The words, "Target found," was a chilling pronouncement that seemed to serve it purpose. My blood ran cold. I stood frozen, my back to the cloaked figure, every muscle in my body telling me to run, to fight, to do anything. But fear, raw and primal, had rooted me to the spot. My hands, hidden in my pockets, began to tremble uncontrollably.
This is it. Just at my back is someone that has a 98% probability of killing me. This isn't a game, It's real. I won't die here, I thought.
I became desperately courageous, born of sheer terror. If I was going to die, I wouldn't go out without a single question answered.
"Before you do it," I managed to say out, my voice barely a whisper, thick with fear, "just tell me who sent you?" The words felt absurd, almost comical in it desperation, but I had to know. Who wanted Olberic – and now me – dead?
He made a low humorless chuckle behind me. "I will be wasting my time telling a dead man anything." The voice was that of a professional killer.
It was followed by a chilling shiiing of metal sliding from it's sheath. "I promise to be quick," the assassin added.
I felt a sudden shift in the air, a displacement as the assassin lunged towards me. I didn't see it, but I felt the rush, the imminent impact. My mind, thought of a solution. Pause!
The world froze.
The rush of air stopped. The faint sounds of the manor was gone, as if it wasn't there in the first place. The very dust particles suspended in the air hung motionless. The assassin, a dark, cloaked figure, was suspended mid-lunge, his dagger just inches from my back. Every detail was suddenly, unnaturally sharp. The intricate stitching on their cloak, the faint sheen of oil on the dagger's blade, the slight tension in their muscles, frozen in the act of striking. It was like stepping into a photograph.
Thirty seconds. That's all I had to act.
My first instinct was to run. But then, a thought, cold and calculating, surfaced. Who are you? I have to know. It was my chance.
I reached out, my hand hovering over the assassin's face. The hood was pulled low, and a dark, simple cloth masked his face. With a decisive tug, I pulled it down.
My eyes widened in horror.
It was one of the Sapphire family guards. I recognized his face. He was one of the men who had stood at the manor entrance. He had been there when I arrived. He was task with protecting the family.
It gave more solidarity to Olberic's diary. "The Sapphire family... They aren't who they say they are.." Lord Sapphire. The armory. The whispers. It all clicked into place. It was never a random attack. Lord Sapphire had sent him. He knew. He knew that Olberic had knew. And now, he thought I knew.
My gaze dropped to the assassin's hand, his dagger. The weapon he intended to kill me with. My eyes moved to the sword hanging at his hip, a long, gleaming blade.
I have to do it. To kill. The thought was terrifying. I, Alex Miller, had never hurt anyone in my life. But Kai Lorne's life, and perhaps Alex Miller's, depended on it. This was kill or be killed.
I reached out and carefully, slowly, removed the longsword. It was heavy, balanced, and its polished surface reflected my face. I gripped it's hilt and raised it, aiming for the assassin's heart. My hand shook violently. I closed my eyes for a split second, bracing myself.
And then, just as the tip of the blade was about to pierce the assassin's. Something terrifying happened. The assassin's eyes, previously frozen, flickered. His hand, previously limp, suddenly shot up, gripping the blade.
The sword stopped, its tip just tearing the fabric over his chest. Blood began to drip from his palm, slowly, steadily, onto the floor.
The world had unfroze.
The assassin's eyes snapped open with a sudden, furious confusion. He stared at me, then at the sword in his hand, then at his bleeding palm. "I don't know how you did it," he snarled, "but it won't happen again."
He moved with speed. His hand, still bleeding, released the sword and darted behind. He pulled a smaller, wicked-looking dagger appeared in his grasp. Before I could react, he lunged with a vicious slash.
A searing, agonizing pain came in my left hand. I cried out, a strangled sound of pure agony, as the dagger ripped through my flesh. Blood immediately welled up, pouring down my fingers. The pain was excruciating, far worse than the rapier in the arena. It burned, it throbbed, it was pure hell.
I stumbled back, clutching my bleeding hand, my knees on the ground. I screamed, raw and loud, but I instinctively clamped my other hand over my mouth, desperate not to wake anyone. Tears, streamed down my face, as I pressed my injured hand aggressively, trying to stop the flow of blood, to dull the unbearable pain.
"PAUSE!" I screamed, the word ripped from my lungs, raw and desperate.
The world froze again.
Rage, cold and pure, surged through me, eclipsing the fear and pain I had earlier. He had cut me. He had made me scream. He had made me bleed. Back in my old life, I had a temper, a quick fuse when pushed too far. And this… this was beyond pushed.
My eyes, still teared up, fixed on the assassin's dagger, the one he had just used to cut me. I reached out and plucked it from his frozen grip.
With a guttural cry, more animalistic than human, I lunged. I plunged the dagger into his leg. Then his arm. Then his side. Again and again, a furious, silent flurry of stabs. I was crying, hot tears blurring my vision, but a malicious grin, cold and terrifying, spread across my face.
"How does it feel?" I whispered. I made sure to avoid any vital organs, any immediate killing blows. I wanted him to wake up. I wanted him to feel every single one of these wounds. I wanted him to suffer.
The thirty seconds of 'Pause' ended.
The assassin's eyes snapped open, a sudden, agonizing scream followed. His body convulsed, his limbs flailing as he tried to comprehend the sudden, excruciating pain. He looked down at the multiple dagger wounds across his body, then up at me, his face was that of pure terror. He scrambled back, trying to crawl away from me, leaving a trail of blood on the carpet.
"Who… who the hell are you?" he gasped, his eyes wide and disbelieving.
I leaned closer, a psychopathic smile on my face. My voice was chillingly calm, almost a whisper. "I will be wasting my time telling a dead man anything."
His eyes widened further, filled with complete, absolute horror. He screamed again, a raw, desperate sound that echoed through the silent manor. "MONSTER! MONSTER!"
"Pause," I said, the word cold and final.
The world froze one last time. The assassin, mid-scream, mid-crawl, was suspended. His eyes, fixed on me, were still wide with terror.
My face was streaked with tears, but my expression was grim. This was it. The final act. I raised the dagger, aiming for his heart.
With a decisive plunge, I drove the blade through him.
The world unfroze. The assassin. He was dead.
I collapsed to my knees beside his lifeless body. My injured hand throbbing, a dull, insistent ache. Tears rolled down my face. I looked up at the ceiling, my vision blurred. I had overreacted. The cut on my hand, while painful, hadn't been life-threatening. But the rage, the primal, uncontrollable fury that had surged through me, had taken over. Alex Miller, in his old life, had a quick temper, a tendency to lash out when pushed. And now, in this new, terrifying reality, that dark part of me had resurfaced, amplified and twisted.
The sound of multiple doors creaking opening. The incident woke everyone up at the manor. My brutal display had not gone unnoticed.
I scrambled to my feet, my injured hand throbbing, my body aching. I had to hide. Now. I couldn't be found here, not like this. Not with a dead body and blood on my hands.
The blue screen came, it message was clear, every action in this world had consequences. It was a ticking time bomb.
[ STORY DIVERGENCE INCREASED BY 8PPT ]