Unlikely Angel

[Pharris]

The sun had vanished not many hours before. Cloudy, the night was black. Window panes glowed with a gentle warmth, banishing night in irregular blotches around the door. It was a house no different than most others in Myrken, although nestled nicely behind a moderately well maintained hedge.

Outside, two men idled. One sat upon a barrel, picking filth from under his fingernails with a stiletto. The other leaned back, against the doorframe, scratching at his scruffy face and neck, trying in vain to make idle conversation.

"Dull night, huh?" he offered his companion.

"Ahuh," was the disinterested reply. A pebble was picked loose from the thumbnail.

"Yup..." the stubble itched, and it didn't make his feeble conversation skills any better, that was for sure. "So, uh, wanna go 'n' grab a mug afta ou' shift, mayb-..."

"Shhh," the other one interrupted, suddenly, lifting his head. He pointed the stiletto, 'round the side of the cottage. "Did y'hear that?"

Both men paused, listening closely. A rustle. Stiletto hopped off the barrel and stalked towards the corner carefully, doing his best to move without noise, brandishing his weapon readily, leaving scruffy to peer after him, impatient.

'round the corner he peeked, warily, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He heard the sound again and, as his vision grew accustomed to the pitch, he synchonized gaze and hearing both to peer towards the hedge.

A rat. A rat was thrashing and bouncing around the brush as if it had lost his mind. He shook his head and muttered a few choice words for vermin in general as he drew his head back 'round.

"Just a rat, nothin' t-..." he peered, confused, for the other fellow. Scruffy was gone. "Coward musta run inside," he grumbled, beginning to pace towards the barrel to take his post again.

He lay his fingers against the wooden lid, preparing to hoist himself up to sit upon it again, when he looked down. There, with a bloody bump protruding from the back of his head, was scruffy. Eyes widened, mouth opened, ready to shout the alarm. But he couldn't speak. Something was 'round his throat, now. A leather strap, being pulled back by a firm and practiced grip. He was being dragged back, and only choked noises could escape him. Soon, he was in the shadows 'round the side of the house, struggling uselessly. Scarce moments passed, before vision was dim. Air was gone, blood not where it should be. And soon, there was no living grip to stop the stiletto as it fell limply to the grass.

"Good work, Cob," Isabel murmured with a satisfied smile as she easied the strangled guard to the ground. He was a thug, really. A thug for Reise Lawson, the criminal that owned this cottage. Of course, Myrken was no place to ply a lucrative career in crime, really, but it was a good place to lay low for a while.

"Thanks, Izzy," Cob replied, slipping from the hedge. Mony, the rat, swiftly scurried up his offered sleeve. The well trained rodent was soon poking his nose out of the back of Cob's collar, sniffing at the night air. Lawson had arrived at this 'summer home' only days before. It was a secret arrival, supposedly. But one of his enemies had found out. And while defense was at its minimal, the ideal time to snuff out the competition, yes? That was where the three assassins came in.

Mathias rounded the corner to meet the others, after deftly slipping beneath the view of the front windows. The blackjack that had downed 'scruffy' was already cleaned and stashed away. "No rest for the wicked. Now we have to get in," he reminded them.

"You take the front?" Isabel inquired, in the hushed tones the trio had grown accustomed to. Mathias nodded, gesturing towards the back as he nodded to Cob. Likewise, the rat master nodded agreement, and hurried that way. Isabel was already extracting darts from inside her sleeve by the time Mathias was rounding the corner to the front.

The three were not exactly trained professionals. They were good, but they were amateurs. But, they were growing accustomed to their work, quickly, with a natural flair. Their natural creativity, ingenuity, and passion for the job was making a name for them.

Minutes passed. It had to be fast. There was little hope of stealth now. They knew they had to move fast and effectively. Inside, three men played dice 'round a makeshift table. Their swords lay strewn by their feet. After all, there was guards outside, and nobody even knew they were here. Why be cautious?

Well, Mathias gave them a good reason, as his heavy boot crashed against the door, smashing it open. They turned their heads, shocked. The light crossbow Mathias held twanged loose. The closest guard was taken clean in the shoulder, spun, knocked to the ground.

The others were getting to their feet, when the door at the back of the room crashed open. Cob, in front, ducked as soon as he'd bashed open the door. A dart was hurled over his head, and took another of the guards square in the back of the neck. He collapsed as the other fellow was turning, startled.

Cob stood, then, jumping forward with a toss of his hand. Cob was especially known for his unusual methods, and this was a favourite. A handful of an expensive spice was opened. It was a delicious spicy, very hot. It also had a tendancy to burn the sensitive flesh of a person's lips. Not to mention their eyes and nostrils. He coughed and sputtered as a cloud of white took him in the face. And then shouted in pain as the burning set in. Hands came up to rub and wipe at his tortured flesh. Mathias put him out of his misery with a long, straight dagger blade inserted up under the ribs from behind. They'd taken little more than seconds to dispatch the three, before the assassins were running to the stairs.

A burly thug with shortsword drawn was already stomping down the stairs when they reached the bottom. Mathias and Cob dodged and ducked, respectively, to avoid the dart Isabel was already hurling. It took the fellow soundly in the gut, and he lurched forward. The trio deftly made another step of him as he fell, battering his body against the stairs with their feet as they hurried their way up.

Cob was the first to reach the top. Another guard was hurtling towards him. But he was prepared. He threw... Mony. The guard, unsure how to deal with an airborn rodent, dropped his weapon as he reached up, intent to pluck the scratching vermin off his face. Of course, the distraction bought Mathias ample time to duck in. His shoulder connected with the man's chest, knocking him down. Mony leaped onto Mathias' back, jumping next to Cob's awaiting hand as Mathias' blade came down into the fallen's man's exposed throat...

Mathias' head lifted, then, startled by the gurgling rage of the last of the guards. Gurgling, that is, because in this time Isabel had already hopped the railing and elbowed the fellow in the neck. He collapsed to the ground, struggling, choking on his own blood.

The trio gathered themselves to their feet, taking a moment to catch their breath. It was a dull room, and not large. It was in fact the entirety of the upstairs, as well. A small table with a couple of chairs was in the corner, now absent of the guards who usually occupied it. The rest of the room was simply wooden floor and walls. And, sat before them, behind a desk - behind which was the only decoration, a velvet, maroon curtain - was Lawson, with fingers steepled. Middle-aged, with the fading physique of one who had clawed his way to the top through brawn. Dark hair was touched with grey around the temples, and a high forehead marked by the beginnings of balding was tanned and lined, as the rest of his squareish face was. Right now, that face was all the more lined with mirth and irritation both. Lips were drawn into a tight smile, eyes flickering over the assassins.

"So Ritchis has finally sent his dogs," murmured Lawson.

"That's right," Mathias said simply, wiping his blade upon a cloth kept handy for just such a thing. "It 's time for us to collect," he said, pacing forward with a smile. Isabel grinned broadly, proud, while Cob tickled Mony under the chin absently. This was over.

"Well while Ritchis has been rounding up his mongrels," Lawson said, leaning back in his chair... Arms folded over his slightly expanding stomach, "...I have been playing with dolls."

Cob choked on a breath, and Isabel snorted what reluctantly became a giggle. Mathias' expression lost its cool, and looked most confused. Lawson had something of a reputation in the city they'd all come from. A reputation for being ruthless and critical and sinisterly clever when he had to be. And here he appeared to be admitting senility? The assassins were understandably shocked.

Which was, of course, their error.

[Pharris]

Her eyes closed, head tilted into her fist, Isabel was regathering her composure. It was the momentary weakness of an amateur. A figure abruptly lunged from behind the curtain to Lawson's rear, deftly leaping to the desktop. By the time Cob was yelling in warning, the black form was stepping off, jumping forward. One foot hit Isabel in the chest, knocking her back with a crack against the railing of the stairs. The small figure landed in a low crouch, before turning at the waist, lunging next to hit Cob. A palm went directly to his throat, and the other hand gripped his face, squeezing.

Isabel was groaning in agony, struggling to stand straight after the terrible impact to her spine. Cob was staggering back with this maddened creature throttling him, fumbling all over his form to seek a trick or a weapon or something to remove this attacker.

Mathias was turning, lifting his weapon to knock this thing off of his companion. But it was too late. A flash of blade, and an ornamental knife pulled from beneath the creature's crimson half-cape was driven up under Cob's ribs. Let loose, he staggered back, crumpling against the wall. Wide eyes stared down at the blood that spilled from his gaping wound, as he sank down to sit in disbelief. Mony squealed in fright, unsure what to make of this. The rat had never been trained to react to the death of its master.

Isabel was screaming Cob's name in horror and outrage to see the man fall. That was probably why the figure that had murdered him turned to her, instead of the nearer Mathias. Lunging, hands extended, aiming for her neck as they had with Cob. Of course, by now, Mathias' two fists were coming down, blade gripped between them. A doublefisted slam on the thing's back knocked it flat to the ground. Isabel was quickly flanking around it, trying to keep away. It was a fright to behold, and in the moment it was down, both took an instant to analyze it, to put together in their heads what this frenzied creature attacking them _was_.

Humanoid, it was small, they both approximated around five feet. Sheathed in a tight leather, it became slowly obvious it was not a monster, but a person. Black leather covered it from head to toe, and what was presumably hair was bound tightly in wrappings down its neck. As it lifted its head, Mathias took a fleeting look of its face. As the rest of it, it wore a leather mask, laced and knit with thick bindings. A black veil of silk concealed the eyes, but was sheer enough for the assassin inside to look out. And 'round the neck of this thing, a thick iron collar.

The time for inspection was over. The figure stood - a hint of curves made Mathias decide the attacker was a slim female - and jumped again, catching Isabel by her collar. The force of collision slammed both assassins back against the wall, sending a jolt of pain through Isabel's bruised spine. This time, though, Mathias was ready. He raised his blade and drove it, as he had so often before, into the back of the leather-clad attacker. Driving upwards, into the organs. And then the weapon was ripped loose, letting blood spill. And spill it did. A great gush... and then it stopped, a second later. The knife that had left Cob dying against the opposite wall was lifted and plunged furiously.

Isabel fell, dead mere seconds after she hit the ground. Mathias' eyes were wide. His blow had not phased this person... this monster. And now it bled no more. And Izzy was dead. Cob, behind him, would die a mere minute later. Frenzied and horrified, he raised his blade, and stabbed it down with a primal howl, piercing the breast of this leather-clad fiend, straight into the heart. An explosion of blood spattered his face. And then, as he pulled the weapon loose... it was healed. Through the hole in the leather, he saw no wound. Gloved hands lifted, grabbing his throat. The knife had fallen to the side, and the demonic assassin was actually climbing onto him, forcing him down with her weight.

He hit the ground with a thump, and two thumbs began to press into his jugular. Tears of agony and fear and regret began to well in his eyes.

...and blinking them away, he was frightened to see that two wet spots darkened the silk veil his killer wore, as she wept as well. It was the last thing Mathias would ever see.



"Excellent," Lawson said after a moment, watching his killer. Shoulders hunched forward, she shook with feeble sobs as she sat straddled upon the strangled body of Mathias. "Come here," he ordered.

She climbed off the body and, on hands and knees, crawled to Lawson's side. Kneeling, she peered up at him, through the tear-stained veil.

His calloused hands absently reached under her chin, undoing the laces 'round her neck, tucked in behind the collar, and pulled it off her head.

Tears fell freely from the icy eyes, over the pale flesh. Blonde hair was pulled back, bound tightly in the wrapping behind her head. Synna lowered her face, and sighed a long, low sound.

"Wonderful work, my doll. My little guardian angel," he said with a twisted smile, laying the mask upon his desk. Reaching back behind the curtain, he pulled out a chain that was fastened at its other end to the wall. And then, it was absently locked to her collar. "I'm going to bed. Sleep well," he said with a smile. Standing, he patted her on her head. Then, he went to the wall, and pushed a panel aside. Inside, his bedroom. He slipped inside, dismissing the guard therein. Adding, as the thug moved out and down the stairs, "dispose of the corpses and send word we need replacement guards." And then he simply slid the wooden wall back into place.

And then Synna collapsed on her side, curled up, and mourned what she had done. Weeping amidst the blood and cadavers, until eventually, she fell into a nightmare riddled sleep.