by Hans Bezdek
“Fine,” growled the ogre, turning back to his hidden safe. “We’ll close out our matter so I can move on to this scum.”
“Sounds like someone had a successful job,” smirked Chaos, turning to Anselm and Grayson. “What was it? Did you two forge some papers for him? Clean his toilets? Do a theater performance for him and the ol’ ball and chain?”
Anselm ignored him. He just wanted his money.
Grayson, on the other hand, couldn’t help himself.
“Please!” scoffed the elf. “You think we’d be tasked with such mundane work?”
“Don’t see why not,” said Chaos. “You’re dressed as someone with a minor role in an unfunded play.”
“We’re assassins,” boasted Grayson.
Chaos gave the elf a skeptical look. He nodded at Anselm. “I could see this guy being one, but you? I doubt that.”
“I-I could be one if I wanted to be!” argued Grayson, crossing his arms. “It’s just… Anselm needs someone to help scout out a target and make things for him.”
Anselm closed his eyes at hearing his name. Now this psycho could track him down, assuming Demarcus didn’t kill him once they left. Why couldn’t the elf ever shut up?
“Ah, that makes more sense,” nodded Chaos, turning his attention away from them and inspecting the office as he talked. “Seems like assassins are starting to work with people more often these days. Me? I prefer working by myself. Well, mostly by myself. I am part of some kind of assassin’s group, but mostly because the opportunity kind of fell in my lap.”
Anselm tensed up. Not only were his suspicions that this guy was an assassin confirmed, but he mentioned working with others in a group… What were the odds he and Phantom were in the same one?
Demarcus finally got the safe open, a loud squeaking noise filling the room as he slowly pulled it open. Anselm could hear the ogre scraping gold into a bag. Once they got paid, he’d send Grayson home with his cut. He would wait outside of the wall and watch for where Chaos went next. Maybe he’d get lucky and the guy would lead him straight to Phantom’s hideout. If the man died before coming out, then he probably wasn’t working with Phantom anyway.
“Anselm and I don’t need a group,” said Grayson. “We still get the job done.”
“Bet your hits are all a bunch of low class beggars,” chuckled Chaos.
“Don’t!” began Anselm, but it was too late.
“If you think the Alchemist is low class, then sure,” said Grayson, nudging Anselm and winking at him as if to say he had this under control.
Chaos slowly turned to face them, his eyes narrowing as he examined Anselm’s right side. “Are you saying you killed the Alchemist…?”
“Did it last night,” nodded Grayson. “Couldn’t have been easier.”
“That’s funny,” said Chaos, tilting his head. “One of my buddies claimed he did the same thing.”
Demarcus stopped counting gold in mid scrape, and a thick silence fell over the room. Chaos looked at Grayson, who looked at Anselm, who looked down at his feet. This wasn’t good.
The ogre slammed his safe shut and spun around to face them again, an evil look in his eyes. “You’re saying someone else is the one who killed the Alchemist?”
“Definitely,” nodded Chaos. “That’s actually why I’m here.”
“Uh oh,” whispered Grayson to Anselm. “This one might be on me.”
“You think?!” hissed Anselm.
“While I normally don’t appreciate snitches, I must thank you for saving me some money,” Demarcus smiled at Chaos. He turned his attention back to Anselm and Grayson. “Sounds like you were thinking about lying to me. For that, I’ll make sure the two of you never receive work in all of Durzheim ever again!”
Grayson sank in his seat while Anselm tried to keep from immediately attacking Chaos. Now they weren’t going to get their pay, and even if Anselm ever got used to fighting with only his left arm, he wouldn’t even get hired again.
“Er, this is awkward,” said Chaos, cringing. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to follow through with that threat, Demarcus.”
The ogre gave the man a confused look.
“You see, I didn’t come here to snitch on anyone,” said Chaos. “I was told this assassin here was dead. I simply came to eliminate the only person that could potentially be linked back to the death of the Alchemist… You.”
Demarcus slowly reached under the table. “Is that so? Come to think of it, how did you manage to get in here? Did you slip by my guards undetected?”
“Hardly,” chuckled Chaos, leaning back in his chair as if they were having a conversation about the weather. “I carved all four of them up in no time. No one else in this warehouse even noticed it. For all they know, I was allowed in.”
That had been enough for the ogre.
Demarcus pulled out a large, spiked club from underneath his desk. Letting out a roar, he brought the weapon down toward Chaos.
The assassin rolled out of the way right before the club crashed down on his seat, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Demarcus’ table cracked in half from the blow, sending papers flying everywhere.
Anselm hesitated, unsure of what to do. If he intervened for either side, things could get worse. Demarcus was furious at them for lying and would tell the whole city to not hire him again. Chaos was clearly a threat, but he might be the only way Anselm could find Phantom.
He decided his best option was to wait and see what happened.
Chaos dashed forward, two daggers appearing in his hands as he jumped toward Demarcus. The ogre tried to bring his club back up, but the human was too fast. Chaos drove his left dagger into the creature’s eye, stabbing down at the point in Demarcus’ neck where it sloped down to his shoulder. The second dagger couldn’t penetrate the gray skin, but the first one found its home.
Demarcus let out another roar, slapping Chaos away and stumbling back. The dagger was still in his eye, leaving Chaos with only one.
“You ogres don’t go down easy,” grinned the human, leaping onto the broken table and running at the partially blinded Demarcus.
The ogre swung a wild fist, barely missing the assassin. Demarcus jumped over his arm, swung around to Demarcus’ neck, and dug his dagger into the ogre’s throat with as much force as he could manage. The tough skin gave way, and a few seconds later Demarcus collapsed.
“I remember now why I don’t participate in the killing part,” mumbled Grayson, looking more pale than usual.
Chaos got off of Demarcus’ body, wiping the blood off his weapons on the ogre’s armor. Anselm got to his feet, pulling his dagger out in hopes that it would keep Chaos at bay.
“I have no problem with you,” said Anselm. “But I do with your friend, Phantom. If you tell me where he is, we can avoid fighting.”
“Friend is a bit strong of a word,” admitted Chaos. “But I’m not sure if the rest of the group would appreciate me giving away where we meet.”
“You can keep whatever gold you’d like from Demarcus’ safe,” offered Anselm.
Chaos laughed. “As if I do this for the gold. No, unfortunately, I’ve got to get rid of you and your friend now. You know too much.”
“I-I really doubt that,” said Grayson, getting up. “Trust me, I’ve got no clue what is happening right now.”
Chaos wasn’t waiting for them to start. The assassin ran for the two of them, an insane smile on his face. He lashed out at both of them when he reached them, but didn’t land a hit. Grayson backpedaled away from one dagger, while Anselm blocked the other one with his own.
Chaos spun around, bringing both daggers up and against Anselm. Anselm could only block one dagger with his, leaving his right side exposed. Chaos’ dagger sliced through Anselm’s right sleeve, hit the fake arm and…
Broke clean in two.
“Huh?” asked Chaos, pulling half of his blade back and staring at it in astonishment.
Anselm was just as surprised, but knew he had to act. The assa
ssin twisted around Chaos and tried to stab him in the back while he was unprepared. Chaos’ dagger shot up right before his reached him, blocking the tip and deflecting Anselm’s dagger to the side.
“What happened to your right arm?” asked Chaos, turning to face Anselm while nudging what was once Anselm’s chair out of the way. “Phantom said he destroyed the right side of your body.”
“It was just my arm,” said Anselm, shaking his head. “And I got a fake put in.”
“So you’re one-handed,” said Chaos, shaking his head. “I guess this fight is over before it began, then.”
Before Anselm could respond, the assassin jumped forward, bringing his dagger up to Anselm’s neck. Anselm lashed out in pure instinct, trying to keep his opponent away from him. Anselm’s right arm shot forward, connecting with Chaos’ face.
The assassin rocketed back from the impact, crashing through the wall of Demarcus’ office and plummeting down below.
“Y-You did it!” cried Grayson. “You killed him!”
Anselm ran up and looked out of the freshly made hole. Demarcus’ workers were gathering around Chaos, unsure of what to do.
Anselm hadn’t meant to kill the other assassin. Now it was possible he lost his only connection to Phantom. He glanced down at his right arm, once again unable to get it to budge more than an inch. At least the stupid thing had saved his life.
Miraculously, Chaos propped himself up on his elbows. His nose was bleeding profusely, but he was still alive.
“Or, you know,” said Grayson as he joined Anselm. “Maybe not.”
The man reached an arm up and pointed a finger at them. “T-Those two! T-They… They killed D-Demarcus!”
Anselm’s eyes widened as the entire room turned their attention to them.
Chaos struggled to his feet. “K-Kill them!”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” groaned Anselm as the workers surged for the stairs.
Chapter 8
“Block the door with whatever you can!” Anselm instructed Grayson. The elf stared blankly back at him. “Hurry!”
Grayson broke out of it and quickly went to work, dragging one half of the destroyed desk over to the door. Anselm watched through the hole as Demarcus’ men grabbed their weapons and stormed up the steps. Chaos smiled weakly up at him, giving him a small wave before stumbling out of the warehouse.
Just like that, Anselm’s only lead on Phantom disappeared.
“Could use some help!” shouted Grayson.
The elf had managed to get the desk and two of the chairs in front of the door before the angry mob reached them. The door rattled badly as they attempted to get inside, and Grayson was putting all of his energy into leaning back against the barricade.
Anselm joined him, pushing into it with his right shoulder as best as he could. This wasn’t going to hold back the mob for long. They needed to get out of the office sooner rather than later.
“What’s the plan?” asked Grayson, gritting his teeth with effort.
“Get out of here without dying,” replied Anselm.
“That’s a great plan. Might be the best one I’ve ever heard. How are we going to accomplish that?”
“I’m still figuring that part out,” said Anselm, nearly falling over as Demarcus’ men were beginning to attack the door in an organized manner.
“Should we jump out of that hole in the wall?” asked Grayson, looking at it nervously.
“Bad idea,” grunted Anselm. “It’s a few stories down. Besides, even if we don’t break our legs, we’ll be surrounded by Demarcus’ men before long.”
“What about making a hole in the other wall?” offered the elf. “I get that it’s a long fall, but it would lead us outside of this place.”
“I’m not sure my arm will work again,” admitted Anselm.
“Only one way to find out!” said Grayson. “Give it a shot, I can hold them back for a few seconds without you!”
Anselm gave the barricade a final shove, then ran for the other side of the office. Trying as hard as he could, he strained to pull his fake arm back and punch out through the wall.
The obsidian arm refused to move.
“Any day now!” shouted Grayson, struggling to keep Demarcus’ men out.
“I’m trying!” snapped back Anselm. “This isn’t exactly easy, okay?!”
“You made it look simple a minute ago!”
Anselm tried everything to get his arm to work. He envisioned Chaos coming at him again, tried to get as angry as he could, and even threw a few punches at the wall with his left hand. His right arm flexed a few inches, but that was it.
He jumped back when he heard a loud chop. An axe head had appeared at the top of the door. It wiggled free, then came back, creating another slit. Another axe appeared in the door, then three more.
“That doesn’t look promising,” mumbled Grayson.
Anselm came back to the barricade and tried to help Grayson push against the door, but the mob wasn’t pushing back as much anymore. They had changed their tactic to chopping the door down, and there was nothing Anselm or Grayson could do about it.
“What are the odds on us fighting our way out of here?” asked Grayson.
“Zero,” sighed Anselm. “There’s too many of them. You didn’t bring any of your weapons with you, did you?”
“Oh, right!” exclaimed Grayson, digging around in his pockets. “I almost forgot…”
“You’ve got a way out of this?” asked Anselm, holding his breath.
Whenever Grayson wasn’t sleeping, his favorite pastime, he spent most of his day creating and tweaking different kinds of poisons. If he brought with him some sort of device that could know everyone out, maybe a kind of poisonous smoke bomb, then they just might live to see another day.
“I brought these!” The elf pulled out two of his sleeping darts.
Anselm leaned back against the barricade, defeated. “We’re going to die.”
“Realistically,” nodded Grayson, leaning back against it, too. “I could stab us with these so we won’t know we’re being killed, if you’d like.”
“I’ll pass,” said Anselm, shaking his head. “Might as well take one or two out with us.”
“That’s reasonable,” said Grayson, putting the darts back in his pocket.
“I’m sorry about bringing you here,” sighed Anselm. “Now you’re going to die for nothing.”
“Eh, at least this is exciting,” shrugged Grayson. “I always imagined I was going to die from choking on toast.”
The chopping came to a stop. Anselm closed his eyes as he tried to think through how this was going to happen. Now that the door had been chopped down, the mob would spend some time moving the debris out of the way. He and Grayson could try to pick at them while they were preoccupied, at least injuring a few of them. The rest would make it in shortly after that, and the useless fight for their lives would commence.
“You hear that?” asked Grayson.
“Yeah,” nodded Anselm. “Sounds like they finished with the door.”
“No, not that,” said Grayson, poking his head over the desk and looking at the doorway. “That buzzing sound.”
Anselm opened his eyes and peeked over the desk, too. Demarcus’ men had grown strangely quiet, and no one was at the half broken down door. The assassin could just make out a soft buzzing coming from down the stairs.
“Think… Think they’re bringing in something nasty to finish us off with?” asked Grayson.
“Wouldn’t put it past them,” shrugged Anselm.
“Yow!” came a shout from below them.
“Ha!” laughed Grayson. “They must have hurt themselves on it!”
Anselm found that a little hard to believe. There was another shout of pain by a different voice, and he could hear the footsteps of people going down the stairs.
“T-That’s right!” called out a woman’s voice. “Think I’m making this up now?!”
Anselm’s curiosity grew. He couldn’t place it, but h
er voice sounded familiar. It wasn’t Olivia… Was it another assassin he knew?
“Aw, man!” cried Grayson. “Are we gonna be killed by a woman?”
“What’s it matter?” asked Anselm, standing up. “Man or woman, we’d be dead either way.”
“I dunno… I feel like it’s worse to get killed by a girl.”
“Coming from the guy who thought he’d be killed by a piece of bread,” said Anselm, shaking his head and walking over to the hole in the wall.
“What are you doing?” demanded Grayson. “I can’t stop them all by myself!”
“I want to see what’s going on,” said Anselm, peering out of the hole. “And it’s not like blocking the door will do us any good for much longer.”
The sea of Demarcus’ men was down there, a few stragglers still descending the steps to join them. Anselm was glad to see something else had grabbed their attention, but couldn’t see what it was. There was a loud crackle followed by a couple of cries, and the mob suddenly opened up some. A woman stood in the middle of the new opening, waving a sparking staff back and forth. The collection of men closest to her staggered back when the staff pointed in their direction, everyone giving her space.
“Who’s that?” asked Grayson, joining Anselm at the hole. “Another assassin?”
“Not exactly,” said Anselm. “Remember how I mentioned the Alchemist’s apprentice saved me? Well, her name is Calina, and that’s her.”
“Back up!” shouted Calina as a dwarf stalked toward her with a large two-handed axe. When he didn’t immediately do what she said, she thrusted the staff out. An arch of yellow shot out and struck the dwarf, knocking him off his feet. Calina quickly adjusted her glasses as the dwarf got up, cursed at her, then rejoined the mob.
“No way,” said Grayson, his mouth open and shaking his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” asked Anselm. “How was I to know she had weapons at the ready?”
“I don’t care about that! Why didn’t you tell me she was such a looker?!”
Anselm ran a hand over his face. “Grayson…”