A Dance with Death

The tavern was dimly lit, the scent of ale and burnt wood lingering in the air. Erchid sat at the back, sharpening his dagger with slow, deliberate strokes. The rhythmic scrape of steel against whetstone was almost hypnotic. Across from him, Rodrick stood, arms crossed, tension rolling off him in waves.

"I'm coming with you," Rodrick finally said, his voice firm.

Erchid didn't stop sharpening. "No, you're not."

"You know I can handle myself. I'm ready."

Erchid exhaled sharply, finally looking up. His dark eyes held something unreadable—a storm barely restrained. "Rodrick, I didn't take you in to turn you into me. You have a choice. A future. I need you to have that." He set the dagger down, his grip tightening as if he were trying to hold onto something slipping away. "If anything goes wrong, you know what to do."

Rodrick's fists clenched, but he said nothing. He understood. His master was walking into hell, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The Grand Duke William Von Pendren's estate was alive with music and light. Chandeliers bathed the ballroom in a golden glow as nobles twirled in their opulent attire. Laughter and conversation filled the air, a world oblivious to the specter lurking among them.

Erchid walked the ballroom floor dressed in the black uniform of the Duke's personal guards, his mask in place, his gaze sharp and searching. The Duke sat on a lavish chair at the far end of the hall, laughing heartily, surrounded by his most trusted men.

One shot. That's all I'll get.

Every step felt measured, calculated. He had memorized the estate's structure—passages, escape routes, weaknesses. The second floor's grand balcony overlooked the ballroom. Perfect vantage point.

He slipped away, unnoticed, into the corridors, ascending the staircase unseen. As he reached the balcony, he took a deep breath and pulled out his crossbow, loading a single bolt tipped with poison. He took aim.

Then, something changed.

The Duke turned suddenly, raising his glass to the crowd. "To unity! To power!" The crowd roared in response.

A pause. A moment of hesitation. No. No hesitating.

He exhaled and pulled the trigger.

The bolt flew, swift and silent. It struck true, embedding deep into the Duke's throat. His laughter turned into a gurgle, blood spilling from his lips as he staggered forward. Chaos erupted.

"Assassin!" someone screamed.

Guards poured into the room. Erchid abandoned the crossbow and leapt from the balcony, landing amidst the chaos. He drew his daggers, fluid as a shadow, slashing through guards like a storm of death.

Blood painted the marble floor. Screams echoed.

Then, a voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Stay your blades! Face me, coward!"

A knight stepped forward, clad in dark steel, his sword gleaming under the chandelier's light. His stance was solid, his presence radiating experience. His eyes burned with something beyond duty—ambition.

"Mystique," he sneered. "Finally caught you."

Erchid's grip on his daggers tightened. 

The knight took a step forward, raising his sword. "I'm going to cut off your limbs and present you to the king myself," he declared, his voice brimming with cruel satisfaction. "Imagine the recognition—me, the man who captured the infamous assassin, Mystique."

Erchid's jaw clenched, but he forced himself to stay steady. "You talk too much."

The knight smirked. "Then you die alone."

He lunged. Their blades clashed in a deadly dance, sparks flying. The knight was strong, precise—no wasted movement. Erchid ducked, sidestepped, slashed, but the knight parried with ease. He was no mere guard. He was a warrior.

A feint—then a counterstrike. The knight's sword cut deep into Erchid's side. He hissed in pain but retaliated, striking low, slicing through armor and flesh. The knight grunted, staggering, but he wasn't done.

Erchid saw the final strike too late. A piercing thrust—straight into his abdomen.

The world blurred. Pain exploded through his body. He gasped, blood dripping from his lips. But even as darkness crept in, instinct took over. With his last burst of strength, he twisted his dagger and drove it into the knight's throat.

The knight fell, gurgling, dead before he hit the ground.

But Erchid was dying too his mind fading to the past he had forgotten

Rain poured mercilessly on the slums, turning dirt streets into rivers of filth. A young boy, barely eight, lay in the mud, his small body shivering, blood pouring from a deep wound in his neck.

He had killed a man. His small hands still trembled from the act. He had only wanted food. But now, he was dying.

Then, a shadow loomed over him.

A tall man with silver hair and piercing eyes crouched beside him. He studied the boy, then spoke, his voice smooth, commanding.

"Young one, I see you want to live."

The boy barely had the strength to nod.

"What's your name?"

The boy's lips trembled. "I... I can't remember."

The man smirked. "Then we'll call you Erchid."

He scooped the boy up, carrying him into the darkness.

The man was known as the Conductor, an underworld lord feared and respected. He raised Erchid as his own, shaping him, forging him into something lethal. He taught him how to fight, how to kill, how to survive.

"Life has no mercy," the Conductor would say. "So take it before it takes you."

Erchid followed. He owed him everything. The Conductor was the only father he had ever known.

And when the Conductor died, everything changed.

Erchid's body was failing , his mind clouded moving back and forth between the past and the present. Blood loss. Cold. Just a little further.

He barely registered where he was going. His mind clung to a single thought. Vanessa.

As he staggered through the empty streets, reality blurred. One moment, he saw the Conductor standing over him, whispering, "Do you still want to live, boy?"

The next, he saw Vanessa, her gentle touch, her worried eyes.

He had collapsed onto the wooden floor of the haunted house, his blood pooling around him. His vision blurred, fading to black.

A voice. Distant. Panicked.

"Erchid!"

Soft hands touched his face. Vanessa's voice, shaking. "Stay with me, damn you!"

She pressed her hands against his wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, "You idiot. You absolute idiot."

Erchid's lips barely moved, forming a ghost of a smile.

Then, darkness swallowed him whole.