Roxana's exiled older brother?
The thought blazed through his mind like a wildfire, but he forced it aside. Now wasn't the time to unravel riddles.
And then—
"She will die."
Diana's voice cut through the air, flat and emotionless, devoid of any humanity.
Luca tilted his head, a slow, sardonic smirk curling his lips. "Just like Black Gold."
Without hesitation, the two children leapt from the Joker's arms, landing with effortless grace beside Luxana's trembling form. Helios stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat, as their small hands reached out toward her. Their fingertips brushed against the glowing mark on her arm.
One touch.
Then another.
And just like that, the glow dimmed… and vanished.
The bleeding stopped.
But Luxana remained silent.
She did not move. She did not blink. Her body lay still, lifeless, as though every trace of vitality had been drained from her veins. And then—
Her hair began to change.
The inky black strands faded away, bleeding back into their original bright orange hue, shimmering faintly under the moonlight. Her ruby-red eyes dulled and shifted back to their familiar zircon-blue, erasing any trace of what had just transpired.
It was as though nothing had happened.
And then—
A dark mist began to creep through the trees, slithering like a living entity. It curled through the air with an ominous grace, twisting and coiling until it solidified into a towering figure cloaked in shadow.
The tension in the clearing intensified as Xerxes materialized, his form coalescing from the dark mist. His presence exuded a palpable malevolence, and a sneer twisted his lips as he addressed the Joker.
"AHH," Xerxes purred, his voice dripping with venomous contempt. "Jasper... you've been hiding in the shadows for far too long. It's time you faced the darkness you've been running from."
The Joker's response came in the form of unhinged laughter, echoing through the charred forest with an unsettling madness. "Somewhere no one could ever find me," he replied, his grin widening with dark amusement.
Helios' gaze darted between the two figures, his jaw clenching as he sensed the brewing storm of tension. The air crackled with an ominous energy, hinting at a shared history between Xerxes and the Joker—now revealed to be named Jasper.
Suddenly, the Joker's mirth vanished, replaced by a dangerous, unreadable expression. His voice turned sharp as a blade as he hissed, "Rasssss Theodore."
The name hung in the air like a curse, the Joker's crimson eyes gleaming with a twisted, vengeful light. This utterance seemed to strike a chord with Xerxes, who responded with a deep, guttural chuckle.
"Oh-ho, you slimy cunning bastard," Xerxes growled, a hint of anticipation in his tone."... it seems we share a common purpose. Let's see if our twisted desires align. Shall we?"
The name Cillian Ras Theodore De Valentine Eriko Elmir seared itself into the collective consciousness of those present, its weight hanging heavy in the air.
Roxana's lips curled in evident disgust. "And what, pray tell, are you concocting this time, Jasper?" Her voice dripped with disdain, laced with a hint of wary curiosity.
The Joker's grin widened to an unsettling degree, his ruby eyes glimmering with a twisted blend of mock sorrow and malicious glee. He circled Luxana with predatory grace, his fingers idly tracing his chin as he moved.
"Behold the pitiful state of his dying wife, treated with such callous disregard," he sneered, his tone dripping with a sickly-sweet cruelty that sent chills down the spines of those present.
As he came to a halt behind Luxana, his fingers twitched with barely contained anticipation, as if yearning to unleash some terrible power.
"If only..." The Joker's voice dropped to an ominous whisper, heavy with dark intent. "We could make this child pay for the torment your offspring has endured."
Xerxes, who had been watching the scene unfold with calculated interest, suddenly went still. Then, as if infected by the Joker's malevolence, a wicked grin spread across his face, mirroring the cruel anticipation in the air.
"My, my, Jasper... you never fail to fucking entertain me."
Xerxes' words dripped with dark amusement, his malevolent grin widening at the Joker's proposition. The air crackled with tension as Helios and Roxana remained silent, their expressions unreadable.
Helios' fingers twitched, a subtle tell of his inner turmoil. Then, with deliberate slowness, he rose to his feet. His voice cut through the air, sharp and unforgiving.
"I'm in."
Roxana, however, remained motionless, her eyes distant as she processed the unfolding situation. After a pregnant pause, she finally broke her silence with a measured exhale.
"Not here," she declared, her tone edged with steely resolve. "This is not the time nor the place. We must act with precision, not recklessness."
The Joker's response was immediate and unsettling. He threw his head back, unleashing a bone-chilling laugh that echoed through the clearing. His entire body shook with the force of his mirth, the sound a discordant melody of madness and glee.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The Joker's laughter shattered the night, reverberating through the air like a sinister melody. As it faded, his lips curled into a cruel smile, his gaze locking onto Roxana.
"My sister—you never fail to impress me," he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery.
Roxana's expression remained unreadable, her piercing zircon-blue eyes steady as she turned to face him. Her voice was firm, unwavering. "I shall return to Domino with Helios," she declared, her chin tilting slightly in defiance. "The rest—handle it as you see fit. Ensure that a place is left for us. Life is far too short to waste on a single soul."
Helios whipped his head toward her, disbelief flashing across his ruby-red eyes. "What?!"
Roxana didn't flinch. Her gaze remained resolute, her tone calm yet edged with steel. "Trust me," she said simply. "Cards must be played wisely. We will wait for the right moment."
The Joker clapped his hands together, his grin stretching wider, filled with glee. "As you wish," he replied with theatrical flair.
With a snap of his fingers, reality itself seemed to twist and fold around them. The world blurred—colors bleeding together, shapes distorting—
And then—
They were gone.
-The Crimson Phantom Guild (The Organization); Commander Jarek's Office-
The room was suffocatingly silent, save for the faint crackling of the lone candle burning on Jarek's desk. Shadows danced across the dark mahogany walls, their flickering shapes stretching and contorting like silent specters.
Seated behind his desk, Commander Jarek remained motionless. His fingers were interlocked beneath his chin, his expression grave—calculating. His sharp, steel-gray eyes were trained on the heavy wooden door before him, his entire posture exuding a quiet, brooding intensity.
And then—
*Click*
The door swung open, revealing a figure silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway. The air in the room seemed to thicken with tension as the newcomer stepped inside, their footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. Jarek's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on the intruder, assessing every movement with the practiced scrutiny of a seasoned warrior.
The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows across Jarek's face, highlighting the scars that told of his tumultuous past—a testament to his journey from a disgraced thief to a formidable commander.
Seven figures entered the room, their presence immediately dominating the dimly lit space.
At the forefront stood Aaron, the SSS the maroon-haired enigma whose steel-gray eyes were as cold and sharp as a freshly honed blade. His expressionless face gave no hint of the deadly precision he possessed.
He exuded an aura of barely contained violence, like a storm on the brink of unleashing its fury. His reputation as the one of the highest-ranked assassin preceded him, his very presence a testament to his unparalleled skill and lethality.
The room crackled with tension as Cillian and his six companions faced Commander Jarek. Each assassin exuded a deadly aura, their unique appearances belying their lethal skills.
To Aaron's left stood:
Dylan, his navy-blue hair framing ice-blue eyes that betrayed nothing of the turmoil within. His calm demeanor masked a storm of lethal potential.
Ethan, with tousled chocolate-brown hair and teal eyes that seemed to analyze every detail of the room. His gaze held a quiet intelligence, always three steps ahead.
Cillian, the SSS+ ranked assassin. His jet-black hair framed a face of porcelain pallor, a stark contrast to his spinel-red eyes that gleamed with cold, lethal precision. His tight black assassin uniform clung to his frame, accentuating the deadly grace in his every movement.
On Aaron's right were:
Kryll, his medium-green hair falling messily over his forehead, a stark contrast to his vivid purple eyes that gleamed with a hint of malicious playfulness.
Theon, blond hair slicked back, emerald-green eyes radiating a predatory intelligence. His gaze spoke of intricate strategies and ruthless execution.
Soren, gray-haired with piercing golden eyes that cut through the dim light like firelight reflecting off a dagger's edge. His unwavering stare promised swift, merciless action.
The tension in the room intensified, becoming almost tangible as it pressed against the walls. The air grew heavy with unspoken intentions and potential violence.
Commander Jarek's steel-gray eyes methodically scanned the group of assassins, his gaze lingering on Cillian a heartbeat longer than the others. The seasoned commander's face remained impassive, betraying nothing of his thoughts as he assessed the deadly group before him.
Then, with deliberate slowness, Jarek leaned back in his chair. His demonic fingers tapped once against the polished surface of his desk, the sound unnaturally loud in the suffocating silence.
"So. You're back."
His voice was low, controlled, carrying a weight that belied the simplicity of his words. It was neither a question nor a statement, but a challenge—an acknowledgment of Cillian's return and all the implications it carried.
The room remained suspended in tense silence, all eyes fixed on Cillian, awaiting his response.
The assassin's spinel-red eyes remained locked on Jarek, unflinching and inscrutable. The silence between them spoke volumes, laden with unspoken implications and potential threats.
Yet Cillian offered no verbal reply.
Instead, his gaze methodically scanned the office, absorbing every detail—each shadow, every misplaced item. His assessment was clinical, devoid of emotion.
Jarek exhaled sharply, settling back in his chair.
"Well then, gentlemen," he began, his tone weighted with gravity. "The Circus Joker—who vanished three years ago—has resurfaced. The wielder of Pinyana magic."
His voice grew more somber.
"His Majesty has sent word. Which, I presume," Jarek's cold gaze met Cillian's, pausing for effect, "you were already privy to... being the Emperor's nephew."
Cillian's eyes flicked toward Jarek momentarily before swiftly averting. Still, he remained silent.
Jarek pressed on.
"As I was saying—other high-ranking assassins have attempted to eliminate him. All failed." His fingers drummed against the desk, barely concealing his frustration. "Now it's our turn. Failure is not an option."
His tone sharpened.
"You've all surpassed Rank E or A. Each of you has achieved Rank S or higher. This is our chance to prove to the Guild—no, to the entire Empire—that we are the elite. That we are the ones who will never falter."
Jarek's piercing gaze swept across the seven assassins. "Am I understood, boys?"
"SIR, YES SIR!"
The response thundered through the room, unified and resolute.
All except Cillian.
His voice remained absent from the chorus.
His attention had shifted, his crimson eyes now fixed on the massive WORLD MAP adorning the wall.
His mind had already transcended the confines of this room, plotting a course far beyond their immediate surroundings. Or, shall we say, His mind was already somewhere far beyond this room.
"You have 96 hours. Your time starts now."
Jarek's voice cut through the air, firm and unyielding. Without hesitation, he reached for the sand clock on his desk, inverting it with a practiced motion. The fine grains began their relentless descent, a silent yet potent reminder of the ticking clock.
With a swift, fluid movement, Jarek pulled open the left drawer of his desk, extracting a thick, ominous file.
"This is his case file."
He slid the weighty dossier across the polished surface with his left hand, the gravity of the mission palpable in the air.
Aaron stepped forward, his movements measured and controlled as he retrieved the file. "Well then, we shall take our leave." His tone was deceptively casual, but the weight of responsibility resonated in his words.
Without further exchange, he turned, leading the group of elite assassins out of the office.
*Clack*
The door shut behind them with a finality that echoed through the now-silent room.
The sand continued to fall in the hourglass, marking the beginning of a deadly countdown. Outside, seven of the most lethal assassins in the Empire set forth on a mission that would test their skills, loyalty, and resolve to their very limits.
To be Continued...