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Assassin Chronicles

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“I knew you would come for me,” he said. The fireplace was lit in the library and the old man remained seated in the rose red armchair with his back turned against his visitor.
“You know then why I am here,” the visitor whispered. The old man was quiet. He did not wish to express his emotions towards his visitor.
“I have to admit that I did not expect for you to be able to infiltrate this place so easily.” The old man was analyzing the person in the mirror that was hung on the wall to the left of the fireplace. He was about six feet tall and built in his stature. His tattered black overcoat framed the visitor's lithe body and his coif prevented his face from being seen. The man's hands were veined and held two curved obsidian black daggers that had crimson patterns etched on the metal of the blades. He was wearing black boots that were worn from his travel to the estate. His dark trousers were stained with mud and wet from the rain outside and he had a traveling satchel to his side that was made of black leather. “Is there a reason for
“The light is for those who choose to follow a less crooked path.” The man began to walk around the circular library. “Whereas darkness hides those who choose to pursue their path in obscurity and death.” The man stopped walking and turned to face the old man. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Gregory?” he sneered.
“Darkness does hide, yet does not condone some of our actions,” Mr. Gregory sighed. He brought his hands together and clasped them on his lap. “You see it is the light that reveals the hideous face of darkness."
“And yet light cannot exist without dark now can it?”
“No… I suppose not.” The old man was staring into the fiery, pulsating flame in the fireplace. The flame’s pulse was in harmony with the pulse of his heart. “I can only assume as to why you are here, but could you please clarify?” The old man’s question was innocent enough for the stranger to answer without hesitation.
“You understand as well as I do that our families have been natural enmities since that day your ancestor took the life of an innocent old man.” Mr. Gregory continued to stare into the fire. “Funny how assassin families are born isn’t it, Mr. Gregory?” The man made a swift step and was behind the armchair with the dagger held up against Mr. Gregory’s throat.
“I do believe it was your family that fought us,” Mr. Gregory said not hinting at any signs of fear in his tone. He was still looking at the fire. His heart rate beginning to increase.
“Do you hear that Mr. Gregory?” whispered the man sinisterly. He had brought the acute blade closer to the old man’s throat, creating a paper thin cut on his neck. A small sliver of blood began to trickle from Mr. Gregory’s throat. Mr. Gregory heard nothing, but his heart. The deep rhythmic thud thud of his heart was the only other source of sound other than the crackling flame. Mr. Gregory let out a chuckle that caused the dagger to dig deeper into his flesh. “Why are you laughing?” snarled the man.
“My heart is the answer young man. My heart is the reason I laugh and I also laugh at the irony of my situation. Oh, how time repeats and reverses the situation of the hunter and hunted.” Mr. Gregory moved his hands from his lap to the arms of his armchair. “Will you permit me to stand so that I may enjoy the last moments of my life as my ancestor did for yours?” The dark cloaked man laughed and removed the blade from the old man’s throat. He knew he could easily overtake Mr.Gregory if he tried to escape. Mr. Gregory stood up from his armchair and walked towards the fireplace and looked above the mantle to see the family crest.
“My family crest has always been that of the Blind Eye,” said Mr. Gregory out loud. “The symbol that spawned our hatred towards your family.” The old man shook his head as if in disappointment. “And your crest is that of the Beating Heart. The symbol of my family's guilt.”
“I am quite familiar with the history,” said the assassin. “Why do you bother to bring up this information if it's meaningless? Your skill at eluding us for decades resulted in your name being Devious Dan Gregory.” The man began pacing the library opposite Mr. Gregory.
“I have always been more of the intellectual rather than the muscle in my organization I’m afraid,” said Mr. Gregory. He was still facing the mantle of the fireplace. His stature was that of an immobile, immutable statue. Such was his calmness.
“It's time old man.” The assassin gripped his blades and began walking ominously towards Mr. Gregory. Mr. Gregory did not move and remained planted in his location. “Why is it that you are so calm in the face of death?” sneered the assassin.
“I do believe I can answer that question with one of my own,” replied Mr. Gregory. The assassin stopped his advance. There was a sinister malice in Mr. Gregory’s voice now that had not been present earlier. Mr. Gregory turned and faced the man with a smile that could freeze the blood in even the warmest of creatures. “Why are you calm in the face of your death!” Mr. Gregory reached into the pocket of his robe and threw a small pouch into the fire. Immediately, the whole room became pitch black. The darkness stunned the assassin at first, but then he regained his composure and simply listened for the breath of Mr. Gregory.
“You cannot hide from me Mr. Gregory I can find you easily in this darkness.” He had intended for his voice to sound confident and bold, but his voice revealed how uncertain he was. He had not been prepared for the turn in events.
“Who says I am hiding?” The whispered question came as if from the assassin’s left ear causing him to jump and swipe his dagger at the empty darkness. “You see my young assassin,” the whispers appeared to be surrounding the man, “you are not the first to have found my whereabouts.” The man’s heart began to race as he understood how he was subjected to Mr. Gregory’s will. “Ah,” sighed Mr. Gregory. “That sweet sound that caused my ancestor to plead to his crime. Oh the irony!” There was a muffled cry in the room followed by the slow creeping silence of death. The fireplace was re-lit, and right where the assassin once stood was a corpse that had been butchered with deft, expert precision. The pool of blood accumulated and began to stain the wooden floor.
“I could have easily done what you just did in less time.” said a voice from the shadows.
“Yes, but could you have done it with such finesse?” laughed Mr. Gregory. Three crimson robed figures stepped out of the shadows that were cast by the curtains near the windows of the library.
“You truly are a genius in this morbid field, Mr. Gregory,” said a young woman who stood directly next to the first man who had spoken.
“Thank you Trina, but I do believe that there are others outside. Could you please take care of them?”
“Yes sir,” said Trina with reverence. She stepped into the shadows of the curtain and vanished from sight. Mr. Gregory retrieved a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his robe and began wiping the blood from his hands. Then he proceeded to withdraw a blade the size of his forearm from the sleeve of his robe and began wiping the blood from it as well.
“How beautiful your mistress was tonight, sir,” said the man in the front.
“She was rather famished, Anthony, and her silver tongue persuaded me,” said Mr. Gregory with a smile. He finished cleaning the blade and returned it to the sleeve of his robe and began walking towards the armchair. “Be prepared for a much stronger and unified attack Anthony. We have only stopped one of many hearts to come.”
“Yes sir.”
“Oh and Anthony,” said Mr. Gregory.
“Yes sir?”
“Put those parts in a bag will you? And send it as a present to their leader. I’m sure he’ll love to see his son again.” he said. Mr. Gregory then proceeded to return to his armchair and stare at the newly lit fire.



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Pretzel..Dream said...
Jul. 28, 2011 at 11:35 am
Amazing. I love it It leaves me curious about both the past and future. You are an amazing writer. 
 
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