The Assassin

Zhang, Zor Empire. As/A: 3085

Blurry eyes, prickling sores of injuries, warm soft skin rubbing against his, and the same reoccurring dream, and urges to pee, jerked him awake. Sweat dripped and rolled down his bulging muscles, using the spaces between his abs as a pathway down, as they dropped.

His flaccid testicles glued firmly to the side of his left leg as he jumped out of bed, they began to dangle after he scratched it while making his way to his camper's only door, staggering and swaying from side to side as he motioned.

He needed to take a leak, but he couldn't do it inside.

He stood in front of a laying pieces of chopped up log, watching the projected amber liquid burrow into the soil, foaming and giving off pungent alcoholic stench as it bored into the earth. He shook his crotch, scratched his naked ass, and journeyed back to his camper, kicking the empty bottles blocking his path that were made visible from the sun's ray the moment he opened the door. He walked over to the mattress laying squirmingly on the floor, and stared down at the two companies he had over the night: two whores from the local brothel.

Good sex always helped clear his mind, as much as alcohol does.

He sighed, and bent over to pick his pants; sniffed it, and had his legs into it, fastened his belt, and then walked over to the other end of the camper, where sat a rickety old table with a smoothly polished brown surface. His eyes carefully went over the items on it: a disembodied Glock 17 9mm pistol, an army knife, four kunai, a pair of leather gloves, a few shuriken and a rifle, and Njir his katana rested slantingly against the side of the table.

He pulled a chair closer, sat and rested his back first, and then took hold of the dismantled Glock pieces, and began assembling it; holding firmly the grip, with his index finger placed lightly against the trigger. He drew out the pistol's magazine; filled in the missing bullets, cocked it, closed his imperfect right eye and aimed at the wall.

"Perfect!" He said under breath. Brought down the gun and began cleaning its muzzle. He placed it back on the table, after bmuzzles away what looked like dust on its surface.

He stood, taking hold of the pair of gloves, dropped them on his shoulder, and bent down: looking under the table as he pulled out his tool box, and took it out of the camper.

He made his way through and over the pile of trash littered and stacked all over the ground, and finally got to the side of the camper which housed his motorcycle. From where it rested, he moved the motorcycle to the front of the camper, and squatted in an attempt to tinker it in a fix.

He jerked up to full height when he heard a quick rattle sound, and the snapping of a twig. He paused and looked around.

He could hear the sound of subtle footsteps circling him; hiding between the widely spread trees around him.

"I can smell you there -" he paused and inhaled deeply "- the jabbing stench of the corpse you will soon become, if you don't show yourse -"

He stopped and watched the knife thrown at him, cutting through the wind, while it approached him. To him, the motion of the knife was as slow as the flapping fin of a whale.

He calculated his next move: catch it and throw it back, or dodge it altogether? He took a step back, tilted his head to the left side, and watched the knife fly toward the tree behind him.

He turned to his assailant who was running and jumping to the top of his camper.

" Motherfucker!" He screamed at the man standing on top his home "You gotta aim better next time. Try throwing it at a thirty degrees to the left, bend your arm upward a bit and wattch it soar."

His assailant said nothing, but jumped for him, holding out two knives aimed at him. He shifted again to the left, and saw a clear opportunity to counter attack. He raised his leg, launched it at his opponent's face, and kicked him; sending the poor bastard the opposite direction.

He walked over to where his assailant laid, who quickly got up, and took a swing at him; holding firmly his knives. He bent to his side, watching the blade's slow motions cut past him.

"Faster!" He screamed at his opponent again, who was already in motion to dish out a second swingingwatchk.

He held his assailant's arm with his left hand, and attacked it with his right elbow, breaking one of his bones in the process.

He was clearly enjoying this. Every single second of it sent rushes of pleasure all through him.

His opponent escaped his grip with a back flip, and then hurried into the camper.

From where he stood outside, he could hear the cries and screams of the naked ladies inside. He sighed and went into the camper, stopped and watched all three of them at the other end.

He sighed again when he saw his assailant using the poor nude ladies as a shield against him. Turning to the table that laid to the right, he picked up his Glock, cocked it and aimed it at his opponent.

His assailant tugged closely the naked crying whores, with a knife held against their throat; threatening to slit them if there were any sudden movement.

"That is a very bitchy move man." He tightened his grip on the pistol, and concentrated his aim more. "In four shots you'll be dead, so you might as well tell me, who fucking sent you to kill me."

His assailant also responded by holding the women even tighter.

"Are you messing with me? Is that some sort of threat? Uh?" He was getting furious at the mute assassin.

He angrily moved forward and began counting.

"One!"

He shot one of the whores. She dropped dead. He took another step forward

"Two!"

He shot the second prostitute, making the assassin run backward, but stopped upon meeting the walls of the camper.

"And Three!" Another gnashing bullet bored into his assailants right leg, causing an outburst scream.

He walked to where his assassin laid bleeding.

"I told you, you would be dead by my fourth shot." He cocked the gun again, and pointed it directly at the assailant's head "Tell me, who the fuck sent you after me. I can hear your every heartbeat and striking pulse, I can tell when you lie and when you don't."

He placed the tip of the gun's muzzle against his head "One... Two. I will count to four, and on my fourth count, will my fourth bullet do it's job. Three... Fo-"

"There's a bounty on your head! -" The bleeding chap frightfully screamed "- Milen Geyr, All the continent's top Mercenaries and assassins are on a hunt for you." His assailant pulled out a rumpled sheet, with his name and a vague sketch of his face on it, and pointed it at him.

Milen stared at the sheet, and back at the unnamed assassin in bewilderment.

"Who placed this bounty on me, why and how much?"

Milen's fury was getting peaked, but he was careful enough not to press hard on the trigger.

"Seventy Thousand Dunari, and nobody knows who it is, we all know that it's one of the big shots, probably a Valrian, or somebody very powerful and important. We only heard rumors of something called the Amarethean, nothing more." He whimpered from the bullet injury he received, while cowering in fear from the heartless interrogating beast.

"Such a huge bounty on my head? I'm glad I worth that much." Milen let out a quick short laugh, and turned his full attention back to the pale sweaty man soaked in the redness of his own blood. "What is this Amarethean?"

"Nobody knows. You are one of this continent's most dangerous, so you obviously worth a lot."

"Well thank you." Milen widened a grin "Hope you understand why I cannot let you live. I know you're just doing your job, but Sorry. Four! "

He sent a bullet straight through the assassin's head, and watched him drop like a big bag of sand.

Three hours of his, were spent on dragging the corpses out of his camper, pouring gasoline on them and setting them on fire. He sat on a log, with a bottle of beer, watching his entertainments go up in flames.

He scattered the ashes after, grabbed his leather jacket, mounted his motorcycle, and and drove to town.

Milen enjoyed the dimmest of comforts in the Kingdom of Zhang, the lowest of the three Echleons, 'the slum' of the Zor Empire. The lower Echleon had a few kingdoms and many villages, that held the lowly of the the low: the dump of the high states and the government.

The rules here were a glitch, the laws changed as the lawmakers saw fit. Perfect for Milen. Taxes drove many to starvation and homeless, and most to the brink of death.

This degraded region had shielded Milen for years, from the hawk eye of the Empire's high seats. Five years had gone by since the chase for him ended, and the sudden resurface of assassins for his head, and the whole Amarethean story, set him on the move again; not into hiding, but in search for answers.

¶He held firmly the brake, and came to halt at a local pub: home of the drunks and the unsober. He dismounted the motorcycle, and walked into the pub, and went straight for the bartender, a young caramel lady he hoped to seduce to bed before leaving.

"Pour me a cup of something strong and manly." He pushed a smile to his face, and a wink still within the arm of his wide spread lip, making her blush while pouring in his request.

Poorly brewed scotch were still available these days, though many of the old age's top wines and alcohol were lost in the last war, and anything better than the crap he was about to drink, were only accessible to those in the upper strata of Zor.

He sniffed it for poison before taking a sip, and then turned to the bar woman and smiled, causing a paint of redness on her cheek, while pressing down her left lids in a wink at him, as she leaves to attend to a drunk customer.

He gestures at the Bartender, calling her over again.

"Hey!" he smiles as he looked directly into her shuttering eyes. "I know you hear stuff. Tell me what you know about this latest bounty and this Amarethean shit".

"Honey, you're very handsome and cute, and I can tell you can ride real good, but right now my fingers are a bit dry."

Milen slips his hand in and out his pocket, and hands her a few Dunari notes.

"Let's see. I hear the bounty is huge. Its for some guy; I hear he is strong and all, but most people don't knows him personally, and only a few know his real name and face. And for the other thing you said, I know nothing about it. Bye sugar!"

She kisses him on the cheek, and leaves him.

"What a waste!" he sighed and returned to his drink.

From where he sat, he had a clear view of the whole bar. He drew his face into his cup, when two men; well built, with weapons -one with a crossbow, and a sheathed sword wrapped round his waist, the other with a tomahawk -walked into the bar.

The cup against his face, was his attempt to hide his face, there was chance they knew who he was.

Milen Geyr, the infamous Paladin of The Golden Seat, the 'Lone walker' was what the lots called him. His fame was widespread, all knew him by alias and tales; as sang by bards, but his real identity was known by a few. There was a possibility that many of those who sort his life, could know what he looks like, and he didn't want to take any chances.

His discreet gaze never left them. He watched them take a seat, call out the waitress, and smack her behind after she took their order.

He wanted to get information from them, and decided to wait them out until they were drunk. He was immune to the intoxicating effects of alcohol, but his counterparts were affected nonetheless. Like a serpent, he slowly sorted out the perfect opportunity to strike, a chance at those he stalked. After a while of surveillance, he knew who they were; they were lowly bounty hunters following the trails of hearsay and indiscriminate gossip.

They were worthless to him.

"Heard the tale of the Griffin of Traè?"

One of the drunk bounty hunter climbed to the top of a table and shouted, pulling in the attention of others.

"Me mate and I slayed it, ripped it head for sports, and its claws for a trophy..." He wailed on and on about the adventure and the experience of fighting a Griffin.

"But you look so pale and frail like you could not lift a barrel of beer."

Milen intruded, cutting short the hunter's tale of heroic ventures. His words ended the crowd's choruses and cheers, and brought in a dead silence.

"So you dare say we tell lies?"

The axe bearing bounty hunter stood from where he sat, furious.

"I don't know. Griffins are really rare and powerful creatures, and forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical that wannabes like you two, could kill one." Milen took a last sip, dropped his cup and turned to face the man breathing over him.

The hunter raised his fist to strike him, and with ease, he stopped it half way, and punched him in the face. The second drew his sword, and came running. Milen lifted him and slammed him against a table, breaking the table and some of his back bones. Most people got affected by the damage, and engaged others in a fight. The bar turned into a pen of hungry wrestlers.

Milen dropped a few Dunari, and slipped past the unconscious hunters and the raging mob, and hurried into town.

Going through town won't be a problem, even if he is sorted for: dead or alive.

He needed to find somebody, a woman, one who could give him answers, the town's famous harlot: Czarina. If anyone knows something It'd be her.