The sound of the window shattering murders the otherwise silent night, with the shards of broken glass falling like miniature daggers, raining down on the floor below. Men scream as your body shoots through the hole like an arrow, hardly making a sound when you land in front of the room’s entrance, directly facing the room of men. In an instant, two daggers are in your hands; the sound of steel clattering fills your ears as they try and get their swords up in time.
They fail.
You feel the hot blood spray across your face out of the first mans mouth as he gurgles his last words. It stains your teeth, the taste of iron violating your tongue, but your laughs continue all the same. As he falls, you instantly push with all your might off the ground, causing the floorboards to crack in the spot you left behind as your body shoots toward the next guard like a cannon ball. Your body crashes against his, and you throw your weight into him, sending you both to the ground while your dagger plunges into his chest.
You push off his body, causing his bones to break under you, as if his body were being crushed under a stone. You flip through the air, landing near where you started, the runes that line your daggers now glowing a vivid green. You take the second to take stock of the remaining enemies. Two guards on opposite sides of the room, the target, and a mage directly beside him.
Trivial.
The instant your feet touch the ground, you hurl your daggers at the two remaining guards. The mage, finally coming to her senses, attempts to protect the guards with a barrier, but it’s too slow, not fully formed, and they cut right through it, plunging into the faces of the two men. Before the men even have time to fall, the daggers are shooting back toward you, and before the bodies can thump against the cold, wooden floor, they’re back in your hands again.
The nobleman scurries behind his big, gaudy, throne chair. A cheap imitation of a real throne, just like his cheap imitation of real power. It makes your blood boil, imagining him sitting there, giving commands, sentencing people to die like some kind of divine judge. But he is no divine being. And when his throat is cut and his blood stains the floorboards, he’ll shit himself all the same.
“Halt.”
The word pierces the through the air like a javelin, piercing you in the chest. Your body locks up for a moment, unable to move, but you send your own authority through your body, challenging this wannabe mage, and feel her authority crumble under you. As you step toward her, unhindered, her face curls into a grimace.
“By the power invested in me as the ward of a first-class mage, I order you to surrender yourself immediately. I can promise you if you cooperate your life will be spared.”
Her words come out a little too quickly, a little too forced, faintly bumping into each other like the people in crowded streets. You smile as you reply, “No. Flee and I’ll spare your life, little bird.”
She grips the bronze badge hanging from a chain around her neck, an inscription of a bird carved into the middle. Her face knots up into a snarl, and the air around her begins to warp and twist, her authority bending the world around her. The room begins to chill, the windows frosting. You let her continue, standing still, until finally she releases her technique.
Dozens of icicles shoot toward you like thrown spears. No, more like spears shot out of a cannon. Time begins to slow for you as you dance between them, glowing daggers slicing the ones in your way apart. You lips part, your laugh echoing the whole time as you dance through the storm of ice.
One catches you on the shoulder, splitting your flesh as easily as an freshly sharpened sword would. It tears your shoulder apart, that dagger clattering to the ground beside you. But that doesn’t stop you, you continue to dance, one dagger left, that’s all you need.
The mage’s face contorts with effort, the technique obviously taking a lot out of her. You drown yourself in the feeling, anticipating what’ll come next as you let the words shoot from your mouth.
Begone.
Instantly her technique stops, the icicle inches from your face vanishing into nothingness in an instant, along with all the rest of them. Her face turns from dumbfoundedness to horror in an instant. You feel her authority pushing against yours as she tries another technique, but the world does not bend to her will. This is your domain, your world, and it will obey you absolutely.
You take small, slow steps across the room, walking over her hunched up body on the floor, past her and toward your real target. Maybe you’ll let her live, killing a sparrow could draw unwanted attention, even if it is unlikely.
You circle the false throne and come face to face with the sobbing mess of a nobleman, a lord of a few dozen acres down to in the south. Unimportant enough that you can still slip back into the shadows but still hefting quite the bounty. A perfect target.
He tries to beg, but the dagger in your good hand already has his head off his shoulders. You come out from behind the throne to see the mage with one of the guard’s swords in her hand, eying the door. You debate letting her go for a moment but come to the conclusion that it’s safer with her gone, don’t want to worry about her getting her master after all.
You look unimpressed at her sword as you bring your good hand up to your sliced apart shoulder, a command leaving your lips.
“Heal.”
Your shoulder knots itself back together and within a few seconds it’s good as new. A quick flick of your finger sending the dagger hurling through the air into your hand from where you dropped it, glowing its neon green.
“Let me go. My master will kill you for this.”
Her words are meant as a command, but they come out as a plea. You give her a pitied look.
“You know I won’t do that. Any final words?”
She stands there, knuckles whitening as she grips the sword. You thrust your palm toward her, focusing all your power onto her, until finally you speak.
”Shatter.”
The sword rips itself apart, hundreds of metal shards spraying everywhere, digging into her face and ripping themselves into her flesh. Before she can recover you’re standing over her, a twisted smile plastered on your face.
”Die.”
You walk toward the door, not looking back as you hear her body thump against the floor.
