Elessar Lore
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43 — The Bloodmist Assassin
🕑 Added 2025-06-24 00:09:59 +0000 UTCFrom within the mists, the sheer scale of the Misting Valleys was obscured. The summits of mountains and the depths of its passages were both hidden, but this afternoon, it wasn’t just that. Rather than a sea of white, the mists were hazed over a faint, rusty brown. Even trees just meters away from Alex appeared less distinct and the color made it harder for him to carve properly into their bark with his knife.
Brown, he noted, Not red.
It was a subtle thing—the world was just a little dustier than the afternoon glow should paint it, and that glow itself shone more dully through the mists than it had on other days. Moreover, when he’d scaled this mountain to speak with Corvus, he’d heard the sounds of nature. Now, even the calls of undead life were unnaturally silent. He looked down. The moisture collecting on his limp appendage was grayer than sweat, more glistening than dew. The air did not taste metallic or reek of iron, yet he recognized these signs for what they were.
I’m already in the Blood Mists.
He coughed. Beneath the cloth mask he breathed through, his lungs began to burn.
Albeit, not too much yet. The mists were far thinner than they’d been last night, and despite the fact that he’d been in them for several minutes, they were only now starting to affect him. But they were thickening. And he had a good idea why, so he worked quickly.
Confirming the quality of his engraving, he imbued it with mana, and moved onto the next tree, spacing his marks an adequate distance away from one another. Moving from each to the next, he shuffled carefully, quietly through the forest—opposite of how they’d done all those years ago when he’d first encountered the assassin.
“Laura, you idiot!” Eric had cursed. “Going off on your own like this… You better be okay!”
“Hey…” Alex remembered saying. “Does anyone feel like it’s getting harder to breathe?”
That was one of the scariest things about the Bloodmist Assassin: for someone with such immense powers the assassin was uncannily adept at wielding them subtly. And since he couldn’t find the ravine’s exit, he’d simply blanketed the entire mountain range in his thin-spread blood and waited patiently, like a spider sensing vibrations through its web. A web, which Alex had heedlessly entered.
It was getting harder to breathe now.
When he’d started, the mists had practically been their usual white. Then lightly dusty. And now, a light shade of red. By the time he finished his carvings on this side of the mountain, the burning beneath his skin intensified. With it, came an oppressive, searching presence.
Still, the blood mists were relatively light for now. The assassin had only narrowed Alex’s location down to a few acres, and he should consider himself lucky it even took him this long.
Though, he supposed luck had nothing to do with it.
Stealth has upgraded to Expert rank.
Stealth can now obscure and confuse your presence from tracking senses. When cast, others will have difficulty maintaining focus on your last known position. Those who are actively perceiving you may experience momentary sensory confusion.
Alex’s stealth-enhancing cloak flapped behind him as he moved to the next tree. One arm was in a sling, wrapped tight to his chest. From the mists entering his wound, his other had already begun to shake, so he slipped the gauntlet off his right hand for clearer and faster engraving. Unfortunately, the wound on his shoulder still hadn’t entirely closed. He had bandaged it, but the mists seeped through the layers of his cottons, and the burn emanated throughout his body from there.
Even Eric had been made helpless by this ability. That night, he’d staggered through the forest, vomiting blood with the rest of them. They had all heard the rumors. They had known immediately whose web they’d been caught in—and how futile it was to resist. The Bloodmist Assassin had killed many high-rankers the same way, by catching them unaware. Their insides had roiled; it’d had been the first time they realized how helpless they were without their priestess, and Alex remembered thinking Laura must have already been dead, facing alone one of the most terrifying hunters on Earth.
She probably would’ve been if not for their timing. He remembered, too, the intense gratitude he'd felt when she fell behind them, easing his conscience and burning pain.
Laura wasn’t with him this time, though. Here, the burn in Alex’s veins only grew worse. It was just him caught in the hunter’s web, and its fangs were inching closer, seeking to find a place to sink in. His vision blurred, and his reasoning began to slip, growing more panicked. The bloodmist’s effects weren’t just physical—they were also mental. His grip on reality loosened.
Then, just when it had become too much, Alex felt a calming sensation, like a bucket of water poured over molten metal. The heat receded. His blood recirculated with a pleasant warmth. It wasn’t Laura’s touch, but it reminded him of what it had felt like.
He took a deep, silent breath. And continued his work.
The mists thickened, as they inevitably would. Crimson eyes swept past his position time and time again—still seeking—and a part of him wanted to hide, to tuck himself away into Stealth’s deepest recesses. But no—he was not prey. Any fly caught in a web would squirm and try to fight it, but he was not yet caught, and so long as he didn’t try to flee in fear, the assassin wouldn’t sense him too soon.
So, as much as it went against his instincts, Alex did not weave himself in another layer of stealth. This was the correct amount. He was like a raindrop on the spider’s web—detectable but insignificant. He wasn’t heavy enough to twist silk into knots around his limbs; he would drip and then fall off. His limbs were light, and he danced across this trap as though it belonged to him.
He moved from one tree to the next. With the burn fading from his veins, his hands steadied. No amount of danger allowed for imperfection in his craft. The hunter’s gaze followed, narrowing its focus. But it did not impede Alex. He refused to let himself feel rushed, no matter what his instincts screamed.
Yet, however dispassionately, the assassin’s fangs still closed around his neck, and the chill on his breath was unbearably oppressive. The assassin’s bloodlust was not obsessive like Anne’s. It was detached, impersonal—almost indistinct. It was unnerving.
Ultimately, though, that was not why Alex retreated.
He left because he had already finished his job.
Sheathing his knife, he lifted his cloak’s hood over his head. Then, finally, he let Stealth claim him, disappearing into the night with a promise. He would be back.
“I know,” that killing intent told him. “You will have no choice.”
* * *
Alex left northward, where the mists swirled noticeably thicker, losing their red tint and gaining a lightly disorienting effect. If he hadn’t known about the Lost Soul’s obfuscations, he too might not have found his way back to the ravine’s exit. It was enough to shake off the assassin’s pursuit, for a time.
The ravine ridge-lined nearly the entire mountain and opened closer to its base. Its exit was also its only entrance: a shallow gorge where the cavern creeks ran off to join a river further down the mountain. Its walls were the mountain’s walls themselves, though they were not so towering here on the edge of another valley.
In place of the assassin’s killing intent, Alex was met with the solitude of silence. After what he’d done, there were no longer any Lost Souls in the mists. But the ramifications that might have was a consideration for another time. Even without their voices, staring into the ravine’s depths was like staring down Drusik’s Gates. It was enough to make one lose sight of themselves.
“It’s only natural Agariya’s Gash is so grand, Alex.” Lionheart had told him. “The legendary hero once did battle with the Chimera of Destruction in these valleys, and Argariya’s Gash was formed by her life-sacrificing blow. Agariya carved the beast in two. Her sword did not stop until it was buried in the depths of the mountain.”
Looking at it now, Alex found himself inclined to believe Lionheart’s tale. He found it hard to believe a ravine so huge could have formed naturally. The words of that Vampiric Elder came unbidden to his mind: every planet had its monsters, and Averon appeared to have been no different. He paid his respects, then turned his attention downward. This ravine was the symbol of a last stand, and he had no intention of making it his own.
To the left side of the ravine where he stood, massive stones were wedged into the walls of the gorge, creating ledges that rejoined the mountain’s slope. Their positioning was convenient and unnatural, in a way signifying they may have been part of an ancient hiking trail of some sort. And there, on the final stretch of it, he spotted Gloomy struggling on the last leg of her climb—being what someone with a death wish might call a “short queen.” He didn’t laugh and knelt instead, offering his hand. She took it with a scowl.
“Finally!” she panted. “And here I thought the wolves had eaten you. You didn’t back out, did you?”
“No, I got it done,” Alex said.
She smirked toothily and held up a blood-soaked doll in his likeness. “Good. So it wasn’t a total waste then.”
Alex shivered at the sight. The doll was a cursed object—an unfortunate reminder that he’d bound his soul to one of the most devilish teenagers he’d ever met. While his idea of linking the Bloodmist Assassin’s soul to his had been shot down, the simpler—and somehow, scarier—idea of linking his own soul to Gloomy’s had proven feasible. Staring at the doll, the relief he’d felt in the mists faded. How exactly such a thing could have reminded him of Laura's healing touch was beyond him now.
“Gloomy. Please put it away.”
Gloomy shoved it closer in his face. “Why? Does it bother you? It saved your life. You should be kissing it right now. It’s you anyway. Unless you think you’re too ugly.”
Alex scratched his left eye. “I think I look quite good, actually.”
“Oh yeah? Then—”
“More importantly, your carving has improved, Gloomy. That this… wooden vessel can capture the inherent beauty I’ve neglected all my life is a testament to your skill.”
Alex kindly pushed it away while she was dumbfounded by his compliment. The fact that it was drenched in a mix of their blood kind of ruined all that. “Anyway, thank you for healing me. What did it take?”
Gloomy clicked her tongue, unamused. “I told you already. My blood manipulation is weaker than his. I had to take the health potion just to keep up, and even then…”
“How much?”
“I ended up using over half, since somebody took so long!”
So maybe a third left huh…
Alex had hoped there might be enough to put his wounded shoulder back into action, but he’d suspected there wouldn’t be. Reconnecting nerves and tissue took too much of the potion’s potency, and fighting the blood mist’s effects was of a higher priority. They’d even been forced to leave his wound un-scabbed and slightly open. Afterall, the only thing worse than losing an arm was healing it back incompletely. Then it was well and truly gone forever.
Alex sighed. “Thirty minutes, Gloomy. I took exactly as long as I said I would.”
“And you didn’t fuck up the carvings?” She pressed.
He shrugged. “Probably a few of them? I don’t think it will matter.”
Her expression was brooding so Alex cut her off. “Whatever anger you’re feeling, save it for what really matters. You’ve still got a good portion of the potion left. Just focus on countering the mist’s effects—to the bare minimum. That should buy us enough time to get near the summit.”
“Devil take you, Alex!” Gloomy said. “I thought I stopped being an herbalist a century ago. Why am I using my blood control for healing of all things?” She snorted, a look of self-deprecating irony on her face as she strode past him. “You better make it up to me, or you’ll be kissing this doll six feet under.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” he said.
Though Alex supposed he should be relieved it was only a joke now.
He shook his head, fastening the straps on his armor. Unfortunately, he was stuck with a leather chestplate again since his left arm would’ve stuck out too far over his metal one—but he now wore metal tassets, vambraces, and greaves for added protection over his gambesons. He slipped his viking helm over his head, donning the midnight cloak over that. Fully prepared, he summoned Nychta to his hand and kissed her once, signing the rune for luck in the air.
“Creepy… you think she wants that?” Gloomy remarked.
Nychta radiated Love.
“It’s platonic.”
“What is?”
“No, nothing,” he said. “Eyes forward. He’s here.”
Their eyes snapped ahead into the mists as something predatory and cold stared back.
“You led him right to us!” she snarled.
But Alex had told her this might happen, and the way she said it didn’t sound like a rebuke. She was hunched forward like a feral beast, furiously eager, barely restraining herself from lunging. Alex walked up next to her. He wanted this too, for himself. Yet Gloomy’s hatred was purer, more unadulterated than his own. Her century as a thrall had stripped emotions from her that Alex was still burdened with. It had made her fearless.
And now that it had come to it, Alex was finally scared.
He walked into the bloodmists regardless, moving against the direction his instincts screamed for him to go. He was scared of dying. Scared of rueing the gift of a second life and scared of what that meant for Nychta. Now, he was beginning to realize he would never rid himself of fear. He could make himself strong, shed himself of weakness, but this fear? No. And so be it.
Because Alex was not his fear. His fear did not rule him. And at that moment, letting the assassin go unpunished for his crimes was the scariest thought in his mind.
The Bloodmist Assassin’s silhouette flickered further up the slope like a demon in the mists. If things had gone a little differently that night, the assassin might have been the one appearing in his nightmares instead of Anne. Alex grit his teeth. His vision reddened with each step forward. He gave full reign not just to anger, but to the suffering and anguish—to his love, and everyone else he’d thought had been defiled when Laura was taken from him. He filtered all these memories into Nychta: the good things, the precious moments. He gripped her tightly, and she thrummed with his hatred.
“Gloomy, do you have fond memories of your grandmother?” he asked.
“Not a century goes by that I don’t think about her.”
Alex nodded. Gloomy glared ahead in rage. Then everything blurred into motion.
* * *
Request for Spectatorship of an uncoordinated player altercation has been processed.
Request Granted.
Scenario Model: Path of Buried Ghosts, Misting Valleys
Progress:
14 days, 1 hour, 13 minutes, 46 seconds
15 days, 22 hours, 47 minutes, 14 seconds until the Scenario Three ends.
BATTLE
Alex Smith and [ERROR] vs Karagöz bin Abdullah
THIS IS A SYSTEM-HOSTED BATTLE. UNSANCTIONED BETS AND INTERFERENCE WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.
Please Enjoy.
* * *
Alex consumed his remaining Essence then kicked off at full speed.
You have Leveled up!
You have Leveled up!
You have entered a charged state.
Electricity coursed through his veins and his legs were light as feathers. With feather-foot at Adept rank, leaves didn’t so much as rustle in his wake, and whatever advantage the Assassin gained from his higher ground was quickly made obsolete.
Then Alex pivoted hard out of his bee-line three meters from the assassin, circling around him, his speed undiminished. A thick tree concealed him as he entered Stealth. The assassin’s head whirred around in search.
Now Alex had the high-ground. Nychta vibrated in his grip and he held her evenly at chest level, reverse grip, her point aimed downward at the gap near the assassin’s collarbone. His muscles coiled, and he launched forward—but at the last moment, pivoted again. A full one-eighty degrees.
If the assassin’s silhouette were real, turning his back so quickly after closing the distance would’ve been an incomprehensible move. Yet he did, twirling Nychta overhead, swinging diagonally downward in the direction he had just launched from. He heard the silhouette collapse in a splash of blood behind him, and under the real assassin’s mask Alex saw his eyes widen.
The assassin tried to draw his sword back in time but—
Too late!
He severed, cutting a groove in the assassin’s chest plate. Blood spurted.
It looked like a lot, but it wasn’t—not for him. Rather than recovering his defense, the assassin had tilted his body forward, leading into his offense. Alex had only managed a glancing cut across his left rib cage. His sword had met resistance—chainmail and gambesons.
Not too late then, damn it!
There was no time to correct-course. The assassin’s momentum carried him forward, so Alex had to do the same. He stepped into his draw cut, whirling again. With a twist of his wrist, he redirected Nychta’s momentum upward.
The assassin met it with a yatagan—a slightly forward-curving saber with gold ornamentation. Alex, relying on the strength of one arm, felt himself drawn inward as Nychta slid toward the inflection point of the yatagan’s curve. Sparks flew. He tried to force it away, but the concave shape allowed the tip to twist around Nychta like a snake, biting shallowly into his shoulder.
The Bloodmist Assassin was more than strong, he was seasoned; quick as a whip. If Alex reacted with his mind, he wouldn’t keep up. So his body acted. Before the yatagan could carve deeper he side-stepped, twisting his body perpendicularly—and didn’t even realize his mistake until moments later.
He didn’t cry out in pain. He couldn’t even feel the wound—only the motion from his arm-sling loosening—which may have saved his life since there was no time for shock. Their blades locked, and he stepped in close. The yatagan had no hand guard so Alex let Nychta be drawn in this time, intending to sever the assassin’s fingers as she glided down its length.
Except the assassin no longer gripped his yatagan with both hands, and as soon as Alex saw that he knew it meant trouble. The assassin’s offhand wound back, a knife summoned with the trajectory set to take off Alex’s head. Nychta was his lifeline. He abandoned his offensive play just before reaching the assassin’s fingers, redirecting her momentum in an upward draw. She met the knife on her tang.
And further down her length, she still defended against the yatagan. Her blunt side pressed tight against Alex’s body, her momentum stolen. He utilized her full length to block both weapons, but her defense had limits, and the assassin knew it. His viper of a yatagan traveled around Nychta’s curve, slithering past her tip, angling for Alex’s calves all while his knife locked him in place. Forget being a Nightmare or a vampire. In that moment, the scariest thing about the bastard was that he was truly ambidextrous.
Thankfully, with Featherfoot at Adept rank, Alex’s footwork was only light when he needed it to be. For a moment he stopped resisting. He gave ground to the assassin’s force and shifted all his weight to his back foot. Meanwhile, his right leg whipped out—light as a feather yet crashing into the assassin’s side like iron.
[Weapon Mastery] with Nythca increased.
Progress to rank Adept: 71%
The assassin was driven back by the kick.
Even then, his sword nicked Alex’s ankle—barely avoiding a tendon.
Naturally, the assassin noticed his poor balance, and with the reflexes and recovery-speed to match any vampire, he took advantage. If Alex were alone, this would be where he died.
So thank god that I’m not.
Gloomy fired a barrage of blood bullets. The first cracked the assassin’s mask. The second pierced his shoulder. He evaded the rest, jumping backward and raising a shield of blood that slowed them with its viscosity. Alex put some distance between them, heaving for breath.
Dexterity +1
The fact that he was already gaining stats spelled clearly just how hard he was being pushed. He examined his arm. A long streak had been cut into the fold of his elbow and it’d fallen limp from its sling. It could’ve been worse—he’d taken the brunt of the assassin’s strike on his vambrace—but the fact that it was already proving to be a liability didn’t spell well. He needed to adjust his new body mass, and quickly. The assassin’s techniques left only narrow margins for survival, and no time to adapt mentally.
Crossing swords with him again, Alex’s fears were confirmed. The Bloodmist Assassin was the worst kind of monster—the kind who knew how to use every scrap of his power. Even now, Alex couldn’t perceive the full extent of the assassin’s swordsmanship. Being handicapped only made that gap worse.
Regardless, he could not falter. So he raised Nychta, bent his knees, and dared the assassin to charge again.
The assassin stared back, but unfortunately didn’t take the bait. Instead, he vanished into the mists. From here on, the only traces Alex might catch of him would be the flickering shadows the assassin wanted him to see.
“So much for ending things quickly,” he muttered. “Gloomy, you alright?”
He backed up, taking a guarding stance at her side. Blood trickled from a cut on her palm.
“Those blood bullets? They’re nothing worth fainting over,” she said.
He nodded. But he knew the real danger wasn’t blood loss but the open entry point the wound created for the mists. Same for his own wound, once her healing potion ran out. Soon, it would. And judging by the lack of urgency in the assassin’s movements, the bastard was just going to let their wounds fester and their fear ripen.
Very practical. It was what Alex would do. But the assassin wasn’t the only one who benefited from buying time.
If you’re not coming at me, then…
In what might’ve been considered a bold move if not for his trait, he tucked Nychta between his legs and rewrapped his ruptured clothes. He quickly tied his wounded arm off in a sling again, tightening the knot with his teeth. Sure, the added body-mass hurt his dodging ability, but it was better than leaving his arm flailing as a target.
Gloomy held that demonic dagger relic in her hand, her eyes darting as she followed the assassin’s blood shadows in the mist. Alex motioned for her to ignore them as they edged backward, following the ravine toward the summit.
“We’re sticking to the plan then?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Alex said. “He’s wary of me now. The same trick won’t work twi—”
He jolted. “On your left, Gloomy!”
Her eyes locked onto a rushing figure, but there wasn’t enough time to communicate that it wasn’t the assassin himself but another of his blood shadows. Alex quickly yanked her aside. She yelped, seeing death in the shadow’s sword, while Alex swung over her shoulder at the real blade. He stopped it, but the assassin’s knife in his free hand plunged toward Gloomy’s gut.
She brought up her dagger in the nick of time.
It was a clumsy block, taken on the flat side near the tip. The force shook her hand, and she nearly dropped it as she surged forward with all the speed her vampiric blood could muster. The assassin’s dagger drew blood across her cheek, narrowly missing her eye.
Through sheer luck, Gloomy’s clumsy handling of her dagger drew blood from the back of the assassin’s wrist, but Alex could see the madness in her expression. The nails on her left hand sharpened. As Alex busied himself covering her and guiding the assassin’s sword downward, Gloomy began to lunge.
He quickly jerked her back, his teeth clenched around the fabric of her nape. The assassin’s sword nicked her nails as Alex sent her sprawling onto her ass. Before the assassin could follow, he whipped Nychta out as a feint. He was relieved to finally find an opponent his subtler feints worked well on, and that finally, a gap in the assassin's technique revealed itself.
[Weapon Mastery] with Nythca increased.
Progress to rank Adept: 77%
A path appeared before Alex’s blade, and he followed it, weaving between the assassin’s attacks—slicing off… his head?
No, the finish of it was needlessly bombastic—when even just halfway through Alex’s swing, he’d already recognized the encounter had been abandoned. The blood shadow he decapitated collapsed, and the real assassin slithered through the trees with killing intent.
So even if I press an advantage, it still means nothing, huh.
Gloomy sprang to her feet. “Alex! I—”
“Not now, Gloomy,” he said quickly. “I understand the way you fight now, but he’s on a different level from the other threats we’ve faced. He’s nothing like the guys who invaded our path. You got the blood you needed, right?”
As he talked, his eyes were alert, tracking the assassin as best he could to aid with his trait’s senses. In his peripheral vision, he saw Gloomy’s dagger glowed with unsettling delight.
“Then go!” he yelled. “I’ll bring up the rear!”
Gloomy hesitated, but eventually ran up toward the apex of the ravine. Alex tried to run after her, but as soon as he turned his back, the assassin lunged low out of the mists. Their blades clashed again. And again. From every angle and with every bit of unfortunate timing.
The blood mists were already burning and dulling Alex’s mind. His wounds festered as Gloomy’s healing came less and less frequently, whereas the assassin's didn’t even make him falter when he received them. Blood loss meant nothing to him; it only meant more mists, and every time their blades clashed, the forward curve of the assassin’s yatagan drew Alex ever closer into the viper’s embrace.
Even if Alex had both his arms, he would still be losing. Nychta’s extreme curvature made it easier for him to weave tight, drawing cuts across the assassin’s body, but her farther reach was a disadvantage this close.
She was not an arming sword like Lys. When his and the assassin’s blades clashed at the bind, she would always lose in a battle of straight strength. So he couldn’t let this be about strength.
He couldn’t let her momentum be stopped—he had to redirect it. Constantly, he snapped his wrists, rolled his joints, rushed his footwork—all to keep her momentum going in a circular motion of sweeps and slashes. When Nychta met the assassin’s sword, he had to ride across its length at a glancing angle, guiding its path rather than hard parrying it. It was always by the skin of his teeth. And thanks to the yatagan’s shape, it always resulted in him being drawn closer.
And when he was—when this viper’s length began to coil around him—it was like the air between them grew all the more suffocating. The paths his blade could travel narrowed, and the angles at which he had to flick his wrist became claustrophobically extreme. He couldn’t match the assassin’s strength with one arm, and if he could? Well, that was worse because it always meant the assassin had another hand open to wield his knife. Facing him was utterly terrifying—like hearing the rattle of the viper’s tail but not knowing where it would strike from.
“Arrgh!”
The knife sliced across Alex’s side, goring red cotton from his gambeson. But then another path appeared, and Nychta gilded beneath the yatagan’s trajectory. The dagger impeded him again, but the assassin was on the back foot—
No, he wasn’t.
The assassin was gone again. Hidden in the mists, free to restart his assault from any angle. He took zero risks yet kept Alex breathless, and without a moment to recover. He was different from most of his fellow Nightmares. While the blood mists didn’t match the abilities of those in the higher echelons of the rankings, the assassin was much more clinical, and precise. It was no mystery why so many who should be stronger had feared him. At this rate, Alex would die.
Dexterity +1
Vitality +1
He gritted his teeth, clutching his side as the mist invaded his wound. Then the wound slowly started to heal itself, regenerating. He gave silent thanks to Gloomy. He could see her silhouette up ahead and knew he was almost there, but he didn’t let his attention waste away to his fatigue.
Far more than his strength, it was the assassin’s lack of presence that Alex struggled with.
Killing intent wasn’t something you could erase, but throughout his life, he had encountered those who could somewhat mask it. That bastard weaving through the forest was one of them. His killing intent went beyond just dispassion. The Bloodmist Assassin swung his sword with such monotone nonchalance it couldn’t even be considered disinterest; he almost didn’t feel like a vampire but a phantom.
Even to Alex's senses he could just disappear, and that wasn’t something he was used to from an active threat. When he did, it took Alex time to discern his presence again, and he was relying on eyesight far more than he was used to. Already, the assassin was learning how to trick his senses with the blood shadows he created.
But when you come for the final attack, I’ll always sense where you’re coming—
“Shit!” Alex cursed. The blood shadow he had swung at dissipated into mists, and he quickly whirled around as the yatagan came singing for his neck from the opposite side. Did the bastard just project his killing intent?
The hunter finally revealed himself, and Alex saw death.
Gloomy hurriedly shot her blood bullets but she didn’t have a good line of shot. One hit Alex’s own leg, and he heard her yelp from the damage. The assassin didn’t even startle, but his blade did waver and it bought Alex just enough time to duck his head under the swing.
An inch was scalped from his forehead. He almost staggered backward but Featherfoot caught his balance. He desperately jutted Nychta’s pommel into the assassin’s wrist, preventing a follow-up attack.
It didn’t. The assassin’s blade flew from his hand, but he caught it with his other and thrust forward like a demon possessed.
Alex was crouched low and well distanced to parry. The yatagan was forward curved, but a second backward curve at the very tip leveled the blade and gave it a devastating pierce. It also meant that if Alex wanted to parry it without being drawn into the assassin’s coils, he had to aim precisely for that tip portion.
Alex still felt like he couldn’t see the assassin, but it didn’t matter. A path appeared before him, as though graced by the heavens, and Nychta followed it. He loosened his grip on her and flicked, parrying the yatagan upward.
[Weapon Mastery] with Nythca increased.
Progress to rank Adept: 85%… 86%… 87%
The yatagan was still wayward. Nychta grew hot in Alex’s palm.
Wanting, she told him.
Progress to rank Adept: 88%… 89%
She tugged at his power, and Alex gritted his teeth, giving her so much mana that every inch of her vibrated. The assassin must have seen the same path Alex did in that moment. Or somehow sensed his change in attitude. He was on the back foot, already accepting his losses and disappearing into the mist.
No, not this time.
Pierce
Alex lunged forward, he and his blade following the path before them. Nychta whistled through the wind, angled toward the assassin’s chin. Alex’s blood boiled. Forget putting this bastard on a pedestal—he’d trained just as hard as a swordsman, and he’d rather put his head on a spike!
His head buzzed with Nychta’s will. The assassin had no time to parry, no room to counter, no space to dodge. He had nothing.
Nothing… except a vampire’s inhuman reflexes, and he seemed to summon them all once, jerking his neck at an inhuman angle. Alex heard the crack of bones. It was the sound of his hopes shattering. The sound of him throwing away his life on a hasty impulse.
At that moment, the world froze.
Nychta was inches from missing the assassin’s ear. The assassin’s sword was angled to impale Alex on his own unstoppable momentum. The path he’d been so confident in flickered and died out, forever unattainable.
Yet in its place, fate showed him two new paths.
One where he died.
One where he lived.
The choice was obvious. He didn’t want to die. But the new path ran shoulder to shoulder with death, its guidance so faint it almost seemed like a trick of the light. Was this even possible?
Well, if it isn’t, I’m already…
[Weapon Mastery] with Nythca increased.
Progress to rank Adept: 99%
Time surged forward.
Alex twisted Nychta horizontally toward the assassin’s neck. The curve of the blade suddenly added so much length that she felt entirely different in his hands. He couldn’t cancel Pierce—he couldn’t pull away, couldn’t stop. Yet somehow, the angle at which Nychta pierced the assassin’s flesh was so delicate, so precise, it belied the sheer mana behind the attack.
She dragged open a wound inches deep in the assassin's neck.
Normally, Pierce was his finishing move—the end-all, be-all—and he’d all but concluded it was incompatible with the shamshir. But Nychta’s attack couldn’t end there. So for once, Alex didn’t follow her momentum. He created his own—extending his arm behind him as he slid past. His pierce shifted seamlessly to a slice, and he pulled Nychta free in one fluid motion, her blade snapping back like a lion’s tail.
A Custom Combat Skill has been created.
Nychta has named this skill:
Lion’s Whip
Blood spurted from the assassin’s neck. Alex didn’t need to be told by now that the wound wasn’t deep enough. Red, crimson moons swiveled after him—cold and unfeeling. The path where he died had not yet disappeared.
But neither had the path where he lived.
Blood still gushing from his neck, the assassin swung in retaliation. Alex couldn’t evade. His back was turned. Nychta’s wasn’t.
Where before they had dragged each other along at separate paces, now they created their own momentum, equal partners in this dance of stone and battle. Their movements were linked. The arc of Nychta’s extraction had drawn her close, protecting the nape of his neck, emboldened against his vambrace.
The assassin swung with full force.
Alex let Nychta helicopter above him as he spun beneath the collision, guiding the trajectory away. For a brief instant, he met the assassin’s eyes through the slits in his mask.
His blood grew heated. His vision reddened. If they'd been a second too late that night chasing after Laura, this would have been the bastard appearing in his nightmares—the vampire who could make your blood burn like it was boiling, your flesh sizzle as though on the spit.
Alex was sure his glare held all his hatred. So why couldn’t he see him?!
It was unsettling. They had spoken with their swords, and the assassin was clearly a master of his own. So why did Alex sense nothing behind it? No emotion. No passion.
Here he was, putting everything on the line—
“So show me your face!” he growled.
Alex cracked his head against the assassin’s mask and watched it shatter. The assassin’s eyes widened as the pieces fell away, and his attack instantly relented. He hopped back, crouching, moaning lightly as he tried to reassemble the fragments. His fingers twitched. His shoulders shook.
Then his pathetic display halted, as if someone—not even himself—had flipped a switch. The assassin stood. His eyes held no more feeling than they had a moment ago. But beneath his hood—he was a horror.
A face stitched together from a million pieces. A frankenstein.
Blood continued to spill from his neck, adding to the mist, but he didn’t even seem to care. He just disappeared. And Alex edged nervously backward, nursing his own wounds… which had stopped healing.
Vampires. They were nothing but monsters. Every single one of them.
He joined Gloomy, who stood near the edge of the ravine’s deepest crevice. He could feel an intense updraft here. They were near the summit of the mountain, where the land flattened, and the ravine widened, near where they’d fallen the night before. If Argariya’s sword really existed, it was no doubt buried in the depths below.
Whether Lionheart was talking out his ass was up for debate. What wasn’t was the fact that the ravine at Alex’s back cut the assassin’s angles of attack in half—though with obvious caveats. They were trapped
“How’d it go?” Gloomy asked. “Did you have fun?”
Alex stared at her, then frowned down at Nychta. “…Huh, a little. Surprisingly.”
“I knew it. You really are a creep.”
He sighed, his blood simmering uncomfortably beneath his skin. Gloomy was obviously preserving most of the potion’s remaining potency, if there was any left at all. As she stepped in front of him, uncertainty still nagged.
“Are you sure—”
“I can do it,” she said. Then, more slyly, she added, “But… I’m not trapped under your pretty little contract, am I? Can you really trust me?”
“Not farther than I can throw you at the bastards,” Alex said with a laugh.
He realized shortly after that that was how he truly felt. He had placed his life in Gloomy’s hands—literally, with that doll. Yet he trusted in the same quality she saw in him.
Hatred.
So long as revenge lay ahead of them, she would not betray him. He could leave his back to her.
The twisted thing was, he didn’t know the last time he had trusted anyone with his back. However, actually trusting them to defend it was another matter. He sheathed Nychta, shaking his head.
“Well, I suppose I’m dead anyway if you fail.”
“Hah?! I’m not failing, Alex! And it looked like you shook him pretty bad back there. Couldn’t you have just beat him?”
Alex laughed. “For a second, I thought I might have… but no. Most swordsmen you meet in the apocalypse are amateurs with flashy powers and zero technique. He’s not like that. It’s like he…”
It’s like he walked out of a different era…
Except he had, hadn’t he? The Bloodmist Assassin was a vampire.
Wait, were they fighting a fucking Janissary right now?
“Gloomy, be careful–”
“Oh, stop whining! Just do your fucking job already! It was your plan!”
His lips tightened. He wanted to argue more but it was too late for that. His instincts warned of the assassin’s approach, and he cut himself off from them, focusing all of his senses inward. If the assassin slit his throat in this state, he might not even perceive his own death in time. The only thing standing between him and that untimely fate was a small girl barely five-foot-three.
But he supposed Gloomy was right. He had planned for this. If she failed, he’d be left ruining the consequences of his own deranged strategy.
“Stop being cryptic and just lay it on me!” Gloomy had yelled six hours ago. “You said you have a plan, right? So why are you skirting around the topic? Are you being melodramatic, or are you just trying to piss me off?!”
They had been talking down in the ravine for three hours by that point, learning each other’s skill sets while Alex worked out the finer details of his plan in his head.
“Well… I know I called it a ‘plan’, but it’s not really—”
“Out. With. It!” Gloomy demanded.
“Alright, alright… Call me defeatist or whatever, but the Bloodmist Assassin is feared for a reason, Gloomy. He can turn any space into his own hostile arena, and the amount of blood he can replenish… I don’t know if I’ve met a vampire with a larger blood pool. It gives him too much versatility. He can attack from any angle to corner his prey, or he could just sit back and let the bloodmists weaken them until they’re too spent to escape. His playing field is just too vast—”
“Sounds defeatist to me,” Gloomy muttered.
“Right. Which is why if we want to defeat him, we need to do something about his mists first. No matter how strong his regeneration is, his blood supply must have a limit. I have an idea that might be able to exhaust his supply and narrow the playing field at once, but—”
“Cool. Was that really so hard to say? Just do it then.”
Alex had shifted uncomfortably, groaning. It really wasn’t that simple, and thinking about it again he’d realized there was no way in hell it would work. Yeah, it’d been a deranged one. There weren’t a lot of other options, but maybe he should just scrap it and keep searching for—
“Stop looking at me like I’m weak, damn you!”
He sighed. “Gloomy… this is a lot to ask, but do you think you can fight him alone for one minute?”
Comments
Predyca
thanks a lot for the chapter ♥
