The Hunt Begins

Liam's fingers tightened around his brush as tension filled the dimly lit room. The air was thick with the scent of damp wood and old parchment, but beneath it, he could smell something sharper—the scent of danger.

Ileana's expression was unreadable, but the boy beside her fidgeted. "They're spreading out," he whispered. "Checking the alleys first."

"Means they don't know exactly where we are," Iris muttered. "We have time—barely."

Liam's mind raced. He was still weak, his body sluggish from his fight with Cain, but running blindly wasn't an option. Not anymore. He needed a plan.

"What do they want with you?" Ileana asked, crossing her arms. "Enforcers are one thing, but hired killers? That's personal."

Liam exhaled, trying to steady himself. "My class."

Ileana raised an eyebrow. "You're an Architect, aren't you?"

That alone was a shock. Not many people knew about the Architect class, let alone recognized it so quickly.

Ileana must've caught his surprise, because she smirked. "You think I don't know the old stories? A class that rewrites reality? That's the kind of power the world doesn't ignore."

Liam's jaw tightened. "Then you know why they want me dead."

Ileana's smirk faded. "Yeah. And I know that staying here isn't an option."

A faint shuffle sounded outside the door—footsteps on wet stone.

Iris tensed. "They're getting closer."

Liam took a slow breath and forced his aching body to move. He dipped his brush into his ink pouch, feeling the energy pulse beneath his fingertips.

"We're not running," he said.

Iris turned to him in disbelief. "Are you insane?"

Liam met her eyes. "We don't know how many more are waiting outside. If we run, they'll hunt us down."

Iris clenched her fists but didn't argue. She knew he was right.

Ileana cracked her neck. "So what's the play, Architect?"

Liam crouched, his brush moving in quick, fluid strokes against the wooden floor. Ink flowed, forming intricate runes and sigils—traps woven into the very foundation of the room.

"Let them come," he said.

Iris smirked. "Now that's more like it."

---

The First Strike

The door creaked open.

A man in dark leathers slipped inside first, his boots silent on the floor. His hood was pulled low, but Liam caught the glint of a dagger in his hand. A scout.

His eyes flicked over the dimly lit room—searching.

Then he stepped forward.

The moment his foot touched the inked sigil—

Snap.

Dark tendrils shot up from the floor, coiling around his legs and yanking him down. He barely had time to shout before he was slammed against the ground, his dagger clattering away.

One down.

The second attacker didn't hesitate. A woman, taller and clad in reinforced leathers, darted through the door with practiced speed. Her blade glowed with faint, enchanted light—a magic user.

Liam's ink tendrils lunged toward her, but with a quick flick of her wrist, she slashed through them with ease.

Liam cursed. Anti-magic properties.

Iris moved.

She blurred forward, her dagger flashing in the dim light. Their blades met in a sharp clash—once, twice—before Iris twisted mid-motion, angling for the woman's exposed ribs.

The assassin barely managed to parry, but she had no time to counter.

Liam's brush flashed across the air.

"Ink Snare."

Black lines raced toward the woman's feet, solidifying into chains—binding her in place.

Iris didn't waste the opportunity.

With a swift, brutal motion, she drove her dagger into the woman's side.

A choked gasp. A stumble.

Then the assassin collapsed.

Two down.

---

A Dangerous Presence

The air shifted.

Liam felt it before he heard it—a pressure, thick and suffocating.

A third figure stepped into the doorway. No sound. No wasted motion. Controlled. Measured.

Unlike the others, he wasn't dressed in standard assassin garb. His armor was sleeker, reinforced with dark plates, and a single insignia was etched into his chest—one Liam didn't recognize.

But what caught Liam's attention was his weapon.

Not a sword. Not a dagger.

A spear.

Something about it sent a cold shiver down Liam's spine.

This one was different.

The man exhaled slowly, his voice calm. "Not bad."

Then he moved.

Faster than the others. Faster than Cain.

Liam barely had time to react before the spear blurred through the air, aimed straight for his chest.

To Be Continued…