more guards on duty, but that probably would have only made it feel worse.
The Desmond estate did not feel welcoming at all.
She knows she never would have been welcomed there under those circumstances, but it still felt like walking into an office building. It would seem the beauty of the Desmond estate is only superficial. Her home on the other hand was the exact opposite. It may be an apartment here in the middle of the city, but once she stepped inside she swears she could feel the love inside. The love of Anya that only a child could share with a parent and the love she hoped Loid felt for her as she did him.
In a purely platonic way.
She shook her head, ridding the warmth flooding her cheeks at her admission even if it was just in her own mind. She loves her family, and she knows that they at least accept her as a member of the family now. She loves the feeling of at least being able to pretend she was normal, to have a husband welcome her home everyday and vice versa. She has been working quite late these past few weeks with all these extra assignments, so he has been welcoming her home more often. She has had to leave early for work too, it has been what? Two weeks? Yes, two weeks since she got to see Anya off to school. Maybe Shopkeeper will give her some time off after tonight, considering her lack of performance as her being run ragged with all the work he has given her. It is with that thought she steps onto the floor of her home and walks down the hall with a hopeful smile gracing her face. Walking with a spring in her step at the prospect of seeing her family, she practically floats to the door. She reached her hand to grab the doorknob and froze with her hand mere inches away.
Blood.
It seemed so out of place here in her sanctuary. This haven where she can just be a normal woman and not worry about her nightly activities. It stained the brass of the doorknob and her heart as she gawked at the aberration looming before her eyes. She shook her head releasing the spell the blood had over her. She grabbed the doorknob ignoring the sticky feeling covering her palm and pushed the door open.
It was a mess.
The smell of blood and vomit assaulted her nose feeling alien in this place that shines in the light of the world. Except now this place was dark with only moonlight and the trailing light of the hall to provide her vision. The coat rack next to the door was on the floor in front of the doorway, and she kicked it as she stepped into her home. The living room table was flipped over and a vase lay shattered by it spilling water and dying flowers over the floor. The loveseat was pushed aside and it seemed that is where the majority of the horrid stench was coming from. She saw a flicker of movement and her eyes darted to the source with the intensity of a predator on the hunt. Behind the turned over table she could see a hand in the rays of moonlight reaching up from the floor to grab a cushion on the couch. She quietly closed the door behind her and reached around her waist for a stiletto. She prowled over to who was behind the table not taking any chances while her family was who knows where. While she was approaching she could hear the shallow raspy breaths of the person on the ground and knew they were injured. She grabbed the edge of the table gripping the wood so tight it splintered, then she threw the table aside getting a good look at the intruder.
She froze.
"Loid!?" She dropped her stiletto letting it clatter against the wooden floor as she dropped to her knees before her husband. She looked at him in horror as her husband convulsed hideously on the floor. It lasted only a moment but it will stay in her mind for a lifetime as she gasped bringing her hands to her mouth. He was so pale and his lips were such an ugly dark color. His suit was in tatters looking like it was ripped to shreds on his body. She noticed his hand was pressed to a dark stain along the side of his abdomen. She grabbed the bloody hand of her husband and removed it from the now red shirt he wore. He cried out in pain and she felt him weakly try to pull from her light grip. She let go of his hand and it fell uselessly to the floor next to him and that hideous wound in his side. She reached down and grabbed his shirt in both hands and ripped the cloth open letting the buttons fly through the dark home.
The sight was ghastly.
Her eyes widened once she saw the extent of his injuries. His chest was just one large purple bruise and looked as if it was caved in. He lay there struggling to draw breaths, and she was thankful that no blood was around his mouth. His torso was covered in dried blood that was a sickly dark color. His wound slowly leaked blood and some other purple substance she could recognize as a festering poison. It was all wounds she recognized, and for good reason too.
She did this to him.
Her husband was the spy at the manor. She would recognize her work from anywhere, and knew the symptoms of the poison running through him. His nervous system was failing and causing him to convulse, he was also delirious and unlikely able to perceive anything. Tears stung her eyes as she felt the betrayal sink into her overcoming the fury she still held for the spy that ruined her night. His labored breaths hit her ears like nails on a chalkboard while she sat there listening to him wheeze. Her husband was going to die, and she was going to let him. How could he keep such a secret from her? Like how she kept her assassin job from him. Was this fake marriage just a way to protect his cover as a spy? That was why she went into this arrangement to begin with. She punched her thigh in frustration and welcomed the pain there, hoping to alleviate the growing pain blossoming in her chest.
She had no such luck.
She saw droplets of water land on his bruised chest and sobbed in anguish. How could she let herself think for a moment that everything would be normal? That she even stood a fraction of a chance to live a normal life. Her normal life ends tonight, and by her own hands no less. Another small convulsion ran through her husband laying there on the hard floor. Another sob wrenched itself free from her throat as she simply sat there watching the man who held her heart slip away. Her husband had to die, and she knew that Garden would tell her to kill him if they knew he was a spy. He has to die, but he does not have to suffer. She continues crying as she grabs the stiletto she discarded once she saw him. Her vision is murky from all the tears, and she welcomes it unsure if she could look at him while doing this. She takes a shuddering breath to steady her nerves and raises the golden weapon into the air catching the moonlight.
"Anya…"
His weak voice echoes through her head and the weapon clatters to the floor once again. How could she ever face Anya after this? How could she claim to love her after killing her father? Even if this family they had was fake, she knew Anya loved her father dearly. She would never forgive herself for letting her father die, and Anya would never forgive her either. She must choose between her loyalty to Garden and her loyalty to her family. She would choose her family every time with no doubt in her mind.
She stands and rushes past the couch heading to the place where she has the tools to save him. She slams her bedroom door open and runs over to her wardrobe. She flings the doors wide open and parts her hanging clothes to the sides. She places her hand along the back panel and presses it inward letting a small wooden compartment open up to her. She grabs a small box out from the hidden compartment and rushes over to her bed. She feels around under the bed in the dark and brushes against something metallic. She pulls her first aid kit from under the bed and carries the two containers back out into the living room. She slides down next to the man and notices with startling fear that his breaths are even shorter. She opens the small box from her wardrobe and grabs a small vial and a syringe from the box. She opens the vial and dips the syringe inside and pulls the piston back to draw out the antidote. She holds the syringe up and flicks the needle lightly ensuring no air is trapped inside. Then she looks down at her husband and places a palm along his forehead, stroking the hair from his face lovingly.
"You can't die, Loid." She says to the man who is barely outpacing death. "I won't let you."
AN: Let me start off by saying I hope you all enjoyed that action scene I wrote, I don't have much experience writing scenes like that. If you would be so kind let me know how I did, and anything I may need to improve upon. Regarding that scene, I feel I will need to explain my reasons for Loid being able to put up such a fight. I feel this way, because in every story I read here, Yor always completely destroys Loid in any combat scenario. I'm not saying that Yor wouldn't win, I just don't believe it would be as one sided as everyone seems to claim. We've seen Loid perform great feats of agility, and I dare say he is faster than Yor. His ability to process information and perceive details is near inhuman levels like that of Yor's strength and combat prowess. So, I tried to paint a scene that displayed that in a believable way. Of course, Thorn Princess would win the confrontation when it is all said and done, but naturally Twilight would still complete the mission. Thank you all for reading, and I will see you in the next one. Ciao!