Phantom's Grasp: The One Armed Assassin Series

by Hans Bezdek

  Anselm was always jealous of the assassins that had the forethought to come up with a cool codename when they first started. He became an assassin fairly young and hadn’t thought to do something like that, choosing his actual name. After you successfully pull off a few hits, you’re recommended to other people by the name you’ve used with your original clients. By the time he realized he could’ve called himself something like Renegade or Destroyer, it was too late.

  “Anselm,” he smiled, taking Phantom’s hand and shaking it. “Anselm Brooks.”

  “Pleasure,” nodded Phantom. “Do you work alone?”

  “Sort of,” he replied. “I do use a friend to help with planning.”

  “How would you feel about working together?” offered Phantom.

  “Together?” Anselm repeated. Assassins occasionally worked together in pairs to take down a particularly difficult target, but the pairing usually came from the employer. He had never heard of two assassins agreeing to work together out of the blue. Especially not when they didn’t know one another, let alone when there wasn’t a job on the table.

  “Sure,” said Phantom. “I’m actually part of a group of assassins.”

  “A group?” gasped Anselm. That was definitely unheard of.

  “There are a number of us,” nodded the man. “Most of us wear some sort of mask and use code names.”

  “Why?”

  “We don’t trust one another.”

  Anselm blinked. None of this was making any sense to him.

  “No offense, but what’s the point of working together?”

  “Things are changing in Durzheim,” said Phantom. Anselm couldn’t see his face, but it sounded like Phantom was smiling as he spoke. “Our group is there to make sure its members will be taken care of when everything falls into place.”

  Anselm fought back a smirk. He got it now. Politically motivated assassins…

  He was going to have to pass on that. There were always people trying to gain power in some way or another, but it never panned out. At least, it never did at a level that concerned Anselm.

  As he was about to politely decline Phantom’s offer, there was a loud bang deeper in the room. Phantom and Anselm turned in time to see one of the closet doors burst open and a person fall out of it.

  “O-Oops…” whimpered the woman, getting to her feet while shaking. “Still here…”

  She looked like she was probably in her early 20’s, maybe a few years younger than Anselm. Her shoulder length auburn hair looked wild and her glasses were crooked. The woman must have hidden in the closet when Phantom killed the Alchemist.

  “Ah, a witness,” said Phantom, moving toward the woman.

  “N-No…” she whispered. She stared back at the assassin in fear, paralyzed.

  “Hey, what are you doing?!” said Anselm, jogging ahead of the masked man to get in between him and the woman.

  “I believe you said you weren’t a fan of getting caught,” said Phantom, his tone business-like. “I feel the same way.”

  “You can’t kill her!” insisted Anselm, holding his arms out.

  “Oh?” asked Phantom, tilting his head to the side. “And why is that?”

  Anselm lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “This is one of the blasted rules! We can’t kill women or children unless they attack us first!”

  Phantom raised his hand, aiming to the right of Anselm. “Then say she attacked me.”

  “No!” barked Anselm, keeping his arms raised out and taking a step in front of the other assassin’s view. He lowered his voice again to a whisper. “If you want to break the rules, that’s on you. But if the Council gets involved they’ll surely find evidence that I was here, too! We’d both go down for this!”

  The gauntlet glowed blue, sparking every few seconds.

  “You’re being serious right now?” clarified Phantom. “You won’t let me kill the girl?”

  Anselm had heard rumors of what happened when assassins broke the rules. If you were anywhere close to them when they did it, the Council always had a way of finding out. They always met the same end as those that had actually committed the crimes.

  “I won’t,” said Anselm, shaking his head.

  A tense moment of silence passed over the room. All Anselm could really hear were the frantic breaths of the woman behind him.

  “Fine,” sighed Phantom. “Have it your way.”

  Anselm smiled and relaxed. “Thank y-”

  The blue electricity shot out of Phantom’s gauntlet in a wide ray. The beam of energy connected with Anselm’s right arm and shoulder. His eyes went wide from the pain and surprise of Phantom turning on him so quickly.

  As quickly as the magic attack began, it stopped. Anselm fell onto his back, hitting the cold floor hard. His vision was going dark as he struggled to maintain consciousness.

  “We could’ve worked together,” sighed Phantom, walking up to the downed assassin and shaking his head. “What a pity.”

  The door to the room closed and Anselm could hear the woman shouting for help on the other side of it.

  “She snuck past me?!” growled an irate Phantom. “No matter…”

  There was an explosion, drawing Anselm’s attention to his right. He half noticed the new hole in the wall to the outside, but his eyes focused on his arm.

  Or rather, the space where his arm should have been.

  He tried to sit up but he couldn’t find the strength. He was growing colder and wasn’t able to keep focus. The door to the room creaked open, but he didn’t know who came in.

  In fact, Anselm didn’t know any of what happened next. All he knew was he couldn’t keep fighting the darkness closing in on him.

  He surrendered to the black.

  Chapter 3

  Warden held his head in his hands, trying his best to keep his emotions in check. This was something he was finding harder to do nowadays. Especially at this moment.

  “How am I supposed to know she had four chins?” asked Lotus, the elf behind the white, featureless mask sounding as confused as ever. She rarely spoke, but when she did, it was never about something important.

  He was positive it was an act, though. Elves weren’t as naive as they sometimes led on, and she played it up more than most. Some of the others didn’t seem to grasp this, which meant they were playing into her hand. Warden didn’t know what Lotus sought to gain from having others underestimate her, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to find out.

  Jester howled with laughter at Lotus’ apparent confusion, his face surely matching the smiling mouth on his own mask. The man pounded the table several times, trying to catch his breath. He enjoyed the elf’s act more than anyone.

  “It’s just a stupid joke, Lotus,” growled Sage. The old man was one of the only other members of this ‘club’ that Warden thought he could stand in the real world, Wild being the other one. Sage’s mask only covered the top half of his face and was a dark red, almost blood-like color. It was assumed he wore only half of a mask to give his long, white beard some breathing room. “Let it go, you fool.”

  “But now I’ve got to know!” insisted Lotus.

  “Someone that weighs a lot may have what is referred to as multiple chins,” explained Wild. She sounded as done with this conversation as Warden felt. Her orange mask had a fox’s face painted on it, causing her to always appear in a playful mood.

  She rarely was.

  “Four-chin teller!” roared Jester with laughter. “Get it?!”

  “Ah!” said Lotus, excited but still not laughing. “I do get it!”

  This made Jester laugh louder, actually falling out of his seat and rolling around. Warden sometimes wondered if getting this group together was actually worth it. A gathering of assassins with varying levels of intelligence, skill, and sanity definitely had its trying times.

  To make matters worse, it was always a pain for him to venture all the way out here for meetings. They couldn’t afford to be caught together, so that meant finding a building in
an unsuspecting location on the outskirts of Durzheim. The unimpressive three story building looked like it could use some work on the outside, but all of the structures in this particular neighborhood did. Warden had purchased the building from the previous owner in full, no questions asked. They kept the main floors lightly furnished, but their meetings always took place in the basement. It was impossible for them to be overheard down there.

  Their meeting place was always slightly chilly, the only source of heat coming from the handful of torches they lit while they met. A large, circular table made of stone took up the majority of the room. A dozen chairs were placed around it, even though there weren’t that many members. Warden believed the roundtable gave the others a sense that they were all equal. That wasn’t true, of course, but they didn’t need to know that. At least, not yet.

  “Seems that Jester’s at it again, eh?”

  Chaos appeared in the stairwell. He was the only member of Warden’s ‘club’ that didn’t wear a mask, which gave everyone a good look at the numerous scars he had acquired all over his face. Gathering assassins together working to do away with the assassin’s rules was a dangerous feat on its own. The only people interested in working toward such an end were clearly in it for themselves and wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone. But joining the group without hiding your face behind a mask? It was almost certainly suicide. But then again, Warden suspected Chaos picked his name for a reason.

  “More of the same from Jester,” sighed Wild.

  “Not my fault you’re all so lame!” called out the man still rolling around on the floor.

  Chaos kept a wide berth of Jester and settled into his seat, throwing his feet on top of the table.

  “What’re we waitin for?” he asked, arms crossed.

  “I’d appreciate it if you kept your feet off the table,” said Warden, his fingers interlaced.

  Chaos rolled his eyes but removed his feet. “Whatever you say. Anyhows, what’s the holdup?”

  “We can’t start until Phantom arrives,” said Sage.

  “Oh, yeah,” nodded Chaos. “Forgot it was his turn to have all the fun. Feels like I’ll never get to play again.”

  “You’ll get your opportunity,” promised Warden.

  After a few more minutes, Jester made it back to his seat and everyone quieted. Soft footsteps came down the stairs and everyone turned to see the man of the hour enter the basement.

  “Nice of you to finally join us, Phantom,” said Warden. He made an effort to smile as he said it so that his voice would sound friendlier than he actually felt. Unlike the rest of this scum, he actually had places to be.

  Phantom had been one of the first to join Warden’s group, and the only one who knew Warden’s true identity. Warden had been looking for a powerful mage with a penchant for killing and had come across the assassin completely by accident. He had witnessed Phantom kill five men that made the mistake of attempting to mug him outside of a dangerous bar. Warden had come to believe Phantom’s power actually came from his gauntlet and not the man himself, but he still wasn’t entirely sure.

  “I ran into a slight hiccup,” shrugged Phantom, the man taking his seat between Jester and Chaos.

  “It’s not like you to make mistakes,” said Sage, stroking his beard.

  “That’s more Chaos’ specialty,” giggled Jester.

  “It ain’t a mistake if I want it to happen,” growled Chaos, leaning across the table to stare Jester straight in the mask. “If you aren’t careful, you’ll be runnin into one of my ‘mistakes’ yourself.”

  “How terrifying!” cried Jester in mock fear.

  Chaos stood up, glaring down at Jester. The room grew quiet as Jester quit laughing and slowly got to his feet. Everyone shifted their attention between the two men, waiting to see if one of them would make a move.

  Warden wasn’t surprised that Chaos did. The man pulled out three throwing knives from seemingly nowhere and chucked them at Jester. The other man didn’t bother moving. A thin, red translucent wall appeared in front of Jester and all three knives stuck into it.

  “I think that’s quite enough,” growled Sage, his hand extended as he maintained the barrier spell. “We are part of something bigger than a petty squabble between you two!”

  “We don’t need to fight one another,” agreed Lotus.

  Jester turned his head as he examined the throwing knives so close to his face. “I’ll try not to provoke him again, even if it is great fun.”

  “And I’ll try not to slit his throat,” added Chaos, “even if it is great fun.”

  “Take your knives back and sit down,” said Warden. All he wanted was to get this meeting over with and hear what happened with the Alchemist.

  Chaos did so, the red wall disappearing once Sage was confident the other man had calmed down.

  “Were you successful in your task?” Wild asked Phantom.

  The others might not have noticed it, but Warden caught Phantom shift ever so slightly before responding.

  “I was,” he replied.

  “This is great news,” nodded Wild, pleased. Several of the others mumbled their agreement.

  “Is that all?” asked Warden. “You mentioned a hiccup, I believe.”

  Phantom looked up at Warden. “I guess you could say there was a slight… inconvenience.”

  “Were you captured?” asked Sage. “Is that why you’re late? You had to fight your way out?”

  “You didn’t kill the wrong target, did you?” giggled Jester.

  “Silence!” barked Warden, his anger getting the better of him this time. The group’s creator gestured toward Phantom and relaxed his tone. “Let the man speak for himself.”

  “Thank you, D... I mean, Warden,” said Phantom.

  Warden winced under his mask but held the rest of his body in check. The blasted assassin had begun to say his name. His real name. He knew that wasn’t a mistake. Phantom wasn’t happy Warden was pressing him to give them more information about what happened. Regardless of how badly Phantom had screwed up, Warden would have to drop it. Attempting to reprimand him could cause the man to reveal Warden’s identity, which would certainly cause him some problems.

  “After I killed the Alchemist, another assassin came in,” continued Phantom, sounding bored as he spoke. “I figured we had some extra seats, so I offered him a spot at the table.”

  “You invited another assassin without consulting us first?!” growled Sage, slamming a fist onto the table.

  “And that’s a problem for you?” asked Phantom.

  “Yes,” said Wild, answering for Sage. She sounded furious. “We can’t let anyone in from off the streets. Most of the assassins in Durzheim wouldn’t want the system to change! You’d risk them leaking a plan to daemons know who!”

  “I’m a founding member of this group,” said Phantom, placing his hands lightly on the table. The move or its meaning wasn’t missed by anyone. “I can invite whomever I please.”

  Warden didn’t like the sound of that, but what was done was done. “Where is this new member of ours?”

  Phantom removed his hands. “Unfortunately, things didn’t work out between us. I had to eliminate him, too. Disintegrated the right side of his body.”

  “A shame,” lied Warden.

  “If I remember correctly, with the Alchemist dead, that leaves just one more obstacle in our way?” asked Wild.

  “Correct,” nodded Warden. “At least, in our way for completing Phase One.”

  “Of course,” she nodded back.

  “Before we get going on the final target, there’s something we need to take care of,” said Phantom. “I believe it is in our best interest if a certain Demarcus Kirk meets his end.”

  “This related to your hiccup?” snickered Jester.

  Phantom didn’t seem amused. “Just making sure there aren’t any potential loose ends.”

  “Very well,” said Warden, raising his hand. “I’ll second that decision.”

  “All in favor of th
e target ‘Demarcus Kirk’ being added to the list?” asked Wild.

  Everyone’s hand went up.

  Phantom nodded his thanks. Warden relaxed slightly. Hopefully, that was enough to calm Phantom down for being prodded. It wouldn’t be much longer now until Warden’s plans came together. He needed to keep everyone happy for as long as possible.

  “Would you like to take care of this one?” Sage asked Phantom.

  “I call it!” said Chaos before the other assassin could respond. “Let me get this kill!”

  Phantom shrugged. “Have at it.”

  Chapter 4

  “Ugh…” groaned Anselm. His head was throbbing and he felt like he had been punched by a dragon. He brought his hands up to rub his head, or rather, he tried to. Something was wrapped around his left hand that kept him from pulling it up, and his right hand felt numb.

  Anselm opened his eyes, blinking several times to focus them. He was staring up at a strange device that was made of a dozen different lenses. He looked past it to see the ceiling was made of rotting wood, with small pockets of dirt exposed. The assassin tried to lift his head in order to examine the rest of the room. He quickly found that wasn’t happening, as a rope tied his forehead to the table he was lying on.

  “W-What is this?!” he grunted, trying to push through his bonds.

  “Oh, good!” came a woman’s voice from behind him. “You’re awake! It’s nearly noon and I was starting to worry.”

  “Who… Who are you?” growled Anselm. “What am I doing here? Why can’t I move?!”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman approach him. His eyes widened as he recognized her as the one Phantom nearly killed. She leaned over him and gave him a gentle smile as she adjusted her glasses.

  “Very inquisitive,” said the woman to herself, as if she was making a mental note.

  “I’d like to think most people would be if they woke up to find themselves strapped to a chair,” grumbled Anselm.

  “I suppose that’s true,” laughed the woman. “To answer your first question, my name is Calina. Calina Winterstep.” She stretched out her right hand and waited for her prisoner to respond in kind.