January 18, 2018 by

Chapter 1


Rain. In the beginning there was rain. In that rain, inside a house that had stood for a hundred years and had seen it's glory  come and go, a man felt a slight throb in the back of his head. A slight prickle of the skin, barely noticeable to him, done just underneath the brainstem. A minute welt of blood formed at the base of the compact knife, that itself was held by hand wearing a large, but somehow elegant, leather glove. The other hand, with a faintly audible whirring sound, proceeded to wipe the blood with a small black handkerchief, which then retracted into the mechanical arm.

“Think now of everything you built and loved. For soon you won't be there to admire it.”

And like that, with a slight twinge in his head, passed the most powerful brain in the world. Neither his genocidal machines, which had murdered untold millions and drove the world into a civil bloodbath of kingdoms and dynasties destroying each other for control of the devices, nor his remote hiding place in the outer North, far removed from any major city, had stopped the man with a mechanical hand from assassinating one of the last of the Haashvi dynasty.    

In truth, the assassin had other motives than to receive the due payment from the Queen of Ravens. On any other assignment that he had accomplished, he never felt a single ounce of emotion-not regret for what was to come of the passing of another soul from the world, nor contempt for the spirit in question. Whether it was the high Priest of the Dragons Court, or an lower class administrator spying on the workings of a rival Tauron, he never felt a drop of sentiment, not even as small as the one that he had wiped away with his sisters last gift to him: a handkerchief. But this time it was different. The man who he had just murdered was not merely another brick in the wall of people he had killed...instead, he was more of a hole in it. The wall of Death the assassin had built up to protect himself from the outside world, all of it's suffering and plight, joy and happiness, had an imperfection that had been filled with this man's death. He had nearly finished an vendetta which had been his life, but there was still one more spot for a brick yet to fill, one more twitch of the knife and swipe of the handkerchief he had to perform, like an actor doing the final part of a play or a dancer doing the last poirot before the show was over and the ovation began.

He was going to find Enzo Haasvi.

And then he would kill him.

He then became briefly distracted from his clear cut agenda to muse on the rain that had been steadily tapping the whole operation... Indeed, it seemed so musical and orderly that nature was not affected by death, that the same rain that had tapped before the man died was the same steady rain that beat down now, and the same, steady rain that had beat down in his home village before the war, before the first thermal bomb had landed on his doorstep… A match was struck in the darkness, a small little flame in held by an inky black hand.It illuminated his mask, which resembled a white oval decorated with a single, unnaturally large mouth, and revealed the far reaching circular hat on his tall head. Such hats were common in the Spider Tauron, but was an easy sign of being a foreigner here in the North. Minute beams of  candle light exposed also a large desk covered in blueprints, along with scrawling that was not of any language or coded writing known to the assassin. The room itself was cramped,the walls covered in diagrams and mathematical chaos - equations layered on top each other, concentric circles inscribed within one another to resemble fractals… In the final days of his life, the now dead man had been searching for something. For hidden in the mathematical scrawl, beneath the fractals and blueprints, beneath the chaotic. arrangement of geometrical figures - there had to be reason. This conclusion perked the assassins interest. He crouched down, holding the candle up to one of the walls, and cocked his head to look a little closer. Then he saw it. At the base of the wall, there was a small, triangular hole, no more than 2 millimeters on each side, virtually invisible to anyone who had not been trained in seeing what was not there. The man in the mask then took out a small instrument out of the folds of his large black coat, which resembled a tiny jar with a silvery fluid swirling inside. He uncorked it and uttered one word-  


The cap popped off instantly, the once silver substance turning fiery gold and rushing like an arrow towards the small triangular cavern in the wall. It filled it up instantly, then settled as a perfect cast, still burning like molten metal.    

He then spoke the second word.


He saw the fluid that burned in the wall shudder with energy and turn a soft turquoise, bathing the surroundings in a faint blue light, much contrasting to the light of the seemingly blazing match he held in his hand. The liquid then seemed to almost sliver inside the wall; he heard the small clicking of fine machinery, and a whirring sound reached his ears. The assassin could sense the mechanisms, spinning around in their wooden gearboxes.They were built by a dead man, many years ago, and were now ready to reveal secrets the departed inventor had no intention of divulging… An equally sized compartment opened next to the triangle, this time a square. Out popped a miniature slip of paper, barely 4 inches long, and completely dried out. This was despite the near constant presence of the rain in these parts of the world, and dried paper like this was as foreign here as the mask and the hat that the man wore to conceal himself. He then whispered the 3rd word- “Nuda!” The liquid; now colored milk white, literally seeped through the wall and proceeded to reenter the small bottle from which it was released, quickly turning back to its original silvery state. The jet-black mechanical hand holding it quickly recorked the bottle and returned it back inside the coat. With two fingers, he picked up the small scroll and delicately put it inside an equally small box. He stood up, and looked over at the dead corpse that was lying inside the bed, still in the same position that it was in when it was alive. The mind under the mask briefly thought of returning to the Queen to accept his payment. But that, he decided, would be unnecessary.

Chapter 2



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