20th of September, Near the border of Central and Southern Eoran.

  “Thanks, honey.” Antonio straightened himself, his expensive arcane-woolen suit guzzled the light of the empty cabin. At the sudden tuck, the broad pels, and the red velvet cravat in his left breast pocket quivered, whilst he turned towards Fatima, whose lips locked onto the unconscious feyfolk guard with tufted, heavily combed back hair, yellow as pumpkins.

  She parted her lips, with a sultry smile on, her olive toned face glimmered softly, whilst her the bck orbs in the downturned eyes gauged the aged assassin. “Your welcome Antonio.”

  He reciprocated her gaze whilst starting buttoning down his golden yellow arcane-linen shirt. “Tell me hon, won’t you join me? This way we can get the bonus together.” He said whilst slipping his arms out from his suit whilst standing over the dark elven Presidential Guard, murmuring soft whispers whilst Antonio began freeing his legs from the yoke of his knee-high boots of a duller leathery, thick fabric.

  “Thank you for the offer. But I am afraid, I must decline.” Fatima said, preferring the traditional way of seduction beaten into her by the now defunct group of assassins who lurked in the vibrant dunes of Far-Southern Heleion. “Maybe another time if you survive.” She added jestingly.

  Though for a mind, she entertained the idea to fetch herself one of the female Presidential Guards and masquerade as one, but she knew her acting limits. And it wasn’t the time and mission to hone them further. Still, she watched Antonio adroitly strip the darkly handsome elf with the complexion of dim venders be stripped completely off his sleek uniform. Then she grabbed the guard who accompanied the dark elf during their nightly patrol and carried him inside the bathroom, one arm looped over her exposed shoulder, his elbow hooked around the shawl like colr enveloping her frail neck.

  He id him down to the broad and deep bath tub, then checked her looks. Her makeup remained undisturbed, her skin still appeared mildly hydrated, whilst her dark brown, long and voluminous hair remained in the bun she bound it, resembling the house of a snail, sitting high above like a strange crown of the Archfey of Patience and Humility. Her asymmetrical lips – lower plumper, the upper thinner with a natural bow shape – glistened in a bold red, though parts of it remained on the autumnal feyfolk’s own wide and thin lips. A bit too dry for her, still his tongue py she rated highly.

  From her wyvern hide purse, she pulled out three coils of rope and wasting no time, bound his arms behind, his ankles together – letting out a pleasure filled sigh, hearing the tender creaking of the moans of the guard and the fabric as it was cinched by the rope. Then he looped the st, long coil of the siphoning rope around his waist, forcing his arms against his sides before producing two rags. One crimpled, shoved into his mouth, the other a red silken like her dress, embroidered at the front with crossing golden chains. She knotted it tightly, the fabric cut and pressed into his cheeks puffed out by the crimpled rug inside. And it remained above his tapering jaw.

  “Sleep tight.” Lips pressed against the chain where his lips faintly protruded, Fatima pulled away just as Antonia dragged the naked dark elf inside. His wrists and ankles already bound with oily, lustrous sealing tape of the deepest bck she ever saw, whilst his eyes and mouth were wrapped in perfect, even loops, pressing even the high tips of his ears against his head.

  “Well, wish me luck.” Antonio jested, his honey golden skin dimmed into a dark vender purple, his well-groomed beard disappeared completely, his hair once more gained a dark shade. In a second, he became the bound and gagged dark elf.

  “I bid the Lady of Shadows and her Brother, Luck smiles upon ye.” Fatima whispered, kissed his cheeks in good fortune whilst he adjusted the velvet necktie. Then watched with a genial smile as Antonio disappeared. “Well, we have ample time guys.” Then turned with a lustrous gaze towards the two unconscious, helpless guards moaning softly in their gags.

  *****

  “So, she is fine?” Nezha questioned whilst putting her legs on the table. Since Mave got left behind, Arvindel became her roommate one cart behind Maleern and Leonydrimi.

  “Yep. Got rescued by the valet at the station who noticed her not stepping on the train.” With her back turned, Arvindel answered whilst watching the dim scenery of interminable flora framing the tracks and the train passing through the lush jungle. Occasionally, the rge leaves rustled as wild beasts passed, one even tried to leap towards the back, only to be shot down, its searing corpse pulled away by vines.

  “So, there is at least one capable amongst them.” Nezha’s dark lips curled into an excited smile. The two tails of her rge braided hair scraped the carpeted floor with their white tips – the roots a bckish brown – as she leaned her head, a sensuous gaze aimed at the three cartel assassins in sleek, gmorous garments sitting back-to-back, tautly bound with thick, enchanted ropes, their lips sealed by short strips whilst their eyes wrapped.

  The nearest to her with a darker brown complexion compared to hers reminiscent of lightly milked espresso. Hair cut shorter in a voluminous pixie, with the forward flowing strands a dark burgundy whilst the rest a jet-bck. On her right, grunts muffled by the silver sealing tape, a dwarf whose spreading red colrs were cinched by the rope, not enough to smother him. And on her left, facing the kitchen counter, a tall solfrith with shaved head and a long chin beard braided and adorned with sun golden beads, embedded with magical stones which almost compelled Nezha to show him mercy instead of her gloved fist.

  “Well, the target is Penry. It is bound to be the case they send at least a few capable hands.” Arvindel’s whispery voice was drowned out by Nezha crackling her fingers before stretching her arms above her head. “These were mostly here probably to dwindle down the numbers of his guard.”

  Nezha leapt onto her feet, buckled the loosened belt around her tight fitted dragonidh leather trousers after tucking the emerald green Aetherna satin shirt into it. She left the colrs unbuttoned, revealing the faint eye tattoo on her throat exposed betwixt the angled, softly rolling wings with their tips touching her shoulders, whilst its snting down brim caressed her tapering jawline.

  “Well, time for another round.” Arvindel turned and watched as she slipped into her dragonidh leather waist coat, gleaming with a noble gloss under the glowstones bathing the room in warm daylight.

  It was tailored in the shape of an elegant suit with sand golden trims, thin striping along its extremely smooth surface bereft of any blemishes. She gently folded the broad pels at her chest up a little, the ones around her neck into a high snting position whilst her plump lips with the outline of a bow on the upper, curved instinctively as the satin colrs kissed her neck with their tenderly cold inner walls.

  “Be safe, and if you run into that enemy – send a message.” Nezha nodded as Arvindel tapped the lush, longer side of her dark hair over the temple.

  “Now what would I do as an assassin of some shady organization.” She smiled, chuckled a little after taking in the fragrant air in the hallway.

  *****

  “Anything interesting so far?” Maleern asked whilst zipping up her lustrous dark jacket, leaving only the tips of her shirt colr’s peeking out. Flipped up, she pulled out the metallic purse holding cigarettes, lined so that their filters formed a dim rainbow.

  “Nezha headed out. And two of the Presidential Guard were possibly taken.” Leony said with a bit more confidence now left with Maleern.

  “Assassins?” Leony pondered her words, recalling the scenery of the handsome old man and the southern beauty approaching the two guards, the man’s proud Eoranian salute being the opener of discourse.

  “Not sure. The autumnal feyfolk was definitely smitten with the woman in a red silken dress, olive skin. Whilst the dark elf appeared more excited to talk with the handsome man – maybe in his fifties – who appears to be a veteran?” She said still a bit unsure. Something tucked at her senses, but the four returned to the cabin far from Penry’s cart where the two possibly stayed during the long journey.

  “I see. Does the man has honey golden complexion, hair white at the tops, sides, dark at the base and well-groomed beard?” Leony nodded. “Assassins then. Which cart?” She asked.

  “The fourth away from ours.” Maleern thanked her and left, first stepping out to the outer deck, picking out the red filtered, its smoke’s scent and taste aromatized with sweet cherries of Hoshigawa. Brought to her by Junoth when she visited a few years ago.

  But her thoughts remained not on the eastern Sister whom she shared the magnificence of the Bck Rose with during a long, sleepless night, but on the man, Antonio. Numerous battles, the two fought together throughout the Great War, sinking numerous ships of the southerners, the central alliance together throughout the long years of it. And quite a few times, they enjoyed their bodies after each mission – be it a failure or success. As she blew out the saccharine smoke, the taste of his lips – almost as sweet – she felt them whilst staring out. Her gaze looked over, then down at her pocket, in its expanded space, her silenced wand pistol.

  Whilst a strong bond formed between the two, forged by the many missions carried out, the two grew distant after the war. Neither were in love, they were simply satisfying their appetites whilst the ones they truly desired served elsewhere – and she learned perished, becoming another name amongst the billions devoured by the jaws of the Great War. And now regret filled her heart, for not seeking out him, allowing him to slink down to the shadows.

  Flicking away the cigarette, her chest puffed out, stretching the fabrics as she tasted the cold air. The feeling faded from her golden eyes peering towards the cart, fourth from them. “Let’s hope for the best.” She whispered, her boots made little to no sound as she walked with deliberate steps towards the retracted bridge, each segment materializing and floating below her soles when they sense them.

  *****

  “Really?” Nezha suddenly stopped, the cold Winds of Death passing through her right beside, from beyond the cabin. She let out a sigh, then pressed her gloved palm against the door which slid open immediately. “You know, that alerted the whole train?” Before her, an arachnid assassin pulled a dagger out from between the ample breasts of a stygian with oily pink skin, horns forming a vague heart shape – the less hideous, cuter type.

  The spider folk’s eyes tensed, focused whilst pulling out the knife, damaging not the glossy, smooth fabrics on the corpse. A shame. Nezha thought looking at the limp stygian inheriting bewitching looks of a succubus. Her killer wasn’t a bad looking one, skin pale as Arvindel’s, wolf cut tousled hair, voluminous and dark strands hanging before the round eyes with bold pink pupils increasing in number whilst she took a few steps towards Nezha.

  “Woah there.” She quickly pulled her head back, the knife grazing only the long, thick braid framing the left side of her lean face, starting from nearly the front. And in a nimble move, ducked her head sideways, the sharp tip passing by the sheared side where snting, stripes strode backwards in a soft arch above her short, sharply contoured ears adorned with six golden rings. “Not the charming type huh?”

  Low, pleasant squeaks reverberated through the spacious, lofty cabin as Nezha assumed her battle stance. Fist curled, held in the elevation of her agog countenance, her sensuous, mordant eyes of a caramel brown focused on the hand holding the bde aiming for her life. The tattoo on her throat lit up, expanding her vision and revealing the arcane points, veins in the spider folk sicario, revealing she used a simple, body enhancing spell.

  The two circled around each other, betwixt the entrance and the furniture, and once more the spider folk proved to be the impatient. Lunged forward, she vanished in a puff of inky bck smoke, from it a halo of ethereal web aimed at Nezha’s strained fists. She ducked down, and she too vanished in the same manner just a millisecond in time to evade the bondage of her fists. And the spider folk materializing behind her, striking at her nape, one hand readied to cmp and muffled Nezha’s st whimpers.

  Nezha’s mist agitated her eyes, her sight became blurry, and her movements like a scared wild beast. “Amateur.” Nezha commented as her fist materialized and connected into the left, soft cheek of the sicario who spin in the air before nding limp. The crack of her twisted neck echoed through the room. Then she touched the sheared side of her forehead and sent a message to Arvindel. “Could you contact the Guard? Found one of theirs, a stygian – perished. The assassin – a spider bitch – too just now.”

  “Sure.” Came the reply almost immediately.

  “I’ll stride one more cart down, just in case.” Then she broke the tether binding their minds and straightened out her sleek, elegant outfit, the tattoo’s light dulling until only the faint ink drink in the conjured daylight. Her eyes, staring with disappointment at the dead sicario, then she walked out, leaving the corpses to be retrieved.

  “Ah excuse me?” Just as she stepped out, a soft yelp unbecoming of her escaped her plump lips of a glossy reddish-brown shade.

  On her right, stopping suddenly a ghastly lunar Dracorith offered an apologetic smile, his crimson eyes narrowed in eerie kindness. “No, it’s my bad, I was deep in thought miss.” His tone suave, overflowing with confidence – almost befitting not with his looks of a tarnished elf.

  Strangely, she was drawn to it. Looks mattered little to Nezha, all she cared about were strength and confidence. And from the one look, he had both. “I was too, so it seems.” She blurted out.

  “Tovorn.” He introduced himself with a deep bow after he stepped back, hand held out to receive hers.

  Which she pced in his, pcing her palm after slipping off the glove. Even though it felt like parched skin, she felt warmth in her chest, and down in her nether regions when his lips touched her hand in a short kiss. “Nezha.”

  “A name of a warrior.” He said. Her right brow raised in surprise, not many knew of it – not even amongst her Sisters. “Say, I was heading to have some drinks in the bar ahead. Would you mind sharing one with me?”

  For a while she pondered. The patrol could wait. “It would be my pleasure, Tovorn.”

  *****

  “Heard from Yolotli?” Luciano, a tall, square jawed proud Presidential Guard asked, the golden filter pressed between his thin lips as he asked.

  “Nothing since afternoon. Not even answering.” Iktan answered, his scaled, azure toned face shimmering under the conjured daylight whilst standing in the frame, blocking it from closing.

  “I really hate it. We shouldn’t be on the defensive. We should hunt the shadows; you know what I mean?” Luciano turned towards him, the muffled whimpers of Benedita a few meters at the turn from them, her call for help silenced by the barrier erected by Fatima.

  “Shush, just let it all go.” Her warm, fragrant breath stirred the Presidential Guard with the complexion of milked coffee, skin smooth and lustrous, almost unblemished except for the tiny scar running through the left side of her narrow, plump lips. The tips of her hazelnut hair with blonde roots beating against the lustrous, high colrs of her shirt, buttoned down, the neck tie loosened as she struggled, writhed in the taut embrace of the sicario.

  Slowly, she gave in, no oxygen passing through the adhesive veil which sprouted forth the cmped over palm, her narrow, upturned eyes closed shut and she went limp just as the two comrades of hers entered back to their post, whilst debating wildly. Fatima looped her arms under her armpits, around the shoulders, soft creaks emanated from the oily matte suit-jacket as she tightened the grip, pulling the unconscious guard inside, ying her against the wall of the storage room in the right corner.

  Reaching into the air, space colpsed into an ethereal bluish ring, amply broad enough for Fatima’s slender arm to reach into it. Then it shut close, her fingers wrapped into the hole of the roll of silver sealing tape, emanating a faint white iridescence in the dimly lit narrow room. With a snap, it was enveloped in a bubble, keeping all sounds within its walled confines, and began wrapping the tape around the cuff hidden wrists of the murmuring Benedita.

  Finished with binding her ankles, wrists only, a wide strip across her pretty, youthful face, Fatima left a lip mark upon its center, on the outlines. “I guess I’ll have all the night.” She reached into the pants, fingers slithered, bulging her panties, and as they invaded her clitoris, making small, gentle and deliberate movements, Benedita moaned softly, stirring the grinning sicario.

  *****

  “Nothing personal kid.” Antonio whispered, pcing the wide strip of oily bck tape over the plump lips, hissing a little when it tched onto the beard forming a frame like his. He miscalcuted still, tearing off a short strip. Though not just because he felt nostalgic wearing the uniform again, but because he knew she was here on the train. Most likely. And he remembered how good it looked on her lustrous, smooth dark skin, how her lips outlined upon the glossy bckness. It stirred him, hence why he moved slowly, taking down a few more guards along the way, even though it was wholly unnecessary. It was foolish even.

  It wasn’t the first time in his elongated life, since he was offered such a high-profile gig, but it was the first time he accepted it. For the most part, he preferred accepting missions involving The Court’s host itself, riddled with corruption, but when his boss – that bewitching dark elf – approached personally, he had the feeling she would be here. Antonio knew, Maleern was responsible for the elimination of many of his fellow sicarios, members of their upper echelon like Thiago recently. Looking at the dark elven witch – whose beauty paled compared to Maleerns – he accepted without hesitation.

  Nearing the turn, Antonio halted, looked out bathing himself in the silvery glow filtering in, speckled with faint rays of cerulean, gold, oaken brown and rose pink. Each reminding him of her, the scent of her perfumes she used to seduce the Arghyrian legionaries to forcefully borrow their uniforms; the Shaionian sailors whose ship they infiltrated, but before they could pce the bombs at the engines, were discovered, bound with their arms stretched above, complicating the mission a little, but not ridding them of their triumph. And the nights spent together, their feelings strengthened by the adrenalin, their passion for each amplified when either of them rescued the other.

  “Where did I go wrong?” He whispered, his eyes veiled beyond the spell solemn, and his excitement turned into fear. What she may think of me, I wonder?

  Then he continued onwards the empty corridor, whose guards whimpered bound and gagged by his hands. I wonder if I went soft or am I just full of regret? He had no time to ponder, a smile curved almost onto his lips.

  “Long time no see, Honey.” Maleern looked at him, blocking the door leading out to the next cart.

  “How you doin, Dark Wine?” He asked, enchanted by those golden eyes he missed for so long. “Still looking good.” He added, his eyes fixated on her form lit by the moon seeping from behind. Both rexed a bit as they called upon their old codenames given by their joint handler.

  “You aged like fine wine too, Antonio.” His name, she whispered with passion and a mild hint of sorrow. Yet her mesmerizing countenance remained gd, seeing him after centuries of being apart.

  *****

  “We should move everyone to the nearest carts.” Naier argued to Grant who relented not to staying to their pns, shielding the meek secretary behind his massive back whilst Glymnis stood before the door, her hands crossed behind her back, legs stretched.

  Not far from them, from beyond the expensive, thick wooden door, they could both hear Penry signing, humming an old warrior’s song involving said warrior joyous of seeing and making passionate love with his wife after years of being torn apart. A song which perpetually kept Naier’s light amber golden cheeks a regal red as she barely had time to dress back up properly – her shirt still remained buttoned down at her shapely, small chest.

  “I know you worry about him, but I think he shall agree too.” Grant’s words hit her heart, knowing Penry himself came up with this, hoping one of the assassins would prove brave and foolish enough to come at him. He mourned the lost, but he expected the same from all warriors, on top of being less empathetic when his bloodlust remained unsatisfied.

  She fondled her temples, forehead leaning on the edge of the bed, sitting high, yet Grant could still stare at her straight. “Fine. But at least try to enlist the Raven Eyes to search and free those who may have gotten captured.” It was na?ve thought, but she herself experienced, met with assassins who focused simply upon the intended target, all other were incapacitated. Like that handsome man with honey golden complexion and well-groomed looks.

  “I’ll contact them.” Grant said in his deep voice.

  “Thanks.” Naier said, smiling weakly, looking at the bathroom’s door with a sigh. She could not wait for this tour to be over at st.

  *****

  “So, you are blind?” Nezha said without thinking, pressing her fingers upon her lips wide-eyed and feeling remorseful a little.

  “Don’t feel bad. It was the price of triumph.” Between his long, pale fingers, the smooth bourbon swished in the angled, nonagonal gss. “Well, and the rest of me too, but the least I can say that I faced and won against a demon of vainglory.” He held his chest out proudly, Nezha chuckled lightly with an enamored look in her eyes whilst sipping his gin tonic.

  Then he turned and leaned back in the tall legged chair, staring across the counter, at his horrid reflection torn further by the gss shelf. “I hope to experience such a battle one day too. To earn a scar worthy to regal to my Sisters and Brothers at home.”

  “You already have such a scar, don’t you?” He asked, turning at her. Her brows raised at his perception. “Trust me, I sense the smell forever enveloping, emanating from me. The fact my looks bother you not I can get, but my smell, scarcely I knew people who can stand it – even the most well-mannered murmur as I pass them.”

  “I wouldn’t say a scar. More a curse I earned whilst foolishly engaging a necromancer.” She said appearing meek, shamed a little. “I nearly lost my sense of smell, taste and hearing, thankfully the tter returned, the former two well, they are faint.”

  “I see. Still be content with those. It would be a shame to have your exotic beauty be lessened by the decorations of the prideful.” As she thanked his honest, confident compliment, Tovorn pulled out his wrist holding the clock and looked at it. “It was a lovely meeting, Nezha. But I sleep is essential for me. But hope we can chat tomorrow and until we arrive to our destinations.”

  “Yeah, I should head back and rest too.” She said, gulping down the st of her drink. He gently kissed her on the cheeks, and she too on his, under one of his folds. “Sleep well.”

  Then as she stepped through the door, Nezha stopped and looked back. Then cursed, when she noticed Tovorn stopping and speaking with the olive toned beauty in a red dress. “Just my fucking luck.” She said bitterly, but instead of confronting the two, headed back to her cabin, hoping he held no retion to the sicario. Illusions she raised over her eyes for the moment.

  *****

  Feeling a bit groggy, Antonio awakened remembering the events that unfolded after the reunion with Maleern. Her onyx bck tresses trimmed shorter than the st time, drinking in the light voraciously; her lips gleaming invitingly in her favored wine-red shade, her form highlighted by the exquisite dragonidh leather and the satin colrs hugging her neck, sprawling in the narrow space. And her tantalizing cherry fragrance dulling his senses, numbing his limbs from action. Besides his own reluctance to inflict harm upon the one whom he regretted not being honest with.

  Whilst all these flown in his mind, the familiar feeling of being bound registered in his mind, whilst he opened his eyes in the dimly lit bedroom of their cabin. The unrelenting pressure of the bck sealing tape, crimpling in tandem with PNC coat he borrowed without asking, the force exerted by the former even through the yers of the uniform he missed a little. Yet it seemed his lips, cheeks were deprived of the adhesive experience.

  “That uniform still suits you.” The familiar voice brought his attention to the bed, sitting in the ethereal illumination created by the velvet, Maleern sat, eyeing him with a lustful gaze.

  “I know.” He said with half spite, half jestingly. “And bck suits you. Still, I like your hair in its natural shade.”

  His words seemed to take some effect on Maleern, who wrapped a few locks of wine red around it, pulled it over her face. A faint thanks emanated from her, barely reaching Antonio bound to the chair. “So, what now? Will I go to prison, get executed like a traitor? Or else?” He asked, tilting his head upon the shirt’s high colr.

  “First, we shall talk. Or well, you shall talk.” Maleern slipped down, her leather pants creaking stirringly to his senses. Her shirt buttoned down, exposing her breasts held tightly by gleaming silken bra with sharp angles, edges.

  “Could be a bit more specific.” She inclined closer; their breath entwined as he spoke. Their lips nearly touched, whilst her hands drawn across his pants, feeling their soothing chill through the soft appearing, feeling arcane-fabric.

  ‘Let’s start simple. How many they sent?” She felt her lips near his ears, the breath tingling his whole being, and his body writhed faintly in the bindings.

  “Who knows. Maybe 20 or more.” He tried to lean closer, but she pulled away for a moment.

  Then sat into his p, arms resting upon his broad, firm shoulders, wrists locked behind his neck. “Why take the job?” This question came from her heart, knowing from the files on him, his vendetta towards The Eoranian Host. Or to be precise towards The Court ruling the Republics.

  “It was out of intuition.” He said as their foreheads touched, their eyes focused into each other like each night, wrapped in sheets when they talked about their “loved ones”. Hearing those words, Maleern raised her left brow, confused at the words. And he smiled, finding her cute. Yet he could not speak out the words mustering at his hearts to march out his lips.

  “You know that could have ended in your death?” The words just came out from her, yet still not powerful enough for him to speak out his feelings.

  Instead, a boyish folly took hold over Antonio. “I honestly expected that. I could live with dying by your hands.” His tone jesting, the words lugubrious to Maleern who spped him, then took deep breath before noticing he was out cold.

  “Stupid idiot.” She cursed under her breath, bent down and kissed him lightly before pouring a drink to numb her senses raging like a storm.

  *****

  22nd of September, Risangre, Central Eoran.

  Standing on the bank of the Sangre River, under the soothing haven of a lush tree’s crimson umbrel, Nezha cursed herself, her heart to be precise. There was no doubt in regards of what she saw two days before, and her initial assumption proved correct after Antonio told them the outsider assassin was Tovorn himself. A warlock to be precise from what little he knew from his boss’s expnation. Triumphed my ass. You just sold your soul for power! Venom tainted her mind and heart, when he looked at the one who nearly captured her heart, the one who killed her Sisters in such a brutal, cold manner.

  And now he sauntered jovially under the searing light of the sun, arms folded, entwined with Fatima’s as if the two were a noble wife and husband taking a stroll amidst the journey. Yet in truth she believed they spoke on dark matters involving Penry, his Guard, and them. Specifically, she believed each time they ughed, they ughed at her. And her naivety. Each high cadence strengthened the venom of her anger, and staring at them afar, she tailed after, waiting for the moment to snap their necks, break their spines in revenge of her Sisters and her pride.

  Keeping to the little shadow offered by the line of trees going across the bank, Nezha watched as the two entered the pristine walls erected by feyfolk sves suffering at the whips of Shaionians who conquered these nds under their and the banner of Arghyrians. It still bore their distinct style, after suffering numerous bombardments from spells and magicraft cannons throughout the numerous conflicts – the st being the uprising of the City-States. Still, they changed little, the walls were still blindingly white at the lower sidings whilst the upper section bck as onyx, the embrasure framed by bck trimmed crimson cubicles.

  The gate itself they passed, arched in sharp angles, the gates thick oaken doors scraping the dry road whilst sleek guards in brown and golden toned coats greeted them, and then her when she followed after, assuming a friendlier expression when greeted by the peace keepers of the city.

  Within the walls, she mingled with the crowd, keeping eye on the two as they took turn after turn in the broad streets lined by unevenly constructed buildings. Some taller than, some broader, some with even angles, others more rounded in their bulk. But all were built from a mixture of brick and limestone, terracotta roofs of bold and dry crimson reds. And wide enough alleys betwixt each for her to stay to the shadows, trailing them after they arrived to the merchant district where the two disappeared behind the walled, golden metallic gates, on the right side written on an oblong post – Dwaergo Industries.

  An ominous feeling took her over, knowing the name from the files she skimmed through. One of the rgest, retively young – and most importantly – independent guild operating from north to south on the continent. Their goods mostly magicraft weaponry imported from the allied nations of Central Eoran and the few independent eastern nations. They also offer top of the grade panoplies to adventurers, seekers; potions and various concoctions either of the restorative kind or of the amplifying. At least on the front. From what little a few of her surreptitious Sisters dug up after infiltrating it, it seems they are behind most of the separatist movements of Northern Eoran, and possibly responsible for arming the rebels during the uprising of the City-States not long ago.

  “Maybe Father Fortune smiled upon me with his golden fangs.” Nezha whispered, before climbing over the walls, her body wreathed in a cloak of invisibility. If he can capture Tovorn alive, they may able to find out the one responsible for all that, and possibly more. All she needed to do to keep her nerves calm when it came to facing him.

  For this reason, when she spotted a lone guard, slipping up behind him, Nezha stroke forcefully and swift at the joint of his nape hidden by the uneven round PNC-esque silver colr standing around it, zipped at the front. A soft crack passed by the gentle, warm draught as his bone shattered, and the wave of inscription masked the passing of his soul. Nezha caught the corpse and quickly dragged it inside, sensing no soul within. Tucked into one of the crates, empty except for a few packaging sheets, Nezha continued stealing across the yard, towards the sunken dome resembling structure where even the side door snted.

  Behind it, a long set of stairs led down, on the sides damp, dull gray walls with blue, golden and silver strokes pointing the ways across the underground complex. Along the way, she satisfied her vengeful bloodlust; broke the nape of an elgyan with gleaming golden complexion and a prognathous, almost reptilian like visage; a feyfolk with bark-esque growths framing her angur visage had her stomach exploded, her ribs shattered, piercing her heart by one, singur blow; and stly after four more, a olive skinned frail sraudornian whose shattered skull pierced his brains. Their passing masked, their corpses hidden out of sight. Her confidence grown regarding her presence still hidden until she arrived at rge section with tall columns of stacked crates.

  Eight magicraft trucks awaited the freight, their backs exposed, yet not a soul except for Tovorn whose golden eyes stared right into hers. Staring at them, she felt a bit unease, but she was assured her steps, her scent was masked equally. Not even the cracking, furling of her fingers and the creaseless stretching of her gloves produced a sound as she approached him. Yet when she was a step away, fist aimed and ready to strike, she froze. Beneath her, the ground lit in a circle, hideous green, white and gray tendrils shaped of infernal mana wrapped her limbs and mouth, then vanished whilst their hold kept her.

  “It is a shame, I truly enjoyed our talk, and wished for a sprouting retion.” Tovorn spoke, morose but still his cadence full of confidence.

  His hands touched her cheeks, gently caressed her face frozen with mild anger. Milder than before she entered. “We should kill her.” Fatima spoke from behind in a cold tone ced with slight disappointment at the possible loss of a beauty like Nezha.

  Yet both felt surprised at the firm words of Tovorn. “No. Bind her shall be enough. I still know not all is lost.” Fatima sighed, but refuted not whilst forcing Nezha’s arms behind whilst conjuring forth her pocketed ropes. Nezha felt not as the ropes tightened when the st of the columnal knots cinched the loops, still confused why the enemy who killed her Sisters in such a cruel manner shown her mercy.

  Feeling it, Tovorn approached her close, their faces an inch no more away from each. “I am sure, you shall be a fine, regal lioness. And I refuse to be the destroyer of such a possibility. Though when I finish this job, I hope the next time we shall meet again, even if to exchange blows.”

  Both women felt weirded out by his queer logic for an assassin and a warlock whilst Fatima finished tightening the back knot, cinching Nezha’s arms against her back and sides, then kneeled down to begin the loop around her elegant, high boots of dragonidh leather.

  Then when she ripped open the gleaming silver sealing tape of hers, wrapped it adroitly around, pouting the light coffee tanned cheeks. trussing all three braids against Nezha’s face, Tovorn gripped her chin and cheeks, pulling her head closer for a short kiss upon her taped lips. Then whispered low. “My feelings and my words uttered at the bar were true.”

  After bidding her goodbye, two of the workers appeared, and at his command hoisted her inside a crate bound for Cassadetur. As a st act of his kind mercy, Tovorn threw a knife onto her chest, so that she could free herself when the spell broke – in five days. “Tell Emilior to prepare me a room in the suburbs in Maba.”

  Afterword:

  And another one. Quite the longest of the five chapters with around 5-6k words if I am correct.

  Now just a few fun facts [that I can recall]. In the first outline Antonio kinda had no big role, was just another assassin for the back and forth element of the story. But as I progressed slowly, I decided to have him and Maleern have a typical spicy spy backstory, though whilst writing this chapter, Antonio was still on the chopping block. Even had a scene in mind, kind of a cowboy duel style end where they would reminiscence with one hand on their wand pistols.

  But then I was like, lets have an extensive GID sequence, so instead he survived. For now [whispered in an evil cadence].

  Simirly, in the first outline I had no intention of having a sort of romance element, though I began writing on the 14th I believe, and with the Antonio change, I decided to have Nezha fall in love with the enemy. Though that ended shortly, but I am happy as it let me expand a bit more on Tovorn, whilst also let me keep Nezha for the next story.

  So in a way, this became a Valentine Day story, published not on valentine day but eh. Trains are cool.

  Anyhow, enough rambling. Thank you for reading this and the story. Tomorrow's chapter I try to upload a bit earlier, so till then take care and have a nice rest of monday.

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