The Assassin

The Assassin lived though his mother and father's killing. He watched them getting murdered in front of his eyes, and years later he's out for revenge, hunting down his parents killer. His travels bring him back to the past, and reveal the future of the path he is meant to take. And finally as the assassin he will live his fate more by his rules than what destiny had in mind.


1. Before

"I got ice in my veins, blood in my eyes.  Hate in my heart, love in my mind." - Anonymous

"Your knife, my back, my revenge, your heart." - Anonymous


     The shadows crept along the wall as my family and I had sat down for dinner.  It was a cool fall eve, and the breeze swept across the plane, so gently, that the grass had barely rustled.  No sound had come from outside that night, nor any after.  Our house had been close to the outskirts of the city, but because my sister and I had been young, my father had insisted we still be in yelling distance, should anything happen.  Not that anything would, he assured us as we had inquired why we would need to shout.  

     The fire burned bright that night, and lit even the darkest of corners of the shack that we lived in.  We were not the wealthiest family, but not the poorest either.  We were somewhat in between; close to just scraping by, but not desperate enough to work everyday.  We were part of 3 split realms of one massive Kingdom.  The Alfend sector produced the weapons, tools and other means of working materials, the Cenern sector produced the metals that everyone worked with, and our sector, Thime, produced the grains, wheat, and food products.  My father was a low ranking soldier, for it was required that a man serve in the military for as long as he live, and my mother sold extra milk and cheese that we produced on the little ranch we had outback.

     Our shack was in the best condition it could be, it did not have any leaks, and it had two bedrooms; one for my sister and me, and another for my mother and father.  There were no drafts, and we only had one window, but it looked out to the most amazing view.  That was the prize of our house, and we all cherished it with a deep love. 

     Perhaps that was my families death sentence as well.  The most beautiful place on Earth became the entryway for the most cruel joke the world can play.  See, Death taunts us in mysterious ways, and we either fall victim to it, or we have the will to stay away.  I suppose my father was one of those few who did not fall victim to the deadly taunts of Death, for he held his head high no matter what happen.  Then again, I can suppose that rejecting the taunting hand of Death was setting his own fate before him.

     Within the army, there were those soldiers who never got along, and those who got along with everyone.  My father, as he told his stories to my sister and I, was the one that could get along with everyone.  Except where fame and good ability with people comes, haters will always follow.  Maybe it was lack of self esteem, or jealousy of my father that got the better of one man, one terrible night, or it could've just been that he hated my father and wanted him gone.  For whatever reason, my father was his target to kill.

     My father had finally put us to bed, and as I drifted into a dreamless sleep, a cry awoke me.  It was such a cry, that even to this day, I can still clearly remember it.  I had told my sister to hide under the covers, and she threw the covers over her head and went still.  As I sprinted to the main room of our small shack, I saw the final moments of my parent's lives.  My father lay unconscious by a man dressed in all black, a hood pulled over his face, as to hide his identity.  I saw his hand go back, and a flash of silver, but as he plunged it down, my mother ran in front of him, and before he could stop, it was buried deep in her chest.  Killing her instantly.  Stabbing my father dozens of times, he never gave my father a chance to ever wake up.  

     Laughing a cold, hard as steel laugh, he removed his hood, and I will forever remember his face to this day.  It was imprinted in my brain, every little detail picked out before my eyes.  As he looked up, I locked eyes with him, and before I could run, he had grabbed me.  Taking the knife back, he cut my face in one long, jagged cut, starting at the top of my left eyebrow, down into my eye, though my cheek, and ending at the bottom of the right side of my chin.  Leaving me there to die, he threw me down and exited the house, all the while laughing.  

     Spitting out blood, I dragged myself over to my parents, already knowing they were dead.  Staggering back to my room, my sister was still under the covers, and gently pulling them back, I stood over her, blood dripping down my face, unable to see out of my left eye.  She freaked out, and after a while I managed to convince her that I was still me.  I told her we had to go to the village and tell someone, and we stumbled blind through the night.  

     I do not recall what exactly happen as we got to the village, but I do know there was one promise I made, and I still, to this day abide by it.  

I will take my revenge on the man that murdered my parents.  I will kill him.


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