Chapter One: Sword
Artemis's POV
"Inhale as you notch the arrow," she had said. "Exhale as you let it go."
Artemis's mother's words echoed in her mind as she reached for an arrow from the quiver on her back. She closed her eyes in concentration. She inhaled.
She exhaled, blowing a few stray jet black hairs from her face. She let the arrow fly through the air, meeting the red bulls-eye.
Her mother smiled, placing a relaxed hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Congratulations, Artemis. Your father would be so proud."
Artemis felt a pull of sadness in the pit of her stomach. Her father. Her father had gone off to complete a mission for Lord Chaos. What mission- she had no clue.
"Mom, when's dad going to come home?" Artemis asked, looking up at her mother.
"I don't know, Artemis," her mother sighed. "But he will make it out alive. You and me both know that, yes?"
"Yes." Artemis knew her father was strong. Strong enough to hold up the Sky, strong enough to make it in the Ten, a team made up of the most skilled, most powerful people in the universe, commanded by only Lord Chaos himself. "Yes," she repeated herself quietly.
Her father would come back.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice, was all that took to kill this man, the terrorist. Good thing they were in an alleyway- a dead end of an alleyway, he might add. This way, no decent mortal would be bound to fall upon the body. And even if they did... He would leave them a surprise. The dark figure traced his finger in the air to make an A, and a letter drew itself into the victim's cheek: A, drawing blood along with it. Not like the dead man would feel it.
The figure wiped the blood from his knives away onto his victim's clothes.
Oh, so you thought he held a sword for his primary weapon, yes? Wrong again.
"Two down, one to go," the figure muttered to himself.
He straightened in his posture and resumed his brisk pace to his last target, jumping-on-roofs style.
He took a deep breath and with a burst of adrenaline, he was off. His speed was inhumane, drawing him up to the roofs with one jump, leaving his dark cloak trail behind him. It was easier this way, he figured. Much easier. No traffic, no people in his way. It got the job done faster.
The wind whizzed through his ears, blurs of colors in the corners of his long-since-mended green eyes. He had forgotten how free this felt. He kept a close eye on the streets he had passed. Make a left, a right, and resume straight... He was fine.
If the file was correct, and it always was, the three targets were to be meeting at an abandoned facility at approximately three hours and eighteen minutes this afternoon. Only one would appear today. None would leave after this was over.
He jumped over the edge of the roof and down onto the sidewalk. He didn't pause a bit in his pace even when a stoplight was in his way, or even when there was traffic. They were just puny obstacles to board him from his mission.
He slid over the roof of an incoming car. If the driver saw him, they didn't acknowledge it.
Yet, there was no way he could be seen. If you stared at him straight on, you'd see nothing out of the ordinary. If you stared at him out of the corners of your eyes, you'd see him. Trick of the light? He'd say it was. But that was one conversation that's farther from the truth than you think.
Confused? Well, you would have to get used to that. He thinks in strange ways.
He rounded a tight corner, a silent blur of wind to the mortals. Just a few moments and he would reach his destination...
Even from where he stood, the building emanated a feel of old and trashy. It was strong enough to support two floors and ceiling, though that was officially it for the tour. Years of the wear and tear from the wind and rain had gotten through to the building. Pieces of the walls were missing; cement, wood, and broken glass littered the ground like a hurricane had blown through. All the windows were boarded up, the doors too. What kind of sick individual would host a meeting in such a place like this?
He kept his face impassive; he wanted to finish this mission as soon as possible, and he would do just that. Kicking one of the boards from the windows, he slipping into the dusty room.
Three hours and eighteen minutes was his designated time. Three fifteen it was now. Perfect.
His back was to the peeling wall as he waited. The only light that dared come pierce the darkness was the sunlight from the boarded window. He kept still, not daring to make a single noise. If he did it would ruin his whole mission. He wasn't going to risk it.
How does one act when they are about to kill someone? How does one present themselves? These thoughts always came into his mind when he was about to silence.
He didn't act merciful toward any of his kills. The choices he made decades ago effect the choices he makes even now. He says a few choosing words and he kills them. They were on Lord Chaos's hit-list for a reason. Which basically meant that overall the world would be an entirely better place without them. Terrorists, serial killers, murderers. It was always the same kind of people, he figured.
Some noise came from the door by him and it swung open with a loud wail of a creak, light flooding in. A terrorist, he could tell by his looks, walked right in like he owned the place. He didn't even bother flicking the light switch, plumping down into a wooden chair by a worn down table in a corner of the room.
The figure turned to the rustic door, slamming it shut.
The terrorist turned his head, clearly unable to see the figure. With his acute hearing he could make out, "Stupid draft."
Not even a hint of a sound and the figure pulled out his glowing silver knives, illuminating his face: glowing sea green eyes and jet black hair under his dark cloak. That had definitely grabbed the terrorist's attention.
"You," the terrorist spit, sneering, like the word was poison to his lips. "Get outta here."
The distance between the terrorist and the figure grew rather smaller as the figure closed in.
"Get outta my place before I shoot you for it." Terrorist was out of his seat now and raising his voice.
Five feet separated the terrorist and the figure. The figure didn't dare move any closer.
The terrorist pulled out a trusty gun from his old boots. He pointed it at the figure. In return the figure stood motionless.
"My master sent me to kill you. Nothing personal." The figure spoke quietly, in an all-too-even voice for someone who was about to be shot.
"You think you can beat me with just knives?" the terrorist asked, nodding at the assassin's weapons. "My friends will arrive any second. We have you surrounded."
The figure could see past the fake smile. He saw the terrorist's hands shaking. He saw the terrorist's wide eyes. He cocked his head then, putting the terrorist's fright into play. "What friends?"
Terrorist gulped, the grip on the gun tightening. "My friends," he repeated.
"Precisely. I killed them. I suggest you drop the gun before you end up like them."
The terrorist's fingers lay rested on the gun. One little movement of his forefinger was all that took to kill the figure. "You little piece of shit," he decided.
And he did just that. He pulled the trigger.
The figure, safe to say, wasn't happy. Why would a mortal shoot someone like him? He had no idea.
He had warned him. He had calmly waited so as not to upset him. He even took the honor of putting up a good first impression. What was it with mortals these days? Grow a consciousness, will they? He would roll his eyes at their antics.
He rapped onto his master's door, hearing, "Enter, Assassin Aion."
The figure calmly strode in, catching his master's dark eyes. Dark, powerful, evil (somewhat) they were. But gentle, as well. Merciful. He didn't harm the innocent. The figure went ahead and sat down on the chair facing his master's oblique desk.
"Your mission. Stats."
"All three targets killed, just as requested, sir. Meeting cancelled. No authorities contacted."
His master nodded his head in thought. "Perfect mission as always, Aion. As promised: Leader of the Ten. As leader-"
"Sir," Aion interrupted. "No speech. I've read all about it, thank you."
His master smiled in return. "No, I thank you. For sparing me a handful of time."
Aion smiled back. "But- you're the Creator of All, aren't you? You can freeze time whenever you feel like it."
"Yes, though energy-sapping it is, I don't tamper with time."
"Well," Aion paused, looking for the right words. "That's good to know, sir... Have a good afternoon." Aion stood up and walked to the door.
"Aion," his master called.
He turned silently.
"Your daught-"
"Artemis. Is she okay?" Aion asked quickly.
His master set his hands up on his desk, putting on his grave face as he said the following sentence: "Yes, though she's trekked here three times now, asking where the hell you were," he paused. "Do me a favor, will you?"
Aion could feel the edges of his mouth tilt upward. "And that would be?"
A faint smile appeared on his master's face. "Tell your daughter I said sword."
"Yes, sir."