Chapter 14: This is where it begins

The city thrummed with life, a chaotic symphony of sounds and smells. The Niziari members, their movements a silent ballet of shadows, blended seamlessly into the crowd. Blenders, masters of disguise, their faces a canvas of anonymity, moved amongst the throngs, their eyes searching, their senses alert. Executioners, cloaked in darkness, stood on standby, their weapons concealed, their presence a whisper in the night, waiting for the signal.

Al Mussad and Adi, their figures hidden in a shadowy alcove, chatted quietly, their voices hushed, their words a murmur against the backdrop of the city's din.

"In seven years," Al Mussad said, his voice a low rumble, "you know what? You look the same as the moment I saw you. You've gained a lot of muscle, but you look like you haven't aged a day."

Adi nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Maybe it's just who I am," he replied, his voice filled with a quiet confidence.

"I heard you defeated all the Masters while training in Niziari," Al Mussad said, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and admiration. "Is that true?"

Adi nodded again. "I need to see your moves this time," he said, a playful challenge in his voice.

"Why are you here, anyway?" Adi asked, his brow furrowed. "You're supposed to be our commander. Why are you in the field with us?"

"Being on a desk, waiting for results, makes my worries even worse," Al Mussad said, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "Did you find out who killed Duke Vincenzo?"

Adi shook his head. "Not yet," he said, his voice hardening with a simmering anger. "But someday, I'm going to have my vengeance."

Before Al Mussad could reply, Adi's senses flared. He heard a faint, almost imperceptible sound, a high-pitched whistle, a signal. He closed his eyes, focusing his senses, honing his awareness, pinpointing the source of the sound.

"I hear it," he said, his voice a low growl. "Mikael's whistle. He's found Jakobo."

Adi, his movements a blur of motion, sprinted towards the direction of the whistle. Al Mussad, his reflexes honed by years of training, followed close behind, leaping across alleyways, slipping through narrow passages, their movements a silent dance of shadows.

They found Mikael, his face flushed, his breath ragged, his hand clutching a dog whistle. He pointed towards a nearby street, his eyes filled with urgency.

"We need to strike now," Mikael said, his voice breathless. "Or he'll escape again."

"Let's tail him in the shadows," Al Mussad said, his voice a calm counterpoint to Mikael's frantic energy. "Maybe he'll lead us to the Ashari members."

They followed Jakobo, his figure a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the city's lights, his movements confident, his steps purposeful. Five men in red clothing, their faces obscured by masks, flanked him, their presence a silent threat.

They followed Jakobo to a desolate area, far from the city's bustling streets. A crumbling stone wall, overgrown with weeds, marked the entrance to an abandoned mine. A hulking figure, his muscles rippling beneath his worn leather armor, stood guard, his eyes watchful, his hand resting on the hilt of a massive sword.

Jakobo, his face grim, his eyes filled with a chilling intensity, turned towards the entrance. He reached out, his hand touching the weathered stone, his voice a low murmur.

"This is where it begins," he said, his words echoing in the silence. "This is where we find our freedom."

The Niziari members, their faces grim, their bodies tense, their senses on high alert, watched, their eyes fixed on the entrance to the mine, their hearts pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation. The Ashari were here. The battle was about to begin.

The guard swung open the heavy door, ushering Jakobo inside. As the guard turned to close the door, Al Mussad seized the opportunity. With a swift, deadly motion, he hurled his sword, the blade arcing through the air, finding its mark with chilling precision. The guard's head, severed from his body, tumbled to the ground, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"You, Blender," Al Mussad said to Mikael, his voice a low growl, "wait here. We will end Jakobo tonight."

They plunged into the caverns, their movements silent, their steps sure. They tracked Jakobo like hunters, their senses on high alert, their weapons concealed, their presence a whisper in the darkness. They moved with a grim efficiency, eliminating the enemies in their path, their actions swift and deadly.

As they ventured deeper into the mine, a vast hall emerged, its walls adorned with strange symbols, its air thick with a sense of dread. Cult followers, their faces contorted with fanaticism, their eyes gleaming with a chilling intensity, thronged the hall. Ashari guards, their bodies clad in black leather, their weapons gleaming, stood watch, their presence a silent threat.

In the center of the hall, a makeshift altar had been erected, its surface stained with blood. Slaves, their hands bound, their faces etched with fear, stood before the altar, their bodies trembling, their eyes filled with a desperate hope.

Jakobo, his face illuminated by the flickering light of torches, stood before a podium, his voice booming through the hall, his words laced with a chilling conviction.

"This is too much," Al Mussad said, his voice low, his eyes narrowed. "We need an army to stop them."

Adi, his senses on high alert, his eyes scanning the crowd, felt a prickle of unease. He saw an Ashari, his face obscured by a mask, standing on a balcony overlooking the hall. Something about the figure, the way he moved, the aura he exuded, felt different, familiar.

"Maybe that's the puppet master," Adi said, his voice barely a whisper, his eyes fixed on the masked figure. "The one on top of them. The one with the red mask."

"If only we had a weapon to strike both of them from this distance," he continued, his voice filled with a sense of urgency, "we could finish them all."

Al Mussad, his mind racing, his memories flickering, seemed to recall something. "Oh, I remember," he said, his voice a mixture of excitement and frustration. "My last mission in the West. They had this new weapon. It was loud, deadly, spewing small projectiles that could reach far. I forgot the name. Musk… musker… Oh, it's a musket!"

Adi shook his head. "We don't have time for that now," he said, his voice firm, his eyes filled with determination. "I'll kill the puppet master. You kill Jakobo and free the slaves."

"Wait," Al Mussad said, his voice laced with a hint of protest. "I'm supposed to be the leader here."

Adi, his face serious, his eyes unwavering, replied, "You can't handle that man."