The shadows had still been dancing when these three second-year students stood triangular to each other in this enclosed room.
The room smelled of iron-rich fresh blood. Their Assassins Academy uniforms were still covered in blood.
A young man barely a teen smiled as he spoke to the other two students
“This was hardly a B ranked mission; they just dropped like flies.”
He looked at his great sword’s broadside still dripping with blood and scorned at the six freshly killed bodies lying in the room. The only girl that was with them smiled as she flashed her fencing sword clean of the blood that clung to it.
Sheathing his knightly Sword the third student insisted they hurry and leave before any other henchmen within the building could find them. They agreed and all looked to the wall they had just cut boldly through.
Then they sensed another presence, it was like feeling an extra breath in the room, they slowly turned to look in the same direction.
In this scarcely lit room they could only form an afterimage of a man shifting in the shadows.
Behind them appeared a figure. It was a figure they had all seen before in nightmares and horror stories.
This figure stood behind them with the shadows dancing around his still floating cloak. It was giving him the appearance of a mystery to the eyes of this daunting audience.
The mask that covered this menacing silhouette was even more gripping to the soul, it was blood red with a devil's face so dried up it was more of a skeletons head with wrinkles and crow marks with glowing green eyes that seemed hollowed by nothingness.
His eyes with the devil’s skull shivered the students to a fair extent, so much so they all took an extra three seconds or so to draw their weapons.
This delay in the heat of battle was all it took to decide anyone’s faith.
In that split second of delay the female that a few seconds ago stood proud was now sliced open. Her uniform latched onto the weapon that swung so great it split open this student as though she had been attacked by a wild wolf. Her blood sprayed, her intestines spurted out like egg yolks onto the floor.
In her last few seconds she turned around to face her comrades with her eyes void of life.
They were mortified, her blood still spraying splattered on her classmates’ uniform and just when they thought this nightmare scene would end, another swing of this phantom's weapon left her head bouncing towards her once cheerful comrades, they stood paralyzed by shock and grief.
Like the grim reaper marching for their souls this figure swung his scythe.
Thinking his broad sword would be a stronger defense one of the two male students jumped to block this blood dripping death device, but to his surprise, upon contact, the devil’s scythe deflected and extended.
It separated into two parts held together by a chain, each link wrapped its way around this unsuspecting student until the end of the once scythe, that now had become an extra large sickle and chain, the chains made two orbits around him before the end that had the tip of the scythe pierced through his chest.
His body went numb, his mighty sword now wrapped in blood-soaked chains slipped and fell to the floor the same instant its owners’ soul fell to hell.
With this phantom's giant weapon now locked onto his now dead comrade the last standing student thought this was his chance to avenge his mates. He jumped in front with swords raised high ready for the phantom's head.
The phantom was not even moved in the slightest by this foolhardy display. Using the corpse of his comrade that was still barely standing, and swinging the only part of his now giant sickle within his palm, he dragged the corpse enough to tumble over this rash swordsman.
With his scythe finally back in one piece after untangling the corpse of the student from it he stepped over to the student fighting breathlessly.
He was on the floor scrambling to remove his dead ally's body from on top of him and reach the sword that had fallen from his grasps inches in front of him.
The student saw the phantom walking over to him and struggled to reach his sword until…
finally he had grasped his sword, a level of relief came over him on the floor when he gripped that beautiful sword—without words between his eyes that held so much hope a second ago now was the image of a blade.
It was as though his body tried to hide the anguish of death from this young lad. Standing over him now was the phantom already holding his scythe that from the second year students perspective had no end, when in truth the end that held the blade was already fully through the student’s forehead dripping with blood and pink slimy brain fluids, his eyes rolled back as his body spasm and ran cold as death’s claws latched onto his soul.
The shadows had still been dancing when these three second-year students stood triangular to each other in this enclosed room.
The room smelled of iron-rich fresh blood. Their Assassins Academy uniforms were still covered in blood.
A young man barely a teen smiled as he spoke to the other two students
“This was hardly a B ranked mission; they just dropped like flies.”
He looked at his great sword’s broadside still dripping with blood and scorned at the six freshly killed bodies lying in the room. The only girl that was with them smiled as she flashed her fencing sword clean of the blood that clung to it.
Sheathing his knightly Sword the third student insisted they hurry and leave before any other henchmen within the building could find them. They agreed and all looked to the wall they had just cut boldly through.
Then they sensed another presence, it was like feeling an extra breath in the room, they slowly turned to look in the same direction.
In this scarcely lit room they could only form an afterimage of a man shifting in the shadows.
Behind them appeared a figure. It was a figure they had all seen before in nightmares and horror stories.
This figure stood behind them with the shadows dancing around his still floating cloak. It was giving him the appearance of a mystery to the eyes of this daunting audience.
The mask that covered this menacing silhouette was even more gripping to the soul, it was blood red with a devil's face so dried up it was more of a skeletons head with wrinkles and crow marks with glowing green eyes that seemed hollowed by nothingness.
His eyes with the devil’s skull shivered the students to a fair extent, so much so they all took an extra three seconds or so to draw their weapons.
This delay in the heat of battle was all it took to decide anyone’s faith.
In that split second of delay the female that a few seconds ago stood proud was now sliced open. Her uniform latched onto the weapon that swung so great it split open this student as though she had been attacked by a wild wolf. Her blood sprayed, her intestines spurted out like egg yolks onto the floor.
In her last few seconds she turned around to face her comrades with her eyes void of life.
They were mortified, her blood still spraying splattered on her classmates’ uniform and just when they thought this nightmare scene would end, another swing of this phantom's weapon left her head bouncing towards her once cheerful comrades, they stood paralyzed by shock and grief.
Like the grim reaper marching for their souls this figure swung his scythe.
Thinking his broad sword would be a stronger defense one of the two male students jumped to block this blood dripping death device, but to his surprise, upon contact, the devil’s scythe deflected and extended.
It separated into two parts held together by a chain, each link wrapped its way around this unsuspecting student until the end of the once scythe, that now had become an extra large sickle and chain, the chains made two orbits around him before the end that had the tip of the scythe pierced through his chest.
His body went numb, his mighty sword now wrapped in blood-soaked chains slipped and fell to the floor the same instant its owners’ soul fell to hell.
With this phantom's giant weapon now locked onto his now dead comrade the last standing student thought this was his chance to avenge his mates. He jumped in front with swords raised high ready for the phantom's head.
The phantom was not even moved in the slightest by this foolhardy display. Using the corpse of his comrade that was still barely standing, and swinging the only part of his now giant sickle within his palm, he dragged the corpse enough to tumble over this rash swordsman.
With his scythe finally back in one piece after untangling the corpse of the student from it he stepped over to the student fighting breathlessly.
He was on the floor scrambling to remove his dead ally's body from on top of him and reach the sword that had fallen from his grasps inches in front of him.
The student saw the phantom walking over to him and struggled to reach his sword until…
finally he had grasped his sword, a level of relief came over him on the floor when he gripped that beautiful sword—without words between his eyes that held so much hope a second ago now was the image of a blade.
It was as though his body tried to hide the anguish of death from this young lad. Standing over him now was the phantom already holding his scythe that from the second year students perspective had no end, when in truth the end that held the blade was already fully through the student’s forehead dripping with blood and pink slimy brain fluids, his eyes rolled back as his body spasm and ran cold as death’s claws latched onto his soul.
