Chapter 55: “Assassin”

In the Omsk Hive, King Mordel, clad in resplendent crimson armor, pressed his lips into a taut line, the corners of his mouth drooping slightly as he struggled to suppress the roar of fury threatening to erupt from within.

"My king, the royal arena has fallen under assault. The conflagration sparked by the explosion rages still, unquelled despite our efforts."

"Guard-Captain Urbanski led a detachment into the arena to apprehend the culprits. Two standard hours later, his corpse was found suspended from the royal flagpole at the arena's heart."

Mordel's gaze fixed upon the vid-screen, displaying the mangled, stripped body impaled upon the flagpole.

His eyes bulged, veins throbbing with bloodshot rage.

"Useless! All of them, utterly useless!"

"Mere mutant scum, yet they sow chaos throughout my hive, denying us peace!"

"This is a direct affront to my authority. I shall seize them and subject them to such torments that they will rue the day they dared defy me!"

With those words, Mordel flung his crimson cape and strode purposefully from the palace.

He boarded a war-chariot forged of unyielding steel, its engines roaring to life as it sped toward his arena.

Two districts from the arena, Maria Kurnikova ascended a water tower, meticulously wiping her curved blade with tubular machine oil and a swath of yellow silk.

She had sabotaged the nearest water tower to the arena, crippling the firefighting crews' efficiency. For at least one work cycle, restoration would be impossible.

And that false king lacked the patience to wait so long.

She approached the iron door, swiping a pilfered identity key across the adjacent cogitator's reader.

With a soft "beep," the gate parted.

Maria stepped through, standing resolute amidst the howling chill winds. She wore no rebreather; raised in vats of alchemical solutions, the toxic industrial fumes of the hive posed no threat to her.

The "Assassin" did not, as in times past, retrieve her optical scope. Instead, she gazed directly downward.

"Eagle Vision" endowed her with the piercing sight of a raptor and the clarity of darkvision. Through the dim, flickering lamplight, she surveyed the kilometers below with unerring precision.

Maria, marveling at her wondrous ability, lifted her gaze toward the distant horizon.

[*My eternal gratitude for my king's gift!*]

The "Assassin" refocused, her eyes sweeping across Old Town Street and Glory Street.

At that moment, her communicator crackled, and Tesvitana's voice, laced with concern, emerged.

"Maria, there are two routes from the false king's spire to the arena. If we ambush on Glory Street, might we miss our target?"

Maria's blue eyes deepened with resolve, her tone unwavering.

"Old Town Street boasts superior infrastructure and greater safety, but it requires a detour through Birch Street. Given the false king's temperament, he will undoubtedly choose Glory Street."

"Exactly! I've heard that vain fool adores parading down Glory Street, built to commemorate his purge of the underhive gangs," Dementieva interjected with a sneer.

Maria, after hearing Dementieva's mockery, responded.

"The target is often accompanied by his hundred-strong guard. With only three of us, we cannot afford to split our efforts if we are to succeed in this assassination."

"He will take Glory Street."

Hearing Maria's resolute tone, Tesvitana fell silent, and the squad's vox-channel descended into stillness.

Time ebbed onward. The "Assassin's" blue eyes narrowed as she spotted a convoy of over a dozen armored vehicles thundering toward her position. The lead vehicle bore an ostentatious golden falcon banner.

"Target sighted. Execute the plan."

Issuing the command over the vox, the "Assassin" leapt from the tower.

"Light Body" granted Maria the fleeting weightlessness of a feather. She sprinted down the water tower's metal exterior, her movements silent as a specter.

Tesvitana, prone atop a factory roof, peered through the scope of her lasrifle, locking onto the convoy's position.

As the convoy entered the ambush zone, her left hand pressed the detonator's trigger.

A cataclysmic explosion reverberated through the upper hive. Glory Street, a mere twenty-five years old, was sundered like a fish upon a butcher's board.

The blast overturned the convoy's second through fourth vehicles, carving a chasm several meters deep and nearly twenty meters long.

The fifth vehicle, unable to brake, saw its driver slam the accelerator, screaming as it surged forward.

By fortune, it cleared the chasm, only to collide with King Mordel's toppled war-chariot, flung skyward by the explosion.

The king's chariot, boasting superior armor, sustained no structural damage; even its synth-tempered glass remained unmarred.

Yet, the instant it landed, the speeding vehicle rammed its rear. The two chariots careened down Glory Street, lurching like drunken revelers in a frenzied chase.

The trailing convoy halted in panic. After a moment's disarray, they split into two groups, seeking alternate routes to flank forward.

Tesvitana discarded the detonator, raising her lasrifle. She squeezed the trigger, her beam striking a wheel with precision.

The searing light bored a thumbnail-sized hole, but inflicted no greater harm.

As the colliding vehicles staggered onward, a cargo hauler roared from a side street.

Dementieva, at the helm, slammed the brakes, halting before the king's chariot.

An instant before impact, she flung open the door, leapt out, and rolled with agile grace.

With a deafening crash, the chariot struck the hauler, laden with volatile chemicals.

In a cascade of explosions, the chariot tumbled several times, its right side smashing into the pavement, skidding meters before halting.

The king's guard, disheveled, clambered from the wreck, charging toward Dementieva, who wielded a ballistic shield.

Dementieva injected a combat stimm into her neck, lowered her head behind the shield, and barreled into the guards.

Tesvitana fired, her las-beams felling several guards in flashes of light.

Mordel unleashed a furious roar, charging toward the female assassin.

Two steps into his advance, a figure darted from the shadows at a building's corner.

The "Assassin" surged to Mordel's flank, raising her left hand's Fra'ow glass blade. Channeling the full might of her body into a single strike, she plunged it into his mastercrafted power armor.

Mordel, stunned, realized the tall assassin's attack bore terrifying force—she had pierced his armor with a single blow.

As shock gripped him, he felt the dagger lodge in the armor's plates.

Seizing his chance, Mordel swung his power sword toward the assassin.

His strike met air. The "Assassin," having driven her blade into the armor, had already withdrawn.

As Mordel stood perplexed, the Fra'ow glass blade's edge splintered, releasing a swarm of minute shards.

These fragments sprayed into Mordel's body, eliciting a scream of terror.

The guards, witnessing their king's collapse, furiously assailed Maria.

Maria danced through the fray, nimbly weaving between walls, fences, and obstacles, vanishing from the guards' sight.

Meanwhile, Dementieva plowed into the guard formation, her warhammer pulping a foe's skull.

Maria melted into the shadows, becoming imperceptible to the guards' senses.

Each time she emerged from the darkness, she claimed a guard's life.

Ten minutes later, the surviving guards—those who had not plummeted to the depths below—lay dead at the hands of the three assassins.

The death of the formidable King Mordel sent shockwaves through the Omsk Hive. Nobles, long suppressed by the mighty king, began to stir.

Hive-dwellers, wary, bolted their doors, clutching weapons to fend off potential intruders.