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The blades slipped silently out of their cases. In the distance the tower guard fell with the flick of a wrist. Another flick, another guard dead. He darted through the shadows and to the first gate. He withdrew a small vile from his worn out pouch. As he uncapped the liquid, a smell of sulfur consumed the air around him. He emptied the vile onto the clasp and waited a few seconds. A thin line of smoke rose from the lock. It grew thicker the lock fell in pieces. He darted through the opening and to the wooden stairs of the outer wall. When he reached the top he ran to the fallen guard. The guard had a knife protruding from his head. Just as planned. Not one drop of blood. He must leave no trace, no mark, for the outside world beyond the gate to see. He withdrew the knife and slid it back into its sheath. He grabbed the tunic from the dead guard and ran to retrieve his other knife.
A shadowy figure approached Thameus.
“Hey,” he yelled to the oncoming figure. “Hey, you,” he said again.
“It’s my shift,” said the figure.
“Fine with me.” The soldier grabbed his helmet and pouch. “Have fun,” he sarcastically said to the figure.
“You have no idea.”
There was a great pounding at the main foyer door.
“Coming,” came the call from a servant. He rushed to the door and flung it open. He had no time to scream as the knife came in. The figure sprinted into the room simultaneously throwing two knives at the left and right guards. He withdrew his scimitar and charged into the next guard closest to him. He withdrew his sword and wiped the blood onto his “borrowed” tunic.
The doors of his private room flew open and Councilman Turner awoke with a start.
“Sir, you must come quickly,” a loud clatter came from the hall.
“What is it?” asked Turner.
The soldier ran in and grabbed the councilman. “No time to explain sir.” They ran out into the hall and sprinted to the left.
The two turned a corner to see a lone figure surrounded by dead bodies. Blood flooded towards them in a never-ending river. The soldier withdrew his sword and lifted his foot. The figures robe flew up and the light gleamed on a metal object. The gun fired; dropping the guard to a lifeless heap. The figure holstered his pistol and drew out his scimitar again. He stalked towards Turner and as fast as lightning slice through his thigh. Turner fell to his knees and the figure reached up and pulled back his hood.
“Brother, you are behind this!”
“Yes, this is what happens when you get out of line, my late brother.
A stream of light shot off the sword as it swooped down and meet flesh.