Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, The Eminence In Shadow and 'Eminence in shadow x Op male reader: The Emperor of the shadows' by 'JustyTurner'. They belong to their respective owners.

Enjoy.

The silence of the night, once a comforting blanket, was ripped apart by the frantic splashing of hurried footsteps. Desperate men, their faces contorted in a mask of terror, darted through the deserted streets, each step a desperate plea against the unseen horror that hunted them. Water sprayed from their heels, the only visible sign of their flight, as the relentless thing pursued them with a fervor that defied logic or reason.

They were running, but they weren't escaping. It was a futile ballet of fear, each terrified stride only delaying the inevitable.

One of them, a burly man with a receding hairline, tripped over his own feet, his pained grunt turning into a bloodcurdling scream as unseen hands yanked him into the inky shadows. He vanished with a wetthud, leaving behind only the echo of his terror. Another, younger and quicker, was torn apart in a gruesome spectacle, his body exploding in a spray of blood and gore that painted the street in macabre strokes. Then, a third man was lifted off his feet, his hands scrabbling at his throat. He clawed at the invisible wire that tightened around his neck, a silent scream trapped in his bulging eyes, before his head was abruptly severed, his body collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

The slaughter was relentless, a display of horrifying ingenuity. Some were melted into puddles of steaming flesh, others had their legs hacked off, leaving them to crawl in vain before a final, merciful shot to the head. No hiding place was safe, no escape possible. They were mice in a silent, deadly maze, and the invisible cat was toying with them.

Finally, there was one left. He glanced over his shoulder, the emptiness behind him a stark reflection of his own isolation. His eyes, wide and frantic, locked onto a door at the end of the dimly lit street – a beacon of hope in the desolate landscape. He lunged for it, his breath ragged, his heart hammering against his ribs. With a sigh of relief, he grasped the handle and yanked it open.

But what greeted him wasn't salvation. Instead, a fist slammed into his face, sending him sprawling backward, the taste of blood bitter on his tongue. He clutched his nose, his vision blurring, and squinted. At first, he saw nothing, just the open doorway, a black rectangle against the night. Then, he saw a shimmer, a distortion in the air, like heat rising from asphalt on a summer's day.

The door slammed shut with a deafening bang, the sound echoing through the street, jolting him back to reality. The shimmering in front of him started to solidify, coalescing into a shape, a figure. It was tall and slender, clad in a white, almost metallic cloak that seemed to ripple with its own inner light. The hood was up, concealing their face, except for a metallic mask, a cold, expressionless visage. One eye was a perfect circle, crossed by a harsh line. Beneath the cloak, he could see hints of a skintight, white uniform.

He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that this was the architect of the slaughter. This was the invisible predator.

"Please," he stammered, his voice hoarse with fear, "I… I'll pay you. Whatever they paid you to kill us, I'll pay you double. Triple!"

The figure approached him, its movements fluid and predatory. A foot connected with his jaw, shattering teeth and sending a searing pain through his face. He landed on the ground, the figure's boot pressing his face hard against the cold stone.

"Money," the figure's voice was flat, devoid of emotion, "cannot erase your crimes. The years of suffering you inflicted on countless lives. Your human trafficking."

"It's not personal," he choked out, his words muffled by the figure's boot. "It's just business."

The figure's rage was palpable. Another brutal punch landed, this one more devastating than the last. "How dare you call it 'business'? You reduced human beings to nothing more than merchandise, inflicting unspeakable horrors on innocents."

"They're just poor people! Nobody will miss them. They're finally contributing to society, for once," he spat, fueled by a desperate bravado.

His words were met with another blow, but this time, followed by a searing pain in his stomach. He gasped, his hand flying to the wound.

"Useless?" The figure's voice rose, filled with a cold fury. "Your life isn't worth the pennies you spent celebrating your 'well-done' job. All the suffering you caused, reduced to a line on an expense report for your drinking and partying."

"What are you talking about?" he gasped, the realization dawning on him, a sickening wave of understanding crashing over him.

"Oh, you finally figured it out, huh?" the figure said sarcastically.

"Who… who are you?" he whispered, his fear now a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole.

"I am simply an assassin," the figure said, its voice regaining its flat, unemotional tone. "And I will bring freedom to this world, a freedom that it denied me." The figure's hand rose and with it a long, gleaming blade that suddenly materialized into its grip before lunging it down on his neck.

The man's head tumbled onto the floor and the figure swished the blood from their blade. It breathed slowly and deeply, trying to regain some control before it sensed the presence of others. It looked up and saw similar figures that shimmered into existence around it. They were all dressed in the same white metallic cloaks, hoods pulled up to conceal their faces, leaving only the mouths visible. Beneath the cloaks, they wore the same white skintight uniforms.

"Search them," the assassin commanded, its voice now firm and commanding. "Make sure not one of these traffickers is left breathing." The figures dissolved into nothingness, their presence fading as they disappeared into the night.

The assassin sighed, their gaze fixed on the moon. A figure, identical to the rest, materialized beside them. "Mission is nearly accomplished," she stated.

"Our mission will never be accomplished," the assassin retorted, their voice filled with a weary resignation. "Not when humanity is so capable of such monstrous cruelty, such willing depravity, as to use its own kind for their own evil purposes."

Well, here it is...

All done...

Ciao...