Author: Hydras First
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The Way of the Assassin
I lay here, on the wet corn stalks of my next victim’s farm, a man by the name of Xeng Jo. Names are irrelevant to me. To me to I see them as a pair of lung, arteries, and organ systems. I’m an assassin in training, and my teacher, Panaku, told me there’s only one way to become a true assassin. “The way,” Panaku said, “is to kill without mercy, to become one with your twin daggers.” I drank every word he said, without question, without criticism. Why? Because he is my master, my role model, whom I am going to be when I grow up. As he taught me the ways of silent kill, he brought me out on his next assignment. A simple farmer who stood up to the Crimson Skull, not a very wise thing to do actually, but that was why we were here. We were to do some surgery on Xeng Jo, but not with a scalpel, but with two daggers sharpened to perfection. Panaku also taught me to never say the “patient’s” name, it personalizes him, gives him identity. He taught me that it’s harder to kill when a person has an identity, so his name will be Farmer. Farmer walked through his field, I held my breath; it would be my first kill. Panaku said it was tradition to kill alone when it’s your first. So Panaku left, to go back to the Monastery. So I lay there silently, watching Farmer tend his crops, digging holes for new plants. I thought grimly that he is the one going to be in a hole, not his crops. Oddly enough, I take in all the details except those of Farmer. Personalization. That’s was Panaku said, that’s what I heard. I heard the birds, singing their melody, the insects, buzzing. I even notice the pile of chicken feces ten steps away from me. The only thing I didn’t notice was that Farmer was not alone. Farmer had little girl next to him, possible six or seven years of age. I cursed; I couldn’t kill my subject with witnesses around.
Three hours passed since my last thought, which was that the daughter of Farmer is ruining my entire assignment. If I don’t kill Farmer by the end of the day, I would fail Panaku, and might even be failed, and sent back Tyria, the country of my birth. Grimacing, not back home, not Ascalon. I prepared to attack Farmer, daughter there or not.
As I moved up, to my silent relief, the daughter went back inside her shabby home made of adobe and stone. I prepared my attack: a dagger slid silently between the ribs, straight into the heart. I considered my options, but with the sun falling into the West, I decided. As fast as a thought, I shadow stepped behind my target, and as he spun around, he was impaled through the chest with my dagger. It was not a clean strike; the blade severed an artery, causing deoxygenated blood to flow freely from the wound. I panicked, and slide my second dagger into his throat, making more blood to flow. While in my frenzy, I never noticed small fists pounding my back, screaming for me to stop, and for Daddy to wake up. As Farmer was thinking his last thoughts, he breathed a single word: daughter.
That was many years ago, but I can still see his horrified face when he saw blood spurting from his chest, or the eyes of his daughter. Panaku says for me to forget it, but it will remain in my memories forever. Her eyes, eyes that showed nothing but pure torment, eyes of fear, eyes of rage, eyes of pleading. Her eyes, they haunted my memories for weeks, months, years. Since then, I’ve become a soulless killer, killing more then forty people. People with daughters, with family, with brothers, and their families would no long see them, no longer annoy them, play with them, comfort them, for they’re just wandering souls now. I’ve become a shell of was I once was, an emotionless killer who does anything for money. Panaku said joy would come later, but he doesn’t know I surpassed him, as student should. But now, because I surpassed him, I’ve lost all hope, joy in Life. It is the way of the assassin.
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