"Servile Assassin" - Entry 001: Devoted Demon

Copyright © 2023 - Written content by J.E. Maurice (unless otherwise credited) - All rights reserved by the creator. Reposting is permitted as long as proper credit is given (I.E., a link to the original story and/or links to the author's social sites.)

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In the vitric core of a neon-saturated metropolis, where rain cascaded down in glittering sheets, and the cityscape was adorned with the luminous glow of holographic billboards, a city of glass and steel thrived in an electrifying dance of light and shadow. Skyscrapers pierced the perpetual curtain of rain, their imposing facades cloaked in the shimmering drizzle as high-speed trains darted like sleek bullets through a labyrinth of elevated tracks, their passing accompanied by a symphony of electric hums.

Floating amidst this show of lights, massive airships hovered ethereally in the fog, suspended by technology that seemed to defy gravity itself. These colossal vessels' glossy forms blent elegance with raw industrial might; as they sailed through the rain-laden skies, they cast elongated shadows upon the streets below, where the city's inhabitants bustled with the type of unyielding determination that inevitably evolves in the survivors of dystopia.

On a desolate street corner, water-slicked tiles glistened like dark gems, and the echoes of distant sirens wove through the torrent’s rhythm. It was here that the city's underbelly whispered its tales, and where secrets changed hands amidst the cover of nightfall. At this back door to a criminal underworld, a towering airship—its hull a patchwork of lustrous mechanics—descended with a low rumble, blotting out the downpour.

Four armed guards emerged from a sliding door to the landing pad, their steps synchronized on the wet ground. Clad in black armor that bore the gleaming emblem of the Zenith family, they marched in formation, their weapons poised balefully. Between them strode someone of great importance, surrounded by tendrils of mist. Costas Zenith, son of Vexzara Zenith, held his black umbrella aloft to shield himself from the storm above; a crack of thunder illuminated the skyline for a brief moment before darkness returned.

“Wait,” said one of Costas Zenith’s escorts, holding up one hand to bring the group to a halt as they were moments away from ascending the gangway to the airship. He was a bulky hyena—and a trusted ally of the Zeniths—made even more imposing by his hulking armor and weaponry; he raised his plasma rifle, his brow furrowed in concentration, and the other sentries followed suit.

“What is it, Duke?” Costas asked the hyena, apprehension flashing across his scaly face.

“Somebody’s standing on the gangway,” Duke grunted, leveling his weapon in the figure’s direction; and as Costas peered through the mist, there indeed was a strange silhouette shrouded in the swirling droplets of water, its eyes burning as red as hot coals. Its presence was a tempest, a maelstrom of power that seemed to radiate from every fiber of its being.

“What in the hell is that thing?” one of the bodyguards wondered aloud, a note of apprehension in her voice. “It looks like a demon…”

“Identify yourself!” Duke bellowed into the silence, cascading water the only audible sound other than the echo of his order. The newcomer did not respond. Rain hissed and evaporated as it met the sizzling energy that began to rise through the air, emitting from the creature on the gangway. Charlie Cain, Duke’s lifelong partner, stepped in front of Costas protectively, brandishing their weapon in defense of the young raptor.

“Answer, or we will open fire!” came the hyena’s booming command as he sent Cain a look of unease at the visitor’s ominous silence. “This is your final warning!”

With fluid grace and lethal precision, the stranger launched into motion; the armed bodyguards formed a defensive line in front of Costas, their weapons gleaming with a malevolent sheen. Cain lunged forward, a vibroblade buzzing to life in their hand. They aimed a horizontal slash at their enemy’s chest, their strike fueled by training and augmented reflexes. But the figure seemed to melt away, a blur of movement that defied perception. In the blink of an eye, it reappeared beside Cain, and its palm connected with the guard's armored chest.

A pulse of arcane energy surged from the stranger's hand, bypassing Cain’s defenses and sending a shockwave through their body. The sentry staggered back, their armor offering little protection against the otherworldly force. The unknown assailant’s fingers flicked robotically, and tendrils of shadow erupted from the ground, ensnaring the guard's limbs, leaving them completely defenseless.

In a flash, the attacker’s hand swept down, a blade of crackling energy extending from its fingertips, cleaving through the air with uncanny precision; it sliced through Cain’s armor as if it were mere fabric. The guard’s desperate gasp was cut short as the plasma sabre met its mark, and their body crumpled to the rain-soaked ground.

No survivors…

The remaining bodyguards hesitated for a moment, their resolve faltering as they witnessed their comrade's swift demise; Duke roared at them to engage the target, successfully rallying them to action. They opened fire with plasma rifles, sending searing bolts of energy hurtling toward the stranger. Yet the figure's movements remained elusive to all harm, an intricate dance of dodges and deflections that seemed to defy the laws of physics as every shot failed to find its mark.

With an almost ethereal grace, the attacker ceased evasion and renewed its approach, its strides calculated and deliberate. As more darts of energy closed in on it, it conjured a shimmering barrier of light. The plasma bolts splintered upon impact, dissipating harmlessly into the air.

The escorts’ rifles finally clicked empty, and in that fleeting moment of vulnerability, the stranger surged forward like a bolt of lightning. Its hand extended, talon-like fingers splayed as it collided with the leftmost bodyguard. An explosion of energy erupted upon contact, a shockwave that rippled through the air. The guard's armor crumpled as if it were made of paper; she was flung backward, crashing through a holographic billboard, and fell out of sight.

No survivors…

Before the remaining protectors could react, their adversary was upon them. Its fingers danced with arcane energy, each touch a devastating strike that dismantled weapons and shredded armor. The second guardian swung a vibroblade in a desperate arc, only for the unknown to catch the blade with its bare hand. The energy sword crackled, its vibration resonating through the stranger's palm.

With a twist of its wrist, the assassin wrenched the sabre from the guard's grip, and swung it back with deadly intent. The blade cleaved through the air, severing the sentry’s arm with clinical precision. A shriek pierced the night as the guard crumpled, clutching the cauterized stump where his arm had once been.

No survivors…

Duke—fueled by furious grief for his fallen partner—unleashed a barrage of kinetic rounds from his wrist-mounted gauntlets as he shouted at Costas Zenith to flee. The bullets streaked through the downpour, a storm of metal and fury, but Duke’s foe seemed to anticipate each projectile's trajectory, evading them with a series of fluid movements like a refined gymnast.

Costas did not have to be told twice. He turned and sprinted with all his strength back the way he and his security team had initially come as Duke continued to spray bullets at his opponent. With a final, sweeping motion, the stranger's fingers released a torrent of swirling energy. The kinetic bullets halted in mid-air, suspended by an unseen power, before they reversed course, hurtling back toward their origin.

Duke’s eyes widened in horror as his own attack closed in on him. He raised his gauntleted arms in a futile attempt to shield himself, but it was far too late. The volley struck with unrelenting force, and the leader was thrown backward in a whirlwind of energy and lethal projectiles, crashing into a nearby wall. His armored body crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

No survivors…

Silence descended upon the soaked street, broken only by the steady patter of Costas’ retreating steps splashing in the puddles that dotted the sleek ground. The stranger stood amidst the aftermath, their form radiating an air of spectral power.

The assassin turned toward its fleeing target, its gaze burning with an intensity that sent a surge of mortal fear through the raptor as he looked over his shoulder to see the outcome of the skirmish. The fallen guards lay scattered and defeated, their weapons strewn like discarded toys. The air hummed with residual energy, a testament to the battle that had transpired, and the killer was staring at Costas with unmatched ferocity.

The last survivor sprinted back through the glass double-doors, and down the polished, neon-lit corridor where he had confidently trekked mere minutes before. He threw aside his umbrella as he ran, his wet feet slapping against the black tile, frantically dialing his father’s number into his CommLink.

“Dad!” he yelled wildly into the device as his father’s face appeared on the holographic screen. “Dad, you have to send more security to the back exit! Something attacked us on our way out!”

“What?” his dad responded, voice immediately rising in panic as he saw his son’s distress. “Costas, slow down! What the hell’s going on?”

“Dad, send security to the back, there’s—” the raptor’s sentence was cut short as he was clotheslined by a muscular arm, sending his CommLink skidding across the porcelain, and the back of his skull impacted the floor with a dull thud.

The stranger crossed the room, picking up the CommLink at a leisurely pace as Costas gasped raggedly where he lay, a halo of blood pooling on the ground around his head. His eyes began to unfocus, vision blurring.

No survivors…

“Costas!” Vexzara Zenith screamed into the CommLink. “Costas, can you hear me?”

The assassin raised the CommLink to his ear, and uttered a single sentence in an icy, sonorous voice before ending the call.

“My master sends you his regards, Mr. Zenith.”

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Orion Slade relaxed in his office chair, legs crossed and hands folded over his chin as he surveyed the headline of the early morning news. A sly smile crept over the cougar’s face as the avian newscaster summarized the shocking and mystifying murder of Costas Zenith—and his entire security escort—on the backstreet outside of his family’s residence.

“No suspects,” he muttered to himself, scanning the report. “No clear motive, and no survivors.”

“Yet another successful elimination,” said Wilhelm Cipher, a lean wolf of snowy fur. He stood just behind Orion’s chair, watching the headline with interest.

“He’s been very good,” Orion remarked, pouring himself another glass of merlot. “I’ll have to get him a reward of some kind.”

“What does he like?” Wilhelm inquired quizzically, eyes still affixed to the holographic screen.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” the cougar answered, lackadaisically sitting up, and rising out of his seat to face the floor-to-ceiling window on his left. For a moment, he admired the view of the twin orange suns just beginning to peer over the neon cityscape before returning his attention to the white wolf, sipping from his beverage.

“I’m glad he’s on our side,” Wilhelm reflected, leaning over and resting his arms on the back of Orion’s chair now that it had been vacated. “The Locke syndicate would’ve gone under a long time ago without him.”

“As much as I hate to be pedantic,” the cougar interjected, clearly lying about his attested hatred of pedantry. “He’s not on our side, he’s on my side.”

“Semantics,” countered the wolf. “If we’re both united on your side, then we’re on the same side. For the moment, at least.”

Before Orion could offer his didactic rebuttal, the office door slid open with a motorized hum, and the protogen assassin stepped through the entrance. He moved toward Orion, who glanced up at him without the slightest hint of intimidation.

“Ah, there he is,” said the cougar, setting down his glass of merlot on the polished desk to his right. “We were just talking about you, my pet. Another job well done. You never disappoint.”

“Thank you, master,” said Sylux, submissively sinking to his knees at his owner’s feet. Orion affectionately caressed Sylux’s head as the protogen looked up at him with an unalloyed trust, feeling a pleasant rush of endorphins as his master petted his ear. The protogen emanated a serene sound, an odd noise that was somewhere between an animalistic purr and a mechanical whirr.

“Such a good boy,” Orion smiled down at his kneeling pet. “I have another assignment for you to deal with tomorrow evening. Go recuperate and prepare yourself.”

“Yes, master,” Sylux said obediently, and straightened up as the cougar allowed his hand to fall away from his ear. Wilhelm only spoke again once the assassin was again absent from the room, and the door had sealed behind him.

“He always looks at you like you’re his entire world,” the wolf commented.

“You helped me instill that in him from his first waking moment,” Orion answered, his brow furrowing. “So, why do you find that surprising?”

“Oh, it’s not surprising, not at all,” Wilhelm said, waving one hand dismissively. “That was the whole point of him. But seeing how deeply he believes it is… well… it’s disconcerting. One word from you is all it would take for any one of us to be his next kill… hypothetically, of course.”

“As I said,” said Orion Slade smugly, grabbing his half-full glass from the desk. “He’s not on our side, he’s on my side.”

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END OF ENTRY 001.