Tales of an Assassin - Chapter 5

    Awakening with a start, William looked about the cramped hovel for something. His hands frantically pounced at the concrete floor for his object of desire. Finally, with a triumphant clutch, William found the inhaler he searched for. He brought it toward his mouth but stopped partway, taking to staring at the object. His face contorted as if he'd suddenly been betrayed. "I don't need you," William said, tossing it to the ground. He seethed and balled his hands into fists, gathering his focus.
    Several minutes passed in complete silence, William listening only to his breathing. Slipping into meditation his mind wandered and played events over. Before he could stop himself, he could see her. In an instant, that sweet smile that brought tears to his cheeks was consumed by flames, sending William into a violent rage. Leaping to his feet, he screamed and shook his fists indignantly. "REBECCA!!!!" he shouted until his voice was raw. He punched the nearest wall until he pulled back blood. He'd accidentally punctured his hand with his ringblade which only served to make him feel even more out of control.
    The kultist dropped to his knees, grief overwhelming his senses. He wept for a while, remembering their time together, mourning her just a little bit more than the last time. After he could not cry further, William searched for the lost inhaler to bring him the much needed solace of Crucible. "Fucking crutch," he said, inhaling the dose and tossing the canister to the ground for a later mental battle.

*beep beep*

    As the drug coursed its way through him a serene state of peace and calmness overtook his psyche. Answering the vidphone with a, "Speak," William began to tend to his wounded hand. "I am Lord Deron. Your credfix was kind enough to part with your information." The typical hooded figure the he was accustomed to was not on the screen, instead replaced with a pompous-looking corporate suit. "I only deal with-" William said before being cut off. "Do not interrupt me. The House of Verbatim calls upon your services. An employee of a highly sensitive company has just uncovered information she doesn't need to know. The House demands you torture and end her. You will broadcast the event via vidphone. We want her to grovel for her life before you take it. Are my instructions clear, contractor?"
    It had to be a woman, didn't it? Please not a brunette...
    "I'll serve the machinations of the circle of Internal, but the House will pay triple. Don't make me repeat it." William was to the point and ruthless, some of the only things Internalists valued. "Very well, 15,000 credits. Half now, half at completion. Use some of that to buy a better phone," the man replied snidely. "Put the details in a node and message-" he began before being cut off again. "I don't have time for that, merc. Sue Hathoway, 33-1-306, middle-aged, brunette, soft on the eyes. Don't fuck around on this one merc. The House needs this to happen tonight. Eight o'clock sharp," the man demanded before ending the transmission abruptly. Gripping the bridge of his nose, William sighed heavily.
    William began to pace the room and speak to himself. "There's no time to stake it out. I'll have to go straight there and... and... and what?" He turned and stared at the wall, his eyes eventually trailing off toward the Crucible inhaler. A shiver ran through him; a remembrance of a previous life of addiction, pain and lust. He tried to stop himself but after only a scant minute he was on the floor taking another hit. The rush of peace and serenity washed over him again and he was in control.
    Shroud. There's a chance she will be too frail and die on the spot, but its the only option.
    Pulling on a flowing black cloak, William left his abode and made his way to the nearest sector lift. Massive blast doors slide to the sides to reveal a large freight elevator with room enough for three large vehicles and passengers. LAW officers were stationed inside each one, equipped with two-handed ordnance and stun grenades. Making his way to the far end of the lift, William sat and waited as the two-feet thick doors grinded back into place before the lift rose methodically to Sub-Level 1. His eyes avoided contact with the armored officers, not wishing to draw undue attention.
    The creaking doors opened after several minutes allowing the kultist to roam the streets freely. LAW officers walked the roads in pairs, just as heavily armed as the ones at the sector lift. The presence of forced complacency and overbearing guiding hands weighed upon William as he strode out into the light. He made eye contact with no one and kept to himself as he made his way across town. Finally he came to the three hundred block of residences, his eyes scanning the well-secured entryway of the building that contained 306.
    The apartment building was large and impressive, built of a sturdier concrete formula and reinforced with rebar wire. This was the only Sublevel that could afford to be built using such techniques, as the other three levels had to make due with simpler materials. The door that allowed entrance had a small screen with a display of numbers. Beside it was a list of whom lived at each address and a call button. William arched an eyebrow and tried pressing the button for 302, hoping the door would buzz him in. After a moment of silence he decided to try a less subtle route. A reassuring glance over his shoulder was followed by a hand-sized electrical storm as the kultist pulled all the energy from the device. Punching a few buttons was enough to trick the sensor, unlocking the door as the power died which would also prevent it from shutting and locking him inside.
    William stalked up to the door that was labeled 306 and breathed out a calming sigh. He knocked twice and to his surprise the door was opened, albeit with a chain-lock still in place. "Yes?" came a female voice from within the dimly lit apartment. The soul within the ringblade was damned upon the kultist's command, bringing onto him the power of Shroud. Stepping before the small opening, William merely stared the woman in the eye and let his convokation do the rest. the woman's eyes went wide and she shivered violently, her body shifting into view. A white streak passed through her hair as she toppled to the floor. Using a small device he was able to cut the chains with little effort and enter the room. Thankfully she was alone, giving William ample time to tie her and riffle through her house.
    The woman awoke to a face full of water, gasping for air loudly. She found a hand quickly over her mouth and a voice in her ear from behind. "You will do exactly as I say, as quietly as you possibly can. If you don't follow my instructions I will come back and I will flay your son. Do you understand me, Mrs. Hathoway?" William said as he held up a picture of mother and son. The woman shivered and cried, attempting to keep it quiet out of desperate fear. She finally mustered enough courage to nod, prompting William to help her up. "I am going to untie you and you will follow me to Sub-Level 4. There are some people that want to have a chat with you." The woman looked at the scared man that was her captor. Her eyes traced the lines that draw over his left cheek and across that eye. She was horribly scared but didn't want anything to happen to her son. Sue Hathoway, once up-and-coming businesswoman was now nothing more than a submissive toy. William did not miss the irony as he grinned wickedly at her.
    The two arrived on Sub-Level 4 in complete silence, the woman too numb to be able to respond. Several minutes of travel brought the two upon a door in an alleyway which lead to an abandoned home. Rust-brown stains covered the floor of the kitchen, including a noxious odor that made Sue cry out. William locked the two inside and dropped his veneer of trust. His eyes met hers and an unspoken conversation went between the two, the woman understanding that she was not going to leave that room alive. She trembled but the kultist would not tolerate any further delays. He was ready to be finished with this job and it had only just begun. Gripping the woman's wrists he tossed her unceremoniously to the floor and followed it up with a quick blow to the back of her head.
    Hours passed and Sue dreamed. She dreamed of an insane plot to hold her captive for money and felt an overarching malignant force. She was awoken this time with a harsh slap to the face, eliciting a scream. "Mrs. Hathoway, are you with us? Good. From this point on, I want you to be as vocal as humanly possible," William said as he knelt beside her. "You see, you're being punished. I'm sure you don't understand why, but that's not what's important now. What is, is you putting on a good show for the partners of your company. They're watching you right now," he continued, pointing to a brand-new video camera set on the counter. Her eyes widened and she screamed, lashing wildly at William, but finding she was chained to the floor at her wrists and ankles. "NO! Why are you doing this to me!?" she cried out.
    Sue Hathoway was tortured over the course of 46 minutes. William stared at his handiwork as his mind raced. He looked at each wound he had inflicted, each bone broken, each pain created. Blood stained his hands and cloak, pooling at his boots. She'd screamed for as long as she could and screamed even after her voice completely gave way.

*beep beep*

    William answered his vidphone, saying nothing. He knew whom it was. "Most excellent work. Your pay is well deserved indeed. Have a nice night, killer." William put his phone away and shook his head. He finally settled on a look of disgust as he took in the details of the room. Taking the disc from the camera, William looked down at the woman one last time. Her features shifted and superimposed over her was a vision of a woman he'd once cared for. Crushing the disc, the kultist strode out of the room to the streets, haunted by a life that had once brought happiness and meaning.
    Disraeli, you are a cruel master indeed. I do not fully understand your path for me. May your wisdom guide my actions.

---

<< Previous Next >>

Fan-fiction for Obsidian: The Age of Judgement

Tales of an Assassin - Chapter 4

    Dank air wafted up to meet William's nostrils, pungent with rotten meat and waste. Sub-Level 4 was the dirtiest and most crime-ridden level of any Sector within the Zone. It was used mainly as processing plants and factories to support the businesses and citizenry of the three Sub-Levels above. Those unfortunate enough to be poor and have nowhere else to turn often ended up here, huddling in corners for heat.
    Dismissing the foul vapors, William trudged his way through yet another alleyway as he tried to find a certain Alex Gunderson. Somehow Alex had caught wind of the hit taken out on him and fled. Hoping to keep his ringblade as full as possible, William found himself stalking through various alleys on the hunt for bums. As he neared the mouth of the current area he was in, he could hear a man snoring very loudly.
    William peeked around the corner and could see a rotund man lying in a pile of trash bags. It was impossible to tell if the man had meant to be there. With the grace of a well-practiced killer, William darted up to the man and immediately shoved the spike from his ring into the man's heart. His soul was drawn out of his body and not allowed to transcend, tricked into being loyal to the kultist's will.
    "Pitiful. You barely have the power I need," William said as the man's soul was damned in its entirety. As the soul was obliterated William stuck his ringblade into his own arm, drawing a line of blood. The spirit was used as fuel for Fallen Wisdom, a power that would grant a kultist of Under insight into a 24 hour period. The blood was a tribute to the Box of Under, the true source of his power. His visions would prove both useful and mysterious as he was unsure when they would come to pass.
    Taking a seat in a shadowy alcove nearby, William prepared himself as the visions came. Closing his eyes brought a sudden shift in scenery. Blinding white light forced its way into his retinas. Large gray blocks towered over him in four directions. Woozily the scene shifted so that he was standing, staring over an intersection. A bright red light shone from across the street, its neon lights failing every so often as it flickered. A skittering sound forced his sight to sway behind him, revealing only a dark alley. The skittering came closer, but again nothing could be seen. William could feel eyes upon him.
    William awoke in a cold sweat, a bit surprised. He was expecting to see something about his current mark but nothing of that was revealed. Shaking his head to clear the fog of visions, he began to walk out of the alley seemingly no better off. Much to his chagrin, he would wander the streets for another two hours before a lead turned up. He had been fortunate enough to catch Alex moving between hiding places, sending the two into a fast chase. William's trench-coat billowed behind as he matched Alex step for step. Alex turned a corner and darted between a few buildings, knocking trash bins into the assassin's path.
    A few minutes of sprinting found the pair headed toward an intersection. Alex had made it into the street before everything went black. Blinding white light met William's eyes as he rolled himself off the ground. Feeling the back of his head, William pulled back a bloody hand. Dazed, he looked around to see a red, flickering neon sign across the street. A slight clicking sound came from the alley behind him, but he could see nothing. Deciding to focus on finding Alex, William turned and ran after the man.
    Having had enough of the chase, William pulled a large one-handed gun from a pocket in his coat and opened fire. Several bursts of bullets flew through the air, a handful finding home in Alex's left shin. The force had been so much that it had essentially blown the man's lower leg apart, leaving bones and a mess of tissue clinging to them. With a sigh he holstered the weapon and began to close in. He was uncomfortable with how easy it was to kill someone with ordnance. William preferred a much more personal approach to assassination.
    The clicking sounds turned to more defined skittering, high above the man on the walls. His eyes could not penetrate the darkness as the sound continued to encroach on him. His eyes narrowed, the scar across his brow crinkling strangely. "I'm being hunted, eh?" he said to himself. Before he could draw his gun, a dark shape jumped down at him, knocking him to the ground before leaping back into the shadows. The creature had pierced William's abdomen with something, though it was not life-threatening. The kultist stood and again went for his gun. As before he was knocked down and again stabbed. He now knew the creature was just toying with him.
    "So, Daemon, what are you called?" William said aloud as he stood again, clutching to his new wound. Chittering sounds formed like syllables were spoken from the darkness. A moment later, the daemon dropped to the ground. Its body was a large, writhing spherical shape from which six long, spindly legs protruding from it. The beast was covered in a leathery hide though as it approached, it appeared to be covered in a layer of shimmering water. As the light hit the daemon, William was faced with its horrible visage. The true form of a daemon was much for the mind of any human to overcome, but William had long since taken steps to steel himself against the mere sight of a daemon.
    In a desperate move, William went for his gun again which sent the daemon lunging toward him with great celerity. The gun, however, was not his aim, instead choosing to fling his coat open as the beast dug a leg into his body. Pinned to the ground, the blood flowed free from the kultist, his sacrifice accepted along with damnation of soul. The daemon peered down inquisitively at the kultist as he smiled up at it. Six barbs of darkness flew out of his coat, piercing the daemon's flesh with ease. A horrid scream erupted from the beast as it fell over. "A Grotesque, huh? Some Chemicalist is gonna be pissed his pet is dead. Fucking wonderful."
    William stepped on the daemon's face, crushing its skull with a squishing pop. Finally dead, the beast melted into a viscous sludge that slid down through a sewer grate. With a sigh and a limp in his step, the kultist made his way over to Alex, whom had taken to giving the dirty concrete a nice hug. "I hope you're worth all the trouble you got me into tonight," he said, putting two bullets into the man's head.

---

<< Previous Next >>

Fan-fiction for Obsidian: The Age of Judgement

Tales of an Assassin - Chapter 3

    "My name is Terrance Archer. Today, I request to die."

     The playback paused as a scarred finger touched the datapad's screen, a sigh emitting shortly after. Pulling a small metal flask out of a pocket, William took a few swigs before finally pressing the screen once more.

    "I work for DynaTech, which as you know has a large presence in this Sector. They have a strict policy on death, however. For my family to receive my benefits, I have to die in a way that is no fault of my own." There was a small pause in the recording, sounding as if the man was having trouble continuing. "You're probably wondering why I would request such a thing. I do not wish to die in a horrible way nor leave a mess for my family to clean up. I want a quick, clean and painless death." There was another short pause, the man's voice starting to tremble. "I've uncovered corporate secrets... horrible things done in the name of progress... I can't bring these forward or my family could be targeted. I'd rather just take this with me to the grave. Please, you must help me!"

    The recording stopped, William staring at the datapad's now black screen. Tossing the pad onto his bed, he dialed up his Credjob on his vidphone. A hooded figure appeared after only one ring, asking, "Yes, William?" With a sigh, the man responded, "Something doesn't seem right, but its easy pay. And if you've come to me, you know it must be done for it is the path of the Box. I accept." "Very well. I'll send the details to a node and message you the address."
    Lighting up a syntharette, William sat in the darkness awaiting the beep from his phone. It came soon enough, sending the man to the street to find a public access terminal. The node was very light with information, giving only the location of the man's home and that the mission was to be carried out immediately. Committing the address to memory William deleted the node of information and walked away from the terminal.
    There was a loud, grinding sort-of alarm pumped into the air for a long five seconds. It was the public alert announcing that cleansing gel would be sprayed in ten minutes. William cursed his timing and looked for an alley to take shelter in, his home too far to return to at this point. The minutes passed quickly in anticipation as the alarm sounded once more to announce the start of the sanitation spray. Viscous beads of gel dropped from the high ceiling in a sort of thick mist. There was a pungent, almost burning vapor that accompanied the spray, forcing William to breathe from the folds of his jacket. For fifteen minutes the spray continued, soaking everything in its path including the man's clothing. "At least its supposed to be healthy... probably not from direct contact though," he said to himself as he got up and continued down the street.
    Finding the address was easy enough, despite the stares he received from being on Sub-Level 1. It was where all the high-end businesses and anyone with money resided. It was as close to the lap of luxury as one could have in these dark times. William stuck out prominently, a hooded figure wearing an obviously armored trench-coat. He looked everything of a killer walking amongst the pristine tenants of the level. He paid them no mind as they stared on in disgust. the building Terrance lived in had a metal gate at the front entrance with a communication box to its side. Pushing the button, William said, "I'm here to see Terrance Archer," and waited for the gate to unlock. There was a long pause before an electronic lock unlatched and the gates swung open of their own volition. William walked through and up to the building as the gates shut behind him, noting the single mounted gun hidden within a nook of the wall.
    Making his way to the address, William knocked once on the door. "Who...who is it?" trembled a voice from behind. "I've come for the contract." "Oh! Please, y-you must leave. I mean, you must leave before me. We can't be seen together. Meet me three blocks south of here." With a sigh William shook his head and walked out of the building as indicated.
    More stares came the man's way as he made his way down the blocks. Anxiety of the mission was beginning to creep up his spine, something still not feeling right. Not having the time to use his Fallen Wisdom convokation to learn more, William instead settled for a hit of Crucible. Ducking into a dark alley, the man quickly pulled out a small plastic cube of blue powder and pulled open the top. Lifting it to his nose he inhaled the powder in one go, instantly feeling the rush of calmness take him over. The worry left him, as did any other kind of strong emotion. Tossing the package to the ground William walked back to the street, looking for Terrance's approach.
    There was not much of a wait as Terrance quickly made his way to William, anxious for his death. "I apologize for this but I must again ask you to meet me. If we are seen together on this Sub-Level it will surely blow my cover. We can-" he said before being cut off. "Fine but we meet where I say now. 33-3-115. Got it? That's a whorehouse, so go back to your apartment and dress in something less...obvious." Terrance seemed embarrassed but nodded and walked away. William shook his head and said to himself, "So that's why it seemed funny. He's a total vanilla. Probably a missionary-only kind of guy. Tch, what a waste."
    An hour passed, finding William and Terrance outside of The Cracked Whip. "Here's how we're doing this," William started. "You go inside, have a nice time but don't spend any creds off your stick. Use this one instead. That way there's no legal grief." Terrance took the credstick and clicked the button until the readout displayed the identification. "So I'm supposed to be this Jerry guy?" "Yes. Spend at least three hours in there or else the contract is cancelled. Got it? That's it. Just walk outside when you're done." Terrance looked rather confused but nodded once and walked inside.
    Terrance, the shy and uncharismatic man that entered The Cracked Whip was soon gone, replaced by the daring and high-stakes Jerry. The sensation of pretending to be someone else was exactly the thing Terrance needed to come out of his shell. He made it a point to tell everyone he met that he was Jerry and was a self-made man, rich and single. It was exhilarating to finally experience the world for what it really was, dirty and gritty and full of mystery. Jerry took two women to bed that night and had the best sex of his life. Afterwards, high-stakes Jerry decided he'd join the two in a hit of whatever they were doing.
    Six and a half hours passed by before Jerry awoke from his drug-induced stupor. His mind was foggy and he felt as through he was walking in a dream. He looked down at his credstick and clicked the button to display his name "Jerry" before nodding and slipping it into a pocket. He walked out into the harsh electric lighting, able to hear their buzzing and low-powered struggle to stay lit for the first time. Raising a hand, Jerry shielded his eyes and stumbled down the street wishing he had another bottle of rice flower wine. As he walked he began to think of how it would be so nice to get back to his apartment and hangout with his friends. A smile came to his face, genuine and fully-heartfelt. Jerry was happy.
    "Hey old man, give me all your money!" came a shout from behind. Jerry turned around awkwardly, still buzzing from the alcohol. He strained his eyes and saw a dirty young man before him, obviously a ganger by his clothing and the red fabric tied around his bicep. "No, I, wait!" Jerry stuttered as he stepped back. "Come on man! Just give me your credstick!" the young man shouted as he brandished a sharpened metal pipe made into a shiv. Fear filled Jerry's eyes as he was overwhelmed by the thought of being killed. Somehow, Jerry had no idea of Terrance's intentions to die.
    The youth charged Jerry, no longer having any patience as his eyes glared red with some unknown toxin. Jerry was no fighter and the shiv easily found its way into his ribcage. The world began to topple over itself as he was thrown to the ground. He could feel this coat being pulled off, forcing him to his side and indirectly forcing the shiv deeper into his ribs. A terrible cry emitted from Jerry as his eyes searched the ceiling of light for an answer.
    "Why...why now? I'm not ready to die now..." Jerry whispered. He then saw the body of the youth thrown to the ground with a silenced cry. Turning his head Jerry could see William crouching beside him. "I'm sorry Terrance. I nodded off when you didn't come out for awhile. This punk got you first, so I'm sorry this wasn't peaceful." Jerry searched William's face for answers but found none. "Terrance?...Oh my...." Jerry said as he trembled, his face beginning to pale. "The...contract. I'm... I call it off..." he struggled to say.
    William helped Terrance sit up, wrapping an arm around him as he did so. "I'm sorry Terrance, but that's no longer an option," he said as he wrapped his other arm around the man. In his right hand he wore a ring with a long spike protruding downward from it. With a hand over Terrance's mouth, the long spike made its way into his heart, the deep red blood flowing quickly over William's fingers. Terrance's soul, once thought to be free of the mortal coil, now found itself trapped with the kultist's ringblade, never to find peace again.

---

<< Previous Next >>

Fan-fiction for Obsidian: The Age of Judgement

Tales of an Assassin - Chapter 2

    Darkness. Screams of agony. Twisted flesh decorated with fresh scars. A place of ultimate knowledge, obliteration and oneness. Symbols painted in blood adorning the walls.

*beep beep*

Willpower manifest. A guiding force toward...

*beep beep*

A future unknown and incomprehensible...

*beep beep*

    A long sigh was drawn from the man as he sat in a meditative pose, his focus now broken. Grabbing up his vidphone he studied the information that was displayed and hit "accept" on the screen. A figure in a long hood appeared, his mouth the only exposed feature.
    "Yes?" the man questioned simply. "I've another contract if you're interested. It'll require a fair amount of stealth and your special talents. 5000 creds; interested?" responded the voice. "Its not a matter of interest. The Box has set this path before me, and I accept it willingly," said the man flatly. "Of course. Everything you need is in a node. I'll send you the address."
    The vidphone's screen went abruptly black followed shortly after by a notification of a message. The man stood and stretched his limbs causing a small inhaler to clank onto the ground. Kicking it into a random corner, the man sighed and ran his heavily scarred hands across his face and shaved head. His hands methodically and mindlessly pulled and fidgeted with his facial piercings, the pain bringing him back to reality. "At least I know that won't be what I die of," he said aloud.
    Pulling on a trench-coat made of black daemonic leather the man strode over to a spot on one of the walls. He pulled out a small ring with an affixed spike protruding from one side and slipped it on. Drawing the spike across his already warped flesh forced open old wounds and allowed several drops of blood to drop heavily to the floor. The man's eyes displayed signs of an ecstatic state as the metal bit the skin. Wasting no time he called upon the power of the soul trapped within the ring and touched the wall. A strange symbol flared into view for only a moment as a mental alarm was set within the man's mind.
    Leaving the small hovel the man called home brought him to the streets of Sub-Level 3. It wasn't rampant with crime but if he was careful he could conduct his business without prying eyes. Walking to a public terminal, the man began to navigate to the address his Credfix had sent. Information poured over his eyes as he committed it to memory. A short three minutes later and he was finished, deleting everything within the node before walking away.
    The man's walk brought him to the front of the Gerald & Gerald building. Ignoring the strange looks he received from passersby the man strode up to the doors and inside. Security was light and it was easy for the man to sneak his ringblade inside. The admonium sheath it rested in made sure it could not be Mystically scanned. Walking through the lobby to the elevators, the man rode up to the third floor. He received much stronger stares of repulsion from within the building. Corporate suits couldn't handle seeing someone with the weight of life sitting upon the first layer of skin. It did not bother the man in the least, nor did it appear he even noticed, for he was focused on his mission.
    Stepping into the hall of the third floor the man looked around quickly before darting into a shadowy nook. Biding his time until there was a single, hurried businessman not paying attention, the man leapt out in attack. In a fluid motion he wrapped one arm around the man's head to pull it to the side whilst the ringblade's spike found its way into his throat. The man instantly seized up, tried to scream and found he could only gurgle and writhe in pain for the last moment of his life. Focusing on the spirit leaving the body, the man called forth the spirit to his side through mental willpower. The businessman's corpse fell to the ground as his spirit floated by his attacker in sickening loyalty. A small smile crossed the man's face as he damned the entirety of the spirit in trade for power.
    Stumbling back into his hiding place the man found his mind suddenly filled with visions of his immediate future. Flashes of insight gave him the knowledge necessary to complete the rest of his mission. As the visions subsided he stood and walked through the complex with purpose. He eventually came to a thick metal door with obvious reinforcements. Focusing his power again he damned a portion of the spirit within his ring. The inside of his trench-coat became a black void for a moment as he reached in and pulled forth a small thermal bomb that once rested in his home. Setting the timer and taking cover, the bomb went off as his vision had indicated, burning a hole directly through the lock and a decent part of the door. He walked inside the room and quickly found his target; a large book made of actual wood and paper.
    Before he could claim his prize, two security guards entered the room shouting at him to get on the ground and not resist. The man sneered and spun around, allowing his trench to fly open as he damned the last of the spirit within his ring. Six black tendrils covered in sharp barbs flew out of the darkness of his coat at the first guard, skewering him to the wall. The second guard opened fire, able to hit the man in the shoulder, splattering his blood upon the wall. No scream of pain followed the gunshot, only a strange laugh. "Should've aimed better..." said the man as he called forth the spirit of the dead guard only to damn it instantly for power. Darkness opened on the floor beneath the guard allowing uncountable skeletal arms to reach through. The jagged bones slashed and gripped at the man, attempting to pull him down to the unknown depths.
    After only a few moments the wounds were too great to bear and the man dropped to the floor as he body was shred into a bloody mass. With great effort his spirit was called to the man's side, whom then seemed to gently play with the floating soul as if a well-loved pet. "We all serve Disraeli's will," he said before snatching up the ancient tome and damning the soul to open a rift of darkness.
    Stepping out of the darkness, the man was deposited safely in his hovel. The rift closed behind him and he dialed the number last used on his vidphone. He stared at his arm covered in fresh wounds from using his powers as he waited for his Credfix to answer.
    "I've got the item," he said flatly. "Excellent. You've come through for us yet again. We'll be in touch, William."

---

<< Previous Next >>

Fan-fiction for Obsidian: The Age of Judgement

Tales of an Assassin - Chapter 1

    The shapes slowly blurred together and melded before coming to perfect clarity, only no one said clarity of what. The world once known and familiar was now alien, only spoken in tales. This was a world of grays and blacks, thick with fog. All within this realm shared a hazy but glowing shade of neon orange. As the librarian peered into the new realm he could see that the two dimensions coexisted, intermingling. The other man he sat with bore a strange new form, warped by the overlay of the new world. His concern, however, was of the beings that floated to and fro in all directions.
    “I’ve never before seen such creatures, horribly amazing…” the man said, pushing thick glasses back up his nose. “Yeah, I keep forgetting you’re new to the Daemon thing, Doc,” the other said, pulling in some smoke. “Now, now, its just Pierce. That Doc stuff was ages ago.” “Whatever Doc,” responded the other man as he tried to hold his hit.
    The librarian giggled for a moment as he gazed upon the magnificent beings. Their forms glorious, wicked and imposing. Some with masses of tendrils, others with many eyes and limbs. Each was unique and yet still horrible to look upon. However, as he gazed up on them, some began to turn and gaze back. Pierce sat straight up in cold fear, as his panic rose within. The creatures twisted about in the air, delighted to be seen.
    A small whisper behind the front door made Pierce jump and whip himself around to look that direction. Staring in sheer disbelief, Pierce could hear the whispers of several children-like voices, followed by a light scraping sound against his metal door. The sounds persisted for many minutes until stopping suddenly. Pierce felt a beckoning, drawing him to his feet to peer through the peephole. Sweat beaded upon his face but he was unable to stop himself from getting close. His cheek stuck for a moment on the cold metal as he stared.
    Nothing. Nothing’s there. Wonder what that was…
    Pierce stood in thought a second before taking a step away from the door. As his foot touched the ground for his second step, the door dented inward from a massive collision outside. Pierce dropped to his knees and gripped his temples, eyes searching for respite.
    Nothing. Damn.
    The man that had assisted Pierce in trying the drug merely watched him suffer as he finished off his own drug of choice. He grinned sadistically as the librarian witnessed the waking nightmare that was the Dimensional Realm. The daemons that existed there in spiritual form toyed with the man's sanity, sending his physical body into fits of convulsions. As Pierce finally snapped his own spine from writhing so violently, the other man stood and shrugged at the corpse. “Sorry old man, but it had to be this way.” Stepping over the body, the kultist walked off, fading back into the shadows.

---

Next >>

Fan-fiction for Obsidian: The Age of Judgement