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In the air of the eerie night sky, you walked through the ancient alleyways, far from the beauty of the new-cultural buildings of the inner-capital. The road was cold, not a soul in sight, not a hint of love or dread in the hollow space between yourself and the rotting walls. The pocket watch within your jacket sat broken, but you could tell in the reflection of it’s cracked glass that the time was far from safe travels. Once you could make it to your inn for the night, full of cheap ale and sly whores ready to pickpocket all your coins, you’d finally be able to rest for the troublesome morning ahead, with plenty of unscrupulous jobs and contracts for you to take. Truly, you were in a place you belonged. In the right place at the right time.
From behind you came quite the sound: a sharp heel against stone, and you turned to face whoever or whatever had made the sound… Watching on in sheer awe, a green and black-striped blue flew over your head like a tree in a tornado, and before you, with unnatural grace, fell a masked rogue of some kind…
The figure was of slim stature, yet had about a foot of height over you. Even now, as he crouched to soften his fall, he was still eye-level with you. Upon his back was a large, black cape of some kind, adorned with golden hearts and lovely golden edges to it which hung around the front of his body like a cloak. From within this cloak he produced two daggers, holding each at chest-height… Most unusually of all, his head… Past the curly, dark locks, his face was as pale as a plague-weary peasant, but with none of the visible damages or boils. His eyes pure black, with a green triangle beneath his left and one fully across or beneath his right, from your angle at least. It was impossible to tell in this light. There was a distinct lack of human definition in all but his body, which held all the attributes of a normal human being in appearance but none of the demeanour in practice.
With forward blocked, and behind a maze of decaying roads and alleyway, you unsheathed your arming sword from your hip, holding it in a Plow Guard pointed directly towards your sudden opponent.
“Oh, really?” The figure spoke, slowly rising from his pouncing-cat position. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you?” Even being several feet away, with eyes as dark as a rat-filled wine cellar, you could sense this… odd gaze, like he was examining you under the light of the moon. “It’s not often I get to have a real fight, you must be spoiling me…”
With a practised manner, he stepped forward, one leg slowly after the other, like a character performing on stage. Now, standing at full height, you could see just how much leverage he had over you. The question was, if he was this prepared to fight you with such advantage, why not just kill you quickly?
“...Because, one of so little faith,” He spoke with a quiet, yet sultry voice. “The hunt is the best part.. that’s what you’re thinking, right?” You could have sworn you had seen a wink in his deathly face, as he bent over slightly to get eye-level once again.
No, you were not going to let this harlot gain any sort of psychological leverage over you. If he wants to fight, to kill in a place as undignified as this, you must give him the fight he wants. You keep your sword in position, before moving into a Long Point Guard, holding your sword high and ready for any jumps against you.
...However, as much as you wish to stay one step ahead, it appears you’re already a few steps behind. Lifting his cloak to obscure himself, the dancing fighter spun in a circle before throwing a handful of sand in your direction. With your arms outstretched, there was no preparation for the sheer filth in his fighting and you’re struck in the eyes by the fine grains, forcing your eyes shut… As quickly as you can, you shift position, moving into an Ox Guard and bending your knees to centre your gravity as you try to blink the sand out of your eyes.
Before you can regain your sight, you feel the heaviest and most sudden of forces kick at your legs, knocking you down onto your knees with the soles of what felt like moccasins. Without thinking, you turn your wrists and your elbows, swinging your sword from over your shoulder to the space in front of you… and just before you lose your balance entirely and hit the floor, you make contact.
Now on the floor, having fallen onto your right shoulder and rolled onto your back from the force of the swing, the death that you had been expecting so confidently does not arrive, and you dash forward, kicking yourself back onto your feet. You were winded, certainly, but you were alive. With the moment you had, you brushed the sand from your eyes, and look upon the fate of your quick skirmish…
Standing a few feet before you was the dancing assassin, down on one knee, looking down at a long tear in his cloak, right across one of the golden hearts. “Oh dear…” No blood, he notes. “Oh… dear..~” He whispers, exasperated. “You really are quite brave, aren’t you, little one?” He brushes himself off, lifting his leg to let a rock or two fall from his moccasins. With a sly grin, you notice something new in his eyes… a shade, like that of a green apple, staring straight into your soul. You only have a second of respite as he pulls his cloak from around his neck, holding it up high, his body illuminated by the gentle moonlight. He smirks.
Darkness! Darkness fills your view! The cloak, seconds before held firmly in the grasp of the dancer, now fell onto your face! You try to manoeuvre your sword, but you thrown to the ground even faster than before. However, instead of a calculated move like before, you’re hit with the force of an entire body, arms curled around your waist as the slam of a shoulder hits your gut, causing you to throw your sword some distance behind you. As your body hits the stone, you feel the cold metal of his two daggers against your back… but… no, they’re not blade-end, just their flat side against you.
Swinging your arms, you attempt to beat at the grapple, but you’re overcome by the shock and pain and simply hold onto him for dear life. Saliva is expelled violently from your lungs and it feels like you’re about to heave your throat out. Why? Why is this taking so long? Why hasn’t he beaten the lights from your eyes?
As you clutch at everything, including him, your eyes are once again exposed to fresh air, as he pulls the cloak from your face.. but instead of the night sky, your view is filled only by him. His deep, green eyes, a bead of sweat falling down his forehead, the triangles upon his pale face… is this..? It looks… ceramic…
You’re lifted up and flipped around, and you find yourself in the sudden full-body grapple of the dancer, your back to his chest, one of his legs across your abdomen, an arm around your body and a knife to your neck. This.. bastard. He’s savouring this. He wants to watch the blood drain from you. To feel it flow over his hands… In your line of work, you’ve met plenty of immoral and deranged individuals, but none as vile as the man who held you in his grasp.
Cold sweat fell over your body, your entire self barely just recovering from the peak of the attack and pain… So intense, you almost didn’t hear him whisper in your ear.
“Never have I met an opponent who fights quite like you do…” He spoke, panting behind his breath. “Such… ferocity.. like a cornered mutt..~” The sharp side of the blade dragged carefully across the skin of your neck. “Frankly, my dear… I think you’re fascinating.~”
...Excuse me?
You hear the sound of metal hitting stone, as he drops the dagger he held near your chest; the one at your neck remains, but now.. he’s clutching onto your side with his fingers, running them across your clothes. All of your hairs stand on end, as you feel what seems like claws drag over the fabric. They don’t tear, however; he’s… holding back.
“Do you know how much money they have placed on your head, little one?” Quite the daring question. To be honest, you weren’t sure. “I thought you some common criminal, a monster in your heart, but you’ve proved me wrong, haven’t you?”
...Another blade hits the stone. He’s unarmed, simply holding your body now in a way that feels far too… gentle. Intimate, almost. With his clawed fingers, contained within gloves, he lifts your chin.
“Clearly, they must have been wrong about your price, dear…” His words dripped with hot ichor disguised as honey, his thumb gently caressing your chin. “I think you’re priceless… It would be a waste to let you be taken by another assassin…” Was he… nuzzling you? “Don’t get me wrong…” With a claw against your cheek.. you feel a sharp but subtle pain drag into your skin… “I believe I’ve made my ownership clear…” With his finger, a heart was carved into your face.. Not enough to permanently scar, but enough to leave a scratch for a few days.
Your back is suddenly exposed to the cold, dull air, and you fall onto the stone, looking up. Above you, he stands, looking down at you and his work. Picking up his knives, he’d slide them into his pockets. “This will not be the last time we meet, dear one.” He walks over to your sword, kicking it near to you. “...You will fall by my hands, I promise. I will be the one to take your life.” He clacked his heel against the stone. “Just not tonight…”
In his face, a terrifyingly wide grin spread across it, seemingly breaking through his ceramic-like face, a wide row of wolf-like teeth in them… and the widest, most glaring green eyes you’d ever seen on someone.
“I will be watching you, my dear… See you soon~”
And, with that, he simply left you, disappearing into the night, with the only sign he’d even been here being the sand on your face and the slight line of blood on your cheek. Though… you had quite the confident feeling that you will see him again, and it will be sometime soon...