Chapter 12: How to Ruin an Assassin’s Career in Under 10 Minutes

Chapter 12: How to Ruin an Assassin's Career in Under 10 Minutes

Elias had meant to aim for Jackal's throat. But call it what you will—lack of skill, hesitation to take a life, or Jackal's own fast reflexes—he missed his mark.

Instead, the knife carved a ghastly slash from Jackal's chin to his eye and up to his brow.

"ARGH!" Jackal roared, dropping Elias and clutching his face. Blood poured between his fingers, thick and fast.

"You damn brat! I'll kill you!" His uninjured eye burned with murderous rage.

But Elias was already sprinting past him.

Jackal lunged after him—but in that instant, the shoelace of one of his boots inexplicably snapped clean down the middle. He stumbled, growling in frustration.

"What the hell?!"

He tore the broken shoe off and threw it aside, continuing the chase barefoot with only a few seconds of delay. Even with one shoe, Jackal was still far faster. He closed the distance quickly.

Elias could feel Jackal's presence just behind him—his breath, his rage—fingertips inches from his collar.

Then, out of nowhere, a cat dropped from the sky and landed directly on Jackal's head.

It let out a furious "REEEEOW!" and began viciously clawing at his already bleeding face, latching on like a furry buzzsaw.

Several moments earlier, the cat had been peacefully napping on the edge of a rooftop. Unfortunately, it had rolled over in its sleep—right off the ledge—and landed directly on Jackal's head at the worst possible moment.

Startled, angry, and in pain from its unexpected fall, the cat lashed out at the nearest living being: Jackal.

Yes, it was technically the cat's own fault, but animals lack the capacity for self-reflection—so Jackal could only be the cat's unfortunate victim.

Jackal ripped the cat off his face and flung it as far as he could before continuing the chase, now trailing behind. He couldn't see Elias anymore but spotted a trail of blood droplets—likely from the gash in Elias's arm—and followed it.

While Jackal had been momentarily blinded and mauled by the furious feline, Elias had taken desperate action.

[Title: (SLV) Ghost in the Crosshairs activated! — Host will be unnoticeable for 10 seconds!]

[Cool Down Time: 24 hours.]

[Skill: (BRZ) Berserk Sprint activated! — Your AGI has increased by 5x for the next 30 seconds.]

[Cool Down Time: 5 minutes.]

Compared to his earlier pace, Elias was now a blur. But there was a problem—this part of the district was a maze of tight turns and alleyways. Elias wasn't used to moving at this speed. He kept slamming into corners, walls, and crates, unable to slow down or pivot properly. Each crash left him bruised or scraped, but he didn't dare stop.

Jackal began gaining ground again by following the trail of blood and smeared handprints left from Elias's collisions. Elias's skills began to wear off just as he spotted the exit alley ahead—the one he'd originally entered through. It was just a short sprint away.

With no time to waste, Elias yanked the signal whistle from his survival kit and blew as hard as he could. A piercing trill echoed across the district.

Just as he lowered the whistle, a hand caught the back of his collar.

Jackal had caught up.

With a vicious yank, Jackal hurled Elias into a brick wall. Pain exploded through his spine as the impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Before he could recover, a sharp kick struck his chin, sending him sprawling across the ground.

A heavy foot planted itself on his throat.

Elias choked, his vision blurring as he clawed desperately at Jackal's ankle. But the assassin didn't flinch. His weight pressed down harder, cutting off Elias's air.

Jackal looked utterly deranged. His greasy hair was matted with blood, and his face was a mangled mess of claw marks layered over a deep, ragged knife gash stretching from his chin to his brow. His bloodshot eyes radiated pure rage.

"Never in my entire career," Jackal snarled, "have I ever ended up in a state like this!" His voice cracked with manic fury. "I've taken heat for being too messy, too brutal—but I never get hurt. Never! And now some high school brat has me bleeding like a stuck pig and chasing him around like a fool!"

He dug his foot harder into Elias's throat. Elias's hands went limp, stars flickering across his vision.

"I don't care anymore if we get information from you!" Jackal barked, pulling a pistol from his waistband and slamming the barrel against Elias's temple. "Even if the boss kills me for this, I'm ending you here. Now. I won't let you stain my record another second, you cursed little bastard."

He let out an unhinged laugh, tightening his grip on the trigger.

Boom! Boom!

The pressure on Elias's throat disappeared.

Air rushed into Elias's lungs as Jackal staggered back, staring down at the two crimson flowers blooming across his chest. He turned, stunned, and saw a uniformed man with a smoking gun standing behind him.

"You—" Jackal choked out, but the word never finished.

He collapsed, lifeless, blood pooling beneath him. His eyes remained open in frozen disbelief.

The officer lowered his gun and approached the crumpled teen. "Man… Elias, how'd you get mixed up with scum like that?" His voice cracked slightly as he looked Elias over, horrified by his condition. "Thank God I got here in time. No… I should've been here sooner."

He crouched beside Elias, his tone softening. "I'm sorry. That must've been terrifying. Are you hurt bad, son?"

Elias finally looked up and saw the officer's face clearly.

"Officer… Clifford," he rasped, his voice raw and broken. Tears welled up in his eyes from the flood of relief. Officer Clifford reached out instinctively.

"Hey—don't talk. You're safe now, okay? Just hang in there. I'll get you an ambulance."

Soon, the wails of sirens filled the air. Police cars and paramedics swarmed the alley. Elias was lifted onto a stretcher, rushed to the hospital. Jackal's corpse was sealed in a body bag and carted off.

Far from the scene, a plain-looking man with brown hair sat in a parked car, binoculars resting in his hands.

It was Chameleon in disguise.

He stared blankly at the chaos in the distance and slowly pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was gone for ten minutes. Ten minutes!" he hissed. "How does this happen in ten damn minutes?"

Slumping forward onto his steering wheel, he groaned, "There's no way I'm getting paid…"

With a tired sigh, Chameleon pulled out his phone and dialed a number. The line rang only a few times before it was picked up.

"Chameleon, how did it go? Have you captured the target?" came Sable's voice on the other end, tinged with anticipation.

Chameleon took a breath to steady himself. "Boss… I'm afraid I only have bad news."

There was a long pause.

"Explain yourself," Sable said at last. His voice was calm, but there was a dangerous undertone—controlled fury simmering just beneath the surface.

Chameleon swallowed hard. 'Damn, the boss is terrifying', he thought. 'I swear, once I make enough, I'm leaving this damn job.'

"We had already secured the target," Chameleon began, carefully. "I left briefly to retrieve the vehicle for transport—just a few minutes—but when I returned, local law enforcement had intervened. The target escaped... and it appears Jackal has been killed."

A loud crash erupted on the other end of the line—metal clattering, something shattering. Then sharp, ragged breathing.

Chameleon winced.

Eventually, Sable's breathing steadied.

"Return to base and accept your punishment," he said coldly. "Once that's done, we'll discuss a revised plan."

"Yes, sir," Chameleon replied, his voice tight with suppressed dread.

---

In a sleek building perched atop an unregistered island, a middle-aged man stood in his top-floor office, gazing out over the ocean through tall glass windows. His usually neat, graying brown hair was disheveled, and his dark eyes were shadowed beneath a furrowed brow.

The office around him was in shambles—papers scattered, a chair overturned, a shattered glass on the floor.

Sable sat behind his desk, leaning forward with his head buried in his clasped hands.

After a long silence, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a locked amulet. He unlocked a drawer and retrieved a small key, clicking open the amulet's latch.

Inside was a photograph: a younger version of himself holding a small toddler with familiar features—Jackal, unmistakably.

Sable's eyes glistened red as he stared at the image.

This man—ruthless, calculating, feared even among the Crimson Pact—was the leader of its assassin branch. And Jackal, though no one knew it, not even, Jackal, himself, had been Sable's secret son.

In a world of hidden enemies, killing, and power struggles, Sable had never allowed that weakness to surface. He kept their relationship hidden from everyone, Jackal included. But behind the walls of power and pragmatism, he had always loved his child.

Most who failed repeatedly under Sable's command were swiftly dealt with—expelled, punished, or killed. But Jackal's mistakes were quietly buried. When he botched missions, Sable shielded him from full consequences, scolding him only when absolutely necessary for appearances' sake.

Sable had always been ambitious, but in his mind, the rewards from capturing Elias and recovering the artifact would have been shared. Quietly. Subtly. Jackal would finally get the recognition—and the future—Sable had imagined for him.

He had never expected the mission to go wrong.

Elias's parents were already neutralized. The only remaining obstacles were two unawakened teenagers. Even if Jackal bungled it again, he wouldn't be in real danger.

Or so Sable believed.

Now he sat in the wreckage of his office, staring at the only photo he ever allowed himself to keep. His fingers clenched the locket until his knuckles turned white.

His reddened eyes narrowed, burning with grief and fury.

"Don't worry, Theodore," he whispered Jackal's real name, voice raw with emotion. "I'll avenge you."

His words were soaked in vengeance.