A coppery tang - betrayal too - filled the grandmaster's chamber. Alex Laurus, a Shadow Hand assassin, recognized the smell well. However, this time the crimson blossoming on the flagstones came from him
Alex stumbled, hurt - another killer gaining on him. Then she appeared, closing in with swift, silent movement. A lunge, a sickening plunge into his abdomen. He'd brewed Dragon's Bane himself - a coating on the blade that wrecked nerves. It meant brain injury, inability to move, because nobody knew how to reverse its effects.
"ARGHHH!!!!"
A crimson tide welled from a wound in his belly, likewise flowing between parted lips. Consequently, he crumbled downward, settling on both knees.
He knew this weapon - a dreadful recognition. It stemmed from his workshop, originally intended for allies, men he'd shared journeys with, battles with. A cruel grin played on Elara's lips as she observed him. Nearby, Kael, once a companion, now simply stood with her. Soon, a crowd gathered for the performance. Not long after, they were all on the floor.
In unison, they screamed, "WE GREET THE GRANDMASTER!"
Vorian, leader of the Shadow Hand - a man who'd unlocked the eighth layer of his inner energy - stood over Alex. Alex was barely holding on, slumped there in defeat. One thought consumed him.
A bloody cough rattled him, then the single word escaped: "Why?" A silly thing to ask, really - in this business, 'why' belonged to ghosts, those on death's doorstep. A lifetime of faith shattered - his mentor, Vorian, moved against him. The reality felt impossible to grasp.
Then Vorian said, "The Hand must evolve, Alex. You are a relic a masterpiece, yes but you have betrayed the code of the assassin."
Alex screamed, "Master, I did not break any code! Why would I betray the Shadow Sect? The sect gave me shelter, food, clothes…"
Vorian's spittle landed on Alex's cheek; a dark energy seemed to rise from him. "You took what wasn't yours - the assassins' fighting knowledge written down."
Alex Exclaimed and then he say"No i dont steal any secret text or any other text you can check my pocket"
Kael stepped up, rifled through pockets - Alex went pale, breaking into a chill. Kael discovered a hidden message detailing The Unseen Blade Technique, an assault aimed straight at one's spirit, undetectable to normal sight.
A red haze descended on Alex; he bellowed a threat – "Anyone who touched that scroll will answer to me!" The force of his shout knocked the other assassins senseless. Meanwhile, Kael and Elara remained unharmed, shielded by glowing energy
Kael said"brother you have done a heinous act you have to die"he gave secret scroll to grandmaster and then he give sinister smile.He use mind talking "i was the one who kept that scroll in your pocket hahahahaha".
Rage consumed Alex; failing death at the blade, he vowed Kael's head would roll. Then Elara arrived, her voice dripping scorn: "Darling, explain this treachery against our Sect."
"You…why?" Alex spat, fury twisting his face. "After everything? I loved you." A strange poison - dragon bane - ravaged him; blood streamed from his eyes, nose, ears.
Then elara said"lover? I was just using you.you fool you were this strong and you cant see a that i was using you"the see go in front of kael then kissed kael.
Alex reeled, a single tear tracing his cheek. Joyful recollections of Elara, Kael - the esteem, affection for his mentor alongside his coworker - shattered within him. Blood mingled with tears, mirroring the fury, the torment etched across his features.
Alex with light Fading from his eyes tell "I aa…was fool think people around me genuinely care but….i got this.."
Then came pain - a hammering ache blossoming behind his eyes. Alongside it, an odd frailty, like his arms and legs weren't quite his, a hollowness he hadn't known existed. He used to be all sharp edges, a machine built for stealth - able to move without a sound, hit like lightning. Now? Just… floppy. Like carrying a bag of damp powder.
Awareness didn't ease back into being; rather, it slammed home like a struck anvil.
He was hit by noise - boisterous guffaws, glass chiming, a truly awful lute. It didn't get better with the scents: sickly sweet perfume mingling with old wine, alongside a pervasive body odor.
Alex with bloodshotted eyes said"I returned to guys i will remember and for kind information and then i destroy you bastards"
The famed killer, Alex Laurus, breathed his last while slumped forward, knees drawn up.
Alex blinked, finding himself somewhere else entirely. "Where am I?" he wondered, a thought spiraling into questions about what comes next. A bitter realization - he'd been deceived - bubbled up, yet a smile touched his lips.
A blank whiteness. Then, a figure appeared - Alex, descending from above. "Hello," he said to the man, who was somewhere around middle age. "You've passed away.".
Startled, Alex jumped to their feet, blurting out "Who are you?". The man possessed striking features - eyes the color of a deep sea, fair complexion, alongside a powerfully built frame. He was clad in a lengthy white coat, accented by an elaborate necklace
He chuckled, "No reason to worry - I simply noticed a visitor. My apologies; I didn't offer an introduction. Name's Lushius, though people often refer to me as 'GOD'."
"A god?" Alex blurted, then demanded, "Why here? Just transport me to your precious realm.".
Lushius says"No i dont have kingdom or something but i can tell frem your face that you are angry and sad about something"
Alex signed and pause for second and tell"I had live my whole life as assassin i had father like figure vorian had beautiful lover elara and kael…"after alex face turned into angry his red eyes was shining with rage."he was my brother in arms and he and elara conspired against me because i was their obstacle and that kael put our secret text of assassin in my pocket i cant sense,and in two hours the whole shadow sect was in my room and they attack instantly and i surprised and one after another and elara used my created powerful poison and then i am here see"
Lushius says"what a tragic things happened to you so sad.but you want a revenge?"
Alex with rage "yes!! Want…want i will cut and tear everyone who involved specially and btich elera and that bastard kael and that old bum vorian"
Lushius with smiley face"hahaha that angry face of yours i am sorry so…i can give you a second chance i like your story"
Alex questioned"how?
Lushius put his hand up and strange light come from his eyes"see this light that is your second life and your destiny how you choose till bye bye"
Alex shout"WAIT!!!,AHHHHH!"
"He lives!" a portly young man slurred, raising a golden goblet. "By the gods, Magnus, we thought you'd finally drunk yourself to death!"
Magnus?
Memories - not his own, broken bits from somewhere else - surged into his thoughts. A single word surfaced amidst the turmoil: Magnus Caldryn. Caldryn's heir stared into glass - a wan, worried reflection. He knew shame, felt humiliation's weight, lived with unending frailty. Varian, Silas - also Lord Theron of House Croft, who orchestrated everything - they haunted him. It happened often.
A jumble of recollections - not quite his, hazy as if after too much drink - drifted through his thoughts. He was Magnus Caldryn, the youngest boy born to Duke Everard. Considered the disappointment of the respected Caldryn lineage - a notorious spendthrift throughout the realm.
His frame, frail yet familiar, belonged to him. Alex, thinking boldly - a stark contrast to the body he inhabited - yelled at Laushius, questioning its frailty
Sick to his stomach - a feeling that ran deeper than just his body - Alex Laurus realized something shifted. The ceremony…it actually did something. He was back. A fresh start for the Master Assassin. Seriously, this is where I ended up? Some pampered rich kid stuck in a backwater time period?
Magnus attempted an upright position, though he wobbled doing so. A girl, face bright with color, laughed offering him wine. "Drink up, Magnus!" she urged. "Lady Briar won, now fulfill your bet."
He didn't even notice she was speaking. Despite his broken body, a cold, calculating part of him woke up - sizing things up, figuring out who meant trouble.
Upstairs in the tavern felt less like a hideaway, more like someone showing off. His so-called companions weren't going to attack - they were leeches. The genuine trouble resided within him; simply frailty. A pal administered something toxic, though thankfully not immediately deadly. Instead, it sapped strength gradually. For quite a while now, people had been subtly poisoning Magnus Caldryn.
He likely blamed his exhaustion, those splitting headaches, on a life lived too hard.
He turned to face them, a foreign softness edging his voice as he croaked, "Go away.".
A chuckle rumbled from the noble. "No need to sulk, Magnus - your dad's wealth could purchase a mountain of barrels, really.".
Magnus's hand moved, though sluggishly - not quick as usual. A defeated king fueled the reach. His long, delicate fingers encircled the man's wrist, not gripping with force, instead finding a specific spot with accuracy.
A chuckle escaped the gentleman, but ended abruptly - a sharp cry followed.
Theron, a noble, howled - a raw sound ripped from him as Magnus struck vital spots. "Damn it! Agh… let go of my hand, you brute!"
I said," Alex repeated, his voice dropping into a low, chilling register that had once made hardened killers flinch, "leave me. All of you. Now."
He shifted - just like that - silencing the room. A laugh caught in a throat, a hand stilled on strings. Magnus's face was familiar, yet the crimson gaze beneath his brows signaled something far removed from simple intoxication. Instead, they met the stare of a hunter - a being old beyond reckoning, devoid of pity.
A hurried retreat followed a string of mumbled apologies; the party dissolved. Soon, only crimson stains on the carpet alongside the recently arrived Magnus remained.
He sank into the chair, slick with sweat despite barely moving. A quick assessment revealed what he already knew: this shell was falling apart. He hadn't learned to fight, didn't possess any inner strength, moreover his body swam with poison from years of strong drink. Really, he felt less robust than a child - a far cry from how he'd been decades before.
He still breathed, surprisingly.
A flicker ignited within the gloom. They believed he was finished – Vorian, Elara, even Kael. It was gone, their finest work discarded. A blunder, really. The deadliest tool for someone who eliminates others wasn't steel or toxins - it was holding steady, simply staying alive.
The corners of his mouth lifted - a peculiar sensation given the unfamiliar contours of his features. A faint grin appeared, unsettling somehow.
"Very well," he whispered to the empty room, the words a vow. "The game is not over. It has simply changed venues."
Alex Laurus - that name meant nothing now. Instead, he existed as Magnus Caldryn, a fading remnant connected to a noble family. Nobody'd guess, would they? The court jester - a master of illusion, concealing a heart full of shadows beneath layers of merriment. He seemed harmless, yet held the kingdom's fate within his playful hands.
Staying alive came first. He had to rid himself of the toxin, fortify this weak frame. Rising shakily, he lurched toward the window, flinging it wide so frigid air could wash away the room's stench - also, his swirling mind.
From his vantage point, Caldera unfolded - a patchwork of light from torches, lanterns. Stone buildings, wooden structures…it wasn't like home. He remembered sleek towers, secret technology woven into everything back there, while this place felt stubbornly rooted in another age. Power operated the same everywhere, it seemed. You saw it in how security moved through nicer neighborhoods, noticed it in places criminals hid, felt it - a tightening - even now.
The noise downstairs - a ruckus by the tavern entrance - immediately snagged his focus. Years spent within the Silent Hand had made him acutely aware; even inhabiting this sluggish frame couldn't dim the quickness of his thoughts. He discerned shouting, including the stout nobleman he'd encountered before, alongside a different voice - distinct, commanding, edged with frustration.
"…drunken oaf, probably passed out in a pool of his own sick," a woman's voice snapped. "I don't have time for this."
Now he knew her name – Lyra. Lyra Blackwood, head of the City Watch. She was famous for being tough as nails, completely dedicated to her job, moreover she really didn't like Magnus Caldryn, with good reason.
Footsteps, weighty above him, climbed the staircase. It wasn't a friendly visit.
The door burst into the chamber – no gentle knock preceded it. Framed by the opening, she appeared. Lean muscle moved beneath gleaming steel; a dark blue shirt showed under the armor. Dark honey tones pulled into a tight braid framed her face - a striking landscape of hard lines. A scar cut through her brow, hinting at experiences distant from this lavish space. Those grey eyes scanned the mess, finally settling on him with undisguised disdain.
"Up," she said to Caldryn, a sharpness coloring her tone that brooked no dissent.
Magnus might've complained, attempted charm, or just given up. Instead, Alex Laurus held her stare, mimicking bewilderment - a hazy surface concealing something cold and collected.
"Captain Blackwood," he said, his voice rough. "To what do I owe the… pleasure?"
She strode into the room, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "Don't. Your little party has been disturbing the peace for hours. But that's the least of your problems." She stopped in front of him, looking down. "Where were you tonight?"
He indicated the discarded glass with a tired wave. "It's right here," he murmured.
"The whole night?" she asked, a tight look coming over her face. Her gaze was keen - she wasn't easily fooled. He needed to choose his next words carefully.
Honestly? Maybe. The memory feels distant - a sort of comfortable lie, really, depending on how you look at things.
"Convenient," she said, her tone dripping with skepticism. "A member of the merchant's guild was murdered tonight. Throat slit. Professional job. His ledger, containing details of a significant trade agreement with your father's house, was stolen."
Magnus showed nothing on his face, yet thoughts tumbled within him. Someone had been murdered - a messy job, honestly. It wasn't merely about ending a life; the stolen record book suggested money or power played a role too.
"Such a mess," he slurred, layering on the appropriate grief. "Still, why should I care?
"You were seen arguing with him just yesterday in the market square. Threatening him, some witnesses say, over gambling debts you owed."
A rush of awful recollections - Magnus, face contorted with fury, getting brushed off by the shopkeeper. He'd certainly bellowed some empty challenges, unlike what any skilled killer would do.
"Yep, I'd had a bit too much," he admitted, honestly enough. "Words just tumble out then - things I wouldn't normally utter." A gentle rocking motion followed, almost as if performing for an audience.
A slight sneer touched Lyra's mouth. "Believe me, I get it - however, this puts you squarely on their radar.". Grab your coat - they want a word with you down at the guard station
It threw a wrench into things. That guard station symbolized waiting, postponements - time he desperately required for getting clean alongside strategizing. Being seen came with a price. Essentially brand new to everything, he felt incredibly fragile.
Her face held a firm decision he couldn't ignore. Fighting back felt pointless; giving in seemed like the sole option.
"If that's what you require, Captain," he offered, giving a quick bow - one that briefly unsettled his balance. He wanted to help the Watch, genuinely; however, speaking the words felt strange, distant from the haughty tirades Old Man Magnus favored.
Lyra noticed a change, almost missed it. Her usual sharp gaze wavered, clouded by something like uncertainty. He reeked of spirits, yet acted…compliant? Nearly noble, even? She quickly brushed aside the notion, figuring he was either terrified or simply deeper gone than before.
She spun around, uttering a simple, "Go.".
He trailed behind her, leaving the warm tavern glow. The chill of the night smacked at his face – a bracing shock that somehow sharpened everything. It started quicker than expected - a murder investigation where he was the prime suspect. Weakened, encircled by strangers, also possibly hated relatives, he found himself caught in something awful.
He moved through the city, yet something had shifted within him. Gone was the look of someone defeated. Instead, his gaze – shadowed by his forehead – took everything in: guard routines, dark corners, ways to vanish. A cold, precise focus now occupied his thoughts; a steely center beneath a fragile exterior.
Someone - a killer, a poisoner, it didn't matter who - had struck at Magnus Caldryn.
Honestly, they didn't know what sort of person stood before them.
A chase began. Alex Laurus, forged anew by flames likewise treachery, now pursued.